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gallifreyanhotfive · 4 months

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The writers should give the Doctor a baby to hold more often. Seeing them with one always brings me such glee. Like...there! The parent! The grandparent! That's them right there! Come on, give them a baby carrier to strap to their chest and have them start running around like the silly alien they are.

#doctor who #dw #dr who #classic who #new who #the doctor #the church on ruby road #eleventh doctor #alfie #fifteenth doctor #ruby sunday #lulubelle #twelfth doctor #goodness please just let them hold a baby #for enrichment #it makes them so happy #the ancient timeless being holding someone who isnt even old enough to comprehend the world around them yet #and you know theyre thinking of their kids and grandkids

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witchthewriter · 10 months

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐕𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐇𝐞𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐬/𝐕𝐮𝐥𝐜𝐚𝐧

The crafters, scientists, hard-workers and builders of society. These men are craftsmen; they have ideas after ideas and are often working towards them, no matter the cost. They’re known for their creations, designs and inventions/products. Their minds are always churning, never stopping.

𝑇𝑜𝑛𝑦 𝑆𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑘

𝐿𝑢𝑐𝑖𝑢𝑠 𝐹𝑜𝑥

𝐹𝑙𝑜𝑘𝑖

𝐷𝑟 𝐵𝑟𝑜𝑤𝑛

𝐴𝑙𝑓𝑖𝑒 𝑆𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑚𝑜𝑛𝑠

𝐷𝑢𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑛 𝐻𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑜𝑛

𝐵𝑒𝑒𝑡𝑒𝑒 𝐿𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑒𝑟

𝐵𝑟𝑢𝑐𝑒 𝐵𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑒𝑟

𝐷𝑎𝑣𝑖𝑑 𝐾𝑜𝑠𝑡𝑦𝑘

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brightoakgame · 5 months

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Happy Holidays! I was your Secret Santa this year and I have to say thank you, and bless you, for Marybeth. She is entirely my favourite! Tumblr was giving me a hard time, so I hope you don't mind that I posted it on Twitter @mellodrawmatic :') I hope you like it!

(gorgeous gorgeous art credit to my wildly talented Secret Santa, mellodrawmatic!)

Holy cats holy cats holy cats, I am grinning like a maniac over how perfect and stunning she is!! 🥰 Thank you so very, very much to mellodrawmatic for the absolutely beautiful art, and thank you again as well to @crescencestudio for hosting this delightfully fun exchange!! 🎁

And once more, Happy Holidays to all who celebrate! ✨

#vnss2023 #mellodrawmatic #bright oak #dr marybeth forster #great great uncle alfie's saber #bright oak fan art

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whatiswhump · 4 months

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Christmas 1957, Alfred Finch

A continuation of this series

Hi I’m back :) and this one’s LONG and I’m proud of it. Yay happy holidays

***

“Merry Christmas, Alfie,”

His head had just been shaved again, lice were making their way through the wards. It made his cheeks look so hollow despite the paper crown that had been clumsily placed on his head by a nurse.

Words didn’t come right away to Fie so he nodded back to Sean. He was aware today though, Sean could tell.

Turkey and mashed potatoes were unceremoniously still strewn across his tin tray. So much for a holiday meal. Sean wished he would eat it though.

“Th- that’s why I’m wearing this?” A wry smile snuck in as Fie nodded to his flimsy holiday accessory.

Sean felt an instant warmth that made his heart swell and he laughed a bit too loudly, “Yes it's what they call it holiday cheer, although I think Eddie took the square of chocolate you got with it.”

The wry twist of Fie’s mouth remained a bit longer signifying what would be a strong response these days.

Sean had read the charts this morning, Harris’s crony, Capshaw, hadn’t given up on the hydrotherapy yet. He had been scheduled in for it nearly every day this week.

He was surprised Fie was okay enough to even be in the cafeteria considering his typical response to the treatment.

“Hey how about you eat a few more bites of the Christmas feast for me, eh?”

Fie’s eyes trailed down at the sloppily served bits of meat in tepid gravy and potato. But despite his hesitation, he didn’t disobey, he lifted his fork and got to work. It twisted something in Sean to see how easily he followed requests... when everyone else in the institution ignored this and acted like he was feral, immediately going for force before bothering to request.

“Also Sophie says hello by the way,”

His patient paused mid attempt to skewer some meat with a confused expression.

“My wife, I think I’ve mentioned her, she and I got married a few months ago, yeah?” That had been during the no contact stage.

This did seem to jog his memory, he nodded but still seemed surprised. Sean spoke about him outside of work?

As if he read his mind, Sean continued, “Yeah, I tell her about you, especially your paintings. She’s an art history professor you know… Anyway, she asked me to wish you a merry Christmas.”

Alfie paused completely, clearly half here-half somewhere else, lost in thought, “...What year is it?”

“It’s 1957 'bout to be 1958, buddy.” Sean didn’t like thinking what that entailed for his friend, nearly four years in here now. Where had the time gone?

He was four years older than Delano now.

“Merry Christmas, Alfred.”

Both young men jumped slightly at the arrival of Dr. Harris, how long had he been close by?

Alfie just stared back at him frozen, some of that old fear was returning as well.

Harris smiled, “I am glad the nurses are spreading some cheer,” and gestured to Alfie’s ridiculous hat, “And I am glad to hear that you’ve been trying harder to tolerate the hydrotherapy Alfred. That is brave of you as we all know how much it has frightened you in the past.”

Fie looked down at his plate ashamed. He remembered that. Over and over. A room full of people- him bare and being forced into water by so many hands. Harris watching…

“Dr. Harris, I hope that you’ve had a pleasant holiday?” Sean politely responded after a few beats of silence and an awkward cough.

“Thank you, Sean, yes. In fact I will be off soon, the wife and children are expecting me for Christmas dinner. Just like to stop in today every year. The holiday can set many of our patients off, I like to be assured that everything is under control.”

Sean agreed with that, many patients preemptively were given extra sedation today. It made him a bit sad but then he remembered the alternative- them suffering unnecessarily- missing family, memories, some even waiting for a visit from Santa Claus that would never come… It was cruel to them. Such a happy happy day turned cruel.

Dr. Harris gave Sean what was probably meant to be a polite smile, “Sean, would you give Alfie and I a minute? I’ll call you back over if you’re needed.”

An alarm bell went off in his head but he could only say, “Sure, Doctor,” And then glance to Alfie, who was still looking at his plate and walk to the perimeter of the room to join a few of the other orderlies.

“Alfred, please be polite and put your fork down and look at me.”

Fie dropped his fork almost robotically and wrapped his hand in the other in his lap.

“What else did I ask?”

He dragged his eyes up to the doctor standing up above him. He was wearing a red and green tie.

“You have children?” It came out before he even realized it, surprising both of them.

Harris smiled in amusement, “Yes, I generally keep my personal life separate, part of the profession I am afraid. Two boys and a girl. The eldest is sixteen.”

Harris could see the cogs turning in his patient’s head, new information about a man he knew surprisingly nothing about. He prided himself in being strictly a doctor to his patients, nothing else, no extraneous details. It was all about the patients after all.

He loved how painfully clear some of Alfie’s thoughts could be. And this was such a nice little Christmas gift dropped into his lap, especially since his initial plan was just to discuss water therapy again.

“I can tell you are surprised, what are you thinking about right now?”

“And stop picking at your hands.” He added with a touch of sterness.

Alfie’s worrying hands stilled instantly. His eyes looked bigger when they clumsily shaved his head like this. It was a shame they didn’t do a better job, he could have been a handsome young man. Even still.

“It’s just that you’re always here- I didn’t think- I didn’t know-” That he had children of his own? That he was someone's father…

It was natural that Alfred would see him as a father figure, it happened with a lot of patients, it was difficult to avoid.

“I know you see me as a father, Alfred. I’ve helped you and taken care of you, it’s natural.”

Then Fie looked surprised again.

“This is why you still need so much more therapy, you’re a clever boy but you’re not making the most simple connections related to your psyche.”

Fie wilted a bit and after a brief moment nodded back to Harris. Sean had told him to agree when he could, he said it would help.

“Now Dr. Capshaw will restart hydrotherapy again today- only one day off. If you cooperate in our next session when I return tomorrow maybe we can consider reducing those sessions.”

Alfie looked back to him and nodded in understanding. He really would like that. He was getting better at hydrotherapy but afterwards he still cried every time. And really anything to see less of Capshaw.

“That’s a good boy. Now behave the rest of today, the nurses have enough to deal with, and you don't want to be sedated- or worse get a lump of coal, on Christmas do you?” He said with a smile and bent over and ruffled his hat partially crumpling it where it sat on his head.

“Merry Christmas Alfred, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Harris beamed in his good cheer and turned on his heels to leave the hospital for what Alfie imagined was a roasted goose with all of the trimmings and three smiling children.

Maybe he was a good father? Maybe he played catch in the backyard and read stories alloud by the fire?

A shiver went through him as he was lost in this thought, only to jump again when he felt a hand on his back.

“Just me, bud,” Sean’s voice rumbled kindly.

Alfie deflated a little in his seat, “He said I have to have treatment today.”

Sean’s eyebrows were creased as he came into his vision, rounding the table, “On Christmas? What do they say? No rest for the wicked?”

“Is that me or them that's the Wicked?” Alfie replied dryly but lacking the smirk a joke would require.

Sean elected to ignore the dour comment and move forward, “I was watching you though, you did a good job, I saw you nodding- agreeing- just like we talked about. I know it isn’t easy.”

“You said that before- at one point… I used to fight it?”

It was Sean’s turn to smirk, “Like a tomcat, a force of nature,” He replied with a tone of distinctive pride, “You really stuck it to them.”

“Sometimes I feel like I still want to…”

Sean paused, sensing the dangerous territory, “Fie, listen, that’s not a bad thing but-”

“But then they’d erase me again… I know. So I won’t.”

He sighed, “It’s just not fair, Fie. You should be able to fight and I should help you-”

“But it isn’t fair no matter what and if you’re gone...”

Fie was frankly amazingly lucid today. It was reminding Sean of how painful it could be when he was.... as opposed to the other special kind of torture of when he was out of it- this way he was aware of the injustice, the cruelty.

“You’re right,” Sean breathed out, feeling decidedly un-cheery.

As if reading his mind in turn Alfie responded with a wry smile that didn’t match his eyes, “Merry Christmas to us then.”

Sean then smiled bigger than he should have, “I do have one thing that might tip the balances of today…”

Alfie actually looked mildly curious.

“If you’ll do me the honor of escorting me back to your quarters, there may or may not be a surprise waiting there…”

Fie tried to suppress a small smile and nodded. He almost got up but then looked apprehensively at his tray, reflexively ready to be told to eat more.

“Clean plate club as far as I’m concerned.” Sean shooed him up gently with a smile.

Fie wobbled a bit and wasn’t fast by any stretch of the imagination but when they made it back to his cell Sean gestured inside like a prize show girl.

Fie raised his eyebrows when with a cursory look nothing was visible.

“You think I’d let the nurses take it home for themselves? Look a little closer-”

Alfie stepped inside as he had hundreds of times before. The only thing in the white cell was an iron bed with white sheets and a gray scratchy wool blanket.

He looked back at Sean, now really confused.

“Check the sheets” Sean smiled.

So Alfie did, tucked right within was a small bundle…

Alfie immediately sat on his bed with the green wrapped bundle on his lap and then just stopped, staring at it.

“You can open it anytime,” Sean reminded him in a teasing voice.

Fie looked up at him, almost surprised again that he was there, already so distracted by this new object.

But he nodded minutely and looked back down to the parcel.

It was wrapped with a thin red and white twine bow that he gingerly pulled loose. Before it fell away he rubbed it with his fingers, savoring the touch.

Gingerly, so gingerly he began on the paper. There was no tape so at his little tug it easily came away. First visible was a card.

“Merry Christmas! From the Cyril’s” read in cheery red script around a green snow covered tree with little yellow lights dotting it. Fie’s finger brushed slowly over the pressed inks. After a long moment, he opened up the card and something fluttered out.

Sean jumped over to retrieve it and embarrassedly spluttered as he handed it back, “Sophie wanted to give you a card but each one has our snapshot in it for family and friends out of town- it’s corny, i know...” his cheeks were red.

Fie just silently took the thick glossy cutout back and stared at it. It was Sean, that he recognized, but bizarrely out of uniform, in a knit button-up leisure shirt. And a woman beaming at the camera in his arms below him. She was so happy- beaming wasn’t enough of a word to describe it. Her hair was done stylishly in medium curls that swept off her face and her dress, even in the black and white, was obviously colorful and jubilant.

They were beautiful.

He looked at the writing in the card, “Dear Alfred, Merry Christmas from us. Good tidings and continued wishes for your improving health. With cheers and fond wishes, Soph and Sean.”

The script was decidedly ugly which unexpectedly made Fie laugh, scrawled with sharp points and careless dots and crossed t’s, somehow even that was amusing and warm.

“Oh her writing? I know!! Apparently the nuns used to use a ruler on her hands in grade school for it- she thinks she’s talented for it!” Sean laughed warmly.

Fie closed the card and smiled at Sean, “Thank you, Sean.” He couldn’t believe they would give him this, it was almost too kind.

“Well thats just the card! Look at the rest!” Sean replied giddily.

And sure enough, to his surprise, (as he had forgotten about the lumpiness of the parcel) there was more. First was a little pie, the size of a hand and absolutely delicious looking, then… a tiny notebook, again no larger than a hand with a little pencil fit into the spine.

Fie picked up the notebook, dumbfounded. Green leather bound with tissue thin pages turned over and over in his hands.

“Mostly for drawing…. If you ever felt like it when i can’t take you to the art room but also I don’t know...” Sean rubbed the back of his neck, “For remembering things you don’t wanna forget- important things-”

Fie shifted the contents of his lap beside him to jump up and hug Sean but clumsily more fell into him than anything.

“Thank you-” He mumbled into the warm winter uniform sweater, “Thank you.”

Sean held him securely, “Merry Christmas bud, you probably deserve a helluva lot more than this.”

---

@cursedscribbles @voidwhump @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @aliceinwhumperland @whump-it @professional-idiocy @ziptiewhump @angrystudentgoopfire @jaxonjekkels @clubbem @simplygrimly @whole-and-apart-and-between @bumpthumpwhump @rosesareviolentlyread @whumpasaurus101 @hurting-fictional-people @burtlederp @thelittlegirlwithcurlyhair @crystalquartzwhump @rotfern @sentientpileofmoss

#whump #psych whump #alfie #alfred finch #sean #dr. harris #sophie #christmas #tw mentioned nudity #psychiatric whump #hydrotherapy #presents!#for the boy!!#4 years wow sad #sorry its been a long time #treatment has been kicking my ass #looking good overall though so dw

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divinekangaroo · 2 months

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Roundup AO3 Updates

Catchup on crossposts here, missed across Oct/Nov/Dec/Jan/Feb

And for the sake of something completely different, an attempt at writing publisher-style 'chapter descriptions'. (*that's* what's happening -> I genuinely had no idea)

can't remember what i came to find | Tommy x Lizzie

Lizzie's caution regarding Tommy's current sexual dysfunction and brittle emotional state does not carry through to her physical actions, inadvertently raising traumatic memories during intimacy. Tommy hints at suicide, which Lizzie feels deeply, but cannot consciously accept or engage with. She triggers Tommy further using dialogue similar to that which he "hears" in his visions of Grace.

death is a tree you plant in my chest - Chapter 3 | Alfie x Tommy

Alfie eavesdrops, overhearing a possible source of Tommy's motive for asking him out that wounds Alfie's pride. Memories of past encounters with Tommy resurface where Alfie also felt insulted and mocked, fueling his desire to retaliate. He chooses to target Arthur, knowing it will provoke Tommy more than targeting Tommy himself, wanting to push Tommy off-balance and into truthful revelations. However, Tommy's response unexpectedly hits a sore spot with Alfie, given the suppressed emotion of his recent cancer diagnosis, causing tension to escalate.

fucking come on and break the door down - Chapter 4 | Dr Holford & Tommy

Dr. Holford becomes increasingly inebriated during dinner with Tommy, offering flattery aimed at those elements of Tommy's hosting which attempt to portray Tommy as higher class but which inadvertently expose him otherwise. Despite Holford uncovering some of Tommy's vulnerabilities, his own conflicting infatuation and disdain lead him to inadvertently reveal his own. In drunken desperation, Holford manages to twist his stumbling confessions to partial reveals of only those elements which further endear him to Tommy.

i thought i saw your mother in the dark - Chapter 8 | Charles Shelby & Tommy Shelby

The day after Charlie's birthday party, where Tommy successfully remobilised his Peaky loyalists to serve his potentially fascist-appearing ends, Tommy recruits Arthur to investigate his suspicions regarding Finn. Riding out, Tommy and Arthur pick on Finn, only for Tommy to inadvertantly catch the brunt of the prank. Charles attempts to reconnect with his cousin Karl, but Tommy disapproves, performing a magic trick intended to humiliate Karl, only for Karl to turn the tables and humiliate Tommy in front of the watching men. Arthur attempts to take care of Tommy's worsening illness in front of the others, only for Tommy to reject the offer of comfort in fury after two days of cumulative shocks and shames. Returning to Arrow House and after everyone has departed, Charlie and Tommy discover Lizzie's secret caller is Linda. Lizzie's defensiveness and accusations result in a loud verbal fight where Tommy takes out his accrued frustrations on Lizzie verbally. Charles and Ruby learn that their trusted Uncle Arthur has committed direct violence on and towards his wife.

#my writing #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #dr holford #tommy shelby #lizzie stark #charles shelby #tommy x lizzie #alfie x tommy #alfie solomons #How is it March already

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reesecomic13 · 10 months

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I’m going to try to do Art Fight this Year!! It was hard to choose between Vampire and Werewolf 😔

#art fight #art fight 2023 #spider sona #spider drill #petra pardo #dr. Jane morbius #dr. damnpyr #Lola Tilly #Molly Alfie #team vampire #Esme #vampire #esme the vampire #oc

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better-with-words · 2 years

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Love Island the Game S5 Ep.30-32 Spoilers:

The way I literally gasped when Meera came out to hold Alfie’s hand??? I mean I’m really over Alfie not communicating and things, but Meera??? I was not expecting her again, tbh. However, Meera constantly like… glaring at MC and stuff even when you try to be nice? It’s a bit weird.

The way I literally cheered when Finn came back for Kat? Not going to lie, I cheered. Which made my conversation with him later rather disappointing, because he has feelings for MC too? Had to LET HIM DOWN. ….I mean, I did it nicely, but still. As mad as I am at Kat for what happened with Alfie, I can’t say she’s ever really swayed her head, and we saw some pretty vulnerable sides to her during Casa, so… it’s hard to do that to her. Like she kinda did it to me, but I can’t really do it to her.

Eddie, throwing a tantrum? ..I wish I could say I expected better, but truthfully, I can’t. He’s literally so entitled and I’m so glad he’s gone. Also, like… he claimed that he did all this good by Dana, and I’m like… where? And also, he said I was the only one who ever did good by him but also… BITCH WHERE? When he tried to stir the pot before going, I was like nah. Get outta here.

Gabi’s personality took a hard turn when Suresh came back and she had a point to prove, and I was all for her clearing the air and fixing it, but uh. She didn’t, really. She didn’t achieve squat? And now Dana’s all jealous and Lulu, Suresh, and Gabi are having hushed chats and I’m just like…. Gabi, I’m so sorry you have to come to your acceptance phase of your Suresh grief, but you gotta, girl.

Speaking of Suresh, seems like he’s onto yet another. Okay. Good for him, but it does seem like he’s running from commitment. 🤷 Also Lulu may seem okay, but she seems a little secretly cutthroat? Like I think I respect her out of fear?

Dana. She’s really a bit worse for wear here and honestly, there’s not much I can do to convince her here. It’s tough for me to read where Gabi’s at.

I switched with Nicolas, which, THANK GOD, because Suresh coming back with Lulu, and Dana coming back with Gabi, and Alfie coming back with Meera??? THAT’S A YIKES FEST. Nicolas has been kind of scheme-y: he wants us to be perceived well as a couple so, we can stay on the show. Matching outfits, talking up our bond more than it is so we appear stronger… And I’m not going to lie, I’m enjoying playing these roles with him. For once, we’re playing the game, and while we may not be a power couple for real yet… in his own words, he wants to buy more time to see if we could be. And I’m on board with that. And for once, we’ve got someone who seems 100% in our corner and fun to be around and gossip and plot with. He has been saying he doesn’t mind the baggage, and he’s interested in the drama. To be honest, rather than alarming, I find it to be telling of his desire to face things head on and communicate them. I massively respect that. He is giving massive trickster vibes, but I’m liking that about him actually.

#ramblings and dr pepper #litg eitv #litg season 5 #litg s5 #litg ex in the villa #ex in the villa #love island the game 2 #nicolas litg #litg suresh #litg lulu #litg gabi #litg dana #litg kat #litg alfie #litg meera #litg eddie #litg finn

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his-saiko · 3 months

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Dr. Ratio staying true to his name.

L-ratio me, sir.

Bruh, my hmm— my mmh—

Men. This man.

#alfi reacts #alfi thirsts #hsr dr ratio

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draconifay · 4 months

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Happy Holidays from Hal, Alfy, and Hal's new buddy Paguro! ❄️

Ik it's a bit late but I wanted to make a piece celebrating the winter season!

I hope the next year brings everyone joy! Things can be tough, but they can get better with time!

Version without text!

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sistertotheknowitall · 2 months

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Some Guy Bingo

Masterpost.

Nearly three months into (what Jason called) The Haunting, the siblings kinda started a game. (“Either we're haunting him or he's haunting us, I haven't decided yet." "Considering he's the one appearing randomly, I'd say he's haunting us.")

Technically Tim had started it with, “five bucks says Danny went to class today.” (Gotham university was having an out break of fear toxin curtesy of Dr. Crane.) However, it was Jason who kicked it off with, “ten if he says something about actual scarecrows.”

Dick had snorted and said, “fifteen if it’s a personal experience about a farm.”

“I call bingo if he makes a vague statement on agriculture.” So it was actually Steph who started it.

“Bingo? We were placing bets.”

“Unlike you Hood, some people don’t get adopted by money.”

“As if Bruce doesn’t give you an allowance.”

(“As if he didn’t offer to adopt you,” Tim tacked on.)

It became a running joke where they started calling out "bingo if -" whenever they had to go out on a call. The joke had later formed into a running game when Danny had told Cass, “fighting gods is a pass-time, it is humanity that the real fight is against.” (He had trip over a curb and laid on the ground for several minutes before she asked if he was okay.) She said it wasn’t the most concerning thing he said to her and Steph chimed in claiming, “on a scale of one to ten that statement rates at a three.”

Jason had asked why Cass and Steph always got the weird ambiguous statements and he got cryptic shit about his “soul”.

(Damian had pointed out that at least he wasn’t being constantly referred to as a baby.)

I Call Bingo, which they still played whenever a situation required more than one of them, became “on a scale”

Dick was sure that “having given up on optimism, I find your enthusiasm to be overly bright” should be ranked higher then “I don’t like two-stepping but I’m from the mid-west, so do you know how to line dance?” (Danny and Duke had gotten into an awkward side step where they kept blocking each other.) Damian said the wording seemed passive-aggressive but the tone was too positive to be rude so he gave it a three. Jason said it sounded like a bad pick up line and gave it a two.

They often debated and defended the score they gave with Barbara chiming in over coms. She had never met Danny as Oracle but he was a regular at the public library. He was always polite and respectful and had quickly become one of her favorite patrons. Like Steph and Cass she also got odd statements but hers felt more like half-hearted jokes.

Bruce didn't always join in on their game but it wasn't surprising to see the occasional score placed in their reports. (They had a file dedicated to Danny's remarks. Originally it was to keep track of what they knew about him but at this point it was just to let the others know what he said this time.) Alfred was roped into it even if he didn't really participate unless asked. ("Hey Alfie, what would you give 'i'm glad i don't have to fight my food to eat it but if Batburger keeps giving me the wrong thing I'm summoning Lunch Lady.' Cause Tim says two but I think it's a five.") (He gave it a four.)

Post 4

#I just realized that i'd been forgetting Barbara and that is unacceptable #i hope this is coherent #danny is just some guy #the batfam are mostly use to him #batfamily #dcxdp #dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #dp crossover #dp x dc crossover #danny fenton #danny phantom

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musicforastylesrestaurant · 8 months

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Saccharine Recoveries.

my masterlist || ask me anything <3

series masterlist.

authors note - a part two was highly requested, so here you all go! not going to lie to you all, i’m not the happiest with how this turned out, but writers block is a total bitch. i’m sorry if it doesn’t live up to your standards. 🫶

word count - 7.9k

in which, after being in a medically induced coma for the past four days, your eyes are finally open, just when your husband thinks that everything is rosie, trials and tribulations occur once again making the processes of your recovery ten times harder, but he’s optimistic and always looks on the bright side , even when that all comes crashing down.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Recovery Day One. — 15th August, 2022.

19:03pm.

“(Y/N)?” Harry spoke in a hushed whisper as you tried to smile at him.

The sensation of the tube in your throat was uncomfortable, a reminder of the ordeal you had endured. You instinctively reached for your voice, your lips parting to form words, but the effects of the coma lingered, rendering your efforts into silence.

A group of doctors entered the room, and your heart skipped a beat as they approached your bed. Dr. Parker, his eyes kind and understanding, stepped forward.

"Hello, Mrs. Styles," he greeted you with a gentle smile. "I'm glad to see you awake."

Your gaze shifted to Harry and Alfie, their expressions a mix of hope and concern. Your fingers trembled slightly as you lifted your hand, pointing toward them. A stray tear slid down the side of your face, its path traced by a mixture of emotions – relief, gratitude, and the unspoken words that your voice couldn't yet express.

Dr. Parker followed your gesture, his gaze softening as he understood. "Harry and Alfie are right here with you. They've been waiting for you to wake up."

Your lips curved into a faint smile, your eyes locking onto Harry's and then Alfie's. Your heart seemed to speak for you, conveying the depth of your emotions and the overwhelming love that surged within you. Your hand trembled slightly as it remained pointed toward them, the tear on your cheek a testament to the profound connection that held your family together.

Dr. Parker's voice carried a note of reassurance. "It's okay, Mrs. Styles. Take your time. Your body is still recovering from the coma, and your voice will return when it's ready."

As Dr. Parker finished his conversation with you, his gaze turned gentle and concerned. "Are you experiencing any pain, Mrs. Styles?"

You managed to summon the energy to nod your head slightly, a subtle indication that discomfort still lingered. The faintest flicker of concern crossed Harry's features as he watched your response.

"Where are you feeling the pain?" Dr. Parker's voice was soothing, his attention focused solely on your well-being.

Harry's grip on your hand tightened, his gaze fixated on you. "M’love, where does it ‘urt?"

You shifted slightly, your gaze fixed on Dr. Parker. Weakly, you managed to lift your hand and gesture toward your chest and ribs, the source of your discomfort.

Dr. Parker's expression turned thoughtful, and he nodded. "Thank you for letting me know. I'll make sure you receive the appropriate pain relief."

With a gentle smile, he turned to leave the room, leaving you and your two boys alone once again. Harry's eyes never left your face, his concern palpable.

"Darlin’, are y’okay?" Harry's voice was laced with worry, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the back of your hand.

You managed a weak smile, your gaze never leaving his. The silent exchange between you carried a wealth of emotions, unspoken words of comfort and reassurance.

Dr. Parker returned with a nurse who began administering the prescribed pain relief. As the nurse worked, Dr. Parker approached your bedside once again.

"We'll make sure you're as comfortable as possible," Dr. Parker assured you. "Your body has been through a lot, and it's important that you're not in pain."

Harry's voice was a mixture of gratitude and concern. "Thank you, Doc."

Dr. Parker nodded, his attention shifting to you. "Rest is crucial for your recovery. If you need anything, don't hesitate to let us know."

As the nurse finished administering the pain relief, you felt a sense of relief wash over you. The tension in your body began to ease, and you gave Harry a small smile – a silent acknowledgment of his unwavering presence by your side.

"We'll be here with you, love," Harry's voice was filled with determination. "Every step of the way."

And as Dr. Parker and the nurse left the room, you found comfort in the knowledge that your journey to healing was not one you had to travel alone.

The doctors then turned their attention to the monitors, checking your vitals and heart rate. Their movements were methodical and practised, their focus on ensuring your well-being.

Satisfied with their assessments, Dr. Parker looked at you with a reassuring smile. "Your vitals are looking stable, (Y/N). Your body is responding well."

You managed a weak smile, your voice still struggling to find its strength.

"We're going to give you a moment with your family now," Dr. Parker continued, his tone considerate. "Harry and Alfie are here with you."

As the doctors began to step away, Harry's presence came into view. His eyes were fixed on you, a mixture of relief and emotion evident in his gaze. Alfie stood beside him, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern.

" ‘ey, m’sun," Harry's voice was a soft, soothing balm. "How are’y’feeling?"

You managed a faint smile, your fingers reaching out to Harry's hand. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes – a silent reassurance of your connection.

Alfie shuffled closer, his eyes wide with wonder. "Mummy?"

You offered Alfie a tender smile, your hand extending toward him. Your fingers lightly brushed against his, a gentle touch that conveyed your love and presence.

Harry's voice was a mixture of encouragement and understanding. "Y’safe now, (Y/N). We're all here with ya’.”

As the doctors left the room, the atmosphere settled into a quieter, more intimate calm. The warmth of Harry's hand in yours was a constant reassurance, a lifeline that tethered you to the present.

Harry's eyes, filled with a mixture of love and concern, never left your face. His voice, gentle and soothing, filled the silence. "Y’been asleep f’a lil’while, m’love. There's some catching up t’do."

Your gaze locked onto his, a flicker of anticipation in your eyes.

"M’postponed the American leg ‘f the tour," Harry began, his voice carrying the weight of the decision. "It jus’didn't feel right being on t’road without ya’."

The news hit you like a shockwave, and your eyes widened in disbelief. A tremor ran through your body, and you started to shake your head, your voice struggling to find its strength.

Harry reached for your hand, his touch grounding you. "M’know it's a lot, m’sun, but it was necessary. Our family comes first."

You searched his eyes, finding reassurance in the depth of his gaze. The unspoken promise of unity and support between you was unwavering.

Harry continued, his voice soft and filled with emotion. "M’mum flew over as soon as she heard. She wanted t’be here f’us, for Alfie. And Gem, she's flying out soon too. We're all in this together."

A sense of gratitude swelled within you, knowing that your family was rallying around you during this challenging time. The bond you shared with Harry and the love you held for your son were at the heart of it all.

As the conversation with Harry continued, Alfie, who had been sitting patiently by his father's side, leaned in and whispered something into Harry's ear. The words were hushed and filled with earnestness.

"Can I go and sit next to mummy?"

Harry's eyes softened with understanding as he glanced at his son. He nodded, a tender smile playing at the corners of his lips. " ‘f course, buddy."

With gentle hands, Harry lifted Alfie from his spot by his side and carefully placed him on the bed beside you. Alfie's little frame nestled against your side, and he instinctively shifted closer, seeking the comfort of your presence.

Your heart swelled with emotion as you felt Alfie's warmth against your body. The tenderness in his touch and the trust in his eyes were a testament to the special bond you shared. It was a moment of quiet connection, and even though you lacked the energy to cuddle him back, the love that flowed between you was palpable.

Harry watched the two of you with a soft smile, his heart undoubtedly touched by the sight of his son seeking solace in the arms of his recovering mother. It was a moment of unity, a reaffirmation of the strength of your family's bond.

19:30pm.

In the quiet stillness of the hospital room, Harry leaned in, his lips poised to share a deeply personal revelation. The weight of the secret he held had been on his shoulders for too long, and he was determined to share it with you. His eyes, full of anticipation and love, met yours.

Just as the words were about to leave his lips, the door to the room opened, and the nurse, entered with gentle steps, entered at precisely seven-thirty. Her presence was unobtrusive, and her warm smile radiated compassion as she approached your bedside.

You greeted her with a subtle nod, your curiosity piqued by her arrival. Harry, ever the vigilant protector, looked up from his tender embrace of Alfie, his concern mirrored in his eyes.

"Good evening, Mrs. Styles," the nurse greeted you softly, her voice a soothing balm to the quiet room. "It's usually dinner time now, but given your recent awakening from the coma, we need to proceed cautiously with your diet for the time being."

Your gaze remained focused on her, a silent invitation for her to continue. Harry, still cradling Alfie with the care of a seasoned parent, nodded in acknowledgment, his concern for your well-being unwavering.

The nurse, her eyes kind and reassuring, continued to explain, "Your digestive system may need some time to regain its strength after the period of inactivity. Therefore, we've decided to provide you with a special formula through your IV. This way, we can ensure that you're receiving the right nutrients and proper hydration."

Harry's response was immediate, his voice laced with gratitude and trust. "Whatevers best f’her, Nurse. We want t’make sure she's getting ‘hat she needs."

You managed a faint but appreciative smile, your eyes conveying the depth of your gratitude for their unwavering support and care. Despite your current inability to speak, the silent bond between you and your family spoke volumes.

The nurse proceeded with her preparations, her skilled hands deftly checking the IV line to ensure its proper function. Throughout the process, Alfie remained fast asleep in Harry's embrace, his peaceful slumber a testament to the exhausting day he had experienced.

With her preparations complete, the nurse offered one final reassurance. "We will be closely monitoring your progress, (Y/N). This is just a temporary measure to aid in your recovery."

The nurse had just left the room, her instructions regarding the specialised IV and dietary changes echoing in the air. Harry, sensing the moment was right, leaned in closer, his eyes filled with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. Alfie was securely cradled in his arms as he gently took your hands, his gaze never leaving yours.

With a soft, reassuring smile, Harry spoke the words you had both longed to hear. "Y’pregnant, m’sun."

You reacted with a swift, adamant shake of your head, your eyes wide with disbelief. The shock and confusion etched across your face were undeniable.

But Harry, determined to share this moment with you, leaned forward, ensuring that Alfie remained comfortably nestled in his embrace. He spoke with a tender reassurance, his voice a soothing balm amidst the swirling emotions.

"Yes, y’are," Harry affirmed, his voice steady and filled with unwavering love. "T’doctors said y’thirteen weeks along, ‘n’everything's fine, m’love. T’baby is fine."

Overwhelmed by the weight of this revelation, tears welled up in your eyes. Emotions surged within you, a mixture of astonishment, vulnerability, and joy. The reality of the situation began to set in, and you couldn't contain the flood of tears that followed.

With Alfie nestled between you both, Harry's comforting presence and the assurance that your family was growing filled the room with an overwhelming sense of love and unity.

Harry continued to hold you close, his soothing words offering comfort amidst your tears. "We're in this together, (Y/N). You, me, Alfie, ‘n’our little one on t’way. We’ll face everything together, just like we always do."

20:07pm.

As the evening hours continued to pass, the time for Harry and Alfie to leave the hospital room drew near. Harry turned to you, his eyes filled with both longing and a sense of duty.

"Alf’s goin’ school in the morning," he explained gently, his voice soft and reassuring. "But I'll be back straight after I've dropped him off, alright?"

You nodded your head in understanding, your silent agreement filled with trust and love. Leaning in closer, you pressed a gentle kiss to Alfie's head, your lips conveying all the warmth and affection you felt for your precious son.

Harry's heart swelled with love as he watched you share that tender moment with Alfie, a silent promise of your presence and love even in his absence.

Turning his attention back to you, Harry then leaned in to press a loving kiss to your lips, a feeling that both of you had missed dearly during this challenging time. The warmth of your kiss was a poignant reminder of the deep connection you shared, a source of strength that would carry you through the days ahead.

With one last loving glance, Harry and Alfie left the room, the door closing softly behind them.

As the door gently closed behind Harry and Alfie, you found yourself alone in the dimly lit hospital room. The silence of the space enveloped you, broken only by the soft hum of medical equipment. It was in this solitary moment that you finally allowed yourself to embrace the vulnerability that had been suppressed for too long.

With one hand instinctively resting on your stomach, you pulled the hospital blanket closer to your body with the other. Its warmth and softness provided a semblance of comfort in the stark, clinical environment.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and, without hesitation, they began to flow. They traced a path down your cheeks, unburdening the emotions that had been building within you. These tears were not borne of despair but were simply a release, an acknowledgment of the pain and uncertainty you had endured.

Your ribs ached with each breath, serving as a constant reminder of the accident, and your throat still bore the discomfort of the breathing tube that had sustained you during your coma. The physical pain mirrored the emotional turmoil that had gripped you since that fateful day.

As you allowed yourself to cry, the hospital room witnessed the rawness of your feelings. The tears, like a cleansing rain, carried away the weight of your journey, drop by drop. In their silent descent, you found a sense of relief, a moment to acknowledge your strength in facing adversity and to grieve for the challenges you had encountered.

Recovery Day Two. — 16th August, 2022.

08:31am.

The new morning painted the world with a sense of hope and renewal. Harry and Alfie, hand in hand, approached the grand entrance of Alfie's primary school. The sun's gentle rays played through the leaves of towering trees, casting intricate patterns on the path they trod.

Alfie's backpack, on his petite frame, appeared comically oversized, an emblem of his premature birth three months prior. It slung over his shoulders, almost grazing the ground with its weight. Yet, it was a symbol of his resilience, a testament to his eagerness to embrace this new day.

Harry, looking down at his son and offered a warm, reassuring smile.

"Y’going t’do great today, Alf," he encouraged, his voice infused with love and unwavering support. He couldn't help but marvel at the little boy who had already faced so much in his young life.

Alfie, his tiny hand holding on to his father's with a mixture of trust and nervousness, clung to the familiarity of his touch. The weight of his backpack seemed nothing compared to the emotional burden he carried on his first day back at school since you had been hospitalised.

"I'm scared, Daddy," Alfie finally admitted, his voice barely more than a whisper. The uncertainty of returning to school after an extended absence weighed heavily on his young heart.

Harry knelt down, coming to eye level with his son, his eyes mirroring Alfie's with a gentle understanding.

"S’okay t’feel scared, buddy," he assured, his words carrying the reassurance of a father's love. "But remember, y’not alone. Y’friends ‘n’teachers are here f’you, ‘n’Mommy will be so proud ‘f y’when she hears ‘bout y’first day back."

Alfie nodded, a glimmer of determination shining through his eyes. With a deep, steadying breath, he took that brave step through the school gates.

As they approached the classroom door, Mrs. Lucas stood outside, offering warm greetings to the arriving students and parents. Alfie's steps grew slower, and his grip on Harry's hand became hesitant. Mrs. Lucas, with a kind smile, extended her welcome to them.

"Good morning, Alfie," she greeted with genuine warmth. "It's so good to have you back."

But when those words reached Alfie's ears, his steps came to an abrupt halt. He turned to his father, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. The plea in his gaze was clear – he needed to be picked up.

Harry tilted his head in concern as he knelt down to Alfie's level. Without hesitation, he gently lifted his son into his arms, Alfie clutching him tightly. Tears began to flow down Alfie's cheeks as he buried his face in Harry's shoulder.

With genuine worry, Harry asked,

"S’wrong, buddy?" His voice was soft, a comforting presence in this moment of turmoil.

Alfie, his voice quivering with emotion, didn't immediately respond. He simply continued to cry, his tiny frame trembling in his father's embrace.

With Alfie still nestled in his arms, Harry tried once more to coax words from his son.

Amidst the sympathetic gazes of the other parents, Alfie's tears continued to stream down his cheeks, his sobs growing more intense with each passing moment. Harry's heart ached as he held his son close, longing to soothe the pain that had gripped the young boy's heart.

"S’wrong, Alfie?" Harry asked once more, his voice tender and filled with empathy. He knew that Alfie needed to express his feelings, to release the emotions that had built up during the time when his mother was in the hospital.

Alfie hiccupped, struggling to find his words through his tears. Finally, in a soft, quivering voice, he managed to convey his deep longing, "I don't want to go to school... I want Mommy."

Harry's heart felt like it had shattered into a million pieces as he held his son tighter. He understood Alfie's pain all too well, and he wished he could make it all better. In that moment, he felt the weight of your absence more than ever.

Harry held Alfie close, his arms wrapped around his trembling son as they stood outside the classroom door. Alfie's tears still glistened in his eyes, and his grip on his father remained firm.

In a soft, soothing voice, Harry began to speak. "Y’know, Alfie, t’second I pick y’up after school, we can go’n’see Mommy. But right now, it's important f’y’t’go t’school’n’learn all sorts of new things."

Alfie's response was a shaky, tearful shake of his head. He reached up to play with the soft peach fuzz at the back of his father's neck, a comforting gesture that harkened back to his baby days.

Harry, understanding the depth of his son's reluctance, tried a different approach. "Y’remember y’best friend Casey, right? Well, he's in y’class already’n’his daddy texted me last night sayin’ that Casey really missed ya’ Do y’think y’could go in’n’see him today?"

Alfie considered this for a moment, his watery eyes reflecting the uncertainty he felt. Eventually, he nodded his head, a small but significant step toward the classroom.

Harry gently wiped away the tears under Alfie's eyes, his heart full of love and pride for his brave little boy. He leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to Alfie's forehead, their foreheads touching briefly.

"I love you, Alfie," Harry whispered.

"I love you too, Daddy," Alfie replied, his voice filled with trust and affection. With that final exchange of words, Harry lowered his son down to the floor.

Watching Alfie take those uncertain steps toward the classroom, Harry couldn't help but feel a swell of pride for his brave boy.

After Alfie had taken those hesitant steps into the classroom, Harry turned his attention to Mrs. Lucas, his expression a mixture of concern and determination. He approached her with a polite smile, trying to maintain a sense of normalcy.

"Mrs. Lucas," he began, his voice soft and earnest, "I just wanted t’let y’know that if, at any point during the day, Alfie starts getting upset or, well, anything happens, please don't hesitate t’give me a call."

Mrs. Lucas regarded him with a curious yet understanding gaze, her concern evident. She knew that something had been amiss, but she also respected Harry's discretion.

“Of course, Harry," she replied kindly. "I'll keep an eye on him and be sure to reach out if he needs you."

Harry nodded, a sense of relief washing over him. He appreciated Mrs. Lucas's willingness to support Alfie during this challenging time. However, when she inquired further, her voice gentle, about what had happened, Harry hesitated.

"I'd rather not discuss it," he said quietly, his gaze momentarily distant. "Just, please, call me if Alfie gets upset. That's all I ask."

Mrs. Lucas nodded in understanding, recognizing the importance of respecting their privacy. She gave Harry an understanding smile, appreciating the depth of his concern for Alfie's well-being.

"Of course, Mr. Styles," she reassured him once more. "We'll take good care of Alfie here."

With that, Harry offered his gratitude with a nod and turned to leave the school, knowing that, despite the challenges ahead, Alfie was in capable and caring hands.

09:00am.

The room was bathed in the gentle morning light as the clock on the wall struck nine. It marked the beginning of another day in the hospital, a new chapter in your journey towards recovery.

A soft knock at the door signalled the arrival of a specialist, a man named James. His presence was a breath of fresh air, a beacon of hope in the sterile environment of the hospital room. With a warm smile, he approached your bedside, his eyes filled with empathy and reassurance.

"Good morning," he greeted, his voice carrying the calm confidence of someone experienced in helping patients on their path to recovery. "I'm James, and I'm a speech therapist. How are you feeling today?"

You nodded in response, your eyes locked onto James, eager to hear his guidance and reassured by his professional demeanour.

James continued, his words measured and encouraging. "I want you to know that since your coma was relatively short, only three days, your speech should recover quite well. It might take some time and effort, but we'll work together to help you regain your full communication abilities."

James gently pulled his briefcase onto the bed, a sense of purpose in his movements. From it, he carefully extracted a pack of flashcards, each adorned with colorful images. He placed them on a small table beside the bed, arranging them neatly.

With a kind and encouraging tone, James explained the exercise ahead.

"We're going to start with something simple," he said, his voice soothing. "I'll show you some pictures, and I'd like you to try and name what's on each of them."

As he revealed the first flashcard, you looked at the image, your eyes focused. A glimmer of determination flickered in your gaze as you attempted to find the words within you. You opened your mouth, trying to conjure the sounds, but it was a formidable challenge.

The effort required to speak felt overwhelming, and a wave of frustration washed over you. Your body seemed to slump into the bed behind you, the weight of the task pulling you down.

James observed your struggle with empathy, recognizing the immense effort you were putting into this seemingly simple task.

Seeing your struggle and the evident frustration it brought, James reached for a glass and a jug of water from the bedside table. With careful movements, he filled the glass, and then he placed a straw inside it.

"Let's take a little break," he suggested kindly, offering you the glass. "Having some water will help keep your vocal cords hydrated, which can make speaking a bit easier."

He held the glass to your lips, allowing you to sip the cool water through the straw at your own pace. It was a small but essential gesture, a reminder that the journey towards recovery was a series of steps, each one significant in its own way.

James sat on the edge of the bed, his presence calm and reassuring. He held up the flashcards once more, looking at you with encouragement in his eyes.

"Would you like to try again?" he asked gently.

You hesitated for a moment, the memory of your previous attempt still fresh. But deep down, the determination burned, and you nodded your head, a sign that you were willing to give it another shot.

Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself for the task at hand. As you looked at the first flashcard, your lips parted, and you began to speak. However, the words that emerged were not the smooth, effortless ones you once knew. Instead, they came out in stutters and hesitations, like a rusty engine struggling to turn over.

"Th-th-that's... a b-b...bird," you managed, your voice breaking into a series of stutters.

James listened attentively, his expression unwavering.

James, ever patient and understanding, held up another flashcard, maintaining his reassuring presence. He had seen your determination and knew that progress was often marked by small, steady steps.

You looked at the new image on the flashcard, gathering your resolve once again. The previous stuttering attempt had not deterred you. With a deep breath and a sense of focus, you tried again.

"That's a... c-c-cat," you stammered, your voice still marked by hesitations and stutters.

James nodded approvingly, acknowledging your effort with a warm smile. Each word, no matter how challenging, was a testament to your resilience and determination.

James lifted another flashcard, his calm demeanor providing a reassuring backdrop for your efforts. He understood the significance of these small steps on your path to recovery and was there to support you every step of the way.

You focused on the new image before you, taking a moment to gather your thoughts. With a deep breath, you began to speak once more, your voice still marked by stutters and hesitations.

"That's a... d-d...dog," you managed, your determination shining through despite the challenges.

James nodded encouragingly, his smile warm and appreciative.

James, the dedicated speech therapist, held up a total of ten flashcards, one after the other. Each image presented a new challenge, a test of your ability to express yourself despite the obstacles in your path.

With unwavering patience, you faced each card, taking a deep breath before speaking. Your words, though marked by stutters and hesitations, emerged with determination and clarity. Ten times, you summoned the strength to name each object before you, each success a hard-earned victory in your journey to reclaim your voice.

James observed your progress with a sense of satisfaction, recognizing the strides you had made. He wore a gentle smile as he leaned in slightly, his voice filled with encouragement.

"Now, I'd like to take it a step further," he began, his tone still reassuring. "I'd like you to try speaking a few sentences. I believe you can do it."

You nodded your head, your confidence bolstered by the progress you had made with the flashcards. This felt like a significant step forward.

James handed you a piece of paper with several phrases on it. The sentences gradually grew longer, each one challenging you a bit more. It was a carefully crafted exercise to help you regain your ability to construct sentences and express yourself more fully.

He looked at you, offering his support.

"Whenever you're ready," he said, ready to listen and guide you through this next phase of your recovery.

The phrases on the page seemed like stepping stones on your path to recovery.

You looked at the first sentence, its simplicity contrasting with the complexity of your journey.

With a deep breath, you began to read it aloud, your voice still carrying the echoes of your previous stuttering attempts.

"I... like... to... pick... flowers," you managed, your voice steadier than before.

James nodded approvingly, his eyes filled with encouragement. The progress you had made in the short time you had been working together was remarkable.

He pointed to the next sentence, which was longer and more challenging.

"Take your time," he encouraged, ready to offer guidance if needed.

James, encouraged by your progress, nodded and presented another sentence. This time, the sentence was a bit longer, intended to further challenge your speaking abilities.

"Let's try this one," he said with a supportive smile, handing you the piece of paper. "Take your time, and whenever you're ready, go ahead and read it aloud."

You accepted the paper, your determination shining in your eyes. With a deep breath, you focused on the sentence before you, prepared to tackle this new challenge head-on.

“Exploring... new... horizons... broadens... our... perspectives.” you said, your words coming out with more fluency than before.

James nodded, his smile growing wider with pride.

"That was wonderful," he praised. "Your progress is truly remarkable."

He pointed to the next sentence on the page, which was even longer, yet he had full confidence that you were up to the challenge.

"Whenever you're ready," he encouraged, providing you with the space and support you needed to continue improving your speech.

James, the dedicated speech therapist, observed your readiness for the next challenge. With a supportive smile, he handed you the paper with the new sentence.

"Let's work on this one," he suggested kindly. "Remember to take your time and speak at your own pace."

You accepted the paper, your determination unwavering. You focused on the sentence, recognizing that it was longer than the previous ones but confident in your ability to meet the challenge.

With a deep breath, you began to speak, your voice gaining strength and fluency with each word. James watched, filled with pride at your progress, ready to offer guidance and support whenever you needed it.

As you finished reading the longer sentence, James couldn't contain his excitement. He clapped his hands together, the sound echoing with a sense of accomplishment. You looked up at him, tilting your head inquisitively.

With a beaming smile, James leaned in closer to you and spoke with genuine enthusiasm. "Your stutter has gone, and you're saying the sentences in full!"

Your eyes widened with joy and realisation. It was a moment of triumph, a sign that your journey to reclaim your voice was progressing even better than you had hoped. Your excitement bubbled over, and James, equally thrilled, wrapped you in a quick but heartfelt hug. It was a gesture of celebration and encouragement, a recognition of the significant strides you had made in your speech therapy.

With a warm smile, James expressed his delight at your progress. "I'm going to go inform the nurses at the station about your incredible improvement," he said. "And I'll be back in a few days to check up on you."

He then couldn't resist adding a lighthearted touch to the conversation. "You know," he chuckled, "when your husband comes into the room, you can surprise him with your newfound voice. I'm sure he'll be amazed."

James's positive energy and humor added a sense of camaraderie to your sessions, and you nodded with gratitude for his support. His dedication to your recovery was evident, and you looked forward to the day you could indeed surprise your husband with your progress.

12:07pm.

Around lunchtime, the door to your hospital room gently swung open, and in walked Harry, carrying a bag of Raising Cane's, the scent of delicious fried chicken filling the air. He had a warm smile on his face, relief and affection evident in his eyes as he saw you awake and alert.

He carefully placed the bag of food on the tray table, positioned at the edge of the bed, ensuring it was within your reach. Then, his eyes fixed on you, he leaned forward, closing the distance between you and placed a tender kiss on your lips. It was a kiss filled with love and longing, a silent expression of how much he had missed you during your recovery.

As he pulled away, he gazed into your eyes, his voice soft and filled with emotion.

"I brought y’favourite," he said, a hint of excitement in his tone, eager to share this moment with you. The sight of you awake and engaged was a testament to your resilience and strength, something he admired deeply.

Harry turned to refill your glass of water, his heart lighter with the knowledge that you were awake and speaking. As he poured the water, his mind was already occupied with thoughts of the delicious meal he had brought for you.

However, when he heard your voice, a voice he hadn't heard in days, his movements froze. The glass hovered over the pitcher, and his hands trembled ever so slightly. His eyes widened in astonishment as he slowly turned to look at you, a mixture of shock and joy dancing in his gaze.

"I didn't think I was allowed to eat," you said, your voice a little raspy but undeniably yours.

Harry's heart soared at the sound of your voice, and his lips curved into a wide, elated smile. He took a few steps closer to your bedside, setting the glass down with a gentle clink. Overwhelmed with emotion, he reached for your hand, his fingers intertwined with yours.

"Y’speakin’," he whispered, his voice filled with awe and relief, as if he had been granted a miracle.

Harry's heart raced as he rushed over to your bedside, his eyes fixed on you in disbelief. Carefully, he sat down on the edge of the bed, his hands trembling slightly as he reached out to pick up your hands. Gently, he brought them close to his face, pressing tender kisses to your wrists as if to confirm that this moment was real.

Tears glistened in his eyes as he looked at you, his voice quivering with emotion.

"Can’t believe it," he murmured, his breath hitching. "V’been ‘ere f’days, prayin’ t’hear y’voice again."

Even though you had been awake for a day, one thing he was craving was the sound of your voice, it was the one thing that made him feel same.

Before the accident, when he would get home from a heavy day full of meetings and executive decisions revolving the tour, he would come home exhausted and collapse onto either the sofa or the bed you shared, wherever you were that night and would lay his head on your lap, your hands running through his hair and your voice lulling him to a slumber with tales of what you did throughout the day, it was as if he was the same age as Alf.

His eyes never left yours, and he continued to place sweet kisses on your skin, each one a testament to the overwhelming relief and love he felt in that moment.

"Y’ave n’idea how much I missed you," he admitted, his voice barely more than a whisper, filled with a mix of gratitude and love.

Harry's fingers gently traced patterns on your palms as he leaned closer, his forehead resting against yours.

"Was so scared," he confessed, his voice cracking with vulnerability. "I couldn't bear the thought of losing you."

He pressed his lips to your forehead, a gentle and reassuring gesture.

"But y’here," he said, his voice steadier now, filled with determination. "And y’speaking, and m’so, so grateful."

Harry couldn't stop himself from leaning in and capturing your lips in a sweet, loving kiss. It was a kiss filled with months of worry, days of longing, and the promise of a future together. In that moment, he held you close, cherishing every second as if it were a precious gift.

As you pulled away from the sweet, lingering kiss, your fingers tenderly brushed under Harry's eyes, wiping away the glistening tear tracks that had formed there. You couldn't help but chuckle softly as you gazed at him, a playful glint in your eyes.

"Why did you bring food?" you asked, your voice filled with light-hearted amusement. "I thought I wasn't allowed to eat. The nurse explained about the IV and all."

Harry held onto your hands, his eyes never leaving yours. He chuckled, a warm, melodious sound that filled the room.

"Well," he began, his voice playful, "Was walking through t’ward, Nurse Lauren came up to me." He paused for dramatic effect, his lips curving into a mischievous grin. "S’told me they reviewed y’vitals’n’explained that y’could eat solid foods again."

You blinked in surprise, a smile spreading across your face. "They did?"

Harry nodded eagerly, his eyes filled with excitement.

"Ye’, they did. S’practically sprinted t’the Cane's next door, knowing s’y’absolute favorite."

You couldn't help but laugh, feeling a warm, fuzzy feeling spreading throughout your heart. "You really know how to make a girl feel special, don't you?"

Harry's smile grew wider, and he leaned in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead.

"Only the very special ones," he whispered, his voice filled with love and adoration, "like you."

Recovery Day Three. — 17th August, 2023.

14:54pm.

The next day painted a stark contrast to the peacefulness of the previous day. As late afternoon sunlight filtered through the window, it did little to alleviate the tension in the room. Your face, contorted in anguish, told a different story.

You had decided to try and have a little nap whilst Harry departed your side to go and get your little love bug, you were tired, you would wake up during the night confused about where you were and just decided to close your eyes, even if it was for five minutes.

Lying in the hospital bed, you were locked in the grip of a restless nightmare. Your brow was furrowed, and a faint sheen of sweat clung to your forehead. The morning sun, instead of casting a gentle glow, seemed to intensify the torment of your dream.

Outside, the world buzzed with life, oblivious to the turmoil within. Your slumber was anything but serene, as you wrestled with unseen demons in the depths of your subconscious. The room, too, held its breath, but not in quietude; rather, it was a silent witness to the tumultuous nightmare that held you captive.

Despite the sunlight's attempt to illuminate the room, a pall of unease lingered, a stark reminder of the night's torment. In that moment, the hospital room became a battleground between your deepest fears and the fragile flicker of hope that sought to break through the darkness.

In the depths of this haunting nightmare, you found yourself ensnared in a nightmarish tableau. Behind the wheel, your hands clenched the steering wheel with an iron grip. Alfie was in the backseat, his voice a haunting crescendo of terror as he called out to you.

"Mommy! Mommy!" His tiny voice trembled with fear, echoing through the confines of the car.

Beside him, a baby girl, a chilling glimpse of the child growing within your belly, wailed inconsolably. Her cries were a haunting lament, a stark reminder of the fragile life depending on your protection.

The world outside the car window blurred into a nightmarish frenzy, colors blending into an incomprehensible whirl. Tires screeched, a discordant symphony of desperation. The vehicle careened out of control, spinning and swerving as if propelled by malevolent forces.

Then came the deafening crash, a cataclysmic collision that reverberated through your very core. The world exploded into chaos, metal screeching against metal, an eruption of sound and fury.

In this nightmare, you teetered on the edge of consciousness, imprisoned within the nightmarish wreckage of the car. Through half-shut eyes, you beheld the unimaginable horror unfurling in the backseat. Flames danced, fierce and relentless, licking at the edges of the car seats. Orange tendrils of death reached hungrily toward Alfie and the tiny, wailing baby girl.

"Mommy, help me!" Alfie's desperate pleas were a chilling refrain, his voice tinged with terror and helplessness.

Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision as you strained against the invisible chains that bound you to the twisted metal. You could feel the unbearable heat, the scorching breath of the flames inching closer with every passing second.

The baby's cries grew louder, a heart-rending symphony of fear and agony. In this agonizing nightmare, you reached out a trembling hand, your fingers desperate to soothe the infant, to cradle her in safety. But the inferno was relentless, its searing fingers inching ever closer.

"Please, Mommy," Alfie's voice cracked with fear, his eyes wide with terror.

"I'm trying, Alfie," you whispered through trembling lips, your voice barely more than a quiver.

In this nightmarish realm, the scent of smoke filled your nostrils, the acrid taste of fear clinging to your tongue. Your heart pounded in your chest like a relentless drumbeat, and the weight of powerlessness bore down on you like an unyielding stone.

Flames engulfed the backseat, painting a hellish tableau of despair. It was a nightmare you couldn't escape, an agonizing loop of terror that clawed at your very soul. Your mind screamed for action, for salvation, but your body remained pinned, an immovable captive.

The cries of the baby grew louder, her tiny voice a heartbreaking plea for rescue. You stretched out your trembling hand, fingers straining toward her, a silent promise of protection. Yet, the flames danced ever nearer, their scalding touch tormenting your outstretched arm.

"Please, baby," you whispered, your voice choked with desperation.

In the midst of this living nightmare, you were rendered powerless, a witness to a tragedy unfolding before your eyes. The world dissolved into a surreal nightmare, where time seemed to stand still, and the relentless flames threatened to consume all you held dear.

The shrill, frantic beeping of the heart monitor filled the room, a discordant symphony of alarm that pierced the air. It was as though the nightmare from your dream had spilled into reality, an unrelenting cacophony of distress.

In an instant, the tranquility of the hospital room shattered. The door flew open, and a team of doctors and nurses rushed in, their faces etched with urgency and concern.

"What's happening?!" one of the doctors exclaimed, his voice taut with anxiety as he approached the bedside, his eyes darting between the monitor and your face.

Another nurse swiftly checked the vitals monitor, her fingers dancing over the buttons. "Her heart rate is skyrocketing! We need to stabilize her!"

A palpable tension filled the room as medical personnel worked in unison, their practiced movements a testament to their training. They adjusted IV lines, administered medications, and conferred in hurried, hushed tones.

Amidst the frantic activity, you felt a profound sense of helplessness, trapped within the confines of your own body. Your heart raced uncontrollably, its furious pounding echoing in your ears.

The lead doctor, a seasoned figure with a commanding presence, addressed the team. "We need to get this under control now. Administer sedatives if necessary, and prepare for an EKG. We can't afford to lose her."

With a sense of urgency, they acted swiftly, the room becoming a whirlwind of activity. Amid the commotion, your fear and desperation were evident in your wide, frightened eyes.

Just when the doctors and nurses thought your condition had stabilized, a sudden jolt coursed through your body. Your limbs convulsed uncontrollably, your fingers clawing at the sheets, and your eyes rolled back as a seizure gripped you with merciless force.

Panic filled the room once more as medical professionals scrambled into action. They lowered the bed's side rails to prevent you from falling, their faces tense with worry.

15:10pm.

Harry leaned against the school gates, patiently waiting for the school day to end. His eyes scanned the children as they poured out of the building, searching for Alfie among the crowd.

As he stood there, a woman with a confident stride approached him. She flashed a flirtatious smile and initiated a conversation, "Well, hello there. You must be Alfie's dad, right?"

Harry nodded, offering a polite smile. "Ye’, S’me. M’here t’pick ‘im up."

The woman, her tone flirtatious and forward, continued, "I've seen you here a few times before. You're a handsome dad, you know. What's your name?"

Harry chuckled nervously, feeling a bit taken aback by her directness. "M’Harry. Nice t’meet ya’."

She leaned in closer, her gaze fixed on his left hand. "Harry, huh? And are you married, Harry?"

Harry held up his left hand, showing his wedding ring. "Ye’, M’happily married,been married almost five years in fact."

Undeterred, the woman's eyes twinkled mischievously. "Happily, you say? Well, you know, sometimes a little excitement outside of marriage can be... refreshing."

Harry raised an eyebrow, a clear signal that her advances were unwelcome. "I appreciate the offer, but I'm quite committed t’m’wife."

The woman seemed slightly disappointed but didn't give up easily. "Well, if you ever change your mind, you know where to find me."

The bell rang, and the main doors of the school swung open, releasing a flood of excited children, all eager to reunite with their parents. Among the crowd, Alfie emerged, his face lighting up as soon as he spotted his father.

With a joyful shout of "Daddy!" Alfie dashed toward Harry, his small feet carrying him as fast as they could. Harry crouched down, ready to catch his son, and as Alfie reached him, he scooped him up in a warm embrace.

"Daddy's ‘ere, buddy," Harry said with a grin, feeling the energy of Alfie's hug and seeing the paint stains on his school uniform. "Did y’have a good day at school?"

Alfie nodded enthusiastically.

"Yeah, we painted today! Look at this, Daddy!" He proudly displayed his hands, covered in a rainbow of paint colors.

Harry chuckled, looking at his son's colorful hands. "Wow, y’quite the artist, Alf! Let's get y’cleaned up before we go see mummy."

15:27pm.

Harry and Alfie had just entered the bustling ward when a sudden commotion erupted from your room. Doctors and nurses hurried in and out, their faces filled with urgency, and the chaotic energy in the corridor was palpable. Harry's heart clenched with worry as he instinctively tightened his grip on Alfie's hand.

Harry and Alfie quickened their pace, the corridor seeming to stretch endlessly as they rushed toward your room. The knot of dread in Harry's stomach tightened with every step. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong.

As they reached the doorway, Harry's heart plummeted in his chest. There, on the hospital bed, you were having a seizure, your body convulsing uncontrollably. The sight was both horrifying and heart-wrenching. Harry's legs felt like lead, but he forced himself to move closer, his grip on Alfie's hand never wavering.

The sight of you having a seizure was too much for Harry to bear. In that harrowing moment, he couldn't maintain his composure any longer. He released Alfie's hand, and his legs gave way beneath him. Harry fell to his knees outside your hospital room, his hands trembling as he watched you convulsing, unable to do anything but feel the sheer helplessness wash over him.

Alfie stood there, wide-eyed and frightened, looking at his father on the floor and then back at you. His small world was unravelling before his eyes, and he had no idea how to make sense of it. Harry wanted to be strong for his son, but the overwhelming fear and concern for you had shattered his resolve, leaving him vulnerable and devastated.

A doctor yelled above all the commotion that was taking place, directing his speech to one of the nurses. His voice sounded desperate, he needed to help you as quickly as possible.

"Seizure activity!" one of the nurses called out, her voice strained as she rushed to retrieve necessary medications and equipment.

The lead doctor called for additional assistance, his voice urgent and commanding. "We need a crash cart, now!"

tag-list: @itsgigikay @kuntxrgraudunkelbunt @emgoldenharry @cat-loves-music @be-with-me-so-happily @cherrycolas-things @white-wolf-buckaroo @gem1712 @sleutherclaw @viktorialah @woody32271 @alienorknight @psicoatyles

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muneca-lemon-steppa · 4 months

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hi mo! i want to wish you a HUGE congrats on your milestone (: you deserve every single follow and like and reblog! your writing is so, so good and it brings me sm comfort if youre still taking requests, can i pls request alfie + “how long has it been since someone hugged you?”

Oh Noni this was so sweet! You are so so kind. It brings me immense joy that my writing brings you comfort. That is the greatest compliment I could ever receive. I’m sending all my love to you darling, I hope you enjoy this.

Guys this is the last request from our 100 Follower Celebration!!! This was so fun and I am so in love with the community we have built here together!!! I’m currently working on our final installment of Interviews for New Beginnings!!! Anyway I love y’all so much, have an amazing day my loves!! - Mo

100 Follower Celebration: Always

Alfie Solomons x Fem!Reader

Warnings: cursing

“Mr. Solomons. I know you don’t want to hear this… or anything I’ve said the past 10 years I’ve been your physician… but you really need to watch your stress levels sir. It may very well kill you one day.”

Dr. Young had been treating Alfie Solomons exclusively for 10 years. Every stab wound, bullet hole, and influenza season had been watched over diligently by the good doctor. But every month his largest concern was Alfie Solomons’ blood pressure and tension headaches. Unfortunately for Dr. Young… Alfie Solomons was the worst patient he ever had.

Alfie ripped the stethoscope off his burly chest and threw it back at his doctor, “Bah fuck off. Respectfully of course. I’m fine. I’m going to live longer than you mark my words. Stress is good for the body.”

Dr. Young shrugged, there was no use fighting with Alfie. Usually Alfie would see reason and silently beckon and repent right before death came knocking, “If you believe Mr. Solomons. Anyway I want you to keep counting your pulse and recording it. Not that you’ll do it I wager. But I’ll be back same time next week.”

“Yeah, right. See Ollie gives you your fee. And double check with my secretary that your window is still open.”

Dr. Young smiles, “I’ll be sure to let her know that I gave you a task so that she keeps you accountable as well.”

As he walked out, leaning heavily on his wooden cane to offset his heavy medical bag, Alfie hollered after him, “You will do no such thing damn you! Ask her the schedule and nothing else!”

Alfie hears the slight chuckle of his ancient physician behind the closed door. Alfie finally lets out the sigh of relief he had been holding tightly all morning. His head falls into his calloused hands. The slow and rhythmic push and rush of his palms against his eyes and temple soothe the panging and banging in his head. An ache that has been ever present for the past few days. One that hasn’t been aided at all by the lack of water in his day to day.

The past few days have been Alfie’s own personal hell. The Americans’ prohibition on spirits has added another layer of problems to the business. New men had been hired and were not all bright, causing more mistakes than their bodies were worth. Cops were getting greedy, and were needing more to smooth their hands and seal their lips. Usually, a boss would have been able to hand off problems to lower levels. Not Alfie. Never Alfie. Alfie doesn’t get to give jobs to anyone else. No one wants to help Alfie. Alfie is to solve every problem. By himself. If he doesn’t do it, it will not get done. If he doesn’t fix it, everything will fall. But it’s always been like this. Ever since his father passed away, he’s been the man. He’s been the fixer. The protector. The boss. The leader. He alone can do it. He alone does it. He alone. He is alone.

Through the barricade of his stress and rage and sweat and stiff muscles, he hears his door click open, and the soft tap of your feet across the floor boards. Your sweet bell voice tingles his nerves, “Alright Alfie I set up Dr. Young’s appointment next week so you are all settled. This afternoon you have two more meetings. Mr. Yusef and Mr. Edmonds. Also you will need to look over the shipping particulars for the shipment to New York in three we- Alfie are you alright?”

You pause looking at his face. He’s always looked rather scruffy and wild but this was different. His face was gaunt and ashen. His usually ruddy cheeks were pale and covered in a thin sheen of sick sweat. Those bright blue and sparkling eyes looked glossy. If you didn’t know better… they could almost be tears.

You don’t even let him try and explain away his symptoms.

“We’re cancelling the rest of your meetings today. No arguements.”

Screaming. Shouting. Bellowing. The glass in the window panes shake. The wood of the desks bang like the sound of gunshots and canons. “VILE WOMAN YOU TOUCH THAT CALENDAR YOU ARE FIRED DO YOU HEAR ME! YOU BRING YOURSELF BACK HERE NOW!”

You ignore him, calling the other secretaries, having to shout over the bellows and cries of your melodramatic yet beloved boss. The excuse you concocted didn’t matter. You wouldn’t care to remember the story you told. You would deal with it later. What mattered was clearing the calendar to make sure that Alfie could be released from his bindings that he so tightly wound around himself cutting the circulation and breath of peace.

You set the cornflower blue and cream colored tea pot on the little stove in the corner. Gingerly stoking the flame, coaxing warmth and light into a sweet roar. You call for hearty treats from the bakery next door, a good array to settle the spirit of your war laden boss. Soon the tea is ready and the soulful remedies are set. The roaring of the animal in the office has settled into rumbles. It was safe to enter.

Upon entering Alfie is again shouting, “You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve treacle. I am your boss. I am your superior officer. I pay your paycheck. And you have the absolute fucking audacity to…”

You let the hot words wash over you like a summer storm. You place your tools of healing on Alfie’s desk, swiftly and quietly. You take your spot in your chair across from him, grabbing his worry worn wooden pipe and filling it with his tobacco. Like a dance you’ve done a thousand times, he gingerly takes that pipe from you as he’s still yelling and scolding, pausing briefly to light it and suck in that air like it’s his last meal.

You smile as he blusters on like a thunder cloud. There was no true threat. You would never really be fired. Even if he was cross with you. There was a certain comfort in the noise. Like the storm cloud the noise signified that there was still life and that a calm would soon follow. But there was still the tightness in his shoulders. There was still that look you saw before he started to storm and blow. In a feat of courage you cocked your head to the side, “When was the last time someone hugged you?”

Immediate silence.

“What. What the fuck did you just ask me?”

“When’s the last time someone hugged you? You look like you need one sir.”

His index finger might as well have been a loaded pistol the way he pointed at you, “Men do not hug. I have never been hugged nor will I ever hug do you hear me? Hugged?! It’s even a ridiculous word. I mean… hugged?! No! I don’t want one I don’t need one that is completely and utterly ridiculous!”

You smile, knowing that he would say something like that. As if approaching a wild dog you put your hand out, offering yourself to him. Offering your vulnerability to him. Alfie stared down as thought it held an invisible gun, unsure what it was you held. Carefully and out of practice, he slowly slipped his hand in yours. Cool and smooth fingertips against is hot rough hands. Your hands so easily slips around his, finally finding its home. To Alfie’s absolute shock, he watches as your perfect thumb runs patterns and circles around his scarred knuckles and ornate rings. He watches the way your lashes flutter and soft smile blooms on your face. In a gentle caress to his ears you say, “You know you don’t have to keep it all inside. You can ask for help.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. But doesn’t move his hand away, “I don’t need help.”

You laugh, and he feels his heart skip, “Oh I’m sure you don’t. I’m sure you could run this entire thing by yourself.”

“I could.”

“I know.”

Alfie hums, satisfied that he’s won enough. You sit in silence, the muffled sounds of the distillery and street below being the only signs that you’re still on Earth. Alfie never moved his hand, never responding to your ministrations beyond a gentle squeeze.

“Thank you… for… being here.” Alfie finally breaks the silence. He can’t help the blush that rises to his ears and cheeks. He can’t look away from the smile on your perfect lips.

You nod at him, squeezing his hand and shaking it. “Always.”

#alfie solomons #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons x you #alfie solomons fanfic #alfie solomons x y/n #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinders #100 follower celebration

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