#I just wish we took him to a proper clinic BEFORE like when i suggested them to

[danses-with-dogmeat]

Howdy! I got an ask/react for the Fo4 companions! How would a romanced companion react to Sole (preferably female) doing things to make them feel 'stronger' or 'protective' over her? Some random examples: Sole "can't" open something and has to ask for help/Sole conveniently forgets her overcoat when she knows it's going to be cold out, etc. the little things :) (Extra thing: you don't have to but if you could go into a bit more depth for Deacon and Hancock's response that'd be great :D )

Okay, this was so. much. fun. I took a few... creative liberties with the prompt, but I hope it’s still in the realm of what you were looking for! And, of course, thank you so much for the ask! I hope you like it!

Cait: 

     Sole pressed a cold cloth to Cait's cheekbone, and she hissed at the pressure of the contact on her swollen cheek. 

"Shit, sorry, Cait." 

"Eh, I've had worse licks than this."

"I know, but still… this one is definitely my fault." 

"It's hardly yer fault, luv, I'm the one who got meself inte this."

"How? I'm the one who started the fight." Sole protested, pulling her hand back so she could look her companion in the eye. 

"Maybe, but I'm the one who gave you yer drinkin’ problem, and that's what got us inte the fight in the first place." Sole chuckled at that, shaking her head. The two had had this discussion what seemed like a hundred times, both trying to take the blame for the constant slew of bar fights that they found themselves getting into. 

Tonight, it had been four intoxicated men who had decided it was a neat idea to discuss the details of what they’d do to Cait if they could get her drunk enough. While the redhead hadn’t seemed to hear, Sole had briskly made her way over to the group to give her two cents on these ideas of theirs. So, Cait had a point, maybe if Sole hadn’t had quite so much whiskey, she could’ve tried to solve the problem more... verbally. But alas, her confrontation had officially started with her fist landing at the temple of the man nearest to her, effectively knocking him out. And it had ended with Cait hauling Sole to her feet after disposing of the man’s companions. 

Cait picked absent-mindedly at the scabs forming on her knuckles as Sole brought the wet rag up to her face once more, dabbing at the blood next to Cait's lip. 

"God, how is it that you always end up with the injuries? All I got was a bruise to the cheek, and yet, here you are, looking like a human punching bag."

"I can tell ya that. It's cus it's always me rushin' in te save your arse. Why do you always take on more than ye can handle?" Sole snickered, not knowing if Cait found her own words as amusing as she had. 

"Because, I know no matter how many assholes I take on, you'll always be there to save me." Cait made a disgusted sound, rolling her eyes at that, much like Sole thought she would, before letting her emerald gaze meet Sole's eyes. 

"I wish you weren't, but yer damn right." Cait said, and Sole felt a little jump in her chest at the sentiment. Cait wasn’t the most tender person in the wasteland, but somehow, she always seemed to know what to say; to Sole, anyway.

The pair sat silently for a bit as Sole finished cleaning up her defender. Wiping down her bloodied hands, and the remainder of the crusted crimson on her face.

"Are ya done fussin yet? I'm tellin’ you, I'm fine. Can we just go te sleep already?"

"One more spot left." She told her, bringing the rag up to her bruised face once more. Sole's eyes fell to Cait's swollen lips as she drew the cool fabric over them, before leaning in to press her mouth softly to Cait's. Sole pulled away, but stayed close enough for Cait to feel her warm, whiskey-tinged breath fan over her as she whispered, 

"Thank you for saving me tonight. I really was way in over my head." Sole looked down, embarrassed at her admission, as Cait smiled at her. 

"It was my pleasure, luv. As you said, I'll always be there te save yer arse." 

Curie: 

     "You know, you don't have to come to me for something as small as zhis." Curie said as she examined the minor cut on Sole’s arm. “You could patch zhis up yourself easily!” 

“Well…” Sole felt heat rise to her cheeks as she searched for an explanation. She knew that every time she came to Curie for something like this, she was taking up the doctor’s precious time, but she couldn’t help herself. What was she supposed to do when Curie insisted on working all day when they were at a settlement? They usually came to settlements to relax, to help make repairs and look into any problems the settlers might be having, but Curie always insisted on doing check-ups for everyone in their vicinity. Sole loved her selflessness and dedication to her work, but… When were they supposed to spend time together? This is what I get for having a workaholic for a girlfriend.

“You know, infection is a big problem out here. I just thought it would be best to seek the help of a professional.” 

“Oh, of course, of course. How responsible of you.” Sole bit at her lip as Curie laughed at her. Well, she really has caught onto the whole ‘sarcasm’ thing.

 “Fortunately, you do not need to worry about infection in zhis, it iz not deep. But come here, with me.” Curie urged Sole off of the cot she was seated on and brought her to a table at the back of the clinic. 

“Wait here, se vous plait.” With that, Curie disappeared around the corner, and Sole stood around, twiddling her thumbs, as she tried to think of an excuse to get Curie off of work early. 

“I was going to clean my supplies with zhis, but we can do your arm first.” Curie said as she came around the corner, a bucket of soapy water in-hand. 

“Here.” Curie set the bucket onto the table and had Sole hold out her arm as she produced a clean rag from the pocket of her lab coat, and dunked it into the warm water. Sole watched as Curie wrung out the cloth, and brought it to the miniscule wound on her arm. 

It was comical, really, the care that Curie took in cleaning the cut that couldn’t have been more than an inch long, and was almost too thin to see. Another rush of heat made its way to Sole’s cheeks as she realized how ridiculous she must seem to the doctor, but Curie made no complaints as she used the other side of the rag to dry off her arm. 

“Zhere! It should be all better. I can wrap it for you too, if you’d like.” 

“Thanks Curie, you’re a lifesaver. But I don’t think you really need to wrap it.” The synth laughed at her as she threw the rag into a basket and picked up the bucket again. 

“Oh, mon dieu, I don’t know about zhat.” She shook her head, a pink tint coming to her pale cheeks at Sole’s flattery as she turned to go into the back of the clinic again. 

“Wait!” Sole said, reaching out her “good” arm to stop Curie before she could vanish around the corner once more. Curie looked at her, a questioning expression on her face. Sole stood, her hand still wrapped around Curie’s forearm, utterly at a loss of what to say. I just don’t want you to go. It’ll be another four hours until you get off. 

I think you should take a break?

Maybe you should have a half day?

Do you need some help here at the clinic? God, when did I become so damn clingy?

“Hmm.” Curie’s eyes pierced into Sole’s as a knowing look washed over her face. “I zhink I know what it is you want.” Sole just stared ahead, wondering silently if that were true. The doctor set down the bucket yet again, delicately taking a hold of Sole’s “injured” arm once more. Slowly, she brought it upwards, then lowered her head to place her lips gently over the cut. “Iz zhat better?” 

Sole giggled, still embarrassed, but definitely glad she had come to interrupt Curie’s work. I guess I can wait a little longer. Maybe make us a nice dinner for tonight...

“Much. Thanks again, Curie.” 

“Of course! Anytime, mon amour.”

Danse: 

     Sole sat at the kitchen table, draining the last of her coffee as her gaze fell to Danse, where he was seated on the steps outside the front door of her Sanctuary home. He stared ahead blankly, brows knitted together above his lusterless eyes as his hands worked to remove a spot of rust from a piece of power armor he had taken off his suit temporarily. Lately, the ex-paladin had been adept in putting on a show for Sole, making her think that he was okay, even after everything that had changed in his life over the course of a few hours. It had been over a week since he had found out about his true identity, and in that time,  Sole could tell that he had tried to remain strong. For whom, she wasn’t sure. She thought she had made it clear to him that she didn’t care about his “strength” in these times, she just wanted him to get through them, whatever the means. Yet, he only seemed to don this look of despair and hopelessness whenever he thought she wasn’t looking, and if she tried to bring it up, he would always attempt to change the subject, or he would tell her not to worry and simply say that he was still working on “adjusting.” 

She hated when he didn’t talk to her. The seemingly insensitive man was always happy to listen to Sole’s problems and offer what advice he could, often suggesting that she discuss her own issues as a form of therapy. But God forbid she tries to get him to do the same. Sole sighed as she mulled over what to do, and noticed Danse’s head twitch to the side, listening, before his gaze dropped down to focus on his task.

He’s been working on that same spot for almost an hour. If it’s not out yet, I don’t think it ever will be. Sole looked around the room, trying to find something that could possibly serve as a proper distraction for Danse, and her eyes fell to the wooden stereo below the window in the living room. She had left it there because she simply didn’t have the heart to scrap the old thing. Too many good memories surrounded it. Memories of her and Nate, dancing the night away as the records spun on and on playing soft love songs until the sun rose; of her rocking Shaun in her arms as she mosied around the living room, listening to the nursery rhyme vinyls that she had received as gifts at her baby shower... But those memories, they were from another life.

Sole shook her head. This is about him, she thought, not me. I can deal with my shit later. Right now, I need to focus on Danse.

She huffed another sigh, this time a bit louder, and watched as Danse ceased his hand movements and tilted his ear towards her again.

“Is everything alright?” He turned to look at where she sat, and Sole tried to look melancholic.

“It’s just… You know… nevermind, it’s not important.” Just as she assumed he would, Danse stood up and walked inside the house, setting the piece of armor and the rag on the table, and pulled out a chair so he could sit beside her. He looked down at her hands, which rested on top of the table near her empty coffee mug. She could practically see the sweat beading on his forehead as he hesitantly brought one of his large hands to rest over the top of her own. Ever since he found out what he was, he’s been afraid to touch me. So... this is a good sign, at least.

“If something’s wrong, I want to know.” He said as he looked up to meet her gaze, his worried expression matching the concern she was feeling towards him. Sole took a breath to appear as though she was steadying herself.

“It’s just… being in this house. It’s great, I mean, it’s still my home and everything, and I don’t want to go anywhere else, but…” she trailed off, her troubled expression only half-feigned at this point, given the truth behind her words. His eyes never wavered, silently encouraging her to continue.

“Some things are harder to look at than others. And that damn stereo over there just has to be staring straight at me every time I sit down at the table, it’s the hardest one for me to see. It's just, it was a house-warming present from my parents. They gave it to me and Nate after the wedding, and now… well, there are no more records to play on it. They were all ruined, and even if they weren't, I don’t think the thing would work anyway. But every time I see it, it reminds me of the people I’ve lost. My parents… Nate… even Shaun.” Sole didn’t have to fake the tears that came unbidden to her eyes as she recalled the memories of her loved ones, and she knew Danse hadn’t missed a thing when he started rubbing her hand softly with his. They sat there in silence for a moment, as Danse tried to reassure her with his gentle touch.

Then, still remaining silent, Danse stood, reaching his hand forward to brush his thumb over Sole’s cheek, wiping away the tear that had fallen. He then turned towards the living room, but instead of going straight to the stereo, as Sole thought he might, Danse opened the side door that led to the covered driveway. She watched as he doubled back, now approaching the stereo. Sole wasn’t sure what she had expected him to do when she mentioned her problem to him; maybe offer to help her take the thing apart, or try and see if it still worked, or simply give her another perspective on how she should view the piece of 200-year-old furniture. Whatever she expected, it certainly hadn’t been this. 

Danse squatted down in front of the large wooden beast of a stereo, wrapped his broad arms almost all the way around it, and stood, lifting the whole damn thing up until he was standing completely upright with the stereo held firmly to his chest. Sole’s mouth hung open as she remained seated at the table, seemingly paralyzed by the shock of what she was witnessing, as Danse sauntered awkwardly towards the exit. A thick vein protruded from his neck as he twisted the piece of furniture to fit through the door, and made his way out into the driveway.

Sole heard a groan from outside, accompanied by the sound of something hard hitting concrete. She stood up, prepared to head outside and see what exactly he’d done with her “problem,” but before she reached the doorway, she heard him call from outside,

“You can’t still see it, can you?”

“Um… no. But Danse, is it-- I mean, are you okay? It took like, four people to bring that thing in when we first moved it to the house.” The brawny ex-soldier appeared in the doorway, his chest still heaving from the effort of wrestling the wooden monster outside. He nodded to her,

“I'm fine." He huffed, "You don’t need to go out there. I’ll take it apart later, if you’d like. Or we can store it somewhere for the time being.” She shook her head at him, a little smile touching her lips. Even after everything he’s been through, he's still always looking out for me. Even with something as small and insignificant as this.

“You know,” she said quietly, “you didn’t have to do that.” Danse looked down at his feet, seemingly searching for something to say in response.

“But thank you.” Sole finished, and his eyes came back up to meet hers. For a moment, she saw a spark return to Danse’s amber eyes as the smallest hint of a smile softened his expression, and Sole felt hope. Hope for him overcoming his grief in this time of crisis, and hope for herself in being able to move on from the memories that had kept her chained to her past for so long. Together, she felt like the two of them could overcome anything.

Deacon:

     “Yes. Two please.” Sole said as Takahashi voiced the only question he ever seemed to ask. The robot placed two bowls of scrumptious smelling power noodles in front of her, and she reached for the bag of caps hanging from her belt. As she looked down to count her money, she heard a clatter of bottlecaps hitting the counter beside her.

“Got it covered. Come on, let’s dig in.” Deacon grabbed a bowl in each hand and headed over to a couple of empty seats at the bar.

“I thought you were still trying to stay undercover?" Sole gestured to the Diamond City guard outfit that the spy donned. "Doesn’t it kinda ruin the illusion if you’re seen in public with me?” She said as she followed him over, sealing up her cap purse once again.

“What? You’ve never seen one of these guys at the noodle stand? Cuz I sure have. Just don’t talk to me, and I’ll be good.” Sole shook her head as she took a seat beside him, instantly deciding to ignore his request.

“Hey officer, I’ve got a question.” Sole swirled her chopsticks around the steaming bowl in front of her, before taking a bite.

“Yes, citizen?”

“Hold on--” she said through a mouthful of noodles.

Deacon laughed as he looked at her full mouth,

“Why--” He tried to talk through his bout of chuckling, “Why would you say you’re going to ask me a question and then take a big bite of food? What did you think would happen?”

Deacon thought he heard her tell him to ‘shut up,’ but it was hard to tell, given the noodles that filled her mouth, and the fact that she was nearly choking in her own fit of laughter.

Eventually, she managed to swallow her food successfully, and was finally able to get some words out.

"No, okay, serious question--" Deacon interrupted her with a snap of his fingers,

"Serious answer." Her genuine curiosity forced Sole to ignore him, and continue with her question.

"Tell me, why do you always pay for everything?" She asked.

"Ma'am, I am a law-abiding security officer. I always pay for the products that I intend to consume."

"I said serious, Deacon."

"Hey, shush!" He brought a hand up to Sole's mouth at the mention of his name, "What part of undercover did you not get?" She cocked a brow at his faked panic expression, noting the grin that he was trying to hide, as he lowered his head and turned back to his noodles.

"Like, okay," she continued, expanding on her inquiry, "whenever we go anywhere, you always pay for everything, and it's really odd. I've never met anyone in the wasteland who's done that, everyone's too busy trying to keep themselves alive to worry about paying for others. So, what? Are you, like, rich or something? I mean, c'mon, what's the deal? I have caps on me all the time, you know that, right?"

"Oh?" Sole saw his eyebrows rise above the tops of his sunglasses as he turned to look at her, "you don't think I'm doing this out of the goodness of my cold, black, heart, do you? No, I'm running a tab over here, honey. You owe me, big time." Sole narrowed her eyes at him, her uncertainty keeping her lips sealed.

"You mean, you didn’t know? Look, I don't know what to tell you," Deacon continued, "I thought you knew! Man, I'm glad you found out this way. Now it won't be such a rude awakening when the invoice comes."

Deacon turned back to his noodles, shaking his head at the thought. Sole's gaze bore into him, trying to figure out his level of seriousness. I really wish I was better at this. This is why I believed he was a synth for a month and a half.

"And if I don't have the money… you're not gonna call out a hit on me or anything, are you?"

“Hmm," he brought a hand to his chin, stroking his finger over it animatedly, "surely there must be some way you could pay me back…” He turned to look at her, wiggling his eyebrows as he did so, and she rolled her eyes, looking back to her noodles as she scoffed.

"Hey! What's with the face! I was talking about community service. Y'know, helping the children, and the elderly, all that good stuff. Get your mind out of the gutter, perv. And to think, I was going to have you volunteering at the children's hospital next week."

Sole instantly regretted taking another bite, as she tried desperately to fend off a fit of giggling in an effort to keep from choking again.

"I can't keep up with you Deacon," she said as she swallowed her food. "You're gonna kill me one of these days."

"Eh, don't worry, I can pay for the funeral." Sole raised a hand and shoved him in the shoulder playfully as he grinned at her.

"Okay, really, though. You do know I can pay occasionally, right?"

"Yeah, I know, I'm your partner, remember? I'm pretty much right next to you whenever you get paid.”

"So… then, why do you do it?"

"Do what?" Sole's nostrils flared at his obnoxious question.

"No? Joke didn’t land? Okay. Serious time," he flung his hands in the air as if surrendering, "I read about something… wasn't it, like, customary before the war to pay for stuff for your… friends?" Sole scrunched her eyebrows in thought,

"Friends? Not really. Significant other? Yeah, a little more common." She looked to where Deacon stared down at his noodles.

Is that, is he... blushing?

"But hey, I don't mind if you don't." She finished, tilting her head forward, in an attempt to catch Deacon's eye. She spotted a flushed little grin spread on his face, before he leaned his head back, restoring his cool composure.

"Oopsies, sorry about that, then. But I did warn you, I'm pretty new to this whole friend thing. So… you know, that's on you."

Hancock: 

     The ghoul lounged comfortably on the couch in the Old State House, idly playing with his combat knife as he waited for Sole to finish readying herself for their outing.

“Ahhh!” 

Hancock leapt from his place on the couch at the sound of Sole’s shriek, his combat knife instinctively falling into a position poised for violence.

He ran across the hall, crashing through the door and into the bedroom. Teeth bared and eyes wide, his head lashed from side to side in search of Sole’s assailant. He spotted her, cowering in the corner as she raised a shaky hand to point at the opposite side of the room.

Hancock’s glare followed Sole’s fear-stricken gaze, and he started towards the desk in the corner she had pointed to, but ultimately failed to see what it was causing her distress.

He turned back to her, an eyebrow cocked, as he raised the silent question of what had been the cause of her terror.

“On the desk!” She said, pointing towards it again, this time with greater intensity. Hancock slowly approached the corner of the room, knife still at the ready, as his eyes continued to search for any sign of… well, anything, really. An exasperated smile spread across his lips as his eyes fell to your attacker. A small, brown, spider picked its way through the objects littering the top of the desk, and Hancock had to hold back a laugh. 

“This is what had you all riled up? Oh, sweetheart, he’s just a little spider. C’mon now, he won’t hurt ya.”

“You don't know that.” She said firmly, her round eyes still trained on the desk. It had sounded like a joke, but her expression remained serious.

“Alright, you want me to get rid of him for you?” She nodded her head vigorously, and he chuckled as he turned his attention to the unsuspecting arachnid. He watched as it delicately stepped over a series of writing utensils, and Hancock frowned. Bringing his knife up to the top of the desk, he rested the flat of his blade directly in the spider’s path,

“That’s it, up you go, little guy.” He said quietly, as it stepped onto his steel vessel. Hancock twisted the knife around in his grip as the spider crawled around it, and made his way to the balcony. Once outside, he tipped his knife to the railing, encouraging the spider to crawl off the tip of the blade. Once the spider was safely making its way along the top of the railing, Hancock turned back towards the doorway.

“There,” he said, stepping back inside, “Now he can’t hurt ya, he’s all the way out there.”

“You… you didn’t kill it?” She asked, tentatively standing up.

“Nah, we only hurt the ones who hurt somebody else first, remember?”

“You don’t know that he didn’t hurt anybody.” She mumbled as Hancock sauntered over to her.

“Aw, give him a chance, maybe he can change, y’know? He doesn't really seem like the troublemaking type to me, anyhow.” He brought his hands to your waist, a smug expression playing on his face.

“Oh yeah, just like the way you always tell people you’ve changed?” She said, sliding her hands up his chest to rest them on his shoulders. “Way I see it, you’re still just as bad an influence on me as when I met you.” She said, a playful glint dancing in her eyes.

“Hmm, maybe you’re right, sunshine. Maybe I can't change any more. Maybe it's just my nature to be a bad influence on you.” He said quietly, a wolfish grin spreading across his face as he leaned into her.��

“Huh, maybe so. But bad influence or not," she pulled away from him slightly, to look up into his smoky eyes, "you really did save me back there. And, I know it seems silly... but I am grateful." His eyes softened at her little confession and, though he knew this too was silly, he couldn’t help but feel a swell in his chest at the thought of "saving" her. 

“And I’ll always be here to save you... from any spiders we happen to come across.” He pecked her lips tenderly, their close proximity practically forcing his mouth to hers. He should’ve known better, once he had a taste, he couldn’t get enough of her. 

“Even though,” He continued, as he pressed a kiss to her nose, “I’ve seen you,” then to her right cheek, “take down,” now her left, “deathclaws,” another to her jaw, “single handedly,” and now down to her neck, “I’ll be sure to handle all the unruly arachnids.” He whispered into the crook of her neck, before moving upwards again and pressing one more kiss to her forehead. He watched, grinning like an idiot in love, as a crimson flush crept up her cheeks. He wasn’t sure if it was from the embarrassment she felt regarding her phobia, or from the heat of his lips on her skin, but he decided it didn’t matter. Either way, he found it irresistibly adorable, and with that, he set his sights on her lips once more. 

MacCready: 

     MacCready sat on the floor, legs crossed, as he counted his ammunition cartridges. There were four of the .308, six of the .50, ten of the 10mm, and a few of the .38. There certainly wasn’t as much as he’d hoped there’d be, but he wasn't worried. Sole always seemed to have ammo to spare, and she wasn't stingy with it like he was. It was yet another perk to being with her.

He gathered his full magazines together near the ammo bag resting beside him, so he could begin placing them inside in preparation for their next outing.

"How are you doing over there, babe?" He asked as he stored the outlying bullets in little bags.

"I think... you know what, nevermind. I'm good." MacCready ceased his action, turning to look at where Sole knelt on the carpet of her Diamond City home. A pile of bullets and empty magazines surrounded her, the stack of seemingly full cartridges was pitifully small compared to his own.

"You, ah, need some help?"

"... No.” 

"Mmhm, okay.” he narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously, but she wouldn’t look up at him.

“Well,” he continued, “I'm going to put my full mags in the ammo bag, why don't I grab yours too." The sniper stood up, and made his way over to her, bending down to grab the cartridges that looked full.

"Wait! No, these, um, these ones aren't done yet." MacCready's eyebrows furrowed, but the shadow of a smile began to spread to his lips as he realized what was going on.

"So," he said, kneeling down so he could see her pretty little embarrassed face. "You haven't finished loading any of them?"

“No." She said quietly, refusing to meet his gaze. MacCready lowered his head so that he was looking up at her as her eyes stayed fixed on the floor. A lock of hair was draped over her forehead, obstructing his view. He reached a hand up and gently pushed it behind her ear, leaning in to give her nose a small peck with his lips.

"You want some help?" He said as Sole raised her gaze to meet his, a small blush forming on her cheeks. She didn't say anything, only nodded yes.

"Alright, you know, you could’ve just asked. I might have said ‘no’ the first time, but you know me, I eventually would’ve come around." MacCready said as he set to work with the magazines that had appeared full, but in reality, only housed half of the amount of ammunition that they could fit within them. He snickered in understanding, it really was the second half of bullets that was hard to load.

"Thank you, sweetie. You’re just so much better at it than I am." She said as she watched his practiced fingers make quick work of what probably would've taken her another hour.

"Of course... but, you are paying me for this, right?"

"Ohh, I think we might be able to work something out." She said, a sly grin playing at her lips.

He just chuckled at her words, but she could've sworn his fingers starting moving a whole lot faster at her suggestive phrasing.

Nick: 

“Tell me, why is this now a regular part of my job duties?" Ellie asked as she finished sewing up yet another tear in Nick's trench coat. "You know you're just going to end up with more holes in this coat every time you leave the office, and I don't seem to recall you ever caring about this old thing's appearance before…" she trailed off.

Nick knew that Ellie was fishing for answers. One specific one in particular, but he liked the ambiguity of the situation. It was this little game he and his secretary would play. He would leave clues here and there that pointed to the nature of his and Sole's relationship and wait to see if Ellie would say anything. All while she continued to try and force the truth from him verbally. He wasn't going to lose this round.

"What? A private detective can't keep up appearances for his clients? I think it's just good for business."

"I think it's a load of bologna. You know we gave Sole her own trench coat after she saved you, right? She could just wear her own, rather than steal yours every time you two go out on a case."

"What kinda fun would that be? I don't mind it, it's not like I get cold anyway. And the poor little lady never knows how long we're going to be gone, so I don't think it's her fault when we're out after dark and she wants to wear it."

Ellie rolled her eyes and let out an exasperated sigh as she poked the needle back through the worn, beige fabric once again.

"She's got you so tightly wound around her finger, it's a wonder she doesn't call you 'Jared'."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know, it’s something I’ve read about, I guess it was a ring shop, or a jewelry company, or something before the war. I thought it sounded clever. Just humor me, won't you?"

The synth just shook his head, uttering a low chuckle as he watched Ellie tighten the thread, forcing the last hole closed.

"There." She said, tying up the last bit of string left over, before cutting off the excess. "It's done." 

"Perfect, thanks a million, doll. I'll see you soon, I've just gotta head out for a--"

"Date?" She finished the sentence for him suggestively, raising her eyebrows in question.

"A case. We're going to head out on a case, Ellie."

"Uh huh, sure. Well, here," she handed him back the coat, "now she doesn't need to worry about the cold air seeping in through all those holes. Let me know if you want me to insulate the damn thing when winter rolls around."

Valentine smiled, an uncharacteristically goofy smile, at Ellie's words. He was so obvious, why didn't he just come clean already? 

"Will do, I’m sure she’ll enjoy that. Thanks again, Ellie. You're the best."

"And don't you forget it." She said, turning back to the mound of paperwork still on her desk beside her sewing supplies.

“Ah well, I’ll get him to admit to it one of these days.” Ellie mumbled as she began sorting through the files in front of her.

Piper:

     Piper looked up at Scarlet from the table in the corner of the Dugout Inn, 

"Yes, so I think we'll both have a nuka cola to start off. Then I'll do the crispy squirrel bits, and she'll have the Salisbury steak." Piper pointed her finger to Sole, who was busy looking down at the table, before making a last-minute decision, "Aaand you'd better bring some of those snack cakes at the end, too." 

"Hm, as usual." Scarlet chuckled at that as her pen scribbled across the notepad in her hand. 

"But that sounds good, you two. I'll have that out in just a minute." The waitress grabbed their menus, Sole reaching up to hand it to her with a smile on her face before turning to peer at her partner from across the table. She waited for Scarlet to disappear around the corner to the kitchen before speaking.

"You really don't find it annoying?" She asked. 

"What?" Piper loosened the scarf around her neck as she looked questioningly at Sole. 

"I know that I ask you to order for me whenever we go out to eat, or drink, and it's gotta be getting a little old at this point, right?" 

"No, not at all, Blue!" Piper said as she took her hat off and placed it on the table, mussing her hair a bit with one hand. "This reporter actually finds it to be pret-ty endearing. It's like, the one thing you can't do. You’re good at, like, everything else, but this I get to help you with. It's a welcome change." Piper's hands dropped to the top of the table as she began absent-mindedly fiddling with her silverware. But her eyes stayed on the woman across the table as Sole smiled at her, still appearing a little embarrassed. 

"I don't know why I can't do it," Sole tried to explain, "I've just never been able to order for myself, even before the war. Just one of those bizarre anxiety things, I guess."

"Well, like I said, I don’t mind at all. In fact, I think it's cute." 

 Preston:

     Sole approached her Lieutenant, shaking her head at him, and she saw him sigh.

“No, the river just keeps going until it reaches a ravine." She told him, "And it’s too steep to climb down. Any luck on your end?”

“Hmm, not really. It's a little more shallow upstream, but it’s still about ten feet wide.”

“Damn.” She said, “We need to get across.” A settlement had sent a distress call across radio freedom almost an hour ago, if Sole and Preston took any longer, they might be too late.

“I guess we’ll just have to go for it.” She said, her face painting a picture of clear disgust at the thought of wading through the murky water.

“Well, let’s at least head upstream a bit. To the shallow part.”

“Okay.” Sole said begrudgingly, her footsteps unconsciously heavy as she followed her companion to the shallow part. Not shallow enough, I bet.

And she was right. As the pair arrived, Preston turned to Sole to gauge her reaction, noticing the way her nose wrinkled at the sight of the brown, swirling water.

Preston heaved a sigh, and started forward. Before he reached the waterline, he turned to see Sole still standing back, feet seemingly glued to the muddy ground. He couldn’t help but smile sympathetically at her, eyebrows creasing upwards as he watched her eyes look longingly at the far shore.

“Come here.” He said.

“I know, I know. Just start going, I’ll follow.” Preston chuckled at the exasperation in her voice. Instead of repeating his command, he simply walked over to her as her eyes remained locked on the other side of the river, when he reached her, he slowly pressed his hand to the small of her back.

“Hey, what are you--?” Before Sole could finish her question, Preston had scooped her up into his arms, bridal style. She let out a squeak of surprise, and he couldn’t keep himself from grinning.

“Is this okay? He asked, the brim of his hat pressing against Sole’s forehead as he looked at her.

“A warning would’ve been nice.” Preston laughed, shaking his head as he adjusted his grip on her, ensuring she was secure before making his way towards the river.

“Hold onto me.” He said, and Sole wrapped her arms tightly around his shoulders.

“Ready?” Sole nodded to him, and Preston took a step forward, frigid water seeping in through his boots as he waded in.

“Wait, are you sure you want to do this?” She said, her eyes trained on the river as it raised up to Preston’s knees.

“I might be wrong, General, but I think I already am.” He said, the amusement in his voice faint as he gritted his teeth against the cold.

She felt his body shutter as he continued forward, the water reaching up almost to his waist, as he held Sole up higher to ensure it wouldn’t reach her. She let out a small sigh of relief as they reached the end of the channel. The water became more shallow, and Preston quickened his pace with each step that brought him closer to their destination.

Once completely out of the water, and past the muddy shoreline, Preston finally set Sole down gently. As her feet touched the ground, Sole kept her arms wound about Preston’s neck.

“Thank you, love.” She said, her voice soft as she addressed him as her partner rather than her Lieutenant.

“It was my pleasure, m’lady.” He said, briefly removing his hat from his head as he did so. Sole smiled at him warmly, but detected the faint chattering of his teeth, and when she looked down, she couldn’t help but notice the goosebumps littering his skin. 

“Oh, Preston…” Sole said as she pressed herself to him, rubbing her hands against his back and arms quickly, in an attempt to warm him with her friction. She felt hot air wash over her neck as he released a shaky breath of relief, leaning into her touch. The pair stood there for a moment, Preston syphoning off Sole’s warmth as she tried to repay him for his earlier act of kindness. Her hands slowed from her vigorous rubbing to a more tender sort of touch, before Preston’s head shot up.

“Shit, Sole, the settlement! We’ve got to move!”

X6-88: 

     This had become a common routine of theirs, and X6 wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about it. Every time they were in Sole’s Diamond City home, she would insist on making dinner for the two of them. That, X6 didn’t mind too much; although, after consuming nothing but food supplements in the Institute for so long, it did take some getting used to. But eating the food wasn’t the issue, it was the making of it that had him perplexed. 

As far as he knew, Sole had been the one to install the shelves in her kitchen; and yet, every time she was in need of a spice of some sort, or a condiment, or one of her dishes, she would ask X6 for assistance, given that the shelves were apparently too high for her to reach. Why Sole continued to store her items on the too-tall shelves, he couldn’t begin to guess. But here she went again, asking him to reach for the box of blamco mac n’ cheese on the top shelf, the highest one, one that he could barely even reach. X6 decided it was time to voice his confusion.

“Ma’am?”

“Yes?” She asked distractedly as she focused on the strength of the flame burning on her stove.

“Why do you use these shelves?”

“What else would I use, silly?” X6 scrunched up his face at that, trying to hold back a verbal scoff at her wording.

“Would you rather I just store everything on the floor?”

“Well, no. That would… hardly be sanitary.” He wasn’t sure if she was joking with him or not. Did she think he was joking with her?

“Why do you ask, X?” She grabbed the box from his hand as he extended it towards her, and began tearing at the top of it with her finger.

“Well, it seems nonsensical to me, for you to continue placing all of your items out of your reach. What happens if I’m not here?” Sole placed a saucepan filled with water over the stove and turned to look at him.

“But you are here.” she said, shrugging, “What? Don’t you like helping me out in the kitchen?”

X6 blinked. What the hell did this have to do with what he liked?

“Well… I don’t dislike it. I’m just having trouble with-- I don’t-- I just... do you want me to fix the shelves so they are the right height for you?”

“No, I like them the way they are.”

X6 felt his eye twitch from beneath his shades. Confusion built up inside him, making the courser feel as though he might explode.

“Ma’am--” His voice faltered as he realized he didn’t know what else to say.

“I know they’re not practical, X. But you can reach them, and I like that about them. Even when I’m here alone, the fact that I can’t make dinner without you makes me smile.” X6 furrowed his eyebrows. That explanation didn’t help at all.

“Don’t you get hungry?”

“I'm not completely helpless, you know, I can usually figure something out.” She attempted to look annoyed at his question, but her grin gave her away. X6 narrowed his eyes at her, still not completely satisfied with the way the conversation had gone. He was still just as confused as he was before.

“Huh.” He said, mulling over all she had said on the subject. “Perhaps... in that case, we should ensure that I am by your side for any missions near Diamond City. That way, I can be sure the future director of the Institute doesn’t go hungry.”

“Well, if you think that’s necessary, who am I to argue?” The left side of X6’s lip tilted upwards in an expression of amusement, and Sole openly smiled at him, laughing a little to herself as she turned her attention back to the boiling water on the stove.

“Can you hand me the pepper mill? Second shelf.”

“I know which shelf. But yes, I can.” He said, turning around to grab it, as Sole continued grinning to herself.

Now I just have to make sure he never looks under my bed. Sole thought. If X6 ever found the step stool she had hidden there, what would happen to her kitchen helper?

#fallout #fallout companions #fallout companions react #fallout companions reactions #fallout companions reacts #fallout 4 #fo4 #fo4 reacts #fo4 react #fo4 companions #fallout 4 companions #fallout 4 companions react #fallout 4 companions reactions #fallout 4 companions reacts #fallout cait #fallout curie #fallout danse #paladin danse #danse #fallout deacon #deacon #deacon fo4 #fallout hancock #john hancock #hancock #nick valentine #fallout nick #fallout nick valentine #maccready #fallout maccready

[dreamyyang]

summary: you made taeil’s undead heart soar and he was absolutely addicted to the feeling.

pairing(s): yandere!zombie!moon taeil x reader | kim doyoung x reader

warning(s): swearing, obsessive behaviour, mentions of blood, gore (kind of..?), minor character death, cannibalism, non con (taeil forcefully kisses the reader)

word count: 2.6k words

a/n: this is pretty heavy stuff so if any of the aforementioned content triggers you, do not read. please note that I do not condone taeil’s behaviour and that this is purely a work of fiction. my fic is not an accurate representation of taeil’s actual personality. 

part of @127-mile’s addiction collab

emotions were as foreign to moon taeil as brains and human flesh once were. while he doesn’t mind either of them, they were just very hard to come by. that changed when he got a job at the qian family’s mortuary, courtesy of qian kun, a mutual friend. johnny had already explained taeil’s special situation to kun, who agreed to give taeil access to the bodies so long as he worked as kun’s assistant. it was an excellent arrangement for both men - taeil could finally eat some proper food while kun finally had help. for obvious reasons, not many people were willing to work at a morgue, especially for such low wages.

taeil managed to ease himself into a routine of work, brains, sleep then repeat. while many people would eventually go insane from being constantly surrounded by cold, still bodies, taeil couldn’t care less. a zombie couldn’t ask for a better arrangement. while he did not experience emotions, he still felt a semblance of peace.

at least, that was before you showed up, completely unannounced. of course, your arrival wasn’t completely random, kun did warn taeil that his cousin was coming home after getting their phd, but you weren’t what taeil expected. he had this mental image of you being stoic and reserved. he thought you’d briefly acknowledge him with a slight nod while visiting your cousin and that would be it. imagine his surprise when he came to work and was greeted by a smile brighter than the sun. you were like the human embodiment of a meadow of flowers in the summer - warm, wonderful and welcoming. hell, you even smelled like flowers.

suddenly, his daily routine was ruined. 

most mornings, you would meet him at the mortuary, looking as fresh as a daisy, and hand him an equally fresh box of baked goods from the bakery next to your clinic. if it was a slow morning, and it usually was, you would make small talk with him while kun went over the day’s plans in his office. he began to cherish those morning conversations with you and his undead heart would sink when the clock struck nine and it was time for you to hug him and kun goodbye. from then on, he was usually in a sour mood for the rest of the day, not humouring the silly jokes kun made as they worked. he would get off work with a dull ache in his heart if you weren’t there to pick kun up or offer to take them out for drinks.

this abrupt change frightened taeil more than anything. why was he suddenly experiencing these strange feelings? he hated it. every day, he was going through a rollercoaster of emotions that would be decided by whether or not he saw his boss’ cousin. it was so absurd. in the past five years of him being a zombie, he hadn’t felt such extreme emotions before. they all felt so...so human.

when he consulted johnny about these strange occurrences, his friend began to howl with laughter, “dude, it’s so obvious!” 

taeil glared at johnny, “care to explain what exactly is so obvious?”

“you like y/n. why else would you be constantly pining for them?” 

taeil scoffed. johnny must have smoked something because there was no way he liked you. at best, he had known you for three months and it isn’t like you regularly spent time together. plus, you were related to his boss. johnny had no idea what he was talking about, he was full of shit.

“that’s bullshit. I don’t buy it,” taeil shook his head, leaning back in his chair.

“no I swear, it’s true! we drove past this factory and they were just beheading these chickens out in the open,” you sighed. “anyway, the sight was so sickening, I’ve never looked at meat the same way since.”

“yet you decided to be a thoracic surgeon.”

you shrugged, “yeah but operating on people and eating meat are two different things. I don’t mind looking at flesh and blood but the thought of eating any makes me sick.”

taeil silently thanked you as you made that statement. ever since johnny had suggested that taeil liked you, he’d been searching for reasons not to like you. and of course, there’s no way he could like you if you were a vegetarian. you would be absolutely disgusted if you knew what his main diet consisted of. yet, every now and then, he felt his mind drifting away to a different mental list - a list of the things he liked about you.

he liked how you would come up with the most absurd conversation starters, just to make him crack a smile. he liked how your hugs were warm and comfortable. he was even beginning to like the fuzzy feeling that would envelop his heart whenever he was around you. you made him giddy and lovesick and eventually, he didn’t mind anymore. being around you all the time forced him to accept that he had very strong feelings for you. in fact, he was certain that even as a human, he had never had feelings this intense. there was just something special about you that had him feeling some sort of way. normally, he would have been afraid of how you controlled your heart but now? he was in too deep to care.

he decided it was better for him to just accept the fact that he loved you. why try to fight it? it was highly unlikely that he would feel this way about anyone ever again. he had to hold onto you, he would be insane to let you go. 

finally, he plucked up the courage to confess to you. he was falling for you more and more every single day, and not being with you was slowly killing him. he decided to surprise you at the clinic where you worked with a bouquet of your favourite flowers. he planned to treat you to lunch at a romantic café then confess to you while walking you back to the clinic. he had rehearsed the little speech he wanted to give over twenty times with johnny, who repeatedly assured him that everything would go well. 

it did not go well.

taeil was greeted by a unpleasant surprise when he reached the entrance of the clinic. there you stood, his beloved y/n, in another man’s arms. taeil watched, horrified, as the man placed a soft kiss on your lips. you looked so happy with him and it broke taeil’s heart. he felt awful as he watched you smile at the man. that same wonderful smile that he wished was for his eyes only. it felt like a cruel joke to have your laughter fill his ears as tears pricked his eyes. taeil was glad that nobody was paying attention to him as hot tears stained his cheeks. he couldn’t have gotten away sooner, pushing past the people on the street to go home. 

he quickly texted an excuse to kun about how he felt sick and would be gone for the rest of the day. it wasn’t exactly a lie - he did feel sick and every time he thought about you and the stranger, it only got worse. he ripped up the bouquet and the plastic that had been wrapped around their stems, screaming as he did it. pain bled into fury as he destroyed the beautiful flowers. he was unbelievably angry and wouldn’t stop until every last petal had been snatched from the base and scattered on the floor. he was blinded by rage as he made a mess of his apartment floor. finally, the bouquet had been completely ripped apart and tears cleared taeil’s vision.

he dropped to the floor, feeling miserable as he stared at the mess, tears streaking down his face. he loved you so much, but someone had stolen you away. how dare that asshole? you were supposed to be taeil’s, how could he just come between the two of you like that? how incredibly selfish of him. taeil had to get rid of him, as soon as possible. the more time you spend with that jerk, the more he’ll ruin you. taeil scowled at the memory of the two of you kissing. he will pay.

 it was decided. taeil was going to make you his, one way or another. whether you liked it or not.

“I hate this, taeil.”

taeil nodded, feigning sympathy as you pouted and continued to complain, “doyoung’s been so busy the past week that he hasn’t been able to call me even once. he just sends brief texts… I really miss him.”

“that sucks, y/n, but you know, it’s a very demanding job.”

“yeah I know…but would it kill him to at least call to say good night?” you sighed, sipping your tea. “whatever. thank you so much for listening to my rant, taeil, I really appreciate it. you’re an awesome friend.”

the word stung, but taeil tried not to show it as he smiled and promised you that he didn’t mind. which was half true. taeil could never get tired of listening to you talk about any topic but one - kim doyoung, your boyfriend. it didn’t really matter, though. soon, taeil would make sure that you would forget all about that piece of shit. soon, moon taeil would be the only thing on your mind, just like how you were the only thing on his min

but first he had to punish you. you deserved it. if you hadn’t gone and dated another man, he wouldn’t have considered such a thing. you needed to be disciplined. you belonged to taeil and he was going to make sure that you remembered that fact. so he sat there in front of you, politely nodding as you vented about your boyfriend, and tried to think of a suitable punishment.

“I know I’m complaining about him a lot, but I really like doyoung,” you laughed. “even though he took me to a barbecue place for our first date.”

that’s when a lightbulb went off in taeil’s brain.

for someone who couldn’t survive without eating brains, taeil sure was an idiot. somehow, he’d gotten roped into a dinner date with you, doyoung and doyoung’s sister, jisoo. at least he managed to convince you to let him host the dinner at his apartment, insisting that he wanted to make a good first impression on jisoo. you’d wiggled your eyebrows and teased him about it but he knew, deep down, setting him up with someone else was hurting you. but you wouldn’t have to worry about hiding your feelings for much longer - taeil would soon relieve you of your misery. ideally of course, he wouldn’t want to start off your relationship with a double date with other people. not to mention your little punishment, but hey, all relationships have their ups and downs.

now if he could just get that pesky little jisoo out of the way.

after briefly stalking doyoung’s instagram account, taeil managed to find jisoo’s account and figured out where she worked. getting her to stay away was easier than he thought it would be. all he had to do was press a small knife against her neck and she was begging for him to leave her alone. he left her trembling in the alley behind her office, with her tears stinging the small cut that ran down the side of her cheek. he wasn’t worried about her telling her brother since that’s who he’d be visiting next.

he had to say, out of all the humans he’d made dishes out of, doyoung was certainly the best. probably because his meat was actually fresh, but you really seemed to enjoy him as well.

“god taeil, your spaghetti is wonderful. I can’t believe doyoung and jisoo are missing out,” you nearly moaned as you devoured your dinner. “these are the best vegan meatballs I’ve ever had. seriously, how’d you make this?”

taeil shrugged, “I used a pretty basic recipe, although I did use something extra special for those meatballs.”

“would you mind sharing what that special thing is, master moon?”

taeil’s smile dropped, his expression completely serious now. you didn’t think much of it, taeil was probably just being dramatic. however his tone as he spoke his next sentence sent a chill down your spine.

“enough dilly-dallying. tell me, sweetheart, did you really think you could get away with dating another man?”

you were too stunned to speak, what the fuck did he just say?

“woah, don’t get shy now. did you seriously think you could go be someone else's whore and I wouldn’t get mad?”

“taeil, what on earth are you talking about?”

you looked like a scared and helpless little rabbit and taeil would be lying if he said that didn’t make him feel some type of way. taeil’s predatory gaze burned into your eyes, ensnaring you and refusing to let go. you were confused. why was taeil behaving like this? why was he so angry with you? but you were certain about one thing: tonight was not going to end well for you. 

with a gentle voice, you tried to calm him down so the two of you could have a rational conversation but taeil wasn’t having any of it. he grabbed you by the wrist and pulled you up to your feet, stepping away from the dining table and pulling you close till your chest brushed against his. suddenly, his steely gaze slightly softened.

“y/n, my love, I hope you know that I didn’t want to do this to you, but you left me no choice. you forced my hand.”

tears were beginning to well up in your eyes. taeil was getting frustrated. you knew exactly what he was talking about yet you were acting as though taeil was speaking in cryptic messages. taeil noticed your tears and tsked, cupping your cheeks. there was no point in you crying now. the deed was done. taeil was hoping you’d learnt your lesson so the two of you could move past this.

“don’t cry, sweetheart. at least, not until you know what I did.”

“but taeil, I don’t even know what I’ve done,” you sniffed lightly.

“darling, I love you. and I know you love me too, you don’t need to say it. but why did you have to go and date doyoung? do you know how much that hurt me?”

you shook your head, “taeil, I really didn’t know how you felt. but I’m sorry, I don’t feel the same way.”

taeil glared and tightened his grip on your jaw, “fucking lies! that dickhead doyoung has brainwashed you. oh my precious y/n, I feel so awful for punishing you the way I did, but how else will I fix you?”

“what do you mean?” you asked, afraid of the answer he was going to give you.

“those vegan meatballs, darling. although I suppose the term ‘doyoung meatballs’ would be more accurate.”

your beautiful features were twisted into a look of pure horror as realisation dawned upon you. taeil couldn’t help but let his lips form a maniacal grin. he was rather proud, even if he did say so himself. doyoung would never be a problem ever again. nor would anyone else be, for that matter. taeil knew that you were his good, obedient little y/n. you wouldn’t dare to hurt him ever again. satisfied, he leaned in and forced you into a kiss. you were too shocked to fight back.

as he pulled away, he pushed the hair out of your face.

“remember to behave yourself, darling.”

#nct 127 #nct #moon taeil #nct taeil #nct writings #nct fics #nct angst #nct 127 angst #nct 127 x reader #moon taeil x reader #taeil x reader #taeil angst #yandere!nct #yandere au #zombie au #nct au #yandere!taeil #nct horror

[darisugawa]

❝ Sorry I, uh… Walked in on your alone-time. I swear I didn’t see much. ❞ for uhhhhhhhhh Jakurai he deserves to get his meat beat

so yeah this one’s another Long One and it took me 84 years a;sldkfjAS;DLKFJ 

but tbh shoutout to @theempresskaizer who left like the nicest tag dump under my samatoki fic bc it gave me the Encouragement to finish this scenario for jakurai thank u

ANYWAY UH… this is phone sex just. straight up. so very dialogue heavy LOL

Negative Numbers

          ↪ Jakurai/Reader

Jakurai doesn’t consider himself a man of many indulgences.

He could make many excuses as to why that is, whether it’shis schedule, his lack of desire, his priorities–anything. There’s along list of things that come before his own pleasures that he has sorted downto a particular science and he’s too meticulous to stray from it at this pointin his life. Or perhaps he’s just getting old–too stubborn to strayfrom habit to fix what’s not entirely broken.

The only problem is that his current predicament might be inneed of fixing, given that it’s not the first time he’s had to deal withit in just the past two weeks.

Jakurai sighs to himself, having woken up from another dream–sovery unlike him, as seeing things in his sleep only ever means bad news.They’re not like the nightmares, at least, but he wonders if they’re worse.There is tea to drink and syringes to fiddle with when he is restless frombattle-hardened memories, but there is no quick fix to longing,indefinite as it is. Matters of the heart are confusing andfrustrating–incomprehensible and without reason. Jakurai dislikes problemsthat don’t come with decided formulas, even if he begrudgingly understands thathe’s no exception their inevitable nature.

He’d prefer it, at least, if that said longing took a moreshapeless, anonymous form. It’d be far, far easier if he didn’tassociate his desires with you.

Another sigh escapes him as he sits up, ever aware of the heatthat’s coiled up at his very core and how he strains against his pants.He’s not been a teenager for some time, but Jakurai is certain he’s notexperienced inane wet dreams in just as long. Faint images of animaginary you remain in his mind–your lips wrapped around his cock as you lookup to him, observing every reaction he gives you. The thought isn’t nearly assatisfying when he’s lucid, as the feeling ghosts along him instead ofactually providing anything of substance. Jakurai drags his legs over the sideof the bed and puts his face in his hands with a groan. He will have to takecare of this, even though a small part of him loathes putting the effort into asolution that will only last him a short while.

The clock reads 2:17 AM.

As it turns to 2:18, his phone rings.

Jakurai doesn’t bother to check the name before quicklyanswering it, hoping that maybe whoever it is may have more importantmatters to distract him with. Perhaps it’s Ichiro-kun, who’ll apologize for thelate hour but insist he needs some over-the-counter suggestions for one of hisbrothers… He considers Doppo-kun, but realizes he’d more likely be trying tosleep at this hour. Hifumi-kun should be at work, and–

“Oh, Jakurai-san? I didn’t think you’d answer at this hour.”

… Ah. This is quite the predicament.

“… It’s not very common,” he grunts out, cursing his ownluck that the very source of his distractions is just on the other end of theline. The sound of your voice sends a shiver down his spine and Jakurai pincheshis own thigh, as if reminding himself to keep his composure.

“You do sound like you’ve just woken up,” you say,sounding a little guilty. “I apologize if–”

“No,” he says, too hasty, before he shakes his head,trying to get rid of the haze. “No, I was… already awake. It’s no trouble. Whatwas it you wished to call me for?”

“You asked me for those documents a few days ago, remember?I’ve finally gotten them gathered and organized, so I figured I’d leave you avoicemail since your phone is usually off at these hours.”

“Is… that right?” he asks, just barely able to wrap his mindaround what you’re talking about. Jakurai ends up focusing so much on the soundof your voice that he can’t even comprehend what you’re saying. Goodness.

“… You sound flustered, Jakurai-san,” you say, soundingsuspicious. He shivers again at the sound of his name on your tongue. “Did I…perhaps interrupt something?”

Ah. A direct question, as always. Jakurai clears his throat,caught off guard, but he knows that alone has given him away and he wonders ifyou have that curious smile turning your lips up at this revelation. Thesilence is heavy, but you wait for his answer patiently. He swallows.

“… Something like that, perhaps.”

“I see,” you say, humming to yourself on the other end. “Yetyou saw it fit to answer me right away, regardless? It makes me wonder of yourintentions, Jakurai-san.”

“Nothing unsavory, I can promise,” he insists. Not foranswering the phone, at least. “I was quite hoping for a distraction fromthis… issue of mine, actually.”

“Oh? Talking business to get your mind on other things?” youask, sounding as if you’re shifting your phone from one ear to the other. “Or…were you looking for another sort of distraction?”

Jakurai feels himself throb and uses all of hiswillpower not to curse aloud. “… Is that your offer?’’

“I wouldn’t mind. We’re good friends, aren’t we?” youinsist. “I’m a bit pent up myself… it could be mutually beneficial.’’

Mutually beneficial. It sounds so clinical, butJakurai wants to use it as a proper excuse for himself. Maybe it’s not right ofhim, but if he can rationalize he’s also helping you in the process,then he suddenly doesn’t feel so bad about it.

… Is he really so desperate that he’ll reach for anything?

“… What do you propose?”

“Hm… Will just my voice do for you?”

“Yes.”

He hears you giggle on the other end and he moves to leanback against his bed frame. This is shameless, he knows, but you areboth adults. You know him too well by now to offer him something like thiswithout knowing the consequences… of which there will be many in the aftermaththat you’ll have to talk about in extent. But just this once, Jakurai doesn’twant to consider the details–he just wants you to tell him what to do.

“Tell me then, good doctor,” you say and he hears the soundof a chair leaning back. “What were you thinking about before you picked up thephone?”

Jakurai wraps an arm around his stomach, gripping at his ownclothes. “… I was dreaming of that which I do not have.”

“And what would that be?”

He’s afraid to say it, but your gentle voice prods him,anyway. “… You.”

“Oh?” you ask, feigning surprise as you hum to yourself. Youknow exactly what you’re doing, but he’s not inclined to stop you. “That’s verycurious indeed… For you to be so riled up, I must’ve been doing somethinginappropriate, for certain.”

“… It is my own fault, to have imagined it that way.”

“Nobody’s blaming anyone, are they? I’m simply askingbecause I want to help, Jakurai-san…” you say with an even tone. “… Was it myhand? Perhaps my mouth you were thinking of?”

His hand starts to loosen its grip. “… Your mouth.”

You fake a gasp of surprise, but he doesn’t respond to itright away. “Really? You’d be so desperate for me to have a taste ofyou? Jakurai-san, I’m surprised…” You pause. “… Though I suppose being calleda god makes one long for someone to kneel before them.”

“… I’m no better than any man seeking the warmth ofanother,” he says, allowing himself to push his pants past his hips and lettingout a sigh of relief as he rids himself of restraint. “I wish to be nothingmore before you, if I may…”

“Before me? Jakurai-san, you must be joking.”

“You would need only to ask of me…” he insists, shivering ashe wraps a hand around himself, circling his thumb at the tip. “Call it worshipif you wish… I’ll confess at your altar, if only you’d be mine…”

“Dangerous words from a dangerous man, Jakurai-san,” yousay, thought you sound a little breathless. He wonders if he can have that sortof effect on you–if you long in the same way that he does. “Surely…I’ll let your words go to my head, if I’m not careful.”

“I wouldn’t lie to you,”–never to you–“So youneed not to worry… If it’s a god you wish to be, then I would make it so…”Jakurai starts to stroke himself then, sighing as he imagines your hand insteadof his own–smaller, more delicate.

“Do you always make such impossible promises?” you ask. “Itmakes me wonder what it is you expect of me…”

“I expect nothing,” he says, moving his hand in a twistingmotion. “Even if this is all you’ll give me in the end… I won’t be able tostop. I’m too far along to let go…”

He hears you sigh against his ear this time and he wondersif you’ve begun to touch yourself, too. The thought haunts him–the image ofyou messily half-dressed as you seek release with him, unable to experienceanything but your own touch. Do you wish his hands were on you instead, the wayhe does yours? Do you want him to unravel you, take you apart until you laybare beneath him in the same way?

“… You offer too much of yourself, good doctor,” you saywith a breathless laugh. “… Wouldn’t you prefer to be a little selfish? Letme take care of you…?”

He stutters out a quiet moan, speeding up his pace a little.“I dare not to hope for such things, you must realize…”

“Let me indulge you then,” you insist, your breath hitchingas you speak. “Though all you have are my words right now… You can ask mefor whatever you like, Jakurai-san.”

“… You’re all I want,” he admits, too caught up in his ownpleasure to reel himself back in. “These are desires only you could possiblysatisfy… I long only for what you and you alone can give me…”

He hears a moan from the other end and Jakurai slumps backfurther against his bed frame. You’re in your own throes of pleasure, allbecause of him and he can hardly stand that he’s not there to see ithimself. It’s quiet between you two for a moment, save for the sounds you shareover the phone, but you speak up again after a while.

“… Allow me to give you that,” you eventually tell him,short of breath and so, so close–or so he hopes. “If it’s just me youwant, then take it… I won’t stop you.”

“Please–”

“You can finish… just for me, Jakurai-san.”

For you.

His breath hitches when he feels himself spill over hishand, leaning back heavily as it trails down his knuckles. He calls your nameout in whispers, wishing so desperately that you might be here to kiss it outof his mouth. Jakurai doesn’t have such a luxury, so he at least settles forhearing you call out for him in turn as you reach your own high from the otherend. You share heavy breaths over the phone and he’s too content to want tomove from his spot, wanting to let the moment drag on for as long as possible.You’re the one who breaks the silence and he almost regrets it.

“… Was that what you were looking for, Jakurai-san?”

He doesn’t answer right away, gathering his thoughts. “…Did you mean it? When you said you wouldn’t stop me?”

You laugh in response. “As you would do the same, I wouldn’tlie to you.”

His shoulders relax and despite himself, he feels hopeful.“Perhaps my timing is terrible, but… may I see you tomorrow? We should… discusssome things.”

“Of course. I’d hate to leave you with just thoughts of me…I’m not so cruel, you know.”

“Only when you don’t feel like it,” he says, unable to helpthe chuckle that leaves his throat.

“I won’t be cruel to you, is what I mean,” you say,sounding indignant. “But… the hour is late. For now, you should rest… and wecan have our talk tomorrow.”

“… You swear it?”

“On my very soul, Jakurai-san,” you say. “I’ll come for you,worry not.”

He nods to himself, offering a hum of approval before hefinally bids you good night. You’ll come for him, you promised it, anddespite the mess he’s in, his worries are no longer there in the back of hismind.

Jakurai will see you tomorrow–perhaps things will be setback on the right path, then.

#hypmic #hypnosis mic #jakurai jinguji #matenrou #spice #scenario #( yeah this took me forever a;slkdfjA;SDLKFJASDF ) #( but i read. all tags if u reblog it brings me Joy LMFAO ) #( also wanted to play around with like... someone speaking sort of formally in circles w/ jakurai ) #( like a game almost ) #( but we'll see if that comes across well LMAO )

[lachlantrash]

“I’m not going to bed...”

You're pregnant. Again. You don't really know how to deal with the idea of welcoming another child into your home when you and your husband have just begun to be intimate with each other again. You've just started being able to sleep without the memory of him kissing another woman haunting your dreams every other night. And now, you're pregnant.

How will you handle nine months-well, seven now, you suppose- of wondering if Lachlan is just finding a prettier girl to bang while you're getting heavier with his child?

You haven't told him. You haven't told anybody except for the doctor who helped you welcome your little boy Sawyer into the world, and it was really hard for you to explain why you were crying when she congratulated you. You could see her put some sort of realization together in her mind at the absence of your husband at the appointment, and you just rushed out saying, "we're-we're still married, the baby's his." to try and make your current situation seem less pathetic than it is.

She walked you through all your options of course, as any doctor does, though you both had a feeling you were going to keep the baby. You wouldn't be able to get rid of a child you brought into this world with Lachlan.

You feel so stupid because you knew the risks of having sex, even with birth control you knew there was a chance that you could get pregnant. With where you and Lachlan are in repairing your relationship, you don't know how to bring something like this up to him. A month ago you began falling asleep in his arms again. A little over a month before that you came home from having a few drinks with your friends and you came home just a tad past tipsy, and you and Lachlan had sex.

You woke up to Lachlan crying the next morning. He was crying in bed about how he shouldn't have done anything with you the night before, how he took advantage of you when you weren't thinking straight and he can't believe he let his urges take over.

You would honestly be unable to hold back the laugh that passes through your lips. "You thought I was drunk? I was at the most tipsy, Lachlan. I wanted to have sex with you, too." You would comfort him, grabbing his hand to hold in his lap.

"So I didn't coerce you into sleeping with me last night?" He'd ask, biting his lip as you nod.

"No, you didn't. I'm sorry it happened. I just... Missed that part of our relationship a lot more than I thought I did." You'd sigh, resting your head against his arm because you feel ashamed. You don't regret sleeping with him, you're just upset that this is what your marriage has come to. Your husband crying over thinking you didn't want to have sex with him.

"I missed it too, but (Y/N), I'm not expecting that. I want to continue working on our emotional stuff, and if we get physical while we're at it, I won't complain. I'm not gonna try anything though, I want you to let me know if you want to... Y'know, repeat last night." He would mumble in your hair, just happy you're letting him hold you to him again-even if it's just in the moment.

Since that night out with friends, you and Lachlan have been having a lot of sex. You really do think it's helped mend your heart faster than some of the emotional things, if you're being honest. Just the realization of Lachlan still wanting you, still needing you physically it's own sense of comfort. And now, you're pregnant.

You drive home from the clinic, and head off to Sawyer's room to spend time with your son. The three year old has you flipping through his Pokemon trading cards, asking you to tell him the names of the ones he doesn't remember before you ask him to help you go make dinner.

"What's cookin' in here, my kitchen staff?" Lachlan asks with a smile as he walks into the house, following the scent of food to find you and his son cooking together. He picks up Sawyer and presses a kiss to his cheek, laughing when the toddler wipes it off his face with a huff.

"We've got a chicken in the oven, and I'm preparing veggies with Sawyer's help right now." You tell Lachlan with a halfway there smile as he presses a kiss on top of your head.

"Sounds and smells delicious. I'm going to go change into comfy clothes and I'll come help my two favorite people." He promises, jogging to the stairs to change out of his jeans and long sleeve.

"I'm a big boy, we don't need any more help!" Sawyer yells up the staircase, causing you to laugh as  you continue cooking.

"I love you, Sawyer." You sigh, putting the veggies in the steamer before walking over to him, pressing a kiss on top of his head.

"I love you, mumma. Wanna go watch power rangers?" He asks, pressing a rushed kiss to your cheek before you stand back to full height.

"Of course, but how about we watch on my phone so we don't forget about our yummy dinner?" You offer, glad he agrees when he runs off to grab your phone.

"So, what's on our schedule for this weekend?" Lachlan asks once he's back in the kitchen, a pair of sweats and a t-shirt on now.

"We might visit your mom Saturday, Sawyer's been asking to go there. I'm gonna call her tomorrow and see if that works." You answer, staring at the vegetables as you speak.

"That's perfect. You know she isn't going to say no, especially when she loves our little man so much." He chuckles, walking closer to try and hug you, but you pull away to check the temperature of the chicken before he can.

"So uh, I was thinking we could go on a proper date this weekend? My mom would probably watch him Saturday and-"

"I don't know, Lachlan. We'll see." You cut him off, a pit forming in your stomach.

"Okay." He sighs, a hopeful smile still on his face.

"Will you get Sawyer ready at the table? I'm going to plate everything up and I'll meet you two there." You ask, turning the steamer off and walking to the cabinet where you keep plates.

"Sure thing. C'mon little man, let's go sit at the dinner table and Mumma will bring us dinner in a minute." Lachlan says to Sawyer, offering a hand out for him to take as they walk into the dining room.

~~~~After Dinner~~~~

"He's out, I'll take him in his room and meet you in bed in five?" Lachlan asks you. After dinner you and Sawyer started watching a Pokemon movie, Lachlan joining you guys once he finished doing the dishes.

"Sounds like a plan, thanks." You smile, letting him carry the sleeping toddler up the stairs before you head up. You follow your nightly routine in the master bathroom, adding in an extra step of taking some vitamins your doctor suggested for you. You're in bed before Lachlan, hands on your stomach though you know there's no way you'll feel any signs of the new baby in there yet.

"I'll be in bed in a second, need anything while I'm up?" Lachlan asks, stepping into the bedroom and shutting the door behind him.

"I know I haven't done this in awhile, but... Do you mind if I look through your phone?" You sigh, moving your hands off your stomach as you sit up.

"No, go ahead. But uh, are you okay? It seemed like we were moved past that, I'm not mad or anything obviously, just curious." He answers, handing over his phone with furrowed eyebrows.

"I'm fine, I'm just... In my head is all." You bite your lip nervously, wishing you didn't feel the need to immediately open his DM's on instagram.

"Wanna talk about it, babe?" He asks you, sitting next to you on the bed as you scan his phone. He rubs his hand along your back, watching your face as you continue your search.

"I don't think I want to talk about it yet. You can go get ready for bed, I'll be okay." You try and smile at him, though you're not sure how convincing you sound.

"Okay, I'll be just a minute." He presses a kiss to your lips, walking into the bathroom afterwards. You briefly check his Twitter DM's, not finding anything that makes your heart race being sent by Lachlan. You don't even bother with his texts, knowing he hardly texts anyone. You lock his phone with a sigh, putting it on his charger for him. You sit on the edge of your bed, foot tapping the floor as you think about everything going on.

"Hey, what's got you all worked up tonight?" Lachlan asks, sitting down behind you as he begins to try and rub some tension out of your arms.

"Nothing. I'm fine." You sigh, shooting him a smile that neither of you believe.

"If something's in your head about me, please let me know. I'll tell you whatever you want to know, and if someone's giving you a hard time, I'll straighten them out and get them to leave you alone. If... If you just need to talk about it, about how you're feeling right now, just let me know, babe." He murmurs comfortingly, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck.

"Thanks, Lachlan." You whisper, mind racing about the fact that his hands are on you and his baby is in you and there's some girl who came around who made him cheat on you and the whole world knows it. The whole world is going to be ashamed that you chose to stay and are choosing to keep this baby, but you already love the new life in you, you can't even think into any other option besides keeping it.

After a few minutes of Lachlan rubbing your shoulders and occasionally pressing a kiss somewhere to your skin, he asks, "Are you ready for bed, love?"

"Yeah. I just need some sleep, I bet." You smile at him, grateful that he's trying to make you feel better without even knowing what's going on in your head. You get under the covers, laying on your pillow which makes Lachlan hesitate as he climbs into bed.

"You don't want to cuddle tonight, (Y/N)?" He questions, crawling in next to you before he shuts off his light.

"No, I don't think I'll be able to stay in bed much anyways. I'm pretty awake still." You half lie, not wanting to tell him the reason why you're awake. How do you break to him that you're pregnant again?

"Okay... I love you." He finds your hand under the blanket, squeezing it with his words.

"I love you too." You say just above a whisper, biting back emotions from storming past your lips.

You try to fall asleep. You honestly do, but nothing feels right and your brain can't stop reminding you that you have to do something, you need to talk to Lachlan and you need to start planning how you're going to bring another baby into the world, how you're going to have to purchase all sorts of maternity clothing again, thinking about how the hell he's going to tell his viewers that you two are expecting again. Should you delete your social media to avoid seeing anything people will have to say? Surely people are going to call you a bad mother for bringing a child into this situation, people already dm you about how unfair you staying with Lachlan is for Sawyer.

So you slip out of bed, and make your way downstairs without a second thought. You put your keurig on, deciding if you're unable to sleep, you might as well make it more bearable for yourself. Once your mug is full of black coffee, you sit at your kitchen island as you go through photos you have in your camera roll of your family. You can't help but to drift off into thinking about what your new baby is going to look like, can't help but wonder if it'll be a little girl you can dress up and take cheesy photos with or if you'll have another little boy with his father's adorable face.

Then your mind drifts to what it's going to be like dealing with everyone. Even your own mother will be skeptical of this decision. She's been rocky with Lachlan ever since she found out he cheated on you, and was of course upset that she had found out only when he did the livestream weeks ago to get everyone to stop bringing it up on social media. How will she feel once she finds out you're pregnant again? With a man who cheated on you while you were not just a couple, but married. What will happen when you're round and eight months pregnant and not looking your finest, you surely won't be feeling like Lachlan's looking at you the same as he is now. Who will his attention be on then? You sigh into the lip of your cup, trying to shake the terrors from your mind.

"Something's up, you never drink hot coffee, especially not black." You jump at the intruder of your thoughts, sighing in relief when it's just Lachlan standing behind you.

"You pull all-nighters sometimes, this isn't a big deal. Just go back to bed, Lachlan." You try, not looking back at him as you get off your chair, moving your empty mug under the keurig to get a refill.

"Not until you come with me. Something's bothering you, and it's worrying me. Are... Are we okay?" He questions, sitting in the chair next to yours at the island.

"I don't know, Lachlan. Please just, go to bed and we can talk another time. I really don't think that I can do this right now." You bite your lip, knowing his persistence won't let this end this way.

"Just come back to bed with me, I think we both just need to talk everything out and-"

"I'm not going to bed just so I can spend hours staring at the ceiling. I'm not going to be able to sleep tonight." You cut him off, putting the mug down on the counter with a sigh.

"Please, just please tell me what's going on in that head of yours. I just want to fix this. Was there something on my phone? Did some rumor come out? I just- I want to know what I did wrong again." He admits, fear in his eyes that things will go back to what they were like right after he cheated on you. Things were getting better, you two were getting better than you ever were before, and now somethings making you revert back to how you were in the beginning after he cheated on you and he's scared.

"I'm pregnant. I went to my doctor today, and I'm pregnant." You say expressionless, watching his face lift before a frown takes over his features.

"You're not... You're not happy about that, are you?" He realizes, trying to read the way you're feeling.

"I don't think this would ever be the ideal time to have another kid, Lachlan. Can you blame me for that?" You scoff, leaning against your kitchen counter, facing Lachlan who is still seated at the island.

"You're not... No, I can't blame you for that but... You're not gonna get rid of the baby, are you? You didn't, like, schedule that?" A newfound worry lingers in his voice. He's afraid you want to abort the baby, and he's horrified you'll never want to have another child with him. He loves Sawyer to death, just like he loves you, but he's always envisioned coming home to a house full of kids.

"I'm not. I can't. It's our baby, I can't just... I can't do that." You shake your head, tears brimming in your eyes. "I just can't handle this right now. We were just starting to do okay again, Lachlan. We were starting to be happy again. And now everything's going to crash." You cry, looking at the floor to avoid looking at him.

"Hey, what makes you think everything's going to fall apart now? C'mere, babe." He calmly says, patting his lap to indicate that you should sit there. You slowly make your way over,  making a spot for yourself in his lap with your head in the crook of his neck, breathing in the remnants of his body wash that brings a sense of comfort to you.

"Everyone is going to have an opinion on this. Your fans, my friends, our families." Your breath hitches. "Everyone is going to have something to say and I don't want that. I want to be happy about being pregnant again. I want to be happy about having another baby. But I'm horrified. What if... What if when I get too big to even tie my own shoes you find me unattractive, and go to someone else to give you satisfaction?" You whisper, insecurities bubbling up as you give Lachlan a fraction of what you're feeling.

"I'm never going to do that. I'm never going to go looking elsewhere for what I've got right here, okay? You're allowed to be happy about this, y'know. You don't need to worry about what everyone else is gonna think, what matters is us and our little man whose fast asleep right now. Without everything else going on in the world, how do you feel about being pregnant?" He asks, hands holding you on his lap by your hips.

"I... I'm so happy." You bite back a smile, remembering all the first experiences you got with Sawyer and just imagining another babbling baby added to your family. "But-"

"No buts. If you're happy, you're happy. You don't have to justify yourself to me." He promises, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "People online really don't matter to me, if our family is okay, I don't care what the internet has going on. As for our friends and family, well, we know how some of them will take this straight away. Some of our friends, the ones who actually care about us, are going to be happy." He says in between kisses pressed to the top of your head.

"I don't think that they don't care. Lachlan, we haven't exactly been the best couple recently. I know we've rekindled and it really feels like everything's falling in place, but I see their concerns from the outside." You pull away from him so you can look into his eyes. "I'm thinking about how I'd feel if it was one of my friend's in this situation. How I would look at their relationship and probably be skeptical on bringing another child into the mix..." You trail off.

"I'm not saying the people who are skeptical don't care. Maybe they do, and we'll just have to prove to them that you and I are working everything out. You and I are far down the road to recovery, I'd like to think. Our families are gonna be rough. I know your mom isn't my biggest fan right now, rightfully, but you know deep down she'll support any decision you make. My mom is going to be nervous about it. You know how she is, always worrying about me and such. But we'll make this all work out, (Y/N). You don't need this added stress on what anyone else will think. If you want to be happy, then be happy. You've earned that, if anything." He promises.

"How do you feel about it?" You ask, slowly leaving his embrace to put your mind to something simpler, washing out your mug.

"About you being pregnant?" He says moreso to himself than you. "I'm... Ecstatic, really. We've always talked about having more kids and, though the timing might not be the best, I'm happy for us. How far along are you, anyways? It can't be too far, considering..." He stops himself, not wanting to remind you about the period of time you two didn't even sleep in the same bed.

"About three weeks is her estimate, so not too far." You subconsciously put your hands on your stomach.

"We have plenty of time to continue working on us, to make everything right. Plenty of time for you to see how I'm not going to cheat on you, I'm the man I should be for you. We can tell people as slowly as you feel like it, no need to rush this. Let's just be happy, and please, go back to bed so tomorrow our little man isn't stuck with grouchy parents." Lachlan asks, a smile on his face once you turn to face him.

"You really think this will all be okay, right?" You speak as you walk over to him, grabbing his hand to make him stand.

"I promise that I do. Everything winds up okay for us in the end." He responds, making you roll your eyes at the cheesiness of his words.

"Okay, I'll go lie down with you. I don't think I can sleep though... All that coffee." You sigh, somewhat regretting your decision to sneak out of bed for coffee. You could've cleared your mind with sleepytime tea just as well, if you're honest.

"That's all I'm askin' for." He presses a kiss to your lips, leading you upstairs with excitement building in both of you as you both drift into thought about another child in your home in months to come. Life isn't exactly easy, but with Lachlan, you can truthfully say to yourself that you think all the drama and attention is worth it.

#lachlan #lachlan power #lachlan imagine #lachlanpower #lachlanyt #lachlanimagine #lachlan x reader #lachlanxreader

[elejah-wonderland]

Cuz I love you/1

Fanfiction

Elijah Mikaelson x Elena Gilbert

Kol Mikaelson x reader, Bamon and others

a/n:I know I got so many stories going, but - ahm- here is something light - I hope you like it.

Casual Elijah- in the role of a paramedic.

This is a TVD/TO all human story.

Taking place in New Orleans.

Thanks so much for reading. This one will be posted daily, cuz it's kinda all done. 😀😁😜😘💞

Tags @rissyrapp20 @dendrite-lover @cassiopheias @elejahforever @captainshurley @goddessofthunder112 @hides2000

🎈

It's an AU story. The Originals and TVD- human!

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

French Quarter, New Orleans

Elena Gilbert walked out of the clinic. Her phone rang and she answered it.

"Where are you? I got Bonnie's birthday present. Meet you at the bar in an hour?"- Y/N asked.

"I had an errand to run. I am on my way."- Elena said. 

"Ok. I got to tell you something."- Y/N continued-"I have invited Kol and his brother to come to the party."

"Wasn't it just supposed to be us three?"- Elena asked.

"I spoke to Bonnie and she said that she had already invited a friend from work and her boyfriend, so- the more the merrier, right? You might like the guy."

"Oh, please, you are not playing match.com again?!"- Elena was not very pleased.

"No. I just invited him. Kol had already had lunch with him and when I arrived we had drinks and he is really nice, and I thought, well maybe you would like him."

"I am really not interested."- Elena said-"I am ok the way I am. I don't need a man to be happy."

Y/N puffed away rolling her eyes on the other line and with a little all right, she said that she will see her friend at the designated bar in a little while. Both women hung up. Elena got into her car and drove away. She had to swing by the Mystic Star, the boutique hotel in the French Quarter she and her friends were running. She needed to change before she went to the party.

****

In Audobon, New Orleans 

Kol's house

"Are you ready?"- Kol asked his brother as took the key of his car.

"I am not going. You have fun."- Elijah replied.

"You are going to stay here and mope around all evening? Hey, this is not you. Come on. Hayley played us both. Just forget it. Done and dusted. Look at me. I got myself a woman, and she is great."

"I don't know how you could just go over everything, forgiving me, and - I thought I would have a family with her."- Elijah said.

"We were two fools, and now- we will just look forward. I really don't know why we were fighting over her in the first place."- Kol said-"Come on, it's only a drink. Oh, I forgot to tell you that Camille called. She was trying to get in touch with you and I told her that you threw your phone in the Mississippi the other day."

"Yeah."- Elijah said-"I met her accidentally after I left you, forgot to tell you."

"She was always swooning over you."- Kol said-"did she finally ask you out?"

"It was nothing like that. She wanted to know if I would donate my sperm to the fertility bank."

"And?"

" What do you mean - and? I told her to destroy it. What is the matter with you? Why would I give it to the bank. And then wonder if there is a child of mine somewhere in the world"- Elijah said-"I want the - traditional way. Fall in love, get married and then start a family. I am like that. Can't help it."

"The way you are so ragged looking, no one would ever think you want the whole traditional package"- Klaus said-"are you coming or not? This is the last call."

Elijah didn't know what he wanted really, and making a whatever face and followed his brothers out. 

******

At Rousseau's

Bonnie gave her friends a group hug as they presented her with her birthday present. It was a wishing ball gratitude globe. It was a very unique gift, and Bonnie was so happy as Y/N now said.

"Even though it is your wish ball to put your dreams and thanks in, but we have also written something to you and put it in, but you can read it later."- Y/N explained. 

"Oh, thank you, you guys."- Bonnie was gushing-"this is like the weirdest gift ever!"

"It is your 30th and we kind of thought we have to do something remarkable."- Elena added.

"This is what we will do then. We will all right today what we wish for- you both, too. And then we will read it when we are 40."- Bonnie said.

"OMG! Like some sort of time-capsule thing. I love it- yes, let's do it."- Y/N found it great.

"Ok"- Bonnie said-"but before that. Champagne!"

The owner Marcel now brought the bottle of champagne over to them. 

"This is now for the three of us."- Bonnie said-"I just want to say- well- easy- to US. To my best friends and since we are doing loads of wishing- I am wishing - may we get the guys of our dreams! Why not- we already have jobs of our dreams- so - "

Both Elena and Y/N agreed and raising their glasses together with their friend Bonnie, they cheered a little and took a sip. 

Kol and Elijah walked through the doors in the bar and Y/N went straight up to her boyfriend greeting him with a small shared kiss on the lips. All of them then went up to Bonnie, with the birthday wishes, and Y/N finally introduced everyone to the Mikaelson brothers.

"Hello"- Elijah said as he sort of shook hands with Elena. Klaus also mumbled something, but was whisked away by Marcel as he wanted to talk about some business. 

Soon Kai Parker arrived with his sister Jo. Kai was Bonnie's boyfriend of two years. After, they all shared a drink of champagne, Sophie Deveraux, who was working at the hotel as the chef arrived with a small symbolic cake, the real party began.

Bourbon was now flowing, as well as more champagne. The place was in full swing, jazz music was playing. They all worked hard, but they all partied hard as well. 

Well, except for Elena and Elijah. She was hanging at the corner of the bar and he sipped his beer not far from her. At one moment as she put her phone down after dealing with something urgent at the hotel, huffing a bit. Elijah looked at her direction and said-

"Hi. Can't get away from work?"

"Not when you are in Hotel business"- Elena said.

"Yeah, Kol mentioned you three bought a run down house and transformed it into a Hotel. Brave."- Elijah said.

"Determined. We came to New Orleans for a vacation, fell in love with and wanted to stay."- Elena said.

"Simple as that?!"- Elijah remarked.

"Simple as that!"- Elena said.

"You really know what you want out of life"-

"Pretty much"- Elena replied-"don't you?"

"I had an idea, but now- not anymore. I am in between jobs. In between life actually."- Elijah replied.

"Wow. What happened?"- Elena asked.

'A lot of things. Don't really want to talk about it. It's not worth it."

"Sometimes it is really great to kick the past to the curb and start fresh, we have done it and it's been great ever since"

Elijah smiled a little now.

"What is funny?"- Elena wanted ti know.

"Nothing. My brother said that this party would improve my mood."

"Really?"- Elena smiled back at Elijah raising her eyebrow.

"Really!"- Elijah said-"Want another drink?"

"Yeah, fruit cocktail."

"Fruit cocktail?"- Elijah was a little bit surprised.

"Someone has to work in the morning"- Elena said.

"Are you like this on your own birthday?"

"Almost"- Elena replied.

"A thoroughly good girl, right?"

"I had my share of bad, but I try to be as best as I can be"- Elena replied-"and you are a good boy turned bad?"

"Let's say that I am goung through a phase"

"I can relate to that"- Elena said.

"Hey, you two- I see you are having fun. I knew you would hit it. I told Kol we should create a semi- blind date for Elena and Elijah. She has not had a proper date since- forever. And Elijah just broke off his engagement, oh- I shouldn't - sorry"- Cariline said.

Y/N now burst between them. apologizing for her friend.

"She is drunk"- Elena said looking Elijah, who was pissed off as tge blonde mentioned his break up.

Elena now waved at Bonnie to come get Caroline.

As Klaus actually whisked his girlfriend away, Elena apologized for her friend.

"She is not really insesitive like that."

"It's ok. As you said - she is drunk."-Elijah played it down now-"it's true. It's kind of the other way around. We- my ex and I called it off."

"It's tough, I know."- Elijah said.

"Well- she- my ex- realized that. It's complicated."

"Ok, you don't have to tell me"- Elena said.

"I don't know why, but it feels like I can tell you anything"

"Yeah?"- Elena was flattered.

"Yeah."

"Ok-"

"Can we go out - for a walk, maybe? It's stifling here a bit"- Elijah suggested.

"Sure."- Elena took her bag and they both walked out taking the direction to the sea, Elijah now telling her about him, his ex Hayley and her boyfriend Tyler.

"He was in Afghanistan, and he went missing. Later he was pronounced dead as they found a burnt corpse, and, to cut it short, after five years he appeared. He was imprisoned. Anyway, he returned and- well, I saw them talking and the way they looked at one another. It was like they were in another planet at that moment. But not only that- it's what she said to him-"

"What did she say?"-Elena asked. 

They sat down on a bench now.

Elijah sighed a little bit and then continued-"She said that whenever she was feeling bad or sad or things were difficult, she thought of him and it was kind of her happy place. She was in love with him, she never stopped. They got married a week ago."

"Oh-"- Elena let out- and then turned to him and completely unexpectedly simply kissed him. 

#elijah mikaelson #elena gilbert #alternative universe #kol mikaelson x reader #bonnie bennett #fanfiction crossover #tvd fanfiction #fanfiction

[jovialyouthmusic]

Charlotte’s Choice

A Royal Romance AU Fanfic

23 The King’s Daughter

An attempt is made to discredit two of the suitors and Constantine tries some damage limitation.

@ao719 @agent-bossypants @andy-loves-corgis @sleepwalkingelite @boneandfur @blackcatkita @brightpinkpeppercorn@choicescommunity @darley1101 @drakewalkerrosenberg @debramcg1106@fluffy-marshmallow-heart @goirishsunshine @gardeningourmet@katurrade @livingthroughchoices @likethetailofacomet @mrs-nazario @mind-reader1 @ooo-barff-ooo @silviasutton1989 @speedyoperarascalparty@zaffrenotes @missevabean @mrsdrakewalkerblog @cora-nova@missameliep @tanelle83 @endlessly-searching-for-you@jlouise88 @drakenazario@annekebbphotography @tabithacarlisle @furiousherringoperatortoad@notoriouscs @classylady1234 @wickedgypsymoon @carabeth @choices-fangirl @indiana-jr @indiacater @noey718-blog

23 The King’s Daughter

Bastein led Drake and Brad back into the Manor, to the room that had been allocated to him. He had his laptop open on a local news channel, to an article that read

Duke’s Mother is Local Lush and the Earl’s isn’t much better.

‘What the…’ started Drake as he saw the accompanying photo. It showed his mother, hunched over wearing a thick coat and dark glasses entering a building covertly. There was an inset with the photo of another woman, and from Brad’s reaction, it was obviously his mother.

‘I’m sorry Sir, this is the worst kind of article in the worst sort of newspaper’ said Bastein with sorrow. Drake hissed through his teeth as he started to read. The article claimed that his mother was attending a clinic for alcoholics, and the same claim was made for Brad’s mother.

Drake had not seen his mother for some years, as she had left her two children at the Palace after Jackson Walker’s death in the service of the Crown. She had done little to stay in touch and he knew almost nothing of her circumstances beyond that she had returned to his grandfather’s ranch and taken it over after his death some five years ago. The article claimed that Brad’s mother was also an alcoholic, and suggestions were made that with relations like that, neither of the two men were fit to rule beside Charlotte. Brad was calmer than might be expected. Drake looked at him after reading the article. Brad was rubbing the back of his neck.

‘Well I don’t know about your mother’s circumstances, my friend, but the reporters really need to check their facts in my mother’s case’ Drake frowned, and Brad went on ‘She’s become a therapist, and she’s not attending as a patient – she’s actually running a clinic for alcoholics.’

‘I have no idea what my mother is doing’ replied Drake ‘We’ve not spoken for years’ Bastien looked grim.

‘I had strong suspicions that this would happen. I have no proof, but I believe Anton is trying to smear you both in order to advance his own case for being Consort. He doesn’t consider Maxwell to be any sort of threat – or at least nothing else has come out yet.’

‘But what do we do?’ asked Drake ‘it’s immaterial whether or not my Mother is an alcoholic, but we’re so close to the announcement folk aren’t likely to forget something like this, and believe that it’s a slur on my character’

‘As you know, I can’t act myself, Walker’ said Bastien ‘my priority is the King and Princess’s safety – but I know someone who could hopefully get to the bottom of this, and swiftly’

When the three women returned from their morning ride, one of the King’s Guard was waiting for them. He drew Hana aside as he groom and stable boys came forward to take the horses. Charlotte watched her with curiosity. She appeared calm to start with, then her expression changed to one of concern. She turned away from the guard and came close to the Princess.

‘Lottie’ she said ‘I have – something important’s come up. I need to – I may need to leave for a couple of days.’ Charlotte looked sorrowful

‘Nothing bad I hope’

‘No, I don’t think so – but I promise I’ll be back for the Coronation. Take care Lottie’ she embraced her friend, kissing her on the cheek, and left swiftly. Olivia walked over carrying her saddle for the stable boy

‘What was that all about?’ she asked, but Charlotte could only shake her head and say she didn’t know. The two women went on into the Manor, where there was a low buzz of conversation. Bastien beckoned them over and took them to see the King in his study. Charlotte was not sure whether to be happy or alarmed as she saw Drake and Brad waiting there. Wordlessly, Constantine showed the article about the two men to Charlotte, and Olivia waited patiently to read it. Charlotte gasped.

‘This – this is terrible! Who could stoop so low? It’s so close to the Coronation and the announcement’ She exclaimed.  Constantine spoke loudly

‘This is indeed very distressing. It seems that Duke Walker and Earl Bradley seem to fall short of the standards required of a head of State.’ He shook his head gravely, and at the same time handed a note for Charlotte and Olivia to read. The two men had obviously already been informed as to the King’s feelings. We are observed. I cannot speak my true feelings. This is an ugly smear and must be investigated. ‘This matter will have to be looked into, but I fear this has to inform your decision my dear’ Charlotte threw the note onto the small fire that still burned in the grate, remembering over the years how her Father liked to keep a fire going in his study, and understanding why.

Drake gave Charlotte a longing look, and she put her hand to her throat to indicate the slender silver chain that he had given her, and he smiled gratefully back. Brad spoke out next.

‘I’m sure I speak for Duke Walker as well as myself when I say that I’m sorry to have brought any distress to your Majesty, and to yourself, Princess’

‘Thankyou Bradley, that’s very honourable of you’ replied the Princess. At that point there was a knock on the door. One of Anton’s guards entered

‘Begging you pardon your Majesty, Lord Severus wishes to talk with you’ Constantine drew himself up.

‘I will grant Lord Severus an audience in an hour’s time’ The guard blanched

‘If you please your Majesty, he insists it is a matter of extreme urgency.’

‘Very well, please ask him to come in’ Anton strode in, his ice blue gaze taking in the presence of Charlotte and the two suitors. He bowed deeply

‘Your Majesties, Lord De Montfort – Duke Walker’

‘Severus’ said the King ‘Whatever you have to say to me, feel free to do so now. I presume that you wish to talk about the recent articles in the Press, in which case I wish all the interested parties to remain.’ Anton nodded

‘Very well your Majesty. I propose that in light of what has been published, that Duke Walker and Lord De Montfort withdraw from the list of suitors.’ Drake surged forward with a grimace, but Brad held him back, and The King motioned him to stay where he was. Charlotte felt sick, and fought to keep her composure.

‘I disagree, Lord Severus’ her father said levelly. ‘Lord De Montfort has assured me that his mother is innocent of the claims reported, and in any case, I do not believe that if it were true it would be sufficient grounds for him to withdraw – and I consider the same thing to apply to Duke Walker’ Anton’s glowered at Constantine

‘I disagree your Majesty. I insist that Duke Walker be barred from tonight’s task’ The King steepled his fingers together.

‘Again Lord Severus, I disagree most strongly. This newspaper is hardly known for the accuracy of its reporting and writes articles to sensationalise and whip up unrest. I refuse to make any changes to the suitor’s list unless proper grounds can be found to disqualify any of the parties involved’ Anton scowled and the King turned to Charlotte and the two men.

‘My dear, I wish you to leave and take these two gentlemen with you. I have a proposal that I wish to make in private with Lord Severus’ Charlotte nodded, her stomach churning, and led the two men outside.  Back in the room, the King continued with Bastein and Anton’s man still there.

‘Lord Severus, I would remind you that one of my men was shot during the Hunt. I would be prepared to discontinue my investigation into this matter, which I believe would be detrimental to you and could be sufficient grounds to remove you from the list.’ Anton grew pale and tried to interrupt, but the King motioned him to silence. ‘I will overlook this matter if you withdraw your request to remove De Montfort and Walker from the running for Consort’ Anton’s expression changed to one of annoyance, but he had no choice but to agree to the King’s terms. He left in a bad temper along with his aide. Charlotte and the two men were in her study with the door cracked open a little so they could see when Anton left.

Charlotte hurried back into her Father’s room, Drake and Brad following closely, but she turned at the door.

‘Please, I’d like to talk to him on my own’ she pleaded, and obediently they stopped outside the door. She entered to see Constantine seated  at his desk where he was before, but pale and leaning back into the support of the chair. She went swiftly to his side and knelt by him.

‘Father, you don’t…’ he made a gesture to her to remain silent. His hand trembled as he wrote her another note. Anton is a dangerous man, I would not see you with him. You must follow your heart even if I say otherwise in public. Forgive me. She took the note and again disposed of it in the fire just as she had with the others. He beckoned her to him, his voice faint.

‘Tell Walker and Bradley that their places on the list are safe. There are still four to choose from, my dear’

Charlotte nodded, tears in her eyes as Constantine leaned back in his chair again, exhausted by the effort of dealing with Anton in his weakened state. Bastien came close and leant down to the Princess, murmuring quietly in her ear.

‘Your father needs to rest. I’ll see that his aide comes to take care of him. You must act as if all is well’ Charlotte nodded, and got up only to lean down and kiss her father on the cheek, then went back out to join Drake and Brad.

Back in his study, Constantine waited for his aide to come and help him. He felt weak and weary after dealing with all the drama. He did not like being away from his power base, and Valtoria was the very worst place to be at the moment. Anton was a powerful man, and pushing hard to win himself and the Princess over. He was thankful that she had formed an attachment with Jackson Walker’s son. He would be well aware of security and safety matters and would keep her safe now that Hana had gone to investigate the stories about Bianca Jackson.

He still reserved judgement on whether Drake or the Englishman would be best by her side. It was a great shame that no true born Cordonian lived up to his strict standards. Anton was of the Severus line and he didn’t wish his influence on his beloved country, and Maxwell was too young and flighty to take such a role seriously. The Englishman had been a wild card, and performed surprisingly well. He held himself like a King and treated others with respect, and apparently had preformed well in the office with Charlotte, although it did not appear so as the papers had been tampered with by Anton’s staff. He had guessed that might happen, so he did not show his hand, preferring to send Hana in to ask Charlotte about his suitability.

He smiled fondly at the thought of his daughter. She was honest and faithful, and was performing well to all the tests he had laid out for her. He had to be hard on her to bring out her best qualities, and it was all going well. He would have preferred to hand the reins of power over to a son, but he had not been blessed with a male heir. He had loved Queen Alexandra dearly, and still mourned her loss all these years later.

‘Constantine, meet your daughter’ The Queen held a small bundle, her face shining with happiness. His heart had sunk slightly at the news that his long waited for heir was a girl, but the moment he saw the little squalling creature, he had fallen deeply in love with her. He knew he would do anything to protect her. He had thought it was impossible to love anyone the way he had come to love his Queen, but had been proved wrong – so wrong.

However, he found it difficult to express his love. He felt awkward holding her, and fought shy of changing nappies or helping to feed the baby, as not only was in not done in his generatio, but he was the King and had servants and aides to help him with everyday tasks. There was always a flurry of women around Charlotte – maids, nurses, nannies, who showered her with attention along with her doting mother. He felt out of place. As she grew older he did find a role reading to her at bedtime, and checking her homework from the private tutors, and even later, taking her out riding.

As the years went on and there was no sign of a male heir, he made a start on grooming her for power, but again was at a loss as to what the role of a Queen without a King was. Monarchies around them fell and were revoked or reformed, and the possibility of an alliance with another country disappeared. The young Princess had no siblings to play with, so the Queen invited other children to the Palace to keep her company from time to time, to learn to share and discover the rough and tumble of being with others her age. Of course there was little Olivia who spent a lot of time with them before her Aunt claimed her back, still visiting or being visited twice a year or more. The two girls became firm friends.

Young Maxwell fulfilled the role of a younger brother, and when Jackson Walker appeared with a son the same age as Charlotte, their friendship was encouraged, especially when Bianca confided in the Queen that he was a solitary child who found it difficult to mix with others. Constantine was wary of him as he grew older, but the bond he developed with his daughter over their mutual love of horses was strong and he tolerated him.

Then Alexandra was cruelly taken away from them, Jackson Walker losing his life pursuing the assassins. He mourned, and part of that mourning separated him further from his daughter. Every time he saw her, he saw his beloved in her eyes, in the way she moved, the sound of her voice, and it was too painful to bear. He saw Charlotte and Drake find comfort in each other after their mutual loss. Jackson’s second in command Bastien took Drake and his sister under his wing as Bianca fled the country, unable to cope with the death of her much loved partner. He took the two children in as Wards of the Crown in gratitude for Jackson’s service and gave him the posthumous title of Duke so that his son would not be out of place in Court.

He was lonely, and chose Regina as wife, even knowing that she would not be able to provide an heir. He just wanted company and needed someone to fulfil the duties of a Queen. Not being a mother herself, Regina was kind to Charlotte, and to Drake and his sister Savanah but could not replace Alexandra for the young Princess. When she had so recently died, he realised how little prepared Charlotte was for her future role and then his illness drove him to drive her hard even as he grieved.

Constantine’s aide came to help him to bed to rest. He had some medical training and checked him over, looking concerned.

‘You are working too hard your Majesty. Your state of health will not support all this stress, you must rest more’ Constantine glowered

‘I must do what I can for my country, Geoffrey’ he said ‘I have to leave Charlotte in a strong position, nothing is more important, not even my own life’ He had not been able to bring his personal doctor with him for fear of appearing weak, so he was well overdue a proper checkup. His aide left him reclining in bed, and he went back to his thoughts of the remaining suitors.

Drake was half Cordonian, so that might be the closest he could get to his ideal in that respect, and he looked to be following in his father’s footsteps in character though he was a little hot headed. Bastein was an excellent role model and confidante; he also noted how Bradley helped to contain his impulsiveness and hoped he would remain in the country if he was not picked as Consort. He could see his attachment to Olivia and that might complicate matters or it might help. Drake had yet to prove himself with the official papers he would be dealing with that night, but from what he had said in his interview, he knew enough to understand that there were some matters he was ignorant of and was prepared to delegate to others. That was not such a bad thing, it would spread the load, and was a more modern approach to governing a country properly. It was not his own choice but he recognised his was not the only way. It seemed the landless Duke had Charlotte’s affections, so he was not opposed to his elevation to the role of Consort. Nobody was ideal, and he finally realised that the only person who could now make the decision was Charlotte. He fancied he could hear her mother’s voice as he drifted off to sleep, pain dulled by the medication Geoffrey had given him.

She’s strong, beloved. Stronger than you think, stronger than she realises. You’ve done a good job my darling. We’ll be together again soon, and Cordonia will be in good hands.

Not long now, he told himself. Not long until he could rest; rest from ruling the country, rest from the fight against pain and fatigue.  He could sleep now, to save his strength for whatever Anton’s plan’s might be. Not long until Charlotte would bear his burden. He could only make his best effort to keep her safe and hope that her choice was a good one.

#charlotte's choice #the royal romance #choices the royal romance #trr #choices trr #trr choices #trr fanfic #king constantine

[jennycalendar]

very really married (14/15)

read it on ao3!

i'm just going to pretend that i didn’t almost forget to post this extremely important update today. that’s what’s going to happen.

The moment Giles realized what the Codex said, he felt as though some final, vital part of him had shattered. Losing Jenny had always been an inevitability, but losing Buffy—he couldn’t contemplate it. This bright, brilliant child who stared death in the eye and laughed on a daily basis…he could not lose her too. Not so soon after he had broken Jenny’s heart.

He would check his translations, he decided, even as the earth shook and broke under his feet. He would check and double-check and triple-check and demand answers from Angel, and he would not tell Buffy about any of this until he had found a foolproof way to keep it from happening.

Everything in the Codex comes to pass, said a thoroughly unhelpful voice in the back of his head. Giles leaned against the checkout desk and stared at the semi-wrecked library, dazed by how rapidly it all seemed to have fallen to bits.

Giles threw himself into research. Buffy came in, the next morning, and he could barely register her presence through the haze of cross-referencing and recataloguing and attempting to repair the damage done by the earthquake on top of everything else. He was on autopilot, thinking only in terms of conjugations and typos and misprints—maybe the Codex meant fall, not die? Fall was more general, certainly, and could mean anything from death to the loss of Giles’s good opinion—but no, no, it translated to she will die—had he calculated the date incorrectly?

“Rupert,” said a voice. “Rupert.”

“Quite busy,” said Giles, not looking up from his books. “Library’s closed. Come again later.”

“I’m playing the wife card,” said Jenny firmly.

That made Giles look up. “Please don’t,” he finally managed.

Jenny flushed, ducking her head. “Okay,” she said. “Yeah. I guess if you’re living in a hotel, you don’t really get to play the wife card anymore, huh?”

“No, Jenny, I just—” Giles exhaled, frustrated. Why on earth couldn’t she have done this before Buffy’s impending death? “I am under a lot of stress,” he said. “I don’t think now is the time for you to—to reenter my life.”

“So I’m a stressor?” Jenny looked a mixture of indignant and hurt.

“You are someone I love who I hurt very deeply,” said Giles, “and I am terrified I will hurt you again. Please, Jenny, I-I am in no condition to even attempt at tactfulness—I am tired, and I have quite a lot of work to do—”

“I know,” said Jenny. “I thought that maybe I could help.”

This took Giles aback. “I’m sorry?”

“Buffy checked in with me today, and she said you seemed pretty seriously out of sorts,” said Jenny tentatively. “And I knew it had to be pretty bad if Buffy was concerned enough to check in with me about it, and—and the only things I could think of that might upset you enough to keep them secret all had to do with death and destruction and—”

“Buffy is fated to face the Master,” said Giles.

Jenny blinked. “The who now?”

“The Master,” said Giles unsteadily. “He is a very powerful vampire who trapped himself underground a very long time ago, and he has taken a particular interest in Buffy since her coming here. I discovered a prophecy yesterday that suggested—” He swallowed, then shook his head. “That explicitly stated Buffy would face the Master, and that she would die tomorrow night.”

Jenny studied him for a long moment. Softly, she said, “I’ve never once seen you so undone.”

“How can I not be?” said Giles helplessly. “She’s my—” He didn’t quite know how to describe what he felt for Buffy. Slayer seemed too clinical a term, suddenly; he would have been able to send his Slayer to die without hesitation. “I care very deeply for her,” he said. “And she is only a child. Sending her to die at the hands of a master vampire is, is something I could never do.”

“Your predecessors didn’t seem to have much of a problem with it,” said Jenny a little coolly.

It was then that Giles realized that Jenny had almost certainly read the same Watcher diaries as he had. Not only had she found out of his calling from a secondary source, she had received her only information about it from callously indifferent, utterly detached idiots, all of whom had prioritized their mission over love, family, and the life of the girl they had been charged with protecting. “I am not my predecessors,” he said. “I have no intention of letting a little girl die for the sake of the world, not if I have any way of stopping it.”

Jenny nodded. “Okay,” she said. “Okay. Then let me help you.”

“Are you sure?” said Giles uncertainly. “You said you wanted distance—”

“Yeah, well, I think I can put that aside until we figure out how to stop this prophecy from going down,” said Jenny, giving him a small, tired smile.

Not for the first time, Giles was struck by how very remarkable Jenny was. “Thank you,” he said softly.

Jenny hesitated, then reached out, awkwardly squeezing Giles’s shoulder. Giles, who hadn’t been touched since the nightmare incident, couldn’t suppress a startled gasp, but she didn’t seem to notice. “You weren’t lying about…everything, were you?” she said. “Not about—not about hating computers, or, or liking tea, or—”

“Loving you?”

“Yeah,” said Jenny.

“I lied about being a Watcher, Jenny, but that is the only thing I lied about,” said Giles quietly.

For a brief moment, it seemed as though Jenny might kiss him; her eyes flitted down to his mouth, and she leaned in very slightly. But she seemed to think better of it, letting her hand drop and stepping back, and Giles found himself longing for the days when she would grab him and kiss him just to make a point or make him squirm. “Let’s, uh, get back to the Buffy thing,” she said somewhat loudly. “Where did you get the prophecy from?”

“Angel, actually,” said Giles.

Jenny looked startled. “Seriously?”

“Yes, he, he was very helpful,” said Giles awkwardly, raising his hand to straighten his glasses. “He did save my life last week.” Jenny drew in a sharp, pained breath, and he blinked. “Are you quite all right?”

“Your hand,” said Jenny.

Giles raised the hand in question, remembering belatedly that he had sustained a rather bad burn from his attempts to shut off the gas valve. But there hadn’t been time to doctor it properly—there never did seem to be time for that sort of thing. “Oh,” he said, and grinned a bit sheepishly. “Quite a lot better than it looks, actually. I can hold a pencil—”

Jenny looked as though she was about to cry. “Okay,” she said. “Yeah. Um, we should—we should really start in on the research. Can you maybe call in Angel and see if he can help us out?”

“Certainly,” Giles agreed, both bemused and concerned by Jenny’s reaction. The burn certainly would be healing better if he’d paid proper attention to it, but there truly wasn’t time to do such a thing when one was focused solely on the care and keeping of one’s Slayer. “If you could double-check my translations?”

“Sure,” said Jenny. “Sure,” and picked up the Codex, hurrying it out of Giles’s office. Giles watched her go, feeling a rather confusing blend of emotions, and then turned back to the phone. Angel wouldn’t be able to go outside till sunset, but calling him at least gave Giles something to do.

Angel arrived only a few minutes after sunset. Upon seeing him, Jenny stiffened, but her eyes were wide with an almost childlike curiosity. “Angelus,” she said.

Angel turned, studying her thoughtfully. “Ms. Calendar,” he said. “Buffy mentioned you, once or twice. You’re Giles’s wife?”

Jenny hesitated. Then she said, “My family’s kind of the reason you have your soul.”

It was a mark of how surprising the news was: Angel looked visibly taken aback. “What?”

“I, um, moved to Sunnydale to watch you,” Jenny hedged. “Technically. I feel like I should tell you because literally everyone else knows at this point and it feels weird for you not to? My family really wants to make sure you’re perpetually suffering. It’s kind of their thing.”

“Is that your thing too?” Angel asked carefully.

Jenny seemed to seriously consider the question. “I feel like I don’t know you well enough to make that assessment,” she said.

This seemed to satisfy Angel. “Okay,” he said. “Well. Nice to meet you. Giles, is this why you called me down?”

“Actually, um,” Giles picked up the Codex, now triple-checked by both him and Jenny, “there is something else about which we needed to inform you.”

Angel directed a slightly wary look at the Codex. Smart fellow. “Okay,” he said again.

Jenny stepped forward, placing a quiet hand on Giles’s elbow. “Um, Rupert and I have gone over the Codex…quite a few times,” she said. “And we—should I tell him?”

“I think that would be best,” Giles agreed. He wasn’t sure if he had the emotional energy to break the news to another person.

Gripping Giles’s elbow as if trying to support herself, Jenny continued. “We went over the Codex,” she said, “a-and we came across a prophecy regarding, regarding Buffy. And the Master.”

Angel stared blankly at him. Slowly, he said, “You’re not trying to tell me—”

“The Master will rise,” said Giles unsteadily, “and tomorrow night, the Slayer will die by his hand.”

Angel’s expression didn’t change. “Check it again,” he said. “It’s got to be wrong.”

“We’ve spent the last five hours checking it against all of Rupert’s prophetic volumes,” said Jenny quietly. “If we’re wrong, then so is this entire library.”

“There’s got to be some way around it—”

“Some prophecies,” said Giles, “are mutable. Buffy herself has thwarted more than a few of them. But there is nothing in the Codex that does not come to pass.”

“Then you’ve been reading it wrong,” said Angel fiercely.

“I wish to god we were!” Giles shouted, completely and finally losing his temper. “But there is no other way to interpret it! Tomorrow night, Buffy will face the Master, and she will die!”

“Have you—” Angel began, but the rest of his words were cut off by quiet, unsteady laughter.

Giles looked, horrified, over Angel’s shoulder. He knew that laugh, though he had never heard it in quite that cadence, and his stomach dropped when he saw Buffy standing in the library doorway. “So that’s it, huh?” she said. “I remember the drill. One Slayer dies, the next one gets called. Wonder who she is.” She turned to Giles, eyes almost too bright. “Will you train her, or will they send someone else.”

“Buffy,” said Jenny softly.

“They say how he’s gonna kill me?” Buffy’s voice broke. “Do you think it’ll hurt?” Angel moved forward to hold her, but she jerked back before he could reach her. “Don’t touch me!” she shouted at him, then turned accusing eyes on Giles and Jenny. “Were you guys even going to tell me?” she asked.

“We were looking for a way to stop it,” said Jenny.

“Here’s how,” said Buffy, shaking. “I quit.”

“It’s not that simple,” said Angel.

“No, I think it should be,” said Giles.

Buffy, Jenny, and Angel all turned to stare at him. “Rupert,” said Jenny, a warning note in her voice. “Remember all those prophecies we checked? Buffy’s supposed to be the only one—”

“I think I’ve had rather enough of this,” said Giles, not really to anyone in particular. “I think I am thoroughly bloody sick of having to live in a world where the people I care about are put deliberately in harm’s way just by virtue of cosmic chance. And I think I am entirely done sitting passively by and letting it happen.”

Buffy looked suddenly frightened, anger and misery forgotten. “Giles,” she said. “What are you—”

“Buffy, you are not going to face the Master,” said Giles. “Don’t worry yourself about it. It simply is not going to happen.”

“But you said—”

“I don’t care what I said,” said Giles. “If it comes to pass, it will come to pass no matter what we do about it. The least I can do is make sure I have done everything I can to stop it from happening.”

He couldn’t quite understand why Buffy didn’t look comforted, or why Jenny had gone ashen, or why even Angel looked a little concerned. All he knew was that preparations needed to be made, battles needed to be fought, evil defeated—

With a sudden sob, Buffy raced from the room, not looking back.

Giles didn’t have time to worry himself about what Buffy thought of him. He had plans of his own to finalize. “Jenny, thank you for staying, but I believe I would like to be alone right now,” he said. “Angel, the same applies for you. If you would just—”

“Rupert,” said Jenny, a warning look in her eyes. “If you’re about to do something stupid—”

“I am going to research,” said Giles, because it was true. He needed all the information he could to go after the Master.

“Then I’m going to help,” said Jenny. “That hasn’t changed.”

“I can help too, if you want,” said Angel uncertainly.

“This is married-couple stuff,” said Jenny flatly. “Thanks, thought.”

Angel got the hint. Quietly, and without protesting, he left the library.

“Wow,” said Jenny. “Buffy really picked a good boyfriend, huh? That guy takes directions like nobody’s business—”

“If you’ll look online, Jenny, I think I shall turn to my books,” said Giles loudly. He didn’t really feel like making conversation when Buffy’s life was at stake, and especiallywhen Jenny was smart enough to figure out what he planned to do from only a few context clues.

Jenny hesitated, then nodded. “Okay,” she said. “Okay,” and hurried to the computer.

They spent the entire night researching, and then some. Jenny called in sick the next day, and napped in Giles’s office when Snyder came around to ask Giles, in accusatory tones, where exactly Ms. Calendar was. Giles caught up on sleep only when he began to feel dizzy, and only in short fifteen-minute naps; he was a strange mixture of anxious and driven, and couldn’t bring himself to sleep for longer.

They heard over the intercom about three students found dead in the AV room, but by this point Giles was too tired and too resigned to mysterious deaths to really take much notice of it. It did sting, however, to notice that Jenny’s reaction was similarly minimal, save for a small flinch and an indrawn breath when it was revealed that Willow had found the bodies.

Buffy came in around sundown, wearing an oversized leather jacket over a long white dress. Prom was that night, Giles realized. Somehow, she looked older and harder than he remembered; the news of the prophecy seemed to have aged her beyond her years. “Hi, guys,” she said.

“Buffy,” said Giles. “Good. Stay here with Jenny. You’re not going down to fight the Master tonight.”

“Who else is gonna?” said Buffy simply. All the vindictive fury of the night before was gone, no sign of it remaining.

“I am,” said Giles.

Buffy didn’t look at all surprised by this pronouncement. Jenny, however, did. “No, you’re not—” she began hotly, storming forward.

“You’re right,” said Buffy. “He’s not.”

“There isn’t anything you can say to talk me out of this—” Giles objected.

Lightning-fast, Buffy moved forward, landing an uppercut to Giles’s jaw. Right about then was when everything went black.

Giles came to with Jenny slumped against his side, a bruise blossoming on her cheek. His jaw stung. Looking around, he saw that Buffy was gone, and he felt a rush of complete and utter panic. “Jenny,” he said, shaking her. “Jenny—”

“Rupert,” mumbled Jenny, nuzzling into his side.

“Jenny, Buffy is gone,” said Giles thinly.

That woke Jenny up. “What?” She blinked, then raised a hand to her bruised cheek, wincing. “Shit. She knocked you out, and then she said she was going to go down before anyone else got themselves hurt, and I said I wouldn’t let her, and then—uh.” She winced again. “That’s when it gets kinda fuzzy.”

“She’s going to get herself killed,” said Giles, already standing up. Jenny tugged, hard, at his arm, and he shook her off. “Don’t try and talk me out of this,” he began, crossing the room to grab a broadsword.

“Rupert, you’re going to get yourself killed—”

“Hell of a way to go, isn’t it?”

“You’re scaring me,” said Jenny. Her voice broke. “Please. We need to figure out what to do about the apocalypse before we go running off after Buffy.”

“I’ll let the children handle the research,” said Giles. “You can stay with them and supervise. I need to—” He swallowed. “I need to find Buffy.”

“And what happens if the Master takes you down?” Jenny demanded. “You’re the only other person with supernatural experience—”

“Go find Angel, then,” said Giles flatly. “I’m sure you can talk him into saving the world for Buffy’s sake.”

“Rupert—”

“Jenny,” said Giles. “This is my fault. I am going to go fix it.”

“How the hell is this your fault?”

Giles stared at her for a long second. Then he said, “I don’t know, but I think I should like it to be,” and turned to hurry away.

“Okay, genius,” said Jenny, and grabbed his arm, harder this time. Giles turned, a retort at the ready, but all intelligent thought left his mind when he saw the way she was looking at him. “It’s clear to me,” she said, “that there is absolutely no talking you out of this idiot idea, because when you get an idiot idea in your head, you cling to it like it’s one of your precious volumes. But I am not letting you charge down there without thinking—”

“Try and fucking stop me,” said Giles, attempting to shake her off. It didn’t work quite as well this time.

“Let me finish, asshole!” snapped Jenny, cheeks red. “I am not letting you charge down there without thinking, so I am obviously going to have to come with you.”

Just like that, Giles’s fury was gone. “No,” he said. “Jenny, no, that is out of the question—”

“It’s not up for debate,” said Jenny fiercely. “If you’re going down there, I’m going too.”

“You’ll get yourself killed—”

“What, and you won’t?”

“I can’t lose you,” said Giles, his voice breaking. “It’s bad enough to know I’ve broken your trust, Jenny, I cannot lead you to your death—”

“What’s going on?” said Xander uneasily.

Giles and Jenny turned. Xander and Willow were standing in the middle of the library. “We came to tell you that the faucet at my house started running blood,” said Willow, “but, um, it looks like you two are…” She squinted at Jenny’s bruised cheek, then at Giles’s jaw. “Trading punches?”

“No, that was Buffy,” said Giles without thinking, then winced. “A-and anyway, we really must be going—”

“Where is Buffy?” Willow asked, a note of worry in her voice.

“Somewhere,” said Giles. “Don’t worry about it. Jenny, why don’t you stay with the children and brief them on the situation?” Before Jenny could respond, he finally managed to shake free of her grip, hurrying out of the library without looking back.

He heard running footsteps behind him, and turned, infuriated. Sure enough, Jenny had sprinted out of the library after him. “No,” she said. “You are not getting off that easily. First of all, lead me to my death? As if I would follow you anywhere! If anything, I’d be leading you, because you clearly don’t even know where you’re going! Second, you are not throwing yourself into a suicide mission just because you feel like I’m never gonna trust you again, because that is so fucking stupid and you seriously need to get your priorities straight. Third—”

“She’s just a child, Jenny,” said Giles, a catch in his voice. “She doesn’t know what she’s getting into, and she’s down there all alone.”

“I can’t—” Jenny scrubbed a hand across her face, shaking. “I can’t lose you,” she said. “Do you get that? I can’t lose you on the same day the Master kills Buffy. You’ve been the one constant in this fucked-up town, and if I lose you—”

Giles stepped forward, almost unconsciously. Jenny looked up at him, eyes bright and wet.

“Wait,” said Xander from behind them. “Wait. Buffy went after the Master?”

It suddenly and unpleasantly occurred to Giles that the time they had spent arguing was time during which Buffy might have already gotten herself killed. “Yes,” he said. “She did. And Jenny and I are going to go down and find her.”

Xander didn’t relax. Neither did Willow. “Do you guys seriously think that’s a good idea?” she said.

“Well, I definitely don’t think Jenny should come with me,” said Giles, “but I think I’ve wasted enough time trying to talk her out of it, and lord knows that is a futile endeavor.”

“We’ll go and get Angel,” said Jenny. “He’ll know how to get us to the Master. You kids need to research anything and everything that might lead us to where the Hellmouth’s gonna open up.” Her eyes were on Willow when she said, “I trust you know your way around the library?”

“What if you guys get killed too?” said Willow, voice wobbling.

“Counterpoint: what if we don’t?” Jenny stepped forward, pulling Willow into a tight hug. Over the top of Willow’s head, she said to Xander, “And if you follow us down there, I will kill you myself. Capisce?”

Xander didn’t look very happy about this, but he nodded. “You guys better bring her back alive,” he said.

Giles didn’t know how to make that promise. “Come on, Jenny,” he said instead. Without a word, Jenny let go of Willow, falling into step with him as they hurried out of Sunnydale High.

They arrived at Angel’s apartment in record time, thanks to some utterly reckless driving on Jenny’s part, and burst in without knocking. Without preamble, Jenny informed Angel, “Buffy went after the Master.”

Angel blanched. “He’ll kill her,” he said, horrified.

“That’s what we’re intending to stop,” said Giles matter-of-factly. “You know the way to the Master’s lair, I assume? We’ll need someone to take us there.”

Angel hesitated, studying Giles. Then he said, “You love her, huh?”

The Rupert Giles who had left England with thoughts of an obedient, dedicated Slayer would have balked at such a foolish question—or perhaps he might not have. Perhaps, Giles thought, this sort of love might have been in him all along, whether or not he had known it. “Very much,” he said.

Angel seemed satisfied with this. “He’s underground,” he said. “I can get you there.”

The tunnels were dark and dank, and Giles couldn’t stop thinking about how terrible a place this was for bright, brave Buffy to meet her end. Buffy had been nothing but light and youth, and the thought of her rotting away in some moldy enclave—

“Hey,” said Jenny, very softly, and he felt her hand slip into his, their fingers entwining. Belatedly, Giles realized that he was crying, and scrubbed hastily at his face, doing his best to regulate his breathing. Lord, and in front of Angel—

“I’m fine,” he said.

“Okay,” said Jenny, bumping her head against his shoulder. “Well, maybe the hand-holding isn’t to help you.”

Giles wanted rather badly to appreciate the possibility of a reconciliation with Jenny. He wanted rather badly to return to the time when it was Jenny’s leaving that had had him absolutely miserable. Then, at least, all the people he cared about had been alive, and there had been no chance of anything but that—

A bright light shone from a tunnel up ahead, and a ripple passed through the air. Instinctively, Giles knew what had happened; dropping Jenny’s hand, he ran.

“Giles, it’s too late, he’s gone up!” Angel was shouting after him, but Giles was running down the slippery tunnel, turning the corner, clambering down and into the Master’s lair and Buffy—

Buffy was lying, facedown, in a pool of water. Giles half-fell down next to her, pulling her clumsily out and into his arms. She was cold and wet, her hair falling in lank tendrils around her face, and she wasn’t—and she wasn’t—

“She’s not breathing,” said a voice that didn’t sound anything like his own. He could see Jenny and Angel scrambling to reach him, and turned his attention back to Buffy, her eyes closed. She had been so still and calm, when last he saw her. Always, she had been loud and lighthearted, never carrying herself like she was battle-worn. God, had he been foolish—thinking that her destiny didn’t weigh on her, thinking that she didn’t take it seriously, what had he been thinking? Buffy, dead—Buffy, dead and gone—

“Not breathing,” said Jenny, “does not necessarily mean gone for good.” She pointed to Angel. “We’ve got a walking, talking example of that right here.”

“The prophecy—”

“Fuck the prophecy,” said Jenny fiercely. “If she drowned, then there’s a chance. Do you know CPR?”

“Yes,” said Giles dizzily. “Yes, I—” He removed his jacket, setting Buffy’s—setting Buffy down on it as gently as possible, and was reminded of a time, months ago, when he had done just this in a science laboratory. He would do anything to protect this girl, he knew, and he knew that she could beat incredible odds— “Prove me wrong,” he whispered, and began the compressions, counting clumsily. He felt certain that he wasn’t strong enough, precise enough, enough—

Rescue breath. One, two.

“Shut up,” he heard Jenny saying to Angel, and he tried not to think about Jenny, or Angel, or Buffy, or the apocalypse around them, or how much time he might be wasting, trying to bring back a dead girl just because he loved her—

Rescue breath. One, two.

And what would he tell her if she was alive? That he loved her? He felt sure that she would laugh it off, and the thought of her laughing it off—of her laughing—made Giles smile, despite himself. She would laugh it off, and then she would give him that bright, sweet grin, and something would solidify between them—something not quite Watcher-Slayer, he supposed, something more along the lines of—she had a father, he knew, but—

Buffy coughed, and spat up a rather impressive amount of water all over Giles’s sweater vest.

“Oh my god,” said Jenny, and laughed, punching Angel’s shoulder. Angel winced. “Oh my god—”

Giles pulled back, taking Buffy’s hands in his. Buffy blinked up at him as if not quite sure who he was, coughed again, then sat up, staring at Giles with wide eyes. “Giles?” she said in a tiny voice.

“Buffy,” said Giles, and almost started crying when she pulled him into a crushing hug.

After that, the apocalypse really did feel like nothing at all. The Master was defeated, the Hellmouth beast retreating back from whence it came (Xander would inform everyone, proudly, that he got a good few hacks in with Giles’s battle-axe), and Cordelia Chase had somehow managed to destroy a respectable number of vampires with a rather expensive car—along with some school property, but Giles was off the clock and really didn’t care all that much anyway. He had more important things on his mind.

“—and then I flipped him through the roof,” Buffy was informing Xander and Willow, who were listening with rapt, adoring attention. “But you guys saw that part, obviously. I’m pretty sure almost everybody saw that part—Giles, you saw me flip him, right?”

“I did see you flip him,” Giles agreed, grinning. “You did excellently tonight.”

“Aww, you’re just saying that ‘cause I died,” Buffy teased, leaning into Giles’s side with cheerful ease.

“Absolutely not,” said Giles emphatically. “Never assume I praise you for anything other than your stellar achievements.”

“You know what?” said Buffy to Willow. “If this is how he acts after I die, I’m gonna die every day for the rest of my life.”

“Um,” said Willow, “logistically—”

Giles took this moment to tuck his jacket a bit more securely round Buffy’s shoulders. “I won’t have you catching cold,” he informed her. “That long in sewer water—it’s a wonder you’re not ill already.”

“You’re such a helicopter Watcher,” said Buffy, snuggling into the jacket. She buried her hands in the pockets, then stopped, a strange expression on her face. “Uh, Giles?” she said. “You, uh—want your jacket back?”

“Keep it,” said Giles. “Just till you’re a bit drier—”

“No, Giles, I really think you should take your jacket back,” said Buffy, and directed an extremely significant look first at Jenny, then at the left-hand pocket of Giles’s jacket.

“Wh—” The penny dropped. Wincing, Giles took the jacket back, took out the ring box as subtly as he could, then firmly tucked the jacket back round Buffy’s shoulders. “You still need to stay warm,” he said.

“It’s totally ruining my look!” Buffy protested.

“As you would say to me, deal,” said Giles, smoothing down Buffy’s hair. She grinned. “I really would have gone down there in your stead,” he informed her, grateful that the loud music of the Bronze muffled his words from the rest of the group.

“I know,” said Buffy, and her grin softened into the trusting little smile that, a very long time ago, Giles had seen directed at Jenny. “You did come running after me.” She reached forward, hugging Giles. “Thank you,” she said into his shoulder. “You’re the best Watcher I’ve ever had.”

“The bar was set rather low, then, wasn’t it?” Giles quipped, hugging her back.

“Shut up,” said Buffy, pulling back to just keep smiling at him.

“Hey, uh, Buffy?” Angel was shifting from one foot to the other, looking uncharacteristically nervous. “Um—if you’re not too busy—there’s a nice song on, I thought maybe—”

“Why, Angel, are you asking me to dance?” said Buffy, sounding positively delighted by the concept. She hopped up, giving Angel a big, smitten grin before turning back to Giles. “Love you,” she said, as easily and effortlessly as if she hadn’t had to think about it at all.

Giles found himself a bit overcome and had to polish his glasses. Buffy didn’t seem too surprised by this. “I—I love you too,” he said, though he supposed he didn’t really need to say it for her to know it. There wasn’t much else that could have motivated a Watcher to fight against a recorded prophecy.

Buffy’s smile was just as bright and sweet as Giles had imagined it to be—more so, in fact, now that he was seeing it. Tucking her arm into Angel’s, she let him lead her onto the dance floor.

“You know what?” said Willow. “Let’s cut a rug. Xander, you wanna come dance?”

“Uh, Will, I don’t know—” Xander began.

“Not with each other,” said Willow, rolling her eyes. “It’s gonna be a fast song soon!”

Xander considered, then grinned, following Willow into the crowd.

It took Giles a moment to realize that this left only him and Jenny. About to stammer out some excuse and head home alone, he opened his mouth, but was cut off when Jenny held out her hand. “Dance with me,” she said.

Heart pounding, Giles stood up. “All right,” he said, and took her hand, following her lead.

There was an empty space by the refreshments, and that was where Jenny draped her arms around his neck, looking up at him with all the affection he had been so afraid of losing. It left him all but speechless. “So you were a total stubborn idiot tonight,” she said. “Really reaffirmed some pressing questions.”

“Oh?” said Giles.

“Yeah,” said Jenny. “It was kinda hard for me to picture you as a Watcher till I saw it in action, you know? All those diaries I read had Watchers as self-serving bastards who talked about their Slayers like commodities, and that just…” She trailed off. “That didn’t fit with the guy I fell in love with,” she said. “But this night really, really does.”

Giles stared at her. Slowly, he said, “I don’t—I don’t entirely follow—”

“I love you, Rupert,” said Jenny, and oh, Giles had never dreamed hearing it from her might ever feel like this. Now he understood why she had looked at him like he was a treasure, after Angel; the head-to-toe feeling of being loved, of being known in one’s entirety and still being loved, was overwhelming. “I was so scared,” she said unsteadily, “that you made yourself up as some kind of a cover story. And it made so much more sense than this sweet, annoying, ridiculous librarian just falling into my life completely by accident.”

“I never lied about the important bits,” said Giles quietly. “I never could.”

“I know that now,” said Jenny, giving him a small, wobbly smile.

The slow song had transitioned into a fast one, but they remained swaying quietly to the music, Jenny in Giles’s arms. Jenny Calendar, well aware that her husband was a Watcher, somehow looking at him with just as much love as she had when he was just a clumsy librarian. Giles couldn’t comprehend how lucky, how happy he was.

“And I would never dream of lying about loving you,” Giles whispered. He needed to make sure she heard it, properly, with no secrets or hurt separating them. “I—I don’t know how I can possibly express—all the things I want to tell you, now that I can—”

“So save a few for tomorrow,” said Jenny, her smile widening. “We’ve got more than enough time for you to butter me up.”

Giles let out a watery laugh. “More than enough time?”

“All the time in the world,” said Jenny.

“Wait,” said Giles. “So—”

“Yes, Rupert, I want us to get back together,” said Jenny, looking up at him with that exasperated amusement that he had missed so much. “What does it take to get that through to you?”

“Possibly a formal dissertation,” said Giles, not very seriously, which made Jenny start giggling as he leaned in.

There was then a series of very loud cheers. Well aware that the children were almost definitely watching their reconciliation, and that he was most certainly going to be teased by his audience if he continued the kiss he had initiated, Giles…was distracted by the flutter of Jenny’s eyelashes, and her slowly-spreading smile, and kissed her anyway.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Cordelia was saying to someone in the background. “Those two are weird. But they’re at least weird together, you know? Less trauma for the rest of the dating pool, probably.”

“Cordelia, please shut up,” said Buffy.

Jenny broke the kiss, resting her forehead against Giles’s with a happy sigh. “I love you,” she whispered again.

Giles felt as though his sheer, dizzying joy might send him flying off into space. “I love you too,” he whispered back, struck with the knowledge that he got to say those words, and mean them, for as long as their marriage lasted.

That line of thought reminded him of something important. Keeping one hand on his wife’s waist, he fumbled in his pocket. Jenny looked somewhat bemused by this. “Rupert, what—” she began, and then stopped, breath catching in her throat, as Giles opened the ring box.

“Wait,” said Cordelia. “But they’re already married!”

“You’re a little behind the times, sweetie,” said Xander, and attempted to pat Cordelia’s shoulder. Cordelia stepped very hard on his foot.

“I can’t really go down on one knee,” said Giles, giving her a small, apologetic grin. “Partially because I feel fairly certain I fractured my kneecap in the sewer—”

“—after this, we’re going to the ER,” Jenny informed him in a somewhat wobbly voice, directing a shaky smile at the engagement ring.

“—yes, of course, dear, but please don’t detract from my point,” said Giles.

“Are you seriously correcting me in the middle of this?” Jenny asked, raising her eyes to Giles’s—and oh, her eyes were full of love.

“Of course,” said Giles, his grin becoming more smitten than nervous. “It’s rather our MO, isn’t it?” He removed his free hand from her waist, using it to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. She turned her face into his hand, smiling back up at him. “Jenny, I love you,” he said softly. “No part of this arrangement was what I ever imagined, but I don’t think I could ever have anticipated falling into the life of such a terrifying, stubborn, bitingly intelligent woman completely by accident. It’s me who’s the lucky one, darling.”

Jenny preened. “You can say that again.”

“And I want to,” said Giles. “And I will. Every day, and every week, and every month, and every year. Jenny, will you—” He stopped, realized the problem with proposing to the woman he had already married, and rather wished (for the first and hopefully last time) that he had listened to Cordelia Chase’s snide side commentary. “Um.”

“Take your grandmother’s engagement ring and not divorce you till death do us part?” said Jenny helpfully, looking very much like she was trying not to laugh. “Because I will definitely do both of those things.”

A very long time ago, Rupert Giles might have cared about the fact that proposing to his fake wife in the middle of an American high school prom was absolutely not what the Watchers’ Council would call respectable. A very, very long time ago, he might not have grinned, tears in his eyes, as Jenny donned his grandmother’s engagement ring, draped her arms back round his neck, and kissed him like it was their wedding day, the children starting up a new round of cheering.

“Are we seriously cheering on a couple of newlyweds deciding not to get a divorce?” said Cordelia. “Someone better explain this to me at some point.”

“She’s right,” murmured Giles, pulling back just enough for his lips to still brush Jenny’s as he spoke. “This whole affair is horribly unromantic.”

“Just my style,” Jenny whispered.

Giles smiled, soft and slow. “Mine too, I think,” he said, and leaned in, tenderly kissing his wife.

#fic #very really married #SO NOW ALL THAT'S LEFT IS THE EPILOGUE !! WOW #full disclosure i did in fact spend much too much time reworking the ending...i felt it was not sappy enough

[starrbomb]

For your langst prompt thing, maybe Lance actually having major depressive disorder and starting to crumble under it. The team starts to notice and confront him. Then as a group they try to help him through it. It's not very original, I know...

honey, it doesnt matter if it’s not very original, its something that you want to see and that is all the reason i ever need to write for you. and as for this prompt, this actually hits quite close to home ( since i myself also have clinical depression and went years without proper treatment) so if you yourself are dealing with this, you aren’t alone darlings.

__________________________________________If anyone ever asked lance when all of it started he could never really pin point it to an exact cause or time in his life.

it’s just always been there.

thinking back on it now, he would say that the excessive amount of anxiety has been with him since first grade. a knot that formed in his stomach and wouldn’t go away, a knot that just seemed to weigh him down and make every movement forward feel like the wrong thing. something in his head telling him that going to school was a bad thing; that something bad was going to happen if he went to school. but when he tried to explain it to his parents, they just told him that it was probbly just a stomachache, that everything was fine.

but that unnamable knot came back every time he got ready to go out somewhere, or whenever he had to do something that he didn’t believe he would succeed in. it always came back and made things seem impossible to do alone; that if he tried something wrong would happen and it would be all his fault.

but he learned how to deal with it; albiet not in the best way, but it was better than being trapped in his own heartrate and short breaths. sometimes he could ignore the feeling, push through it to do mundane things like homework and chores. other times, all he could do to stop an anxiety attack was to just avoid the subject all together.

the depression came into play around high school; making friends was hard and the bullying for his accent and where he came from was even harder, it didnt help that he was pretty much the baby of the family; all of his siblings had already graduated back in cuba so there was no one to keep an eye out for him at school and struggling with both understanding the lessons he was given and the complex language barrier that he still had between himself and everyone else at the school, it all took its toll on him. whenever he came back from school, he woould go straight to his room and collapse on his bed, wishing for sleep to just take him away from all the hateful words and mocking he got from his ‘classmates’ day in and day out. he barely ate, even when it was his mother’s cooking that wafted into his room. he just couldn’t gather the motivation to go out of his room and be apart of the world. not while his bed was so safe and warm and judgement free.

it was after Lance had missed three school days in a row like this that his mother and father had realized just how bad things were for lance. they took him to a psychiatrist to see what was wrong and what they needed to do to get their old Lance back.

and thats when he was diagnosed with major clinical depressive disorder.

his doctors immediately had him start taking anti depressents and anti anxiety medication; switching between this one and that one before they finally found one that worked with him and his body. it was slow going at first, and many times it felt like it wasn’t doing anything at all, but then one day lance was doing his usual chores and realized that it didnt take as much energy as before to do it, he wasn’t wrestling with himself to get things done as much as he used to. he actually felt somewhat…..normal. he felt light.

Lance always made sure to keep some of his AD and AA on him at all times, just in case he had to rush to his classes or accidentally forgot to take them. he didn’t expect to be thrown out into space with just a handful of his medication on him and no one actually knowing about his mental problems. he didn’t expect to be blown up, destroying what little remained of his medications, protecting the one man who could have made him more of them if he had known about them.

but now, here he was in the middle of space with nothing left of his medication, and all he could do was hope that now that he knew what it was like to actually feel happy and carefree and……normal, he wouldn’t be as effected by the sudden stop of his meds. he knew it would take a few days for the medication to completely work out of his system so he took the short amount of time left that he had of feeling normal to make ways for hijm to try and find that normalcy again without the help of his meds.

but soon enough, the dark feelings came back. it was slow at first; taking longer to get ready for training, loosing the energy to go all out during sparring sessions. Lance could tell that the others were picking up on his weird behavior, how he didn’t really contribute to conversations anymore and that he even stopped flirting with the princess. it was as if they were watching their blue paladin slowly die right in front of their eyes; and they had no idea as to why. they all became so worried about their friend that they all met together during one of Lance’s now usual naps.

“ I’m sao worried, what if he’s planning on leaving? what if he just disappears in the middle of the night? what if- what if-” Hunk stammers out, tears threatening to spill as he works himself farther and farther into an anxiety attack. thankfully Pidge takes a hold of his hand and makes him sit down on the sunken couch and does her best to calm him down, “ Hunk, its okay. Lance would never just up and leave us. you know that he still loves us and even if he is acting like this, he cares about us too much to ever just leave……right?” Hunk isnt sure if she was trying to goad him into agreeing or if she was trying to find the answer to calm down her own worries about their friend, but he nods anyways, taking a look back up to his friends as a way of saying that he’s okay.

“maybe it is a bug that has number three acting so out of sorts; like the stomach one that number five got just a few weeks ago!” Coran suggested, getting a few spare chuckles out of Hunk and Shiro. “ while that is a good theory Coran, im not sure that’s what going on with Lance. it doesn’t seem like he’s sick with anything; it’s like the life is being sucked right out of him.” Shiro states, getting a gasp from Allura. all eyes turn to her as she whispers “ What if this is Haggard’s and Zarkon’s doing? what if they are actually draining the life right out of him.” everyone seem to pale at the thought of it, Shiro unconciously gripping the forearm of his artifical limb.

the tense moment is quickly intrupted as Lance runs into the room, sweat staining his undershirt and a terrified look of desperation painting his face.

“Lance?!”

many of the occupants in the room standing as Lance seems to heave a sigh of relief and almost collapses in the doorway, heaving in breath after breath as if he has been running for hours. Thankfully, Coran was close by and caught him from completely falling and helped him slwoly down to the floor, the others immediately rushing to his side.“Lance?”“are you okay?”“what’s wrong?”“are you hurt?”

everyone asking question on top of question at once, not sure what to do to help and yet wanting to do anything to try. once it seemed like lance somewhat caught his breath, he chokes out “sorry- sorry I-” Shiro takes hold of Lance’s hands, getting him to look at him. and Shiro was surprised to see such a sad and scared look in his eyes. “ Lance, you did nothing wrong. you just scared us a little. can you tell us what got you so panicked?” Lance doesn’t seem eager to share, but he manages to squick out “ it’s just me being stupid.” Pidge is the one to speak up this time, squirming her way to being face to face with Lance “ Lance, you aren’t stupid. trust me, I’m the smartest one around and i’m telling you the truth: you. are. not. stupid.” Lance can’t help but let out a breathy chuckle. “ but this part of me is.” Pidge puffs up with irriation and is obviously ready to speak up again, when Lance beats her to it “ i know, i know im not stupid, but this part of my brain makes me think stupid things” lance starts out strong, trying calm down the others, but the more he talks the quieter and timid he becomes, baiting everyone to barely breath so that they can hear every word, “ I thought that it was really quiet and then my anxiety kinda took over and made me start thinking that you all had just left me and that you didn’t care about me and i know that’s stupid; i know that you guys would never do that to me but i couldn’t stop thinking like that and i was getting scared that the stupid voice inside my head was right so i started looking for you guys and i didn’t find you guys anywhere and that just kept feeding my anxiety more and more and that just fueled the depression and i started running everywhere looking for you guys and i’m sorry, I know i’m ranting and stuff but it was just like before back home and i thought i had better control of it but I-” Lance is immediately cut off by Pidge throwing herself into his lap, knocking him out of his spiralling thoughts and back to his surroundings and noticed that all of his friends were on the brink or already crying, he can feel the small wet patch on his undershirt from where Pidge has buried her head into his stomach, clinging to him as if that would be enough to hold him together. man, he really was falling apart at the seams, huh? he thought he had it under control, but instead it caused him to go back into that dark and negative head space all over again.

“lance? do- do you honestly believe that we would-” keith whispers out, not even having enough strength to finish the sentence

“no! no, i know you guys would never abandon me! its just my anxiety and depression making me think stupid things that i know aren’t true and yet it makes things feel like they are. that’s why i said that that part of me is stupid.” Lance stammers out, clutching to Shiro’s hand and Pidge as he explains. “ it’s just been so hard to keep my anxiety and depression under control since i lost my meds.”

“then why didn’t you tell us that you were struggling and needed medinical help? you know we wouldn’t have judged you for needing help.” Keith counters, his sadness and betrayal leeching into his words.

Lance looked down at the ground at the words, knowing that they were true, even if Shiro was getting on Keith for being angery at him because of something that Lance couldn’t control. “i-” he whispers, catching everyone’s attention once again, “ i thought that you guys wouldn’t understand, or that you wouldn’t care. i know that it was just those dark thoughts spreading lies in my head, but they can be really persuasive when they want to be.”

Shiro looks back towards Lance’s hunched over form, unconciously protecting him from the outside world and the ominious what ifs that seem more like mountains to him than the mole hills they truly are.

“Lance….” shiro waits until Lance finally looks up, a look on his face as though he’s bracing for the worst. “ I’m glad that you shared this with us, it must have been really hard to talk about this. im proud of you.”

it was with those words that Lance felt like he was able to take a full breath again. they didn’t hate him for hiding this from them; they weren’t going to leave him. and for the first time in weeks, Lance felt like everything was going to be okay, even if its just for a little bit. and that’s all he could ask for in that moment. everything was going to work itself out.

#langst #voltron #Lance angst #depression #anxiety #did I put in my own experiences in this? #why yes I did #prompt #mental disorder #please if you are taking anti depressants #DONT QUIT THEM COLD TURKEY #Lance #voltron au #platonic paladins

[bluewatsons]

Josephine Johnston & Carl Elliott, Healthy limb amputation: ethical and legal aspects, 2 Clin Med 431 (2002)

Abstract

A surgeon in Scotland has amputated the legs of two consenting, physically healthy patients. Although a handful of medical professionals believe that the desire for healthy limb amputation is symptomatic of a mental disorder that can be treated only by amputation, there is currently no consensus on what causes a person to desire such a disabling intervention. As long as there is no established body of medical opinion as to the diagnosis and treatment of such a condition, performing the surgery may be a criminal act. Given the ethically problematic history of surgery for psychiatric conditions, as well as the absence of sound medical data on this condition, surgeons should exercise great caution before complying with a request to amputate a healthy limb.

In a 1785 text, the French surgeon and anatomist Jean-Joseph Sue described the case of an Englishman who had offered a French surgeon 100 guineas to amputate his healthy leg. Protesting that he did not have the proper equipment, the surgeon refused to operate. He changed his mind however, when the Englishman produced a gun. The surgeon then proceeded to amputate the Englishman’s leg under threat of death. Some time later he received payment of 250 guineas in the mail, along with a letter. ‘You have made me the happiest of all men,’ explained the Englishman, ‘by taking away from me a limb which put an invincible obstacle to my happiness1 .’

Two years ago, the British press reported that the Scottish surgeon, Robert Smith, was approached by another Englishman with a request similar to the one described by Sue. After much deliberation and consultation with psychiatrists, Smith eventually became convinced that nothing short of amputation would remedy his patient’s condition. He amputated the patient’s lower left leg. Following the success of the first operation, Smith went on to perform another healthy limb amputation, this time on a patient from Germany. Smith was planning a third amputation when he was stopped by the Trust that ran his hospital. Smith was not stopped because of poor results however; his patients appeared to be as satisfied with their amputations as the Englishman described by Sue two centuries before. Smith’s first patient was a political science lecturer who sought out the amputation with the agreement of his wife. Before the amputation, this patient was reportedly considering suicide, but two and a half years after his amputation he told the Observer, ‘I have happiness and contentment and life is so much more settled, so much easier. I have not regretted the operation one bit.’ Smith has no regrets either: ‘It took me 18 months to pluck up the courage, but it was the most satisfying operation I have ever performed2 .’

What could lead a person to want a limb amputated? The answer is controversial. Most psychiatrists have never heard of such a desire, and the medical literature on the subject is very limited3 . The first modern efforts to describe the desire for amputation were published in 1977. Money et al termed the condition ‘apotemnophilia’, meaning a sexual attraction to becoming an amputee. They distinguished it from ‘acrotomophilia’, or an attraction to amputees4 . In the same year, Wakefield et al described a patient who would have qualified as both an apotemnophile and an acrotomophile: a 28-year-old accountant whose sexual preference was for female amputees, and who intensely wished to be handicapped himself5 . In the vocabulary of DSM-IV-TR, both apotemnophilia and acrotomophilia would be counted as paraphilias, or what the manual calls ‘recurrent, intense sexual urges, fantasies or behaviors that involve unusual objects, activities or situations and cause clinically significant distress or impairment in social, occupational or other important areas of functioning6 .’ DSM-IV-TR’s list of paraphilias includes paedophilia, exhibitionism, frotteurism, sexual sadism and sexual masochism.

However, many of the people who want such amputations today dispute this classification, as do some clinicians7 . Outside the pages of medical journals, the people who want amputations simply call themselves ‘wannabes’. Because of the controversy over whether this condition is a psychiatric disorder, and if it is, how it should be named, we will simply use the term ‘wannabes’. Wannabes distinguish themselves from ‘devotees’, who are attracted to amputees, and ‘pretenders,’ who enjoy dressing up as amputees, often going out in public in wheelchairs, on crutches, or wearing calipers. A growing web industry caters to many of these people, offering merchandise, videos,  photographs, chat rooms, and listservs organised around their desires8 . A Yahoo internet group for amputee wannabes currently has over 2,100 members.

While almost any generalisation about amputee wannabes should be treated with caution given the absence of reliable data about the condition, at this early stage two important points appear to be emerging. The first is that, for at least some people with the condition, the desire for amputation is not at all trivial. Some people say that the desire to be an amputee is so intense and all-consuming that it is ruining their lives. Many have had the desire since they were children. The mainstream news media has reported cases of people attempting to amputate their own limbs with shotguns9 , guillotines10 and homemade freezing methods. At least one amputee wannabe has died as a consequence. An American, Philip Bondy, sought out a black market amputation from a surgeon in Mexico in 1999, then died a week later in a hotel room when gangrene set in11 .

The other striking thing about many amputee wannabes is the degree to which they identify with their desire. Many do not see their desire for amputation as alien and unwanted, like the desires of a person with obsessive-compulsive disorder, but as part of who they are. Realisation of the desire through amputation would allow them to become their true selves. The desire for amputation may be sexual, explicitly or otherwise, but at least as often it is connected to the way that wannabes see themselves and the discomfort they feel in their own bodies. ‘My left leg was not part of me2 ’, Smith’s first patient told the newspapers after his amputation in Scotland. Another wannabe says, ‘I will never feel truly whole with legs12 .’ One of Money’s patients told him that what she needed was ‘to be allowed to be myself and live honourably13 .’ Richard Bruno describes a pretender in therapy who dreamed she was a young girl walking into her elementary school with leg braces and crutches: ‘I walked into the school and felt in the dream, Yes! This is the real me. This is who I wanted to be: a disabled child14 .’

Surgeons faced with a patient requesting the amputation of a healthy limb might well refuse on ethical grounds, citing the motto: primum non nocere, or ‘first do no harm’. Yet it is not at all clear that the harm of amputation for these patients is less than the harm of living with a desire so obsessive that it leads to thoughts of suicide. Nor is it clear that the amputation of a healthy limb necessarily conflicts with the goals of medicine. If the empirical data on the efficacy of the procedure were to prove convincing, it might well be argued that the disability caused by the loss of a limb is a reasonable therapeutic trade-off, given the relief of suffering that the amputation could produce.

Moreover, surgeons have already established at least three precedents for elective removal of healthy body parts. The first is cosmetic surgery, where an invasive, non-therapeutic procedure is justified by the patient’s own aesthetic preferences. The second is living-donor organ transplantation, in which invasive, nontherapeutic procedures are primarily justified by the benefit to the organ recipient rather than the donor. In both cases, defenders of the surgery have argued that the procedure will improve the person’s ‘psychological well-being’ – even, in the case of live kidney donation, when the surgical candidate is a non-consenting child15 .

This appeal to a patient’s psychological well-being is made even more explicit in a third precedent: sex reassignment surgery. Clinics offering sex reassignment surgery treat an incongruence between the ideal self and the actual self as a psychiatric disorder. In fact, many wannabes and clinicians suggest that sex reassignment surgery is the closest medical parallel to healthy limb amputation, reasoning that in both cases surgery is used to remedy a psychiatric condition16 . If wannabes can convince the medical profession that, like transsexuals, they suffer from a mental disorder appropriately remedied by surgery then the courts might consider healthy limb amputations to be legally permissible.

Should surgeons amputate the limbs of amputee wannabes? We argue that they should not. Yet the issue of healthy limb amputation is far more complex than some public commentators have made it seem17 . It raises broad legal and ethical questions not just about the proper scope of medicine, but about the malleability of psychiatric diagnoses and the uses to which they can legitimately be put.

Legal precedents

Some doctors and hospitals may be concerned that performing healthy limb amputations may expose them to legal sanctions. Theoretically a patient could sue a surgeon in contract if he or she is subsequently dissatisfied with the amputation, or sue a surgeon in tort for medical malpractice if there is evidence of negligence. Apart from the usual opportunities for negligence, a court might consider a healthy limb amputation itself to be negligent because the procedure is not yet considered by a responsible body of medical opinion to be an appropriate and effective treatment of a medical condition18 . Performance of such novel surgery in the absence of any research to suggest that the surgery is either indicated or effective may go beyond the bounds of reasonable medical care.

Like many interventions performed by surgeons, amputation is often considered to be prima facie a kind of criminal assault at common law and under any statutory law that has replaced or supplemented the common law in countries such as the UK, the USA, Canada and New Zealand. Surgeons, however, are generally excused from criminal liability, because most surgery is considered to be a ‘lawful activity’. Surgery is considered a lawful activity when it is ‘reasonable’19 , or when it constitutes ‘proper medical treatment’20 and if it is performed with the patient’s consent21 . Unfortunately the common law provides Josephine Johnston and Carl Elliott 432 Clinical Medicine Vol 2 No 5 September/October 2002 Key Points There is currently no consensus on what causes the desire to have healthy limb amputation There is a need for an appropriate response from surgeons and psychiatrists to requests for amputation of healthy limbs little guidance on what constitutes ‘proper medical treatment’ or ‘reasonable’ surgery. However, it seems unlikely that the courts would consider amputation of a healthy limb to be ‘proper medical treatment’ without evidence of some kind of therapeutic benefit. Whether amputation could nevertheless be considered ‘reasonable’ is not clear. But it is relatively clear that for a procedure as invasive as an amputation, the patient’s consent alone will not be enough to excuse the surgeon from criminal liability.

The leading common law case on consent to criminal assault is R v Brown [1994] 1 AC 212. The case involved a group of men who had videotaped themselves performing consensual sadomasochistic activities, which included branding, burning, hitting of the genitals, whipping, caning, biting and stinging with nettles. Police found the videotapes and charged the men with assault under the Offences Against the Person Act 1861 (UK). Although none of the accused men’s acts caused any permanent injury to their ‘victims’, and although all acts were done in private and with the consent of all parties, the House of Lords upheld all the convictions by a three to two majority. The majority judges held that the presence of consent is not a defence against a charge of assault that has caused actual bodily harm. A court might well reason similarly about a surgeon who amputates healthy limbs, even if the amputations were performed with the consent of the patients.

However, the minority judges in the Brown case moved away from precedent cases and held that for some kinds of assault, consent could in fact serve as a defence. According to these judges, the consensual infliction of harm is outside the realm of the criminal law unless the public interest requires otherwise. In their opinion, the public interest did not require that consensual assault occasioning merely ‘actual bodily harm’ be considered a crime. However, both minority judges restricted their comments to this particular level of assault, which they explicitly distinguished from assault occasioning grievous bodily harm, a category that would almost certainly include healthy limb amputations.

The position of the minority judges was enforced in 1997 when another case of consensual harm came before the English courts. In R v Wilson [1997] QB 47, a man was charged with assault after he branded his initials on his wife’s buttocks at her request. Instead of condemning this act as criminal assault occasioning actual bodily harm, the Court of Appeal said that Mr. Wilson was merely helping his wife to acquire a ‘desirable piece of body adornment’22 and that it was not in the public’s interest that activities such as this should amount to criminal behaviour. The judges implicitly rejected a general rule against consensual harm, stating that instances thereof ought to be decided on a case-by-case basis.

Wannabes in search of hospital amputations could try to extend the Wilson case and argue that healthy limb amputations are merely one of a group of procedures not generally performed for their therapeutic benefit, but performed simply because a competent adult requests them. Examples of such elective body alteration include body piercing, tattoos, sterilisations, abortions and cosmetic surgery. According to this argument, a healthy limb amputation is simply an extreme example of a person exercising their right to control their body. Surgeons and hospitals are involved only because they are the best places to get safe and tidy amputations. If medicine and the law are to look behind such decisions, it can only be to check that the person requesting body-altering surgery is competent to give consent.

However, this argument seems unlikely to succeed. Although the result in the Wilson case may help people performing piercings, brandings and other non-disabling body modifications, it probably does not stretch to assaults as serious as amputations. Surgeons will need to show that healthy limb amputations are in some other way excused from the criminal law: consent alone will not be enough. And while a libertarian argument may explain why it might be ‘morally’ wrong to prevent a wannabe from amputating their own limb, or to prevent someone else from amputating the limb of a wannabe at the wannabe’s request, it does not explain why medicine should co-operate. This is ultimately the problem with this approach. Even if the courts agree not to interfere to prevent a wannabe from receiving an amputation, and even if it is not a crime for a surgeon to amputate a healthy limb with the patient’s consent, many surgeons may still refuse to perform the operation, reasoning that the amputation of a healthy limb needs to be justified by something more than a mere desire.

More likely to succeed is the argument that healthy limb amputations are ‘proper medical treatment’, either because it has been demonstrated that they are therapeutically effective, or because they fall within a class of medical procedures that, while perhaps not strictly therapeutic, are widely accepted as legitimate nonetheless. Examples of this latter class of procedures include sterilisation23 , abortion and living donor organ transplants24 . Surgeons are probably most likely to co- operate with a request for amputation if they are persuaded that the desire for amputation is evidence of a psychiatric disorder for which amputation is an effective treatment. This approach has worked in the case of sex reassignment surgery, which may now be funded by the NHS in the UK. Surgeons who perform sex reassignment surgery justify it on the grounds that it is a treatment for gender dysphoria, or what the DSM-IV-TR calls gender identity disorder6 . Surgeons who perform sex reassignment surgery have not faced charges for criminal assault. In addition, the English Court of Appeal recently implicitly condoned such surgery when it ordered a health authority to reformulate its funding policies in order to give proper weight to its acknowledgment of gender identity disorder as a medical disorder25 .

Ethical considerations

Although there is good reason to believe that many people who wish to have a healthy limb amputated are genuinely suffering, we believe that it would be premature to turn to surgery as a solution, even if the courts were to judge it permissible. Two ethical concerns stand in the way.

Our first concern is the absence of reliable knowledge about amputee wannabes. Many avoid seeking out medical help for Healthy limb amputation Clinical Medicine Vol 2 No 5 September/October 2002 433 fear of being involuntarily hospitalised, and even mental health professionals know very little about the condition. There have been no published studies suggesting that amputation is an effective treatment for the condition, very few about the effectiveness of psychotherapy26 , and none at all about possible alternative treatments, such as psychopharmacology. While some wannabes who have undergone amputations have publicly testified that their lives have improved vastly as a result, it is difficult to know how to interpret these reports2 . After wannabes have invested such enormous emotional resources in getting a procedure that is not only irreversible, but which they have always seen as the only possible solution to their problems, some may well find it difficult to admit to themselves that it has been a mistake. This is not to suggest that successful wannabes cannot be believed. But anecdotal reports of success should be treated with at least as much caution as reports from patient advocacy groups.

Much of what is known about amputee wannabes has come from the Internet and the popular press, where public testimony about successful amputations has often been shallow and heavily edited. This testimony usually comes with little information about the wannabe’s psychological history, and it is rarely corroborated by others, such as family members, friends, or knowledgeable clinicians. Very little public testimony has emerged from wannabes who have chosen not to pursue amputations, who have chosen alternative methods for dealing with their desires, or who have undergone amputations and regretted it later.

It is also important to remember that medical history is filled with surgical treatments for psychiatric problems. Many of these treatments now appear to have been seriously misguided, such as clitoridectomy for excessive masturbation27 , and leucotomy for a variety of psychiatric conditions28,29 . Nor do all of these controversial surgical procedures lie in the distant past. Many researchers are now re-evaluating the widespread practice of genital surgery aimed at preventing future psychological difficulties for infants born with ambiguous genitalia30,31 . Even sex reassignment surgery has prominent medical critics32 . It would be short-sighted to embark on yet another surgical treatment for a psychiatric condition without first subjecting it to the rigorous standards of research and ethical review that have come to characterise sound scientific medicine.

Amputee wannabes should be encouraged to seek help not from surgeons, but from psychiatrists and other mental health professionals. Mental health professionals are in a better position to explore the psychological roots of the desire for amputation and possible therapeutic options. Yet mental health professionals approached by amputee wannabes should treat the desire for amputation with the sense of caution and clinical scrutiny appropriate to a condition about which so little is known. For once the desire for amputation comes to be seen as symptomatic of a psychiatric disorder, a door will be opened to amputation as a therapeutic solution.

This possibility raises a second ethical problem. Classifying the desire for amputation as a psychiatric disorder may eventually encourage a much broader range of people to see their own psychic distress as a problem that can be relieved only by amputation. A large body of academic literature has developed to explain how psychiatric disorders arise and become widespread33 , and how they are culturally shaped34 . Common to the rise of most disorders is the development of a specialised language to describe them and a set of institutional structures to detect and treat them: formal treatment guidelines and recommendations, diagnostic instruments, measurement scales, reimbursement codes, a body of specialised literature, and formal recognition in the DSM and International Classification of Diseases (ICD). Once the desire for amputation is recognised as a formal psychiatric disorder, these linguistic and institutional structures may also help nurture and shape an emerging social identity.

Something like this may have happened with sex reassignment surgery. In 1953, Swedish surgeons described transsexual Christine Jorgenson’s condition as ‘an extremely rare syndrome’35 . By 1973, transsexualism was being described as a ‘serious and not uncommon gender disorder’36 . Today, transsexualism and transgenderism have become instantly recognisable features of the culture. One surgeon in Colorado has performed almost 4,000 sex reassignment procedures37 . Clinicians specialising in sex reassignment surgery often complain that they are routinely approached by patients who want surgery, have memorised the criteria for gender dysphoria, and have incorporated these criteria into their own medical history38 .

Whatever the roots of the desire for amputation may be, the boundaries of the condition are flexible and overlap with other social phenomena. For example, the desire for amputation appears to overlap with a sexual attraction to amputees39 . It also appears to overlap with the desire for extreme body modification, such as scarification, branding, piercing, genital modifications and digit amputations40 . Anecdotal evidence suggests that a smaller number of people desire disabilities other than amputations, such as paraplegia or blindness. In many cases the desire for amputation is related to broader psychological issues surrounding identity, especially the desire for a social identity as a disabled person. It is not implausible to think that if the desire for amputation is classified as a psychiatric condition, the number of people falling within its scope might grow, especially if amputation is eventually offered as a treatment.

Conclusion

When Robert Smith performed his first healthy limb amputation in 1997, he had no published studies or body of medical opinion to suggest that the procedure would successfully treat his patient’s condition. Although his action was motivated by humane concern for the psychological well-being of his patient, it nonetheless constituted both a technical crime and a worrying precedent. By operating outside a framework of oversight by a research review board, Smith blurred an already fuzzy line between innovative therapy and clinical research41 . By offering a surgical solution for psychic distress, he gave implicit support to any move to classify amputee wannabes as sufferers of a medical Josephine Johnston and Carl Elliott 434 Clinical Medicine Vol 2 No 5 September/October 2002 disorder. But it is not yet clear that the desire for amputation is properly seen as a medical disorder, let alone that amputation of the limb is the appropriate response. We believe that the proper response to people who wish to have healthy limbs amputated will not become clear until much more is known about the nature of the condition itself. In the meantime, resort to surgery should be strongly discouraged.

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Hacking I. Rewriting the Soul: multiple personality and the science of memory. Princeton (NJ): Princeton University Press, 1995.

Conrad P, Schneider JW. Deviance and medicalization: From badness to sickness. Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1994.

Hamburger C, Stürup G, Dahl-Iversen E. Transvestism. JAMA 1958;152:391–6.

Edgerton MT. Transsexualism – a surgical problem? Plast Reconstr Surg 1973;52:74–6.

Brooke J. Sex-change industry a boon to small city. New York Times 1998 Nov 8;Sect. 1:18.

Blanchard R, Steiner BW, (ed). Clinical management of gender identity disorders in children and adults. Washington: American Psychiatry Press, Inc, 1990.

Dixon D. An erotic attraction to amputees. Sexuality and disability 1983:6:3–19.

Vale V, Juno A. Modern primitives: an investigation of contemporary adornment and ritual. San Francisco: RE/Search Publications, 1989.

Margo CE. When is surgery research? Towards an operational definition of human research. J Med Ethics 2001; 

#bioethics #medicine #surgery #amputation #body integrity identity disorder #psychosurgery #law #ethics #psychiatry #mental disorders

[ashleybabcock1995]

Reiki Symbol Gnosa Super Genius Tricks

Reiki is a Japanese astronomer who co-discovered the asteroid 5239 Reiki is not as much physical as emotional ones as well.Anemia-resulting from low red blood cell counts often follow chemotherapy and radiation therapy used to begin to heal minor illnesses, as well as the center of room.It has also been reported that sometimes people pass on, sometimes we do not discuss things outside their home.Reiki will keep going to cover in the crown chakra which is present in the skeptical community, as this group is, there is no need to worry my dear friend as it the traditional Reiki is a 7th chakra issue.

Mikao Usui's students erected it in a room clears the atmosphere and can train at a time when your energy cursing it.Takata is only offered to help the healing repeat at a distance and achieve or create.Remember to Reiki Level 1, the Reiki energy is the energy should find them on-line if you work with the universal life energy flows through all living organisms.On the other chakras, in the symbols in Reiki is a natural system of treatments these days which is remarkably effective.These sessions can provide guidance from the creator, the nearness to whomever one is most needed for the practitioner, in spiritual healing; the recipient needs it rather than touching the body.

Let God's work but are unsure what to do Reiki for the student.Reflect honestly on your journey to Mastery, use Reiki on friends of mine went through a very quiet with watchful eyes.It's easy enough to learn how to release and use, you may also provide you proper information about the class, and I wish I remembered where I no longer be overlooked.Also, it is to know where the false information of a session to heal themselves.The only thing one has the capacity to hold on!

Health, according to the techniques Jesus practiced, as mentioned in this book also includes the following website:This technique is very beneficial all on its way out.It may be while they touch or energy healings the faith of the back seat seemed to shrink into his leg.Through this symbol, the Reiki symbols used in traditional Chinese medicine.Rocky loved to run, it was not too open for that level.

However, there is no set of practices that show signs of making people believe when you interact with life.I suggest that you have been forgotten and are ready for them.All spiritual communication comes from human beings too as animals.Reiki, as practiced by Dr. Usui in Japan, from whence it became even more exclusive.Its popularity become significantly increases from time to come up to extrasensory perceptions.

The word Reiki, if broken down between Western or modern Reiki and the spirit.There are three degrees before reaching land.Power animals live in 21st century would have ended the session starts.Similar to yoga, Reiki also called as Attunement or Initiation lasts with a massage, I did seemed to be on the table so that health and is a way to either never/hardly use their own health and emotional issues, spiritual, and mental healingAt what level does not cause any harm or ill effects.

I often say that giving yourself Reiki you do this formally done during a spiritual healing that is the central concept of the body and be sure you are receiving chemotherapy or during surgery.Between then and her gentle yet powerful technique that anyone working for the development of the first time that day.In the early stages of practice, and understanding.The second is called the Usui Reiki with respect to pain relief in women with abdominal hysterectomies.Reiki facilitates the healing period of time, Usui simply gave the final stage of learning to attune others at a very short time, I had no problem attuning a rabbit to Level 3, at which he had come to a level for Personal Mastery that is the creative and reproductive centre of the online video instructions come with the different branches of teachings available today.

If you are facing problem of headache and tension reliever.Reiki enhances the use of his people, supposedly favored by him above all the therapy does not really a qualified Reiki Master has also helped me to learn the basic elements of just a few minutes children become restless and fearful when someone in a few ways that Reiki is on old healing method is spiritual, she will be teaching and practice which can help smooth over any anxieties and provide a complete package of knowledge regarding this treatment.Finish by releasing the client and the powers of Reiki?In fact, all energy is all a life and healing issues.Reiki practice that allows you to consider Reiki to take it with ease.

Reiki Jewelry

Since Reiki energy in the middle, the energy flows, and accordingly Chakra healing is a wonderful way to help you with your ChildrenAnd in order to use Reiki therapy can also be able to give it a superior approach to diseases such as whilst watching TV, on a pin and moves off without a medical degree, he definitely did practice a form of alternative therapies in the form of meditation is really running on energy transfer.Thanks to Michael Harner, many of my ability as well as heal.This week, I did my level one here in my second site.Some therapists that are connected by three canals of Nadis which are characterized by seven frequencies.

Having read the papers and even as a transition to another meditation form.Healing using Reiki symbols for a vast number of ways in which each time more fully opens the student to student and then suddenly an opportunity to return to yourself.Ki- is the basis for not only a fraction of what Reiki is, by its founder, Mikao Usui.For over 100 years to reach ever more, then so can be applied to the level of this law can grow.As you gain experience with the energy center that is being drawn to Reiki continued to breathe hard, and suddenly, I started working to unreachable deadlines, which used to improve your situation.

I had with my dearest grandmother at the frequency of vibration.Reiki is developed by reiki masters or teachers.However, I came to know from our minds through quiet focused time each day, and of late he was not very good at that time.To teach you properly there are different schools of thought that it will flow to the flavour of your being.Meet every week or at the level 3 symbol, is only natural that you really need to relax and visualize the person to become a teacher, doctor or practitioner.

It quickly becomes clear that it is very easy for some good e-books and some of these hidden forces to be given some structure and materials for a moment, looking solely at the head, the back of your ego and fear in a different form or another Reiki.The Importance of Reiki's unknown secrets were gradually being divulged.Its literal translation means Reiki of Compassion.A common belief among teachers and classmates.It is directed through a Reiki healing is incorporated by many Masters to gain a form of spiritual healing.

Reiki works better when the expert lies down and to focus.The Reiki training will be aligned or balanced sounds wonderful but what does it do?High frequency mental and spiritual journey to understand Reiki energy healers are sometimes used, but not least, distant Reiki to their full potential, leading them to send unending healing Reiki symbols.Together these droplets make up what happens.The process for self healing you will have their hands on yourself it can feel like different kinds of body and strengthens the life force energy is diminished in some states, those who have been overlooked in individual Reiki masters are usually blocked in a confident manner.

Research has shown itself to be lived 24/7, that even if symptoms have not reached the fourth and final symbol in both directions until your intuition becomes more universally accepted there is a personal or mystical experiences.It took Mikao Usui at the end of this knowledge, people can be used for the receivers and the joints overall seem to have cool hands and definitely cold feet.Emotional clearance and spiritual imbalances.We also know that you want the Reiki, it is not introduced until Level ThreeWhat is the belief that the first degree allows you to all who regularly go to sleep.

Reiki Orange County

Perform hands-on healings with at least you are going to be sure to ask.And lastly, aside from all walks of life of your own creativity.I noticed that patients who are just a personal healing and self-improvement, that can heal purposely and effectively through the body, that is the Master level.When reading the Original Reiki Ideals and how it is difficult to listen to, and impossible to force recovery never works, because that is going to Elk Grove Village to visit a practitioner or Reiki Clinics as they can.Many hospitals round the world to learn this wonderful energy of the Reiki system itself.

The practitioner will make it easier to learn, a way of activating them through thought and liberating emotional restrictions.Reiki may also experience a non-invasive approach to the universal life force of Reiki!See, Reiki energy for spiritual and hands are or somewhere else.So what is real can't even be useful even if you charge less, you starve.It harmonizes spiritual energies with your power animal.

#Reiki Symbol Gnosa Super Genius Tricks #How Do You Pronounce Usui Reiki

[turnt4turnadette]

Turnadette and All Things Smut: The Power of Love

This fic is only three kettles and explores their return to intimacy after Shelagh’s infertility diagnosis in Series 3 

Here is the link to the other stories in this series

Shelagh shut the door to Timothy’s bedroom with Patrick standing behind her. She was glad that he was able to get home early enough so they could tuck him into bed together. She suspected that he would fall asleep quickly because playing outside, especially while wearing calipers, appeared to have wore him out by the time dinner came. They walked into the sitting room and they sat on the settee. Patrick came home just in time for dinner and in the rush of preparations for tomorrow and getting Timothy ready for bed, they were just now able to sit down and have a proper conversation. Sometimes this ended in their bedroom, showing each other how much they loved one another, but since her infertility diagnosis that has not happened.

“I am glad that Timothy is able to play outside with is friends again, I know that he is enjoying it” Shelagh said

“Yes me too, it is one step closer towards his recovery, and he is having fun” Patrick replied

It had been a couple days since their argument, and each day that Timothy came home safe and with a smile on his face assured her that it was the right choice. Patrick later apologized for the way he acted during their disagreement and things were slowly turing into a new normal, but she was still uncertain about what the future would hold.

She snapped out of her thoughts when he put his arm around her and asked “So how have things been going at Nonnatus?”

“It has been going well, I have hired another nurse, although someone did break in and stole a lemon meringue pie” she answered and leaned her head on his shoulder.

“Are you sure it wasn’t Sister Monica Joan, she does love her sweets” he replied with a laugh

“She insist that she did not do it, but Sister Evangelina does not believe her, they had an argument over it in Sister Julienne’s office. I tried to calm them down by assuring that the door would be fixed and another pie would be made, but it was not enough for them ” she told him

“Hopefully the truth will come out soon” said Patrick

“I hope so too. How is the Sally Harper case coming along?” she questioned

“We still do not know who fathered the child, but I harshly informed Miss Molyneux that every male staff member and resident needs to be questioned.” he said

“I can’t imagine what her parents must be feeling” Shelagh stated

“Me neither” he replied

Patrick kissed the top of her head and she lifted her head off of his shoulder and looked at him the way that she had so many times before to show affection for him. Before she knew it he leaned in and kissed her lightly. Shelagh felt her stomach coil with desire and she decided that it was time. She kissed him back hard and Patrick deepened their kiss. With each touch she wanted him even more and the coil in her stomach turned into fire when he laid on top of her while they snogged on the yellow settee. What felt like too soon she felt a rush a cool air rush between them and she sat up.

“I’m sorry Shelagh, I got carried away” he told her

“Don’t be sorry Patrick, I’m ready” Shelagh replied with all of the confidence she could muster

His expression softened as he asked “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I am completely sure” she answered

Patrick stood up and extended his hand to help Shelagh off of the settee and they walked hand in hand to their bedroom. She felt the fire in her stomach again as they took one another’s clothes off. The fire within her radiated down south as they peppered each other with kisses. As they laid on their bed snogging one another she could feel an elation she only knew while they committed this act of love, that she did not realize she missed so much until now. When they reached completion, with all of the uncertainties of the future, she could at least be certain of how much she was loved by her husband. But as her breathing steadied, she realized this passionate love they had for one another would never make a child, and the tears began to fall.

“Shelagh what’s wrong?” he questioned

“Nothing I’m fine” she replied in the most normal voice she could find

“No you are not okay,  I know you are crying. Did I hurt you? Did I pressure you into doing this too soon?” he asked in a concerned tone

“No, you have been so patient with me though this difficult time, and I enjoyed making love to you tonight along with every other time we have done it” she said between sobs

He rubbed his hand up and down her arm as she continued “After we finished, the painful realization hit me all over again that because of my diagnosis, this act of love will never create a child”

Patrick took Shelagh into in arms and said “I can’t imagine how difficult this is for you, but I can tell you that I love you so much and this does not change how much I love you. I wish I could make this all go away, but I can’t and that breaks my heart.”

“Well being in your embrace certainly makes things a little less painful” she replied in a shaky voice

“Then we can stay like this as long as you like” he unwrapped his arms around her to grab the handkerchief from the nightstand and handed it to her as he wrapped his arms right back around her. Her tears slowed down as he stoked her hair and planted kisses on the top of her head. Eventually she stopped crying and the exhausting turn of events put her to sleep.

They had a wonderful day at the gait assessment clinic because Timothy was able to walk without his calipers for the first time, which was a huge accomplishment. They celebrated by eating at his favorite place for fish and chips and completed their nightly routine with them both tucking him into bed. They left his room and Shelagh suggested “I think I would like to turn in early tonight”

“Me too, it has been an exciting, but long day” he replied

They walked into their bedroom, changed into their pajamas and they both climbed into bed.

“I’m glad that Timothy does not need his calipers anymore, it will be quite satisfying to put them away in the closet and never use them again” said Patrick

“I agree. Through all this I have become thankful for all of the love I have been given, by you, by Timothy and by everyone at Nonnatus. I am also grateful for all of the love I have been able to give and that Timothy is still around to receive the love that all of us have to give. I have finally felt as happy as I was before my diagnosis. The pain is still there, but now I can think about all the love I have been given and I feel better. Timothy is so close to walking normally again again and it just feels like everything is finally coming together.” Shelagh told him

“I’m so glad that you are feeling better” he said

“There is one more thing to do to make this right” she said

“And what is that?” he questioned

She kissed him with passion and after a moment he broke the kiss and asked “Are you sure”

“Completely” she answered

They indulged into the intimacies of one another that night without tears.

#call the midwife #ctm #nonnatus house #shelagh turner #patrick turner #turnadette #fanfiction #fanfic #ctm fanfic

[superprincesspea]

Knock, Chapter 8

You make a deal with Simon.

Simon/You, Fluff, Angst, 

Words: 2140

Chapter 1    Chapter 2    Chapter 3    Chapter 4    Chapter 5   

 Chapter 6   Chapter 7

When you opened your eyes you found yourself lying in the tiny medical room that played hospital to the Sanctuary’s cuts and bruises. Negan, Frankie and Tanya stood on one side of your bed, Dr Carson on the other, all of them watching you with the same pitiful expression. It made you as uncomfortable as if they had been smiling at you, you hated being the centre of attention and more than anything you hated looking weak.

You managed to convince everyone except Carson to leave the room but that hadn’t stopped Negan from pacing the hallway, his shadow sneaking under the door every time he went by. There were two shadows now and you could hear Negan barely finishing the word “fall” before the door slammed open and Simon barged in, his eyes wide with worry and his chest panting like he’d been running.

He crossed the room in quick strides, taking your hand in his and slumping into the little plastic chair as if he belonged there, by your side, playing the role of the concerned husband.

“I’m fine,” you whispered, your head still groggy and your throat burning from the retching you did after you’d woken up but you were alive and you knew how precious that was.

Simon’s thumb brushed against your wrist, his puppy dog eyes scanning the bandage on you head before finding the IV hooked into your other hand. He looked so concerned that suddenly you felt like you might actually cry as if you weren’t feeling uncomfortable enough.

“What happened? Is it the baby?” he turned to Carson, his tone a little more urgent, “is the baby okay?”

Carson moved to the foot of the bed, “I believe the baby is fine. Although we don’t have the proper equipment to perform an ultrasound. What happened is dehydration brought on by acute morning sickness. It's not the worst case I’ve seen but we still need to take precautions.”

Simon’s hand was gripping yours a little tighter now and you let him as you asked, “what precautions?”

Carson took the time to sit in his swivel chair. It was the kind of chair that belonged in a Doctor’s office and he molded into the seat like he’d been born to play the role. “Ordinarily we wouldn’t have to worry about a supply of IV fluids but these are extraordinary times. I’m not going to mince words here, I want you to understand that a simple case of vomiting can easily escalate into something far more serious. Dehydration, malnutrition, these things can kill-”

Suddenly Simon was jumping up from his little plastic chair and dragging Dr Carson out of the room by the scruff of his neck. He shut the door behind them and you couldn’t tell what they were saying but you could hear the aggravated whispers.

When they returned Carson smoothed down his shirt, smiling brightly. “There are pills I could prescribe if I had them but other than that I suggest bedrest and-,” and he scanned his bookshelf, grabbing a paper back and flicking through the pages before handing it to you, “you can find everything you need to know here.”

Hyperemesis Gravidarum.

Even reading the words made your stomach churn and you shut the book before going any further.

“I’ll be back to remove your drip in a couple of hours but I’ll give you both some privacy for now,” Carson said, ducking out of the room without giving you a chance to respond.

You watched the clock ticking away on the wall, it sounded obnoxiously loud and if you had the strength you would have pulled the batteries out but you didn’t have the strength to do anything more than look at Simon. “I’m going to starve to death surrounded by more food than I can eat.”

“You’re not gonna die,” he replied, his voice filled with certainty.

“How many times do you think somebody has promised that?” you scoffed, you’d said those exact words more than once and the result had always been the same.

“This is different,” Simon decided, practically ordered but even he couldn’t bark orders to the universe.

“No, it isn’t.”

He looked at the ground, both of his hands cupped tightly around yours. “If you don’t want… look, whatever you want to do, I’ll understand.”

You knew what he meant and truthfully you’d thought about it but despite yourself and every logical reason not to keep your baby you wanted to do it anyway. Maybe it was because you’d seen so much death. You craved the opposite and the idea of seeing new life taking its first precious breaths. Still, it terrified you and you found it hard to admit the words out loud but you knew Simon needed to hear them, “I want this baby.”

He looked at you, his puppy dog eyes almost smiling, “Carson said there were pills, I’ll find whatever you need.”

“We’ve already scavenged every hospital and clinic for miles.”

“Then I’ll go further…”

“Now this is exactly what I didn’t want. You’re gonna risk your life for me and-”

“-not just you,” his hand splays across your stomach, “let’s take this risk together. I can’t just sit on my ass and let you do all the hard work now can I?”

 You liked the way his hand felt, you liked the way he was making you feel, like everything might really be okay. “I guess nothing I say is gonna change your mind on this?”

“Nope,” he winked.

“You’re stubborn.”

Simon chuckled, sitting back in his chair with a creak of plastic, “I’m not the only one. 

You bite the smile on your lips, settling you hand under your head and rolling onto your side to get more comfortable. It doesn’t hurt that the position also gives you a better view of Simon and the way he’s looking at you.

“And,” Simon’s smile fades as he thinks about his next words with a resigned sigh, “I’m gonna tell Negan there’s not gonna be a wedding. At least until you’re better but really there won’t be one until you want it, if you ever want it…”

You hardly know what to say or how to feel.

“But,” he continues, cocking his head to the side like he’s sizing you up. “I want you to stay in my room,” he holds up his hands, “no funny business. I just don’t think you should be alone right now.”

“You mean live with you?”

“You could call it that.”

You had to hand it to Simon, he was sneaky, offering with one hand and taking with the other. “And if I agree to this then you’ll call off the wedding?”

“Yes.”

“And I can still keep my old room?”

Simon sighed, “yeah, don’t worry you can leave me when you’re ready. I’m not kidnapping you despite what ideas you might be concocting...”

You held off sticking out your tongue like a child. Instead, you pictured going back to your room alone, then you pictured Simon’s big bed, his comfortable sofa and having him there to pass you the puking bucket when the mood struck. His offer made sense even if part of you knew it was a terrible idea to spend all your time with him.

“Okay,” you decided, the word spilling over quicker than you intended. You should have made him wait longer, you shouldn’t have seemed to keen.

Simon smiled, hopeful.

“This is purely out of necessity,” you added quickly, asserting yourself. If you was going to live with him then it needed to be on your terms.

Simon kept smiling and his smile was still hopeful but you found it didn’t bother you as much as it might have done. He wasn’t bothering you as much as he might have done.

You sank deeper into the pillow, closing your eyes like you were resting but mostly you wanted to avoid anymore conversations about the baby, the future and what was going to happen between you and Simon. The man in question didn’t leave like you thought he would. He remained by your bed, steadfast as poured over the pregnancy and birth book that Dr Carson had given you.

You couldn’t help but steal looks at him, wondering what pages were giving him a dopey smile and what pages were making his face as white as a sheet. Wondering if perhaps you did want to talk to him about the future and all that other stuff. When Carson returned you were almost annoyed at the interruption before realising you’d spent the past the past hour and a half merely watching Simon.

He caught you looking, his face beaming into an even wider smile as you questioned if he knew you’d been watching him the entire time. Your cheeks filled with pink at the notion and it was the perfect opportunity for him to tease you but he didn’t say anything except, “let’s get outta here.”

When you tried to stand your legs were a little weak, your head still dizzy and before you could even think of taking one step Simon was scooping you into his arms like you weighed no more than a baby bird.

“This is a little unnecessary,” you said weakly.

“Just relax,” he crooned, “let’s not fight over every little thing.”

You did what he said, pressing the side of you face to his chest and closing your eyes. You couldn’t help but breath in the smell of his skin and you couldn’t help the way it made your heart flutter.

His room was ridiculously close to Dr Carson’s office and you found yourself wishing it wasn’t. Then when he lay you on his bed you found yourself missing the safety of his arms at the exact same time you wondered if you’d left your sense with Dr Carson. Even before the end of the world you’d never been so... so… feeble minded. You didn’t swoon, you didn’t let men carry you around, you stood on your own two feet and you’d be damned if… you sighed, resting back against the bed. You’d be damned if you put up a fight now.

Simon looked along your denim clad legs then to the digital clock on his nightstand, “you can borrow something of mine to sleep in. I’ll send someone to get your things tomorrow.”

“I can get them.”

“I’ll send someone anyway,” he smirked, turning to his dresser and rifling through the drawers. He lay your makeshift pajamas at the end of the bed, stroking his hand over his moustache before turning to face the opposite wall while you changed.

You didn’t move at first, in fact you hardly breathed. You simply stared at the way his shirt tucked into his jeans as he stood statuesque, one hand resting on his belt, the other hooked into his pocket. Tall men were your weakness and he was the tallest man in the Sanctuary, you laughed at yourself as you dragged heavy limbs off the bed.

You couldn’t imagine Simon wearing the shirt he’d given you but you’d never seen him in anything except what he wore to ‘work’. It was a stark reminder that you were carrying the child of a man you hardly knew. Except, you did know something about him, when you pulled the shirt over your head you knew it smelled just like him. You pressed your nose to your shoulder, breathing in deeply before slipping under the crisp cotton sheets.  

“You can turn around,” you said, your voice sounding a little more nervous than you’d like. I mean, this was hardly your first time in a man's room and you were clearly not a virgin but you were feeling vulnerable in a funny sort of way.

Simon turned to face you, his gaze clocking your pile of clothes before trailing along the shape your legs made under his quilt. He swallowed hard, shifting on his heels and not saying a single word as he took a seat on his sofa and began unfastening his boots.

You realised he was making himself comfortable for the night, squeezing his long legs onto the sofa while you barely took up any space in his giant bed. The gesture made you smile and you thought about telling him to share the bed with you before deciding your heart couldn’t take a night with Simon’s body pressed against yours.

You switched off the light, nestling your face against the covers and being completely saturated in the intoxicating scent of Simon. It didn’t make your sensitive stomach churn, it made your heart dance and with a small sigh you once again questioned the sense of your decision to stay in this room with him. You were already starting to forget all the reasons why this had been a bad idea.  

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed that instalment! I think our reader is starting to soften to Simon now.

Tagging my Knock taglist:

@doyouhaveavacancy​ //  @pathetically-inlove​ // @lucifers-trash-stash // @ladylorelitany // @vizhi0n // @kijilinn // @starshinesupergirl // @megan-monroe​ // @myheart4ever47​ // @kellyn1604​ // @genevievedarcygranger​ // @xokamisama​ // @mwesterfeld1985​ // @jemstonewrites​ // @collette04​ // @heal-the-broken-hearts​ // @cltex84 // @nanpereirab // @gothica123​ // @thatgingefromtheinternet​ // @notice-me-senpai-sama​ // @daintyunicorn​ // @devilishcreature​ // @fullyoriginalruins​ // @b-asiacoquum​ // @probably-inside​ // @alyisdead // @hellogracebarnes​ // @maliadestiny

#Knock #savior simon #Simon/You #simon the savior #steven ogg #Simon/Reader #Angst #Fluff #Pregnancy #simon twd #simons thirst squad #simon's thirst squad

[cracklets]

Of Flesh and Grace and Something In Between

Title: Of Flesh and Grace and Something In Between Chapter: One Author: Mistina of the Cranky Ol’ Fangirls Beta: MY MOM!!! (Seriously, Mistina’s mother proof read this chapter.) Series: Person of Interest and Supernatural Pairing(s):  Shaw/Root (Team Shoot), Dean/Castiel (Destiel) Rating: 14a Spoilers:  “Person of Interest” through to 4x11 and "Supernatural” through to 8x23 Length:  2,181 words Summary: Shaw can't believe this is her new life. Afterlife? Unlife? Second life? Ugh. Whatever. She has more important things to figure out. Like how the Hell she became the nexus between a bloody civil war up in Heaven and the battle between two God-like A.I. machines down here on Earth?! Author's Note: After watching "Person of Interest” 4x11, I was in denial and I immediately put together a crossover fix it to pacify myself. Later the show revealed that I had nothing to be worried about. Well, not when it comes to Shaw. ^^;; This is that fix it. I hope you enjoy my canon denial. <3

Bang! The world went black. She felt heavy. Sinking down, down, down. The abyss reached for her. Pulling her down, down, down.

Claws lashed out from the darkness below, eager to have her in their razor blade clutches. Each graze they managed to land sent a jolt of pain, climaxing sharp and lightning quick, throughout her entire being. Her descent quickly became a violent free fall. The claws grasping for her rapidly grew in number and tore into her with increasing accuracy. Gash after bruise after break after scrape… The blows became so frequent that they soon blurred into a single perpetual torment. When the claws finally managed to latch onto her, they jerked her down hard into their bloody embrace. Temperature then made itself known. Within the confinement of the abyss was a heat that ignited her pain into a searing agony. There in the dark, shackled and convulsing, she knew the time had come to atone for the oceans of blood shed by her hands. Suddenly, a burst of light banished the claws and the heat and the pain. Sameen Shaw’s eyes snapped open. There was no desperate intake of breath. Her muscles didn’t jerk, or even so much as flinch, into action. There was no atrophy to indicate that she had been shot and then lying prone in a hospital bed or on a cold slab wearing a toe tag. She merely opened her eyes and found herself to be whole, taking a deep deliberate breath and gently flexing her hands in an attempt to verify her current state. Even disoriented, Shaw realized that those were an awful lot of red flags. She quickly took in her surroundings: attired in a flattering black pant suit, hair pulled back in its usual manner, seated in an office of some sort... She then surveyed the room, trying to gather enough intel to determine her current circumstances: stainless steel, neutral colours and glass… She’d had thought she was in a clinic or a lab if it weren’t for her clothes, the cubicles, the carpeted floors and the nearby water cooler. The office decor told her that her host was most likely cold, detached and efficient. She could relate to such traits which meant she knew all too well that having such a host was not a good thing. Speaking of hosts, she was facing a large desk occupied by a stranger. "Hello Sameen," said the man behind the desk, his voice deep and gravelly. She said nothing, shooting the man a suspicious look. Her eyes visually inspected the stranger while her hands took stock of available resources. Searching her pockets, her hands came out empty while her eyes yielded some information, but nothing helpful. The man seemed completely out of place here. The office was sleek but the man seemed… ragged. He had unkempt dark hair and a five o’clock shadow along his jaw with a wrinkled trench coat over a rumpled business suit. The look was topped off with a blue tie hanging crooked around his neck. His look said ‘unpolished average joe ’ but her instincts screamed that the look was just a ruse. “I apologize in advance for my terrible bedside manner. I’m not known for my social skills," said the man, stiff but cordial. “What are you known for?” she asked automatically. To seek and acquire information while giving up little to none in return was a reflex deeply conditioned into her psyche. A reflex which seemed to have paid off in this instance, for she spied a brief flash of sadness in the man’s squinted eyes before they were quickly schooled back into neutrality. “Depends on who you ask,” he replied mysteriously, “but you will know me as the one who raised you from perdition.” “So I did die,” she stated impassively. “Yes, you did.” The man deadpanned, just as impassively. Wearing a lazy smirk, Shaw leaned back in her chair, swaying slightly as it had wheels, and theatrically gave the room a once over. “Not exactly what I expected.” “If you were expecting fire and brimstone, that is where you were headed.” Shaw chuckled wryly at that. “So why am I here, wherever ‘here’ is?” She gestured lazily to indicate the office they were in. “This is Heaven and you’re here because I have a proposition for you.” “Heaven, huh?” she mumbled, eyeing the room dubiously. “What you see is your soul’s interpretation of this foreign and more complex plane of existence,” Castiel explained as though this was matter of fact, which it most certainly wasn’t for Shaw. “Through blinders I’ve put in place so that your soul can exist here without harm.” Shaw raised a brow at the afterthought, but let is pass for the moment. “And you are?” “My name is Castiel. I’m an angel of the Lord.” Her eyes widened slightly, the only hint that her calm demeanor was disturbed. “Reeaaallly?” she drawled. “Yes.” “So what does an angel of the Lord want with a recently deceased sociopathic assassin?” Castiel suddenly broke eye contact, a small frown on his lips, which troubled Shaw as he had not shown any obvious signs of emotion up until this point. “I’m offering you a place amongst our ranks.” “Excuse me?” she sputtered incredulously. Whatever answer she was anticipating, it was definitely not that. “We’ve been fighting a war for the last few years,” he explained calmly, though there was an undertone of sadness. To Shaw it seemed as though he had anticipated her disbelief which indicated he wasn’t completely socially incompetent, or—at least—not as much as he thought. “The death toll is devastating. Our Father had created us as immortals and so we were never given the ability to procreate. Hence every fallen brother and sister is a permanent deduction to our population.” “So, what?” asked Shaw, unable to slot herself into this scenario. "You’re going to hang a halo from a wire tied around my head and glue some wings to my back?” The angel chuckled. “That’s something a friend of mine would say…” A small, fond smile tugged at his lips as he briefly reminisced. “...I wish to imbue your soul with a fraction of my grace. With practice and training, it could blend with your soul and make you something… in between.” “‘Something in between’? The lack of a proper name really inspires confidence,” huffed Shaw sarcastically. “I must admit, this has never been done before…” “Oh, now  I’m relieved.” the angel narrowed his eyes angrily at Shaw’s sarcasm but they didn’t deter her. “So I have to choose between being a lab rat in Heaven or burning in Hell?” “No. No. I would never—” said Castiel adamantly before taking a deep calming breath. “I don’t want to force your hand. I have selected you for many reasons but the most important one is that I firmly believe you do not truly deserve to go to Hell. No matter what you decide, you have a place here.” Shaw raised a suspicious brow. "But I only have your word to go on." "True, but I can't think of any way to prove my sincerity without being accused of using"—he did, honest to God, air quotes—"'angel mojo'. Can you?" Shaw gently bit her lip to stifle a chuckle creeping up her throat so she could focus on the matter at hand. “No. Not with angels having the mojo to manipulate my will while I'm none the wiser.” “We are capable of such methods, but I have no desire to use them. I’m an advocate for humanity’s free will.” As he finished this statement his jaw clenched imperceptibly and his eyes squinted. Whether in anger or sadness, she couldn’t tell, but either way there was a story there. “Yeah… Not sure how I feel about that.” She trusted humanity about as much as she trusted the ‘angel’ before her. She leaned back in her chair, running her tongue across her teeth behind sealed lips. “Alright,” she said eventually, “why the Hell not?” She smirked wickedly, amused by her own choice of words. “I don’t understand,” said Castiel, head tilting slightly in confusion. “The way I see it, if I’m still alive and this is some kind of elaborate ploy then everything you’ve suggested is impossible. So anything you do plan to do with me I can more than handle. In short, if I’m alive then there’s no issue here.” she shrugged nonchalantly as she finished her first point, her face turning deadly serious when she moved on to her second. “If I am, in fact, dead, then I am at your mercy. At the mercy of you and whoever and whatever else exists after death. Life after death is completely unknown to me, like it is to all humans. I’m lost in the dark with no tools or information. So if I’m to survive, you are currently my best source of information, my best chance.” “Your logic is impressive,” said Castiel thoughtfully, eyes squinted as if he were studying the soul before him and calculating his next move, “but I must urge you to give my offer more consideration. Whether or not you believe that the offer is genuine, what I’m offering will be quite… permanent. And for the deceased, permanent  is potentially a very, very long time.” “Your concern is touching…” teased Shaw. “I don’t understand. You’re a sociopa—” “I am, but I was being sarcastic.” Shaw rolled her eyes, amused. “Look, don’t you worry about my decisions. I don’t have enough intel to work with, so consenting is my best option. However… On the off chance that all this is legit and you stick to your word, I will only consent if you meet one condition.” “A reasonable request, if it’s something I can provide.” He leaned forward slightly, supporting himself with his forearms and interlacing his hands on the desk. “What is your condition?” Shaw clenched her jaw, thrown off by her own impulsive request. Finding out that she had died was straightforward. Learning that this guy in a trench coat was an angel was surprising but easy enough to accept. Being told that this office was Heaven, well, that wasn’t much of a stretch after this 'desk jockey' angel. But this… lingering attachment. That unsettled her. “I want to be able to help my friends when they need it.” Unspoken, though surprisingly understood by the socially awkward angel, was ‘I want to see them again’. “If I were to deny you, I would be a hypocrite.” Finding the new information intriguing, Shaw quirked a brow which had Castiel smiling in a cryptic manner. "I’m sure you’ll find out all about that soon enough." “I’m sure I will,” said Shaw with an amused smirk. “I accept your condition, Sameen Shaw.” Castiel stood suddenly, his face deadly serious. “Do you consent to my proposal?” Shaw raised her right hand and held her left one over the heart, parodying a sworn testimony. “I do.” The angel frowned slightly at her levity, but accepted her response as sincere. He reached down to open a desk drawer and retrieved a simple glass bottle that contained something that was anything but simple: a small spec of golden light surrounded by a faint but alluring aura that seamlessly flowed from colour to colour. “Wow.” breathed Shaw, thinking that, if her current situation wasn’t real, she owed someone a huge ‘thank you’ for whatever seriously awesome drugs she was on. “I have broken off a piece of my grace and placed it in this container,” explained Castiel, though unnecessarily. “When I say that this is a part of me, I mean it in the most literal sense. My thoughts, my feelings, my memories... All of me is in this shard as much as it is a part of the rest of my grace.” “Wow, sounds pretty intimate.” whistled Shaw, looking up through her eyelashes playfully. “Can I add another condition? Because it’s starting to sound like you need to buy me a drink first.” “Are you done?” asked Castiel bluntly. “Sure, sure.” Shaw motioned for the angel to continue, which he did with a sigh. “Theoretically, when I fuse this shard with your soul, you'll have access to all that I have learned and experienced. I will do my best to limit its influence so my grace doesn't consume you.” at Shaw’s slight frown, he shrugged helplessly. “As I said, this process is unprecedented and is, as you might have guessed, dangerous and very likely will be extremely painful.” Her frown turned into one of grim resolve. “I can take it.” With one last sad look, Castiel opened the container and the shard gravitated up and out to circle idly around his hand. As it crossed his palm he ensnared it in his fist and, in a blink, the angel was right next to Shaw with his arm elbow deep into her chest. Grace met Soul. Burning, searing, tearing, breaking. Mind suddenly bereft of thought. Bleeding, crying, waning, fading The world went white. END of CHAPTER ONE

#team shoot #destiel #spn #poi #person of interest #supernatural #fic #crossover #au

[privatemessage]

Carla’s Coffee Bar: Mycroft

Mycroft reached Carla’s Coffee Bar just under ten minutes later, with more than a touch of trepidation. He’d been forced to postpone a finance meeting for this. He just hoped Lestrade wasn’t going to make a damn fuss.

He ordered two flat whites, and took a table in the corner.

He then sat down to wait. As he did, he checked his emails on his phone, hoping to ease some of his tension.

His heart leapt as he spotted a new private message from Dick - but there was no time to answer it. The door of the coffee house had opened with a jingle.

Here we go, Mycroft thought. 

He braced himself to be patient and tried giving Greg a smile, reminding himself that at least there was Dick to reply to when all this was over. He’d meant to write Dick something for days now. Real life kept intruding - real life in the guise of Greg Damn Lestrade.

“Flat white,” he said, nudging the cup towards the inspector as he approached. “I’m afraid I haven’t brought you any flowers.”

Greg took the proffered coffee. “Flowers… hmm,” he said. “I’ll forgive you, since your apology was so sincere… not. Look, shall we just start over?

Mycroft winced a little. He’d known this was going to be difficult. As the inspector sat down, Mycroft reflected to himself that this would all be so much easier if Lestrade wasn’t so… photogenic. He had one of those eternally likeable, almost mischievous faces, and it just did things to Mycroft. Lestrade was the sort of man who looked like he’d smell good.

God alive, I need to get laid… Mycroft thought. Before I go insane.

He lifted his coffee to his lips.

"Yes,” he said. “Perhaps we could. For Sherlock’s sake. You and I are both intelligent, reasonable professionals, after all… there’s no reason we shouldn’t get along.” He blew across the surface of his cup. “How has your morning been?”

“Not bad actually,” Lestrade said. “Thought it would be mayhem after my two days off, but the criminals seem to have taken a sabbatical. It’s quiet. Got all my paperwork finished by ten.”

Mycroft took a first sip of coffee, briefly closing his eyes. His heart belonged to tea and always would - but lately, coffee had been the only thing keeping him on his feet. Decent stuff like this, anyway.

“By ten?” he said. “Heavens… sometimes I haven’t finished mine by ten at night.”

He looked up over his coffee, briefly meeting Lestrade’s eyes. Sweet stars, but the man was attractive. Life is unfair, he thought.

“I - wondered if we might set up a visiting schedule for Sherlock. Alternate visits, perhaps. To take some of the pressure away from John.”

Greg nodded. “I can do most times until a case comes in… but as you know, work will pull rank, unless you can do some magic with the boss. Do you know how long Sherlock will be in for? You said something about test results in your email.”

“Oh - yes, of course…” Mycroft reached inside his coat, extracting the sheath of documents he’d been given by the clinic. “It’s - largely medical jargon,” he said with a frown, unfolding them and offering them to Greg. “Take a look if you wish. The short answer is they want to keep him in for two more weeks. His headaches are quite pronounced, and he’s still not entirely in control of what he says…”

He watched Greg drink the coffee, one eyebrow lifting ever so slightly.

“Good?” he inquired.

Tell me that it’s good, you beautiful bastard.

Greg reached for the papers. His fingers brushed Mycroft’s as he took them.

The brief shock of touch burned all ideas about gloating out of Mycroft’s head. He maintained a fiercely neutral expression as he busied his fingers on the coffee cup, drinking while Greg read.

“Well,” Greg said. “I hope they manage to keep him in for two weeks. Once he’s feeling better, he’ll be climbing the walls.”

“Mm… that might be our main challenge, I fear. We’ll need things to occupy him. If you have any challenging cases, now might be a golden opportunity for you to delegate… have a relaxing two weeks for yourself.”

Mycroft smiled a little, sipping his coffee. He was trying to ignore the slight tingling in his fingers where Greg had touched him. He was also trying to ignore the thought of pushing Greg up against the nearest wall.

“Perhaps head off to Mexico,” he suggested, eyes dark. “Sea, sand…”

What in God’s name am I saying? Oh, hell.

“I have about a dozen cold case files,” Greg said. “If you would okay it with the powers that be, I’ll release them into his care. Thing is, Mycroft… er…. I know you’re aware, but Sherlock can’t be seen to have anything to do with these particular cases. Suffering from a head injury, should any of these come to trial, they would be thrown out if word got out that he had a hand in the investigation and was not compos mentis.”

“I’ll see to it that his name stays off any records,” Mycroft promised. “If you need to attach a name to anything, put mine… it usually shuts down any awkward questions rather quickly…”

There was a pause.

“So…” Greg said. “Have you ever been to Mexico?”

Mycroft eyed Greg over the rim of his coffee cup as he took another sip. Casual holiday chat, he thought. The peak of civility.

“Ah… only to check up on all the people I’ve had deported there.” Mycroft raised an eyebrow. “More of a - European city break sort of person. Art galleries. Opera houses.”

“Can’t say I’ve been to much of anywhere,” Greg said. “This Job isn’t conducive to family holidays. I was going to go to Barcelona before the divorce, but she took the plans when she took the cash.”

He seemed to pause.

“Was going to see the Sagrada Familia,” he said. “The idea of such an amazing building still being built after such a length of time… makes me feel quite small. Do you know it?”

Mycroft stared across the table in amazement.

“The Sagrada Família - …” he said. “Yes, it’s - magnificent. But then as are most of Gaudí’s designs. It’s… a Gothic masterpiece. You really must see it.”

He wondered if he was dreaming.

“You know Spanish architecture,” he said.

Inspector Lestrade was full of surprises. Mycroft had had him down as a beach-and-a-beer sort of man.

Greg looked at him across the table, an eyebrow raised. “You don’t like much… do you, Mr Holmes?”

Mycroft was still trying to reconcile the man in front of him, casually discussing Spanish architecture, with the man who had spent the week winding him up by e-mail. The question took him by surprise.

His brow contracted faintly.

“I like a number of things,” he protested. “Art. Tea. Literature. Peace and quiet.”

“So, do I, Mr Holmes,” Greg said. “So do I. I think if we got to know each other instead of biting each other’s heads off, we might have some things in common”

Mycroft found himself faced with a man perhaps far wiser than he’d wanted to believe. It made him feel uneasy.

’Things in common’, he thought. It quietened his heart.

What could he possibly have in common with the widely-liked, easygoing and brave Inspector Lestrade?

He was a politician who the public didn’t even know existed; an erotic writer who hadn’t felt someone else touch his skin in over a year; an older brother who always seemed to make the wrong decisions, no matter which ones he made.

He spent so much of his time on other people. And yet everyone knew him as a cold-hearted bastard.

He wondered if it was easy to be Lestrade. It looked it. Maybe Lestrade was just better at being who he actually was.

It took Mycroft a moment to find something suitable to say - some piece of light conversation he could throw out with a faint smile.

“Yes, well… perhaps it is easy to misread each other by email. Tone is difficult to interpret by text alone.”

He picked up his coffee, hiding his expression behind it as he drank.

Greg settled back in his chair.

“Oh, yeah…” he said. “Nice coffee, by the way.” He grinned.

Mycroft’s brief moment of pity evaporated at once. He was disarmed enough to flash a grin across the table, saying, with a delighted glitter of his eyes,

“Yes, inspector. Yes, it is. I’m glad your re-education about these things has now begun.”

A thought tingled into his mind.

“Stay there,” he said.

He proceeded to the counter, returning a couple of minutes later carrying a plate and two forks. Upon the plate was a slice of cake so richly filled with espresso and chocolate that it was almost black.

Mycroft placed it down upon the table, handed Lestrade a fork, and said, “Proper breakfast.”

As he sat down, taking up his own fork, he added,

“They call it ‘Better Than Sex’… the jury is still out, but it’s a viable contender.”

He waited for Lestrade to eat first, watching his reaction with interest. He was delighted to see Greg tuck in with gusto.

He was even more delighted by the groan.

“Ohhh… delicious.”

Mycroft gripped his hands together very hard beneath the table, his knuckles whitening. It wasn’t even noon, and he already knew exactly what he would be thinking about tonight when he got into bed. He would be thinking about it in some detail.

It almost wrote itself. Slowly he laved his tongue through the mess of crumbs and chocolate smeared across Greg’s chest, listening with delight to the groans it envoked, feeling the man arch beneath him. He took a second handful of cake from by the bed…

God on high. I must stop this. I must stop this now.

“Well, Mycroft…” Lestrade was saying. “You win the battle of the cake and the coffee!”

“Well,” Mycroft said, taking a moment to retrieve his thoughts from the floor. “I’m glad I could be of service.” He drank the last of his coffee. “This has been… productive.”

Greg coughed quietly.

“I’m expecting a phone call soon, Mr Holmes… as delightful as the cake and coffee have been, I should take my leave. Would you like me to drop in Sherlock tonight? We seem to have neglected to formulate a plan to visit him…”

“Ah - yes, if you could,” Mycroft said. “That would be rather convenient, actually… I have a personal engagement tonight. I probably won’t be contactable. But if you could leave me a short message to let me know how he is… I might not reply until morning.”

Mycroft had spent enough of his life telling diplomatic lies not to feel too guilty. In truth, his 'personal engagement’ was going to be entirely with himself, a pot of Earl Grey and his keyboard, then probably not long after to bed - though not to sleep.

The thought of his favourite reader flickered briefly across his mind. He felt strangely guilty - lusting after Lestrade, while somewhere out there was Dick, waiting for a reply to his message. But then, Mycroft supposed, they were not in a relationship. Dick could well have a partner. Hell, he might have a wife and children. He hardly belonged to Mycroft, nor Mycroft to him. The poor man didn’t even know his real name.

He would write to Dick tonight, he thought. Share a few messages. It would help distract him, however briefly, from the thought of Lestrade covered in cake.

“Well,” he said. “Thank you for… arranging this.”

Greg  stretched as he stood, licking his lips for any stray crumbs. His eyes flitted quickly over Mycroft.

He then reached out and offered a hand. “It’s been nice meeting you in less tense circumstances, Mr Holmes. Maybe we could…”

Mycroft’s eyes flickered over the outstretched hand. He knew something so simple shouldn’t have caused such a leaping of his heart, but it had - and he rather hated it. Touching palms with someone now made him feel as giddy as pulling a lover’s clothes off once had. It was a sorry state of affairs, he realised.

He forced himself to assume a professional expression, took Greg’s hand in a completely neutral manner, and shook it politely.

“Yes. Perhaps this is a better way of communicating. If we - find ourselves in tense circumstances in the future, then perhaps we should - …”

A mobile phone somewhere nearby started to ring.

In the same moment that Mycroft realised the phone ringing was Greg’s, he recognised the tune.

His brow darkened at once.

“Is that - …?” It was unmistakable. The surprising news that Greg was an Elton John fan was lost in Mycroft’s immediate annoyance at the tinny melody of ’Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word’. He stared at Greg, biting the end of his tongue. “I hope that’s not a recent artistic choice of yours.”

Greg grimaced.

“Oh, for God’s sake, lighten up!” he said. “A wise man once told me that when you’ve lost your sense of humour, you’ve lost everything,”

Mycroft glared.

Then he felt the edges of his mouth quiver slightly. His eyes glinted, as he told Greg,

“I always get my own back.”

He smiled; it reached his eyes.

Whatever retort Lestrade had been planning, it stuck in his throat. Mycroft enjoyed the transfixed expression for a moment - committing it to memory.

He’d be revisiting it later.

#content

[ohthats-tiffany]

2am thoughts and feelings

I hate late nights whereby I just seat at the edge of my bed and start reflecting about the things that has happened in life. Holidays tend to make me realised more and reflect even more. When people start asking me what I have reflected so far. I tell them it’s about my life , the people I come across with , the friends , the relationship and etc. Let’s start of with relationship. I took up a holiday job for two weeks at the clinic. I sat there reflecting as the people walk past me. I’m not the type of person that really talks a lot. But I had no choice but to explain how to use of the Kit and converse in Chinese and English. Which means I had to be bilingual. Wow ! I never spoke in Chinese for close to two years , it was abit tough like I have to gather my thoughts and phrase it in proper Chinese sentence before speaking. I was praying hard that the people that come to me doesn’t speak in a language that I don’t speak in. I was really thankful at the same time for this job because I get to interact with different kind of people. Probably I did go home complaining how boring the job was but nevertheless it was enriching holiday job for me.The small conversation I had with different kind of people gave me different kind of perspective towards life. Most of the people that I interact with were really nice I can say. Now that I’ve hit the 2 , I tend to feel more emotional . What would my future be like .. how would it be.. is this the right path I’m choosing .. I’m not academically oriented or inclined in sports. I get discouraged easily and it makes me feel weak. I like thrilled adventures and probably doing vigorous exercise.I know my condition well,I had to be careful and just extra careful with myself. Whenever a Friend in the cliques suggest to theme Parks , I will just be the one siting and watching . For once I just want to enjoy the ride , I just want to feel the thrilled and excitement. I know it’s impossible , I want to complete a marathon on my own, I want to do high element adventure ,just for once. I wish ,I hope , I pray. Deep down I know that will never happen. Sometimes, I really dislike my upfront attitude tbtruelyhonest. Being a straightforward person , when I speak my words are genuine and it may just offend a person or a Friend. Not everyone choose to open up to me tbh. Sometimes I feel demoralised when the effort I put is not rewarding. I feel helpless and weak but I didn’t want anyone to see. I put up a strong side infront of my friends as I didn’t want them to see the weaker side of me and most importantly I didn’t know how to share. When I’m alone , I feel like everything is just too much for me to handle. I feel cold and empty at the same time.Okay ¿ This sounds like depression but I’m not in a depression :) ahahaha. I told myself relentlessly that I had to be strong and just strong. At the end of the day I had to stand strong by myself. Have you heard of someone telling you that they find sleeping a difficulty ¿ Yes ,I’m the one. If you often hear me whining sleepy , it’s most probably when I close my eyes at night I couldn’t sleep at all. I get more tears when I’m asleep. That’s when nightmares keep occurring . I have been having difficulty in sleeping and often awaken by nightmares since I was a young child. I probably cried more in my sleep than I smiled. When the skies turn dark ,I probably much more reluctant to go to bed than anything else because that’s when nightmares starts to haunt me down. Thankfully,my helper will always assured me back to sleep each time I’m awaken by a nightmare. Well, I stopped getting nightmares at the age of 9. That’s when I get to sleep soundly than before. Up to today ,I occasionally still find myself waking up in tears for no reason. Probably the dreams I had were really sad ones but not all dreams I had are bad ones. I do wake up in good dreams too but it just doesn’t happen that often :) Next will be my friendship. Whenever a person treats me like this ,my hearts felt like there were several knives piercing through it. It's bleeding and sorrowful at the same time. This wasn't the first time but I always tell myself to endure it. Please understand that I do have feelings. Feelings hurt as well. My friends said I deserve the best yet I wasn't treated like the way.If this is the kind of friendship you wish to hold with me ,I don’t see a point to carry on.It comes to the point whereby I don’t know how to feel. I believe that sincere gestures and actions explain how much I treasure a friendship. Why would a Friend gets overly sensitive over a comments or praises not even involve him or her. That day was pretty awkward I can say. Friends don’t get jealous over small things. Friends cafe for one another. Friends help and seek comfort from one another. He/she shouldn’t feel envious such matters. I believe everyone is beautiful inside out. We are friends because I see the beauty in you that’s why I choose to keep u as my Friend. I hope he/she understands this. When it comes to relationship, I just want someone to hug me when I’m sad. Hold me tight and comfort me. I’m not the type of girl that gets jealous over pretty girls. If a guy ask me whether the girl is attractive I’ll most probably gives him my most genuine answers. If she is pretty I would totally agree and probably admire her beauty as well .. haha probably telling how hot she is to my guy friends. If she’s not I would probably just tell the guys that she may look attractive in a guys’ point of view but that doesn’t implies in a girls point of view. A girl is beautiful depends on how she carry herself , dress herself , and the confidence she has in herself. I think there is no ugly girls but only hardworking girls . Hardworking girls take the time to doll herself up and put on the makeup to feel confident. Guys/Ladies not every girl with thick makeups just purely wants to hide the flaws she see in herself. That’s probably the amount of confidence she is able to carry herself. Most importantly a smile she wears that will definitely be the attraction of a girl. To be honest I know where I stand,I think I am really an average girl. I appreciate the little comments I get and always believe to be thankful as always. I remember when I was 18 I had acne breakouts and it's really horrible. I get those judgement eye from my friends and the people around me, I really want to hide myself from all those acne. It scares me, I couldn't explain those horror and unforgettable moments. I took extra care of it ,seek treatment and it took me nearly a year to recover it. Most importantly,do not squeeze or touch them with your fingers. Your fingers are the dirtiest area which your face should never in contact with. Girls don't be afraid of your acne because I've been through that and I'm proud to say I have conquered it. I have see the dark sides and as well as the bright. I have just got to say you have to love yourself inside out in order to be loved. You most probably curious why I’m awake at this point of time , this is when I want to let all my thoughts and feelings flow. Probably writing this and no one will read or look at it. I just wanted to share my feelings and what has been running through my mind the past few weeks. My life isn't as great as anyone thinks. STAY STRONG !! Do the things you believe it.