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belovedrival · 3 years

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“It’s Jonas.”

It’s been almost six months but I did say I would talk about my experience, so here goes...

(It’s really long, I started this draft when Jonas was three months old)

I was told that I would be induced on March 10, a Wednesday. My due date was the 17th but baby had been measuring large for months so my doctor just wanted to go ahead with it. I agreed. We’d made it to 39 weeks and that was good. Plus, I felt huge and just...done with being pregnant.

I worked (from home) on the 10th. It felt sort of surreal, knowing that we’d be at the hospital at 5 pm that evening, but I knew I needed to work to keep my mind off what was coming. For a while, at least.

We’d started packing the hospital bags for weeks before. I’d left my suitcase open next to the bed and I’d throw things in there whenever I’d do laundry or think of something else I wanted to take. I sort of knew then that I was majorly overpacking (and in hindsight it’s laughable how much stuff I never wore/used) but at least we were prepared, right?

Yeah, about that...

Mister drove to the hospital. Since I was being induced, it wasn’t any frenetic, movie scene type, panicked dad experience. We just put our things in the car and drove there. On the way we talked about how strange it was, knowing that when we came home (God willing), there would be a baby in the car seat. Of course at that time we still didn’t know if our baby was a girl or boy.

(Mister told me later that he was almost certain baby was a boy. He said he’d heard too many nurses/medical personnel ‘slip’ while we were having ultrasounds and whatnot.)

People can choose to find out or not, but it puts a whole other dimension on the experience when you don’t know in advance. Just my two cents.

As we turned into the hospital parking lot, Mister told me to open the glove box. “There’s something for you in there,” he said. I opened it, trying to swallow the bowling ball that had lodged itself in my throat.

“Oh!” I said. “What I always wanted - an owner’s manual!”

When I’m nervous, I often joke.

There was a small white box next to the owner’s manual. In it was a necklace with an aquamarine pendant; one of the birthstones for March. Of course I cried.

We took an obligatory selfie before going inside the hospital. After getting checked in, we went to our room. I remember thinking that we’d only be in that room probably a day, and that 24 hours later, we’d be upstairs post delivery.

Ha. Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!!!!

I was given a drug to start labor (not pitocin). I’ve always hated needles and so getting an IV was not part of my top 100,000 Things I Love to Do List. Thankfully, the nurse who put it in was really good, so I barely felt anything.

The one major memory of this whole experience (other than Jonas, of course) was how good the nurses were. I am forever grateful to them.

Other than the IV and monitors, Mister having to sleep on the sofa, and me laying on a hospital bed, we could almost trick ourselves into imagining we were staying at some sort of hotel. Almost. For a few hours, anyway.

Wednesday night into Thursday morning was okay. I was feeling persistent pain. It wasn’t terrible, just uncomfortable, and I knew that it was part of the process. I didn’t sleep great but I was able to get some rest.

Around six o’clock there was a shift change, and my nurse for the day came in. Liz had a kind of cheerleader vibe about her, very positive, and in some other circumstances I might’ve found her annoying. But I liked her.

My doctor came in a little after seven and broke my water. That experience was...weird. I mean, it was a new experience for me, so it’s hard to describe. Uh, water is wet, so it was wet? Honestly, the thing I remember the most is that there was some meconium after Doc broke my water, which worried me a little. Baby was doing fine and no one seemed super worried, so I set it aside. I DID think it meant I was guaranteed to have the baby that day. How wrong I was, and not for the first time...

They gave me pitocin after my water was broken. So my contractions increased. It felt more like strong period cramps to me. I should say at this point that I have a high pain tolerance. I don’t know what the same level of contractions would feel like to someone else. Sometimes I was only mildly aware that I was having them.

Probably one of the most annoying things about my entire experience Wednesday/Thursday/into Friday was not being allowed to eat anything. I had ice chips, and water, and Liz managed to get me some Jello. This was actually something of an issue, because I had gestational diabetes, so at first nobody wanted to give me anything except for sugar-free Jello. I did have some of that, but as the day wore on and there wasn’t much progress, Liz talked to somebody and got me some regular Jello. I would’ve preferred something else, but Jello was what I was allowed, so Jello I got.

I...don’t really like Jello. Seriously, like if it’s the only thing, I’ll eat it, but...yeah.

The hours ticked by. Progress was slow. At first I looked forward to Liz and the other nurses coming in and checking me, but by late afternoon, it was clear that things were slooooooow. The best part of Thursday was sometime in the afternoon Liz suggested bouncing on the ball. I was really happy to get out of bed and bounce for a while. After doing that, I decided it was time for the epidural.

I’d decided beforehand I wanted an epidural. As I said, I absolutely hate needles, but I also didn’t want my body to be so stressed that labor couldn’t progress. In the back of my mind, I also thought that if the situation changed, and a c-section became necessary, the epidural would already be in place.

After the epidural was put in, I started shaking on the edge of the bed, tears rolling down my face. Liz was still holding on to me, and Mister was there, and they both asked what was wrong. I couldn’t speak for a minute. It felt a little like I was five years old, still terrified of that darn needle, and all the tension I’d suppressed had to get out somehow.

“It’s okay,” Liz said, giving me a hug. Sometimes that’s all that’s needed. I was sorry to see her go when her shift ended. She said she was working again on Saturday and that she’d stop by to see us after the baby was born, to see what we were having. (She did stop by.)

This was a constant refrain from most of the nurses: upon first coming into the room, and looking at the white board that had my information and seeing next to “Baby” was written “Surprise!!” we inevitably got the question, “You don’t know what you’re having? That’s awesome!”

Getting the epidural made the pain diminish, but it also made things more complicated for me because I couldn’t move. Overnight, a tag team of nurses turned me one way and the other, and checked me.

(I should also mention that all of the staff at the hospital had already been vaccinated, and they all wore masks into the rooms. We did not have to wear masks in the room, but if we went outside it, they were required.)

By Thursday night, both Mister and I were feeling rather discouraged. All day Thursday we’d been told that baby would come “by the afternoon”, then “by the evening”, and then late Thursday, “by Friday morning”. Bear in mind that I’d been on an IV/ induced since roughly six pm on Wednesday.

Maybe this sounds laughable to people who’ve had 72 hour long labors, but I’d been mentally prepared for around 24 hours of labor. My twin sister had been induced with her first, and her labor had gone about that long. Around midnight on Thursday I was feeling pretty discouraged. Mister wasn’t angry but he said (when we were alone) that he felt like the staff had been overly optimistic. I just don’t think either of us had thought about the implications of me being induced without any sign of active labor. In hindsight, I was glad it was done then, but...yeah. Not being mentally prepared for that long of a labor was hard. I felt bad for everyone who was waiting on updates; it felt like literally nothing happened for about thirty hours. Like I think was dilated to five by Friday morning. And effaced? Practically nothing. My cervix wasn’t getting thinner at all.

Early Friday morning, a new nurse started her shift. My first impressions of Diana were...well, I thought, “she’s definitely not as friendly as Liz.” She was more brusque. As I hadn’t slept much Thursday night, and having been in the same situation for over a day, I didn’t care nearly as much about making friends. By that point I was tired - physically, mentally, emotionally.

But Diana was awesome. She got me turned onto my hands and knees, and had me start doing some vigorous exercises, to really move labor along. I was fine with doing whatever she said because I was REALLY ready to be done. So it felt a little like my cross country days in high school, at the finish of a difficult race. I was tired, I wasn’t sure how much I could do physically, but we had a GOAL and dammit, we were going to do everything to get there!

By late morning, even after the exercises, I was still dilated at a five. Hardly effaced at all. After checking me again, Diana left the room. The option of a c-section had been discussed, especially since it was over 24 hours since my water had been broken.

“I think I’m done,” I said to Mister. Even though I’d never really been 100% ‘I want a natural birth experience’, it felt a little like giving up. I started crying again. “I just don’t think this [natural labor] is going to work. I’m done.”

“If you’re done, that’s it,” Mister said. “Tell Diana you want a c-section.”

I have to say something here about Mister. Even though he kept saying he didn’t know what he was doing or how he should support me, he was AWESOME. He supported every decision, and listened to me talk about the different options. For as hard as labor was for me, I think he had a different hard time. All he could do was literally sit there and watch me go through pain and doubt and fear, and comfort me as best he could. He was a great comfort.

(This is why even if thoughtful partners don’t think they’re doing a good job at supporting laboring moms, they most likely are. Their presence is invaluable. For anyone who doesn’t have a supportive partner with them, or an absent one, my profound condolences.)

When Diana came back in, I told her I wanted a c-section. This was around 11 o’clock Friday morning, March 12th. “I agree,” she said right away, patting me on the shoulder. “You’ve done everything you possibly can to get this baby delivered naturally. I trust mom’s instincts on this.”

Her support meant so much. Really, when a veteran nurse says they trust your instinct, how can you not feel better about your decision?

She left to contact my doctor and several other people, and Mister let people know what was going on. At that point I was more relieved that soon it would be over. I wanted to see our baby.

Mister said later that he learned that hospitals have two speeds: 1) we’re in no rush; and 2) something is going to happen NOW. While my c-section wasn’t an emergency, once the decision was made, things did happen fast. Diana brought the anesthesiologist into the room so he could numb me up. As I already had the epidural, this didn’t take very long. After a few minutes of letting the medication work, Bryce asked if I could feel my toes.

“No,” I said. It was weird. I knew I shouldn’t feel them, but I couldn’t help saying, “I’m trying to wiggle them!”

“No, no, it’s good you can’t feel them,” both Bryce and Mister said. I was wheeled out of the labor room a few minutes after that (I was not sorry to leave it) and taken to the OR. Mister went with someone else to take our stuff to the recovery room.

I’ve been in operating rooms before. They aren’t places that make me want to stay there. Bright lights, metal everywhere, many thoughts of what could go wrong...although I will say that all the staff in the OR made me feel confident. I was glad to see my doctor.

I felt better once I was in the OR (the only time in my life I’ve ever felt that way) but it felt like a long time until Mister arrived in there. He’d gone with a member of staff as they took all our stuff to a recovery room, then been taken to the OR. Once he was in place, everything started.

Doctor M had asked me before Mister arrived if he wanted to ‘announce’ was the baby was. I told her that he most likely would, but to ask him. She did, and he said yes, he’d love to do that.

There was a blue sheet in front of me so I really couldn’t see anything that went on - which was PERFECTLY FINE with me.

Obviously, I was flat on my back, and everything below my chest was numb. The doctor and others asked me at various times if I felt anything, and I didn’t (other than tugging and pulling). At one point, I suddenly smelled the unmistakable scent of something burning. “What is that? That burning smell?” I asked, glancing above me (really, behind me) at Bryce, who stood there.

“I’ll tell you later,” he said.

Which immediately told me I didn’t want to know what it was.

Yeah, it was me burning, while the medical staff cauterized me, keeping me from bleeding to death.

(The fact that cesarean sections are major surgery, and regularly happen every day in the United States, is, frankly, a miracle. Everyone hears about the horror stories when something goes wrong, but considering the number of women who go through them without incident, we as a society completely take them for granted.)

As the tugging and pulling continued, and Doctor M said things like, “there’s the head”, the sense of anticipation increased. I’ve never felt anything like it before. Both Mister and I knew any moment we would meet our baby, and after waiting 39 weeks (and eight years before that), it was almost unbearable.

Doctor M said, “Here’s the baby!”

I heard a slight cry, and I looked up at Mister, who sat on my right, holding my hand. He looked down at me and said, “It’s Jonas.”

Even thinking about that moment now brings tears to my eyes. In knowing Mister almost eleven years, I’ve only seen him cry maybe five times. Including this year, on March 12th. We both were bawling, and laughing at the same time, as Jonas VERY loudly screamed his disapproval at being evicted from his warm, cozy space. At one point, Mister, laughing as he cried said, “One of the ---s (our last name) needs to stop crying in here!”

He has a rather husky cry, Jonas does. I loved his cry from the moment I first heard it (though I don’t actually like to hear him cry, if that makes any sense).

As I was sewn up, Mister moved his chair over to where our baby was, under a heat lamp. Then he brought Jonas over to me. My first thought was, he’s HUGE. My second thought was, he was the most beautiful baby I’d ever seen.

He weighed nine pounds, five ounces at birth, and had a fifteen inch head circumference. After I heard that, I knew a natural birth was never going to happen. He was born on Friday the 12th of March, at 1:14 pm. The digital clock on the wall said 13:14, which I thought was cool. And it made it a bit easier to remember the time :)

He had lots of dark hair, which I loved. My sister’s had bald babies, so it was nice to have a different-looking kid. Over the last few months, his hair almost entirely disappeared due to cradle cap, and is coming back in...blond. Genetics!

I can say now that it’s past, that I was more afraid during pregnancy than I could admit to anyone, even Mister. I have always been a worrier, and finally being pregnant after so many years, and being high risk due to my age (and my shunt, and the gestational diabetes...) I was in almost constant worry of something going wrong. First of miscarriage (no one needed to tell me of the statistics regarding older mothers), then of stillbirth, like the cord getting wrapped around baby’s neck, and death happening before delivery could happen. I have heard of at least two different stories of that happening to pregnant women in the ninth month - friends of friends of mine - and the fear of that, or something else equally catastrophic happening was, at times, almost crippling. I would’ve preferred to have never been pregnant at all rather than suffer a miscarriage or stillbirth.

Perhaps it sounds childish, but mentally I didn’t think I was strong enough to have the dream of motherhood dashed, when every day of pregnancy brought that dream closer. I was (and still am) too much of a realist to ignore the statistics; I couldn’t pretend I was 22 and have a blissfully ignorant uneventful pregnancy. To this day, even after giving birth to a healthy baby, one of the biggest things that will set me off is the assumption that way too many people have. “We’re planning on getting pregnant soon.” “Just have kids, you’ll understand.” “I can take you out and make one just like you.” [a redneck phrase I’ve heard being said to a misbehaving child]

Not many of us can “plan” on getting pregnant exactly when we want to - or even within a year’s time. Not all of us can “just have kids” - they’re not like going to the store and getting a gallon of milk. (I recognize the privilege of living in a society where going to the store and expecting fresh milk can also sound arrogant to those who don’t live in one.) ‘Take out’ a kid (even said in jest), and ‘make another one’? I MIGHT have another child in the next couple years. More likely, I won’t. Not all of us can just get pregnant at the drop of a hat. (That’s assuming the one wanting to get pregnant even has a male partner or sperm donor at the ready...some never find that person to have a child with. And adoption can be a great thing, but not everyone is cut out for it. Shaming infertile and childless people for not wanting to adopt is disgusting.)

I was open with my OB-GYN about my fears during pregnancy and she referred me to several resources, and monitored me for PPD. My best friend’s son died in March 2020, a year before Jonas was born (though Billy had severe disabilities which made his death a certain thing), and my sister had had a stillborn son in August 2019 (my nephew Christian). So Jonas being born healthy was a huge relief for me. I can’t really describe the relief, except to say that as much physical weight I gained during pregnancy, letting go of the weight of the worry was felt even more deeply than losing the pounds since his birth (and I’ve haven’t lost all of that).

I will probably always worry about *something*, when it comes to Jonas. He gave me a scare earlier this week, rolling off the couch before I could catch him. He’s fine...and the incident scared me more than it scared him. But every day since he was born is a reminder of the gift he is, and I hope I never lose sight of that, even on the frustrating days (and there have been those over the last almost six months, and there will be more to come).

If you ever wanted children, and are fortunate enough to have them, cherish them. Be grateful for them, even when they drive you up the wall. Even when you only want three minutes’ peace, and they won’t give it to you. Love them anyway. I try to.

#this was heavier than i thought it would be #don't get me wrong #i had a good experience overall #nurses are awesome #nurses #hospital #birth #birthday #march 12 #jonas #2021 #life #real life #family #me and mister #mister #he's great #pregnancy #parenthood

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black-streak · 4 years

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Waiting for the Worms - Comfortably Numb

Part 5

Warnings as always. This isn't terribly dark. Again, more informative, but a fun little lead up towards the future, so there's that. (Take note of the way Marinette describes her movements, it's not extremely important, but gives a little insight to her mind.)

(Closed list) People I've had on hold for a week: @northernbluetongue @thethirdwheelfriend @shizukiryuu @theatreandcomicfreak @michellemagic @karategirl119 @moonlightstar64 @my-name-is-michell @mystery-5-5 @zalladane @queen-of-the-trash-planet-tm @miraculousdisapointment @dorkus-minimus @jardimazul @allthebooksandcrannies @g-arya @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @persephonescat @mycupisbroken @luciferge @18-fandoms-unite-08 @dawnwave16 @alwaysreblogneverpost @kris-pines04 @mysteriouslyswimmingfan-blo-blog @weird-pale-blonde-person @you-will-never-know-how-i-think @kokotaru @naclychilli @slytherinhquinn @clumsy-owl-4178 @ladybug-182 @darkthunder1589 @evil-elf16 @dast218 @lysslovsanime @emilytopaz @naoryllis @iloontjeboontje @thepeacetea @danielslilangel @finallyaniguana @i-like-fairytail-and-stuff @vixen-uchiha @yuulxd @bleeding-heart-romantic @magic-inthe-stars @st0rmy-w1th1n

~---~

Sitting in a coma for a year was only mildly less terrible than sitting in a grave for however long.

On the one hand, Marinette was in a coma for a much longer period of time as far as she could tell. On the other, she was alive and could feel this body. Could hear the nurse read the newspaper to her, always announcing the date at the beginning of the visit. Sure, most of the news of this local area meant very little to her, but beggars can't be picky or whatever the saying was.

Still, nothing could possibly beat the feeling of waking up fully. As these eyes (Both! They both opened now!) took in the room, she decided to focus in on her nurse. Watching the little delicate movements and shifts and attempting to replicate them to ensure all her nerve endings still worked. That muscles, large and small, still responded to commands, nothing paralyzed or unresponsive. While every movement strained against itself, everything still worked to some extent. Weak, but there. It seemed laying mostly still for over a year and a however much longer had deteriorated the muscle mass. Not surprising, but annoying when she desperately wanted to work her body into a frenzy just to prove she could.

Laying there a little longer to take stock of healed over injuries, she came to the realization that this throat felt weird. She opened the mouth and attempted to ask the nurse, only for nothing to come out. Narrowing eyes, she reached out and gently tapped thin fingers on the nightstand next to the still reading nurse, drawing his attention to her.

Startled molten gold met her and suddenly he was up and taking the vitals, checking everything to be sure Marinette was truly awake and okay. He started speaking in a soothing, soft voice, though she could barely focus on the words enough to process them. Reaching out again, she stopped him midstep and then brought that same hand up to the throat to indicate the problem. She couldn't speak.

The man seemed to understand and nodded along, quickly paging a doctor and coming back to her, pressing a button to gently prop her up and slowly adjust a few machines before turning back and slowly asking a few basic yes or no questions.

Did she know who she was? Yes, she was Marinette, stuck in the once dead body of her soulmate. She shook to indicate she didn't. With the state of the grave, she doubted she would be welcomed back to the manor. Best not to let them know who Jason was and have them contacting Bruce.

Did she know where she was? A hospital. She gave a nod for that.

Did she know the date? Yes, the nurse had read the date every day for a little over a year now. That much was easy to agree to, despite the timeline confusing her.

Does she know what happened to her? Well yes, but she shook her head no. She couldn't very well explain dying by Joker's cruelty while in the wrong body as Robin and climbing out of a grave. That was like, three separate identity reveals to one stranger. It also made zero sense and she'd probably end up institutionalized.

With the knowledge that she understood him and wasn't brain dead, the man informed her of the various injuries she knew of, plus a few bonus ones that alluded her. Then, he mentioned her inability to speak.

While all of the breaks and bruising had healed up well, the damage to the vocal chords had been horrific and while they did their best, the damage was done. They couldn't even remove them without it potentially cutting off her airway or esophagus.

She was effectively mute.

Marinette finally woke up after a year in a coma and however long in that grave and she still couldn't scream to her heart's content. This was stupid.

All she could do was glare off into space, ignoring the doctor that came in to do a checkup.

…

After a week they took her off feeding tubes and IV only hydration and started reintroducing a liquid diet. Progress was slow and painful, but necessary.

After another two weeks they brought in soft solids like pudding and oatmeal. This is also when they first tried to help her stand up a little on her own and fine motor control was finally stable enough to write short phrases on a white bored. Rehabilitation was turning out to be an annoyingly long process.

After a month in this place, she finally left her room for the first time and abruptly realized they transferred her to a children's hospital at some point. It made sense. Jason was about fifteen when she died for him and small due to his time on the streets. Stunted growth, likely. They probably assumed she was about fourteen right now, despite the year technically making them sixteen. Even then, it would make the cutoff for a children's facility.

The bright colors across the walls and floors jarred her a bit after the nothing of so long, but was a welcome change. She tried not to glare at the little sick kids running about as she wheeled slowly along corridors, not quite able to walk on these stick thin legs.

Reports of a child John Doe had been filed, but no one really looked at those that hadn't lost their kid, so no one who would recognize Jason ever saw his report. She would be here a while. At least until she recovered enough to be considered okay for discharge. Then she would be put into the system as an orphan. She had no intention of staying long enough to see that through.

Jason and her had taken to the streets before and would thrive out there more than in any foster home they could find her. For now, she would settle back and allow the recovery process to take control.

…

Or so she thought. She'd only been awake for a little over a month, but she guessed the file must've been put through when she first came in to try and find his guardian. Someone, somewhere, recognized Jason Todd.

Whoever they were sold the information to Talia Al Ghul.

The woman came in the middle of the night and stole Marinette away. With this weak body and useless voice box, struggling didn't even seem like an option.

Where would it get her, anyways? Dropped off a rooftop and possibly stuck in a grave again? Talia could kill her again and she wouldn't stand a chance in defending herself. Marinette was not willing to take that chance, so she stayed complacent in her kidnapping.

Talia asked many questions of her, curious as to the state of her new play thing. She had to have known that Jason was supposed to be dead. Marinette didn't bother with paying the questions any attention. It's not like she could respond and she felt hesitant to reveal the inability. She worried over what Talia would do upon finding out the extent of the damage. Would keeping Jason be worth it to her?

Either way, she sensed the ever festing frustration in the older woman with every passing inquiry left unanswered. The look in her eyes spoke of a willingness to torture the information out of her.

Good luck with that.

At the same time, what could Marinette possibly lose at this point. She already died once and had no home to return to. The once ever present tug in her mind was long gone and hadn't returned with her resurrection. She already lost Jason and her old life. If she actually died again by Talia's hand, would it kill her as well by this point? The body was as good as hers what with the lost connection. Either she could either actually die in it now or she was immortal. When it came to it, with no connection or way to truly live on or track down her past life, she had nothing left to fear.

Eventually she came to a decision. Looking up at the woman before her, she lifted a hand to point to the throat and quickly made a slashing motion across it, which Talia immediately nodded in understanding at. She left for a moment only to drop into the seat across the way again and drop a notebook and pen between them. Marinette picked it up and slowly wrote out a phrase.

'Vocal Chords destroyed.'

Talia only nodded and gestured to continue.

'Long coma, deteriorated muscles. Not much function.'

"And coming back from the dead? How'd that happen?"

Marinette only shrugged. She truly didn't have an answer. Luckily that seemed sufficient an answer.

"Your brain is fully functional though. I can see how closely you're watching me. Waiting and observing. Not nearly as reckless as your past actions made you out to be. Perhaps dying has that affect though."

Marinette only watched silently as Talia mulled the thought over.

"And the damage otherwise?"

'Mostly healed over. Weakened though.'

The following conversation continued much the same. Talia asked questions and either answered them herself or waited for a short response in return. It didn't take long to get the full extent of the situation hashed out. Talia seemed to regard her with an excited gleam now and reassured her that that could all be fixed. Not to worry, the process only hurt a little. In the end, 'Jason' would feel all better.

Marinette wasn't sure exactly how to respond to this news. Yes, the promise of healing faster and possibly regaining her voice was a tempting offer, but in the end, she knew the woman wanted something from her. The price of health would be steep, of that she seemed sure. Again, she couldn't help but wonder what her alternatives were. This would happen whether or not she consented. Might as well make it feel like she had some control over the situation, if only for the comfort it lent her. She gave a jerky nod and watched the woman's smile grow.

Letting this head loll to the side, Marinette blanked out on everything else, falling into a restless sleep for the duration of their journey to wherever they were going.

…

Over the next few weeks, she woke up in random locations, being carted off into a hotel and up towards their rooms. She was never allowed to leave the room or do much more than eat and drink and use the restroom. It was similar to how she imagined prisoners lived, only in nicer conditions. Talia, while adjusted to live in any conditions, preferred to live luxuriously after all. And it wouldn't do to have a random, half dead kid following her around, raising questions all the time. Marinette couldn't truly blame her for that. She remained hidden.

…

At the end of their travels, she followed Talia out of the final hotel room and out into a cab. The cab dropped them off at a seemingly random location only for the two to walk out into the dessert. She wouldn't be surprised if that cab was only a front for the league. They walked for well over an hour, Marinette lucky to have healed enough to walk so long, even though it started to wear her down after the first thirty minutes, only determination to not be left behind moving her forward.

Talia must've stolen her without informing anyone else of her intentions. Otherwise, she's sure they would've taken a more direct and less discreet route. As it was, they reached a cave entrance and made their way down and down until eventually they begin to veer down different paths, Talia disabling traps as they went.

Eventually they reached an opening into a glowing green room, the glow emitting from a massive pool in the center. Something about the place set her on edge. The glow reminding her of Plagg's toxic green eyes and letting off what had to be a magical aura. Talia smiled down at her in a reassuring manner, putting a hand to the small of this body, nudging her forward.

Calculating the risk, it seemed her best bet to go along with the woman's plan. Talia would want her alive, so surely this wouldn't kill her. Plus, Talia seemed sincere in her promise of healing this body up and Marinette might as well be a walking lie detector at this point. The woman meant her every word. Taking a deep breath, she only hoped this magic would accept her as well as the miraculouses had.

Hovering a foot over the pool, she hesitated only a moment before remembering Kagami's advice from all those years ago. Hesitation had never helped her before and had no place here. Blinking, she nodded and let herself drop down into the pit.

#ml x dc #maribat #jasonette #WFTW #part 5 #mightve been sitting on this for a week on accident #my bad

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rothjuje · 4 years

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BIRTH STORY

After all the drama that was my “dynamic” cervix (meaning it fluctuated in length, I didn’t even know that was a thing, anyway) I ended up needing pitocin. The mag drip had stopped my contractions so I needed pitocin to get things moving (my preeclampsia was so bad that I had to be on mag throughout labor and for a day after the birth).

Before they started pitocin, I was strongly encouraged to get a catheter (they don’t want you walking while on mag) and an epidural (in case I needed an emergency c-section). I refused both. Refusing that epidural was hands down the worst decision of my life but I had no idea what was about to go down. All I thought was if I could push out a 7 lb baby, 3 pounders should be no issue at all. But it wasn’t the babies, it was the placentas. They were adhered onto the walls of my uterus.

Okay. I’m going to fast forward through how awful the pitocin was and how a 16 had me begging for mercy. Finalllllly I was fully dilated (to an 8 because the babies were so small) and they could finally break my water (they couldn’t before because they were worried about wiggle room and a fragile limb falling out first). So they break my water and that’s when things really start to go downhill.

Two different teams of NICU staff needed to be in the room when I delivered (you deliver twins in the OR irregardless). They thought I was going to go fast so they told NICU staff to plan for 11:30 to midnight. But when the doctor had to manually break my water she changed her mind and told them it would probably be more like 1:30-2:00 am instead. Well. She was wrong. Shortly after they broke my water and the babies weren’t moving down, my nurse made me sit up at a 90 degree angle. Within 5 minutes I felt like there was a literal rock in my vagina. I asked them to check me even though I had just been checked and then I had to convince them for another 5 minutes and by then it was an emergency. It’s now around midnight, babies have descended, and no one is en route to the OR. My doctor and nurse quickly roll my bed down to the OR paging people on the way.

We get to the OR. It’s huge. It’s empty. They transfer me to a glorified bench and tell me I absolutely cannot push. Justin and my mom weren’t even scrubbed up yet. It’s just me, the doctor, and the nurse and my nurse is holding my legs together trying to talk me down while I regret every decision I’ve ever made. After what felt like an eternity my mom and Justin came in. I hate Justin’s face during labor. It is the worst. Just so cheery and dreadful. Like he just gets to eat popcorn and watch his babies come out while I limbo existentially between life and death. Anyway.

After another eternity the NICU staff gets there and I can push. Babies fly out as expected. Genevieve is born at 12:37 am, 3 lbs 8 oz. Little George is born at 12:45 am, 2 lbs 10 oz. They were perfect and breathing and crying and pink and okay and I was so relieved I could finally breathe. For a minute.

The placentas are stuck and I am hemorrhaging. On zero pain meds, my doctor is shoving her entire forearm (Justin said he could only see her elbow) to pick out piece after tiny piece of adhered placenta. The pain is beyond excruciating. During this, my IV (that had held on for 3 weeks while on bedrest) fails and they can’t get the crazy medicine that had to be administered by two people in to stop the bleeding. So they’re doing another IV and I’m screaming because I hate needles and they think they’re going to need to do a blood transfusion so they’re sticking in an absolutely giant IV and IV fluids are leaking from my old IV site and the doctor needs my bladder empty so she jams some red rubber catheter up there and I scream some more all while bleeding out. After 30 minutes I finally think to ask for some pain meds and they give me a narcotic that barely took the edge off and she’s pressing into my abdomen to try to get the bleeding to stop and nothing is working and finally after NINETY MINUTES she stops fisting me and everything is okay, no transfusion needed. She had her entire forearm up there for the majority of 90 minutes. No epidural. Can you imagine?

***

Okay. So after my last post I had three good, consecutive sleeps and I felt much better. Not back to normal, but better.

Thanks for all of the kind messages. I had never heard of EMDR before but it sounds like everything I’ve ever wanted from therapy. I wonder if it can help with some of the trauma I still hold from my sister’s death.

I am really looking forward to therapy. I want to find a new (female) therapist and also one that specializes in EMDR. I am ready for the spring and being outside with the kiddos and I want to garden with Alyssa this year, working the earth just sounds so therapeutic to me currently. We ordered a playhouse and my FIL is gonna help Justin set it up next weekend and Alyssa and I are thrilled. I’m already looking at paint colors. Ugh I’m such a mom. My big life excitement right now is a fucking playhouse.

The babies are doing GREAT. We have been free from the hospital for 5 weeks now and it feels fantastic. I think we made it. We’re all home, we’re all healthy. It feels too good to be true. Thank you Universe. Thank you thank you thank you.

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cosmonaughty · 5 years

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I recently re-watched Season 1 of Fargo FX and, as is the case with every great show or movie, there were things I noticed that I had missed in earlier viewings. A few of these had to do with the portrayal of hospitals in film, which is another small obsession of mine, so I thought that I would take the time to combine these two interests and talk about the way that Fargo FX depicts hospitals. I will be mentioning the inaccuracies in this portrayal and the way that the liberties that are taken advance the plot and enhance the mood of certain scenes. By pointing out these inaccuracies, I am not trying to criticize the show or its writers, I’m just using my specific experiences to talk at length about something I love.

(Also, this post will contain big ol’ spoilers for Season 1 of Fargo FX, so go watch it if you haven’t yet and then come back.)

There are a few scenes that I wanted to discuss here, and I will bring them up chronologically. In episode 5, Lester is rushed to the hospital in an ambulance with what appears to be sepsis resulting from a shotgun pellet lodged in his hand. In the following episode, he sneaks out of the hospital to frame his brother for his wife’s murder. He does this by switching beds with his roommate, whose face is bandaged. As far as accuracy goes, it pretty much goes without saying that this concept is pretty farfetched, but I’ll run down the issues here anyway.

It’s never really clear to me what injuries require intensive care in this show (more on that later), but I will say that Lester recovers from sepsis in what must be record time. When I had more or less the same thing, my body essentially held down its own power button and restarted everything. I was in the ICU for multiple days, though I’m not sure how many because I wasn’t lucid the entire time, and I was pumped full of fluids and antibiotics, as well as hooked up to multiple tubes and wires.

Lester, however, is in excellent condition pretty much as soon as the source of his infection is removed, despite having been delirious, vomiting, sweating, shivering, and all that other fun stuff only the night before. His room seems to be on the general ward and the only thing hooked up to him is an IV, which appears to be dispensing saline and nothing else.

He is also under the care of what may be the least competent nurse I’ve ever seen in any show. Nurse Farber comes in to transport Lester’s roommate to radiology, but if she had checked his bracelet, she would have realized she was transporting the wrong patient. She also moves the entire hospital bed, rather than moving the patient to a gurney or a wheelchair, as has been my experience in the past (those beds are portable, but they’re very heavy and unwieldy).

However, these aren’t “mistakes”. They are deliberate choices that serve to move the plot along. We can’t put the story on hold so that Lester has a couple of weeks to recover and gain his strength back, so that process needs to be hurried along for the sake of the plot. If the nurse had checked his bracelet, his plan would have been foiled and, again, the plot would not be able to progress. If she had moved him to a wheelchair or gurney, he wouldn’t have been able to smuggle a change of clothes with him. So, these choices don’t arise from the writers’ ignorance of hospital procedure, they just need to bend some aspects of reality to advance the plot.

I would also like to point out some things this scene gets right about the hospital (based on my experience).

This room layout is pretty accurate. I like the little details like the plastic cup + bendy straw that everyone always has on their bedside table (even if you can lift a cup to your mouth, a bendy straw is required. It’s like an unwritten rule). I like the detail that the windows don’t open and I really appreciate that they didn’t have Lester pull out his IV like every renegade tv character seems to do. Instead, he simply disconnects the port from the tube so that he can move around, which I’m sure is more difficult than he makes it look but it’s leaps and bounds better than the old rip-em-out technique that I seem to see all the time.

I also like that the nurse uses the pain scale, which is pretty standard but I get a kick out of it. And, believe it or not, I have actually been deposited in the hall and left alone by nurses while waiting for imaging, which is how Lester manages to escape in the first place. Personally, I’ve never made it out the front door, but I haven’t tried that hard.

Now that we’ve talked about how the writers take liberties to advance the plot, let’s look at how similar inaccuracies can be used enhance the mood of a scene. If you want to see me get emotional (you sadist), get me talking about episode 7. In this episode, Molly, having been hospitalized after an emergency splenectomy, makes a trip from her room on the general ward to question Mr. Wrench, who is in custody in the ICU after having been shot twice by her (it’s not clear where he was shot, but he indicates his upper right chest, so somewhere in that area). He uses a white board to ask about his partner (Mr. Numbers) and Molly confirms that he is dead. She makes an attempt to connect with him and asks for his help in finding Lorne Malvo, but he shuts her out by refusing to look at her and she leaves. Later, in episode 8, Malvo shows up to taunt Wrench about having killed his partner, as well as to commend him for coming closer to killing him than anyone else had in the past. He gives Wrench the handcuff key and leaves.

Like I said earlier, it’s not clear what requires intensive care in this show, since Mr. Wrench doesn’t appear to be any worse off physically than Molly is (or than Lester was earlier). He does have more stuff attached to him, which is…good(?), but let’s talk about this ICU room:

This looks nothing like any ICU room I’ve ever stayed in. For one thing, in my experience the bed has always been facing the door, not inward to the rest of the room. I assume this is to make it easier to provide emergency care, which is the function of just about everything in the ICU. For this same reason, there’s very little privacy; the doors are usually clear glass and people come in and out all the time (nobody checks on patients in this show).

As I mentioned above, he has more “gear” (no, that’s not the correct term, but just be glad I didn’t call it “swag”) than either Molly or Lester, but far less than I would expect to see. There are maybe two bags on that IV pole, so probably saline and morphine (no blood/plasma/antibiotics/other medications). He’s got a heart monitor and a pulse oximeter, but no oxygen or bp monitor. Whether I like it or not, I’m always given oxygen in the ICU (which I tend to remove as soon as possible, apologies to my nurses) and if he was shot in the chest, he might actually need it. I’m also not convinced that heart monitor is working, since it doesn’t fluctuate at all when Malvo shows up in episode 8. ALSO: that bed rail should be up; I don’t care if he is handcuffed in place, that looks like a fall risk to me. Who is running this place?

(I’m also kinda jealous, because I’ve never been in an ICU room with this much natural light.)

As I mentioned before, there is specific intent behind these omissions and changes. For one thing, if there were several different machines and wires and lines and the like, the shot would be really busy and it would be distracting, both visually and auditorily, as hospital equipment tends to beep and beep and beep and beep.

Additionally, the shots are very clean, which effectively communicates a sterile environment to the audience; the natural light from the window compliments the Season 1 aesthetic really well and it also contributes somewhat to the coldness of the scenes in this room.

Speaking of which, this is as good a time as ever to bring up something I only consciously noticed very recently. Let’s go back to episode 7 and take a look at the difference between his room and Molly’s.

It’s very subtle, but the light above her bed is a warmer tone; her bedding is also comprised of warmer, lighter tones. Additionally, there’s some framed artwork on the wall, and most importantly she is surrounded by people (and flowers) in every shot.

Even in reverse shots of her, the frame contains color and warm tones. Contrast this with a similar OTS shot of Wrench in his hospital room. The temperature of the scene is a lot colder and the frame surrounding him is empty, which is excellent shorthand to communicate loneliness and alienation.

His room also has some kind of mesh over the window, the practical purpose of which (if there is one) eludes me. As I mentioned earlier, hospital windows don’t open, something the writers are obviously aware of, and I’ve personally never been in a hospital room that had a grate or bars over the windows. Regardless of its practical purpose, this is another detail that contributes to the theme of isolation that is present in the design of these scenes. Being in the hospital can be a lonely, alienating experience, which is something I feel is communicated really well here.

These are subtle decisions that make a huge impact on the mood of the scene. I’m gonna be real with you right now, Mr. Wrench is my favorite character and this scene breaks my heart every time I see it. A good deal of that is owed to the quality of the show’s writing and the amazing talent of Russell Harvard and Allison Tolman, but it is always fun to see how my emotions are being relentlessly manipulated by the cinematographer as well. Good job, you guys.

I want to conclude with a proposed alternative to the staging of that last scene.

As you can see here, this scene is set during the day, with daylight clearly visible from the window. However, imagine how the emotional intensity might be different if the scene was set at night.

In my experience, nighttime in the hospital can be the most difficult, emotionally speaking, and it’s something I’ve even come to dread as a patient. For the most part, visitors have to go home, the room is dark but the lights are on in the hall and the nurses’ station. You can’t sleep because you’re uncomfortable and people keep coming in to take vitals and blood, and overall it’s very lonely.

So, imagine this scene exactly as it is played out in Season 1, but now instead of a closed off room with daylight coming through the window, the lights in the room are dimmed, it’s night outside (maybe street lights are visible through the window, but not too much). There is a soft glow coming from the heart monitor. Molly is sitting beside the bed with her back to the open door rather than the window. In the background the lights are on in the hall, you can see hospital staff going about their routine in the background. His life is falling apart in this scene, but it’s business as usual for everyone else. Even Molly, as sympathetic as she is, is just doing her job here.

I’m not saying that this staging would have been better, but it would have had a different emotional intensity. I like to see how the environment of the hospital could be used to enhance the mood of a scene, rather than simply act as a back drop because hospitals are deeply personal places, but can be so alienating at the same time. That said, I think that the way they used the environment to impart that sense of loneliness was excellent, and I support the decision to omit certain specifics that might compromise the mood or the flow of the plot.

Oh, and, if you still haven’t done it: go watch Fargo FX.

#fargo fx #fargo season 1 #lester nygaard #lorne malvo #mr wrench #molly solverson

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imaginesmai · 5 years

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Ubbe-The sweet baker and the bad biker (SOA AU) (5-FINAL)

A lot of fluff and just a little angst for the final part @worldisadirtyplace, I hope you like it!

Plot: hospitals are not Ubbe’s favourite place.

Ubbe hated hospital. As a member of SAMCRO, he wasn’t really used to them. If they had a problem, they solved them in the club; because showing up in the hospital with a bullet wound usually led up to unwanted questions. The first time he got shot was when he was eleven; he had been working with his father in the club, messing around with Jax probably, when some masked guys appeared. They came in shooting and killed his little brother Sigurd and nearly him too. He didn’t remember much about it, just an immense pain in his side for weeks. As he sat in a chair with his arm in a plaster and his body in pain, he wished he would have been shot again. If it could get you back to him, he would get shot a thousands times. Hell, he was willing to sacrifice himself if you would be safe. But that wasn’t the case.

The doctor that had taken you away hadn’t come back yet. In the waiting room, all the sons were resting on a chair. Tig was filling his third cup of coffee, Chibs was sleeping in four chairs and Hvitserk was trying to comfort his brother the best he could. But no words could erase the memory of your scared eyes against his, begging him to do something. Someone cleared his throat in front of him.

“Ubbe.” he found Aslaug looking at him with kind eyes. “Tig has called me. How are you, baby?”

Ubbe didn’t answered, he just looked back down to the floor. In that moment, he didn’t want to talk to anyone.

“Multiple lacerations caused by glass, bullet-wound in the shoulder and two broken knuckles along with a sprained knee.” Hvitserk answered after a while, seeing that his brother was back to look at the ground. ”He’s okay, mum. A little shaken up.”

Aslaug sighed and sat up in the chair next to Ubbe. With a silent nod, Hvitserk left to refill his cup of coffee and to smoke a cigarrete in the parking. That left Ubbe and Aslaug alone.

“Have you eaten something?” she asked softly, receiving silence. “Baby, you need to have dinner. It’s almost three a.m.”

Again, no response.

“I… know I haven’t been the number one supporter of your relationship or the decisions that came out from it.” she said. “But I also know that she’s a good girl, Ubbe. I was just afraid she was going to take you away.”

“She wanted to meet you.” Ubbe spoke for the first time since he arrived. “Y/N talked about you sometimes, as a great woman. I told her you were not that special. You want to know what she told me? That you were amazing because you raised good men and managed to keep our family safe in difficult times. She knew you didn’t like her, but still stood up for you when I went to her ranting about you.”

“I-I didn’t know that.” Aslaug said, surprised; she knew you were a good person, but not as good as that. “She’ll be okay.”

“You don’t know that.” he raised his voice a little, and after looking around talked lower. “You didn’t see her, mum. She was so scared. Crying and trembling while that… beast dragged her inside. And the-en, he was t-trying to choke her… a-and-“

Ubbe was interrupted by his own sob, that made him shake. Aslaug hugged his son and, soon, his head placed itself on her chest, and she was cradling him like a baby. She hadn’t liked you, that was sure. Aslaug had seen how her son tried to get out of a business that only meant death, how he was unfocused on his tasks because he was thinking of you. Protecting her family had been her first priority always, but she couldn’t have done anything to prevent his son’s heart breaking.

“Has the doctor said anything?” she asked after a while.

“Tig heard them talking about a girl who had to be taken into an emergency surgery. -he whispered.” We think that’s her. But the doctor hasn’t come back.

“He will, don’t worry Ubbe.” she smiled softly, running a hand through his hair. “And I know she will be fine.”

“I hope so, mum.” he sighed. “I hope so.”

One by one, the members of SAMCRO fell asleep against the chairs. The night went by and the doctor still wasn’t back. The only one who hadn’t come back was Hvitserk, who Ubbe had asked to go to your house, to keep an eye on Sully. Aslaug kept pacing through the corridor, managing to get some information out of a nurse. It seemed that one of your lungs was deadly damaged and they had to take it out before it was too late for you. You had been in two emergency surgeries; the first one, to get the damaged lung out of you caring of not crashing anything important. The second one, to give you a new on from an emergency donator. Aslaug really suspected it was from Mrs Lowman, yet they didn’t give away any information.

Ubbe was nearly asleep too when he heard the well-known paws of Sully in the corridor. He looked up to see Hvitserk with a running Sully by his side, who was too quiet. The dog looked around and sniffled for a bit before finding Ubbe and setting her head into his lap.

“Hey, girl.” he smiled sadly. “You missing your momma, hm? She’ll be here soon, I promise.”

“I thought I should bring her here.” Hvitserk said, sitting beside him. “She was whining and crying. I think she knows something has happened to Y/N.”

“She’s a smart girl.” Ubbe said, looking at Sully’s sad look. “How did you managed to get her in? I thought no dogs were allowed.”

“Might or might have not used my gun.” Hvitserk shrugged, earning a hard glare from Ubbe. “What? It’s just a dog, she won’t do anything bad. Will you, Sully? No, because you’re a good girl, right? Who’s a good girl?”

Ubbe let out a little laugh as he listened to his brother put a ridicule high-pitched voice for the dog, who wasn’t paying attention to him. He could almost feel the sadness radiating from the animal, who looked at the corridor with sad eyes. Petting her head helped him to take his mind out of the memory of your scared and bruised face, but he had to come back to the real world when no more than an hour later the doctor came out.

He had big bags under his eyes, and was getting bloodied gloves out of his hands; not that anyone saw that. His shoulders were heavy with tension, and his eyes were looking for someone.

“Mr Lothbrok?” he asked. “Or anyone related with Y/N Y-“

The doctor didn’t get to say your last name before, at least, ten people in the waiting room rose up from their seats. Ubbe understood the surprise in the doctor’s eyes; not always you could see more than ten SAMCRO members and a huge dog looking at you with expectant eyes.

“I-Is-“

“How is she?” Aslaug interrupted her son, who looked like he would faint.

“She…Y/N is fine.” he gave a weak smile. “We’ve almost lost her more times that I can count, but she’s safe for now.”

A chorus of happy sighs appeared in the room, and Ubbe felt Hvitserk hugging him while trying to get a hold on Sully. The dog, who had smelled you in the doctor’s clothes, was trying to get closer.

“Can I…is she awake?” Ubbe said with a small voice.

“Yeah, we’ve kept her in for a while because the anesthesia had to wore off. Sorry for the wait, guys.”

A look from Aslaug was all it took for Ubbe to follow the doctor. They walked through numerous corridors, filled with people and medical staff. A large window was following them all the way, and Ubbe realised the sun was starting to rise. The worry and the fear in his mind had clouded his time-passing senses; the whole club had been waiting in a shitty room for hours and he couldn’t be any more grateful.

Finally, they arrived to a white door with the number one hundred on it. Ubbe stood still for a while, looking at the oxide in the corners of the door and the stains in the walls. Deep down, he was scared. Scared to find you in a bed with a nearly broken body, to see you hanging from life or barely breathing. What scared him the most, however, was seeing your face. Maybe you were angry at him; you had every reason, he thought. Because of him you had been nearly killed, and, in some way, he would understand if you left him. That was the best possibility. If he saw your scared face once again, that time directed to him, he was sure he would die in a second. A cold hand on his shoulder made him look to his side.

“She’s fine, Mr Lothbrok.” the doctor gave him a soft smile.

“That’s not what I’m worried about.” he sighed. “I know she’s in good hands, but you don’t know what happened there. She might not want to see me again.”

“Well, I do know.” he let out a laugh. “Your girl is pretty talkative, you know? She wouldn’t stop talking about how you entered there between fireworks and war paint, to take her between your arms and save her.”

“What?” Ubbe smiled.

“She was pretty high on pain-meds, but I got the idea.” the doctor said. “Go and see her, she’s waiting for you.”

After a deep breath, he opened the door; and not a thousands wars could have prepared to see you. You were laying in a white bed, your hair sprawled in the pillow and the sun kissing your skin softly. That was the beautiful part. You also had an horrible bruise around your left eye, and your lip had a few stiches. The sheets were showing your collarbone, that was blue and black, and the hand where you had the IV was purple, along with your arm. Still, with a tube in your nose and a sore throat, you managed to smile.

“Hey stalker.” your voice was nothing more than a whisper, and made Ubbe’s eyes fill with tears. “You’re pretty banged up.”

“Have you looked at yourself, darling?” he let out a dry laugh, and walked towards the bed.

“Say that to my face.” you smiled softly.

His hand found yours and gave it a soft squeeze, almost afraid it would break. Ubbe had troubles sitting in the chair beside your bed, as his sprained knee didn’t bulge. It took him a minute to find a comfortable position in the chair, but he didn’t let go of your hand for a second. Almost afraid that you would disappear if he did so.

“Is everyone alright?” you asked.

“Sleeping out there, waiting to see you. Hvitserk was cuddling Sully when I left him.”

“She’s here?” your eyes lighted up.

“Of course, he brought her here last night.” Ubbe smiled

“And, Mrs Lowman?”

Ubbe’s silence was enough for you. You had suspected she hadn’t made it to the hospital, but the doctor hadn’t tell you anything. You tried to blink away the tears and calm your breathing before talking again.

“Is… her son here?”

“He’s on his way.” he sighed. “He was with his wife, preparing everything for the weeding.”

“God, Ubbe.” you let out a sob. “She-I saw how they killed her. I-I-“

“If you’re going to say you could have done something, don’t.” he frowned.

“But maybe everything would be alright if I hadn’t gone out! Halfsack would be-“

“Please, darling.” Ubbe ran a hand across your face. “Please, don’t blame this on you. He was more than willing to give his life for you, everyone is. You’ve charmed everything here, Y/N.”

You smiled through the tears and the pain, happy to be alive and to be with Ubbe again.

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

One step at a time. It wasn’t that hard, wasn’t it? You had to move first your right foot and then the left one. The stairs of your flat weren’t even that high, they were just old. But you couldn’t seem to climb them. Ubbe had passed by your side on multiple occasions, his arms full of the things that you had accumulated in your hospital room during the two months you had stayed there. It wasn’t much, just some clothes, your computer and personal objects; yet Ubbe didn’t even let you carry your own coat. The third time he walked down the stairs you were ready to throw him out and wipe that stupid smirk off his face. He stopped by your side with his arms crossed.

“You need any help, darling?”

“I’m doing fine, thank you.” you scoffed, walking another step up.

“You sure? Because I’ve already passed by you two times.”

“Not my fault you are too fast.”

“Come on, even Hvitserk after a nap is faster than you.” he laughed. “Let me help you.”

He tried to reach for you, and you almost gave up when you smelt his aftershave and the cigarettes he had smoked outside. In general, Ubbe was too tempting to stay away from him, yet you turned your head to the other side.

“No, I’m fine. Let me do it.”

“Darling, I’m hosting you up.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“I am. Be ready.”

“Ubbe, I swear- Ubbe!”

With ease, he took you in his arms like if you weighted nothing, and shut your complains with a short kiss. You kept rambling and talking under your breath, blushing and wishing you could do things on your own. Not that you were complaining with the treatment.

“You shouldn’t be carrying me with your knee.” you worried. His knee had been dislocated in the incident of you bakery, and he hadn’t been taking good care of it. When he was not with you in the hospital, he was working into the getting the club out of the illegal stuff.

“It’s been two months, Y/N. My knee is more than okay.”

“Well, you shouldn’t carry me because of your shoulder.”

“Healed too, darling.” he laughed.

“Because I should be able to do things on my own!” you said as he placed you down on your door. You crossed your arms and pouted, deep down wanting to be between his arms again.

“You have a new lung, it’s better if you don’t force yourself.” Ubbe pulled you into his arms, and you hugged his waist. “I just want to take care of you.”

“And I want to have a normal life.” you sighed. “Without feeling tired all the time.”

Ubbe kissed your hair, running his hand up and down your back. The guilt on his chest hadn’t disappeared yet, but he was becoming used to live with it. You were alive, between his arms and that was all that mattered. Your little peace was interrupted by your wonderful neighbour.

“Y/N!” David Hale’s voice made you tear apart. “I didn’t know you were coming home so soon.”

“It was an unexpected decision. “ you smiled, taking Ubbe’s hand after tearing away from him. “Doctor Alfred thought I was out of danger, and let me out after some warnings.”

“That’s good!” he smiled. “Will you be going back to the bakery then?”

“I-I still don’t know.” you shrugged, looking down. “I haven’t been there since… you know.”

The topic was still sensitive to you and to almost everyone in the club. Not only they have lost Halfsack, but it was also a reminder that they were never safe; not even his families.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” he frowned. “I didn’t mean to-“

“We’ve got things to do, Hale.” Ubbe rolled his eyes.

“Aren’t you a charmer, Lothbrok.” he scoffed. “Anyway, if you need help with anything, you know where to find me.”

A mischievous smile formed in Ubbe’s lips, and you already knew what he was going to say before he said it.

“Won’t be necessary, I’m moving in with her. “Ubbe smirked. “We won’t be needing for you.”

“That’s a surprise.” his eyes widened. “And the club?”

You rolled your eyes at his question, not having missed one a bit the constant bickering between your neighbour and your biker.

“That’s none of your-“

“They will manage without him, David.” you interrupted him, giving Ubbe’s hand a hard squeeze. “But thanks for your concern.”

“Yeah.” after an awkward silence, he let out a chuckle. “Who would have guessed.”

“Guess what?”

“That the sweet baker would end up with the bad biker.” David smiled. “I’m-I’m actually leaving town for a while, you know. Bigger chances out there. So I wish you the best.”

“I hope you’re happy out there, David.” Ubbe was trying to avoid you touching the deputy, yet you got your hand out of his iron grip with a hard tug. You could practically feel his pout while you gave David a quick hug.

“Yeah, I’m sorry for the poor souls that are going to get in your way.” Ubbe laughed, placing his arm on your shoulders.

The conversation died down quickly, and after one last hug, David left. Ubbe walked with you inside, and threw himself on the couch. He opened his arms, waiting for you to cuddle on his chest. The apartment was quiet, too quiet without Sully. While you moved Ubbe’s things into your apartment, you thought it was better if Sully was out; she tended to chew on the boxes and destroy some of your clothes. So you decided to leave her in the club house, and they were more than happy to have her. Hvitserk had become so in love with her he took her to the porn studio or to anywhere he went. Tig actually used her to get the girls, and even Aslaug smiled when she walked beside her.

“I already miss Sully.” you pouted. “This is too quiet without her.”

“She’ll be barking our ears off in no time.” Ubbe said. “I’m sure your neighbours don’t miss her. I hope they know what is coming. If I hear a complain about Sully, they’re going to have the whole club at their doors.”

“This is going to get crowded.” you pointed out. “I hope you aren’t too fond of your privacy.”

“The only thing I’m fond of is you, darling.” he gave a soft squeeze to your ass. “And this ass.”

“You’re the worst.” you laughed, kissing him slowly. “I liked how it sounds.”

“How it sounds what?”

“The sweet baker and the bad biker.” you pecked again his lips, making him whine like a child for more. “Although I would call it the clumsy baker and the whiny biker.”

“We can be whatever you want darling.” Ubbe smiled. “As long as we are together. “

Yeah, that sounded right. The sweet baker and the bad biker, forever and ever. Until a barking Sully tear you apart.

Want to know more about me? Here is my Masterlist! Feedback is always appreciated!!

#ubbe #ubbe imagine #ubbe one shot #ubbe x reader #ubbe au #vikings soa crossover #vikings imagine #vikings x reader #vikings #vikings one shot #soa #soa imagine #soa x reader #soa one shot #imaginemai #the sweet baker and the bad biker

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ohfiendangelical · 5 years

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first of all, i want to clarify that this is not a callout post. it’s more of a personal catharsis thing — i don’t really have any ‘receipts’, though i do have numerous other witnesses and victims. ive been intentionally vague about this for about 5 years now, trying to keep the peace and avoid any unnecessary drama.

the story i originally gave when miranda and i parted ways was that we were simply incompatible; i implied that we were both good people who ultimately brought out the worst in each other. that is partially true — we were incompatible, and we did bring out the worst in each other. however, there’s a bit more to it than that.

i met miranda through the tumblr rpc in the early days of this particular blog. i was a young teenager. miranda was older than me, though also a teenager at the time; either a junior or senior in high school. she seemed sweet at the time, though shy and insecure. she also seemed sad a lot. we bonded over a love of the film moulin rouge and writing dark subject matter. we had our characters interact, and she quickly grew attached to both zero and i.

she quickly began to exibhit strange behavior. she would pressure me to do plots i wasn’t keen on and get extremely upset if i was hesitant. she was fiercely jealous and she would use her character, abra, to vent her personal grudges and vendettas against other writers and characters i interacted with. she accused a great deal of people in our circles of plagiarism (admittedly, there were a few cases of her suspicions proving to be true) and would bully them relentlessly, sometimes to the point of chasing them off the platform. she decided she didn’t like people seemingly at random and became hostile if i continued to speak to them.

she began to refer to me as her best friend within a few months of our knowing each other. i was not comfortable with this. i didn’t think i wanted to get very close to her, even if i had fun writing with her. however, she persisted relentlessly and pressured me into saying it back, and eventually i trained myself into believing it was true.

she forced the zero and abra ship. that may come as a surprise to people who knew us back then. i didn’t want to do it, but she would have a full-blown breakdown any time i said i didn’t see the two characters ending up together — so eventually i caved and engaged fully. this was another thing i had to learn to enjoy.

any time i made a decision for myself, she would be unhappy with me. this started out as rp- and character-based decisions only, but soon upgraded to any decision regarding real life as well. she didn’t like it when i came up with my own plot ideas and would fight with me. she didn’t like it if i talked to other writers, save for the few she deemed acceptable (until she inevitably had a falling out with them and i was not allowed to speak to them anymore). she didn’t like it if i wasn’t accessable 24/7. she became hostile if she found out i had plans or was not at my computer. she would become irritated if i talked about people in my life that she didn’t already know.

eventually, it got to the point where i rarely ever left my house, afraid of the reaction i would get. due to my mental health, i began to do homeschooling in the middle of my teen years (this was not related to her), which gave her unreserved access to me. i ended up losing contact with more than half my real-life friends. this lasted about 3 or 4 years — most of my formative teen years.

where i wasn’t allowed to have other friends, engage with other writers, have other ships, leave my house, or generally have any life experience, she was. if i brought up this contradiction i would be shamed and berated for being a bad friend. if i was worried about any of the decisions she was making — self-destructive habits, engaging with dangerous people in her real life, handling her money recklessly — i would be even further shamed. she kept me from her other friends, refusing to let me speak to any of them. she publicly played up her popularity with these friends, as well as her “fans” on her personal blog, while rarely ever mentioning me. if she wanted to prove a point, she would ignore me entirely to keep me in my place while championing and publicly lauding these other people. of course, if i spoke to almost anyone other than my few rp friends (which, again, were mostly selected by her whims), there would be absolute hell to pay.

she was fairly popular on her personal blog, and became regarded as an authority and critic on social issues. a great deal of her “hot takes” were extremely damaging, or not thoroughly researched. half the time she did not know what she was talking about. if anyone disagreed with her on anything — even mundane, small things that had nothing to do with social issues — they were deemed either racist or misogynistic or both. (miranda is a latinx woman, so she has had to deal with institutional racism. i want to make it clear she wasn’t a white girl crying racism — all of this is bad enough without misleading claims.) if she were informed she could not be an authority on the plight of demographics she did not fit into, she would throw a fit and talk in circles until she came up with something to make the other person, sometimes a member of the demographic she was representing falsely, appear in the wrong.

she had a great deal of internalized homophobia that offended me (i’m bisexual), and when i called her out on it, she grew highly emotional and guilted me relentlessly. i never brought it up again. after we parted ways, she came out as a lesbian. this was after years of her throwing a fit if i so much as said i’d kiss her in a playful context — though she sexted me once. she became distressed or annoyed if i ever mentioned it, which left me feeling rather dirty and used, especially since i was 17.

the body positively movement was gaining traction around this time, so she latched onto that, “reclaiming thickness”. the problem with that is that she was rather thin with slight curves. i, however, am heavyset — and was made to feel ugly by her for it while she also talked over me about thickness, fatphobia, and body shaming to further her own personal agenda.

i underwent extreme personality changes with miranda controlling my life. i was an outgoing and confident teenager, if not a bit obnoxious, before i met her; now, to this day, i am rather reserved and shy. i have trouble befriending people. certain typing patterns make me anxious (miranda had a distinct textual tone when she was upset). my self esteem isn’t what it used to be. i have to triple check my own perceptions of things — even now, writing this, i have to wonder if everything really happened the way i remember it, or if i am just melodramatic and oversensitive.

i have countless horror stories, fragmented anecdotes. examples of her behavior.

she once claimed to have taken a bunch of pills in a suicide attempt, then immediately backtracked when i, worried sick, was preparing to call someone, saying that she threw them all up and was fine. she went to bed immediately after, making it clear she was irritated at me for responding to what i can only assume now were theatrics.

when the older boy i thought i was in love with molested me, and i — young, confused, and upset, with only a few hours having passed — considered speaking to him again, she berated me and threatened to cut all contact, saying that she “didn’t think she could be friends with someone who would do that”. (she also berated me when i expressed concern that she was still in contact with someone who abused her.)

a few months after my brother, who i loved more than anyone in the world, died unexpectedly, she expressed the news had upset her because she “knew it would change things between us” — in her mind, my grief took a backseat to the inconvenience of my attention being elsewhere.

when one of my friends expressed interest in one of my characters she was especially attached to, she came at me in violent hysterics, saying “HE’S MINE”, as though he were a real person. this fight escalated to literal life threatening perportions when my friend became hospitalized, the violent bullying and gaslighting from miranda being a factor.

when i began to hang out with my real life friends again once a week after years of isolation, she claimed that i didn’t care about our relationship and that we weren’t “working out”, and she may not want to be friends with me anymore.

i have a lot more, but i think we’ve gone dark enough for now.

i also want to bring up the way i behaved. the relationship did bring out the worst in me. i began to think like her in a lot of ways. there were times when i was cruel and manipulative and selfish. there were times when i was mean to other people. there were times when i would react to something in a melodramatic, irrational way when it didn’t have to be that way. i think that i became a really bad person for a while. there are still some habits that i’m trying to unlearn — like not saying what i mean and then getting upset with people for not knowing anyway, or being harshly critical and judgmental of those undeserving, or seeking out affection through ridiculously convoluted ways. i’m working on it. (honestly, i’m deathly afraid of turning into her.) a lot of it has been worked out of my system after five years, but there are relapses from time to time.

when i began to tell one of my friends about what i was experiencing, i slowly came to realize it wasn’t normal. i came to terms that it was abusive. eventually, i reached a point where i felt brave enough to disconnect. i told her that i couldn’t do it anymore, and then said goodbye. she tried every trick in the book into getting me to stay, but i managed.

i will still get the occasional message from her every six or so months that proves she hasn’t changed and has no intention of changing. the messages range from hostile to desperate to sad and asking for forgiveness.

based on what ive heard from other people, she’s only gotten worse.

there are currently 6 other people i can think of off the top of my head who also had traumatic experiences with miranda. and that’s just the few i know of.

so, there you go — that person i wrote with for years and years and seemed so happy with was basically keeping me hostage. i know that may come as a shock to some, and not to others. i hope anyone else who has been hurt by her is also brought some relief by the truth finally coming out: no, you weren’t crazy!

if anyone else would like to come forward, too, i’m always listening. it may help to talk about it.

#i'm not doing any formatting on this post because it feels needlessly vain to worry about aesthetics when this is kinda serious #anyway give this a read #if you want to reblog it that's okay too #it felt very cathartic to write this out! but also stressful #☆ offscreen .

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woundedheartwithin · 5 years

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from these dark waters (from this dark world)

Far Cry 5 | Hurk Drubman Jr./Female Deputy | Fluff and Angst

Previous chapter: prologue

For notes and extras, find it here on AO3!

Note: I’m posting this early because I just realized I now have 700 followers!! 700 followers? Holy shit you guys, thank you!!!

chapter one

The first time she disappears, Hurk thinks nothing of it, even if she had just left mid-conversation. He’d only known Deputy Bailey Correa for two days, and while he’d instantly liked her for both her penchant for blowing shit up and the fact that she’s fine as hell, he doesn’t know much about her. He knows that she’s a cop, and he knows that the Seeds have a real creepy hard on for her, but he has no reason to keep track of her daily habits.

She resurfaces the next day with a far away look in her eye, spacey like she’d gotten really fucking high and hadn’t quite sobered up yet, but fairly normal. Hurk had had no reason to believe she’d even met Jacob, let alone gone through the first stage of his “re-training” program.

The second time she goes missing, Hurk does start to worry. He asks Eli Palmer about it, but he only shrugs and tells Hurk that she probably had other shit going on. They are in the middle of a war after all. This time, it takes her five days to resurface. And when she does, she’s covered in blood and has a wild look in her eye.

“You look like hell, Ladybug.” He says softly, grabbing her elbow when she sways to stabilize her.

“Feel like it, too.” She grumbles, dusting her pants and smearing the blood worse.

Then she disappears again a week later, and stays MIA for two fucking weeks.

The Whitetail Militia goes DEFCON One, locking down everything and pulling scouts from the entire region all at once. Hurk has a real problem with just hunkering down and hoping Bailey comes back in one piece, so he takes to driving all over the region. Nick Rye has already been searching for her from the sky, and it doesn’t take much convincing to get Sharky patrolling the water in his fishing boat. Dutch Roosevelt checks in often, asking anyone who might be listening if they’ve found her, and each time there’s a resounding chorus of no.

Sheriff Whitehorse is convinced that the eldest Seed has her, and is calling everyone back to the jail to plan an assault on the Veterans Hospital where Jacob makes his base. Hurk’s listening to the sheriff on his radio when he sees a big box truck pulled over on the side of the road. The driver is in front of the truck taking a piss, and Hurk wastes no time popping the guy so that he can safely loot the truck.

He’s opening up the back when he hears a groan above him, then something drops off the roof with a heavy thump.

Hurk peeks around the back of the truck, gun in hand, at the still lump of fabric lying on the ground. Then it moves and groans again, and Hurk trips over himself getting to it.

“Oh sweet Monkey King, Bailey!” He gasps, breathless, going to his knees next to her lifeless form. She’s skin and bones, covered in blood and shit, her eyes wide and glassy, and if she weren’t taking short, raspy breaths, he would think she’s fucking dead. “Hey, hey, Bailey, it’s me. It’s Hurk. Holy shit.” She’s cold when he touches her, and he can feel every bone in her body as he puts his arms under her and lifts her up.

He puts her in the passenger seat of the box truck and buckles her in, then runs to the driver side and climbs in. The key is blessedly still in the ignition, and he turns it and tears off onto the road, scaring the shit out of himself when he nearly flips the goddamn thing.

She groans and her head lolls to one side, and Hurk reaches for her hand without thinking, seeking connection, needing to know that she’s actually here and she’s alive and that this isn’t just some hallucination.

“Where am I?” Bailey groans, squeezing Hurk’s hand weakly.

“You’re okay. You’re safe.” Hurk replies, glancing over at her. “We’re headed to the Wolf’s Den. Everythin’s gonna be okay.”

“No. No, not the Den. Can’t go there.” She says, groaning again and shifting, getting upset.

“Okay. Okay, where?” He asks, confused. Why wouldn’t she want to go back to the Wolf’s Den?

“Anywhere. Just not there.” And then she passes out.

So Hurk takes her to Dutch. He doesn’t know where else to go, and he thinks she wouldn’t want too much of a fuss made over her (why else wouldn’t she want to go to Eli?), and Dutch isn’t exactly known for making a fuss.

“What the hell happened?” Dutch rasps when Hurk pulls up. He’s got a shotgun cradled in his arms, obviously on edge since they just rolled up to his bunker in a cult cargo truck, and a sour look on his face. “She looks like shit.”

“Yeah.” Hurk huffs, unbuckling her and lifting her gently out of the truck.

“Why didn’t you take her to Eli?”

“She didn’t wanna go to the Wolf’s Den.” Hurk replies. “And you’re closer than the jail.”

“Why not take her to your pop’s place?”

“Are you kiddin?” Hurk snorts. “You honestly think my daddy’d help?”

“Well, probably not.” Dutch replies. “C’mon, then. Let’s get her inside. I’m guessing Jacob starved her?”

“Good a guess as any.”

“Where’d you find her?”

“By that cult truck. She came to on the way here, but that didn’t last long.” Dutch leads him into a room with a bed and gestures for Hurk to put her down.

“I’ll start fluids. Get her warm.” Dutch says gruffly and leaves the room.

Hurk rummages through the lockers and finds a few scratchy blankets. He makes a face but covers her with them anyway, then sits next to her on the edge of the bed and rubs her arms and legs and sides vigorously. She groans and turns her head, but doesn’t open her eyes.

Dutch returns a few moments later and sets up an IV drip. He mumbles something about a dextrose solution, then leaves again. Five minutes later, Bailey is trying to sit up and pull the needle out of her arm.

“Hey, stop. You’re okay.” Hurk says, grabbing her hands and hanging on when she starts to fight. For a moment, she’s a hell of a lot stronger than she looks, and she nearly frees herself. But then she stops and sags back against the pillow, panting and staring at the ceiling with glassy eyes.

“Where am I?” She asks, her voice rough.

“Dutch’s bunker.” Hurk replies, letting go of her hands.

“Okay.” She huffs. “When can I get out of here?”

“Dude, you’re practically a fuckin’ skeleton.” Hurk says, incredulous. “What happened to you? You’ve been gone for weeks.”

“Jacob Seed.” She snarls. “He kidnapped me and starved me.”

“Why?”

“How the hell should I know? Keep me weak and useless?” She snaps, then takes a deep breath. “Sorry. I don’t know.” She’s quiet for a moment, then takes another deep breath and meets Hurk’s eyes. “Wanna know something really fucked up? I actually kinda feel bad for him. He’s fucked Pratt all up, he nearly killed me, but I feel bad for him. He talked about his buddy that died in Iraq, and how mean his dad was when he and his brothers were kids, and I can fucking see why he’s like this.” She huffs and bares her teeth. “God, I hate him. Fucking asshole. I gotta find a way to put him out of his misery. Get him the fuck outta my hair.”

“Sounds good to me.” Hurk chuckles, shaking his head.

She kills Eli Palmer a week later. Just marches right into the Wolf’s Den like a woman possessed, still skinny and weak, kills half of the Whitetails and blows Eli’s brains out. Hurk catches the tail end of Wheaty’s distress signal and heads toward the mountain the bunker is situated in.

He finds her standing over Jacob Seed’s hunched body, slumped where he’d died up against a rock. Her back is stiff, her fists clenched, and when Hurk reaches out to touch her shoulder, she whips around and takes a swing at him.

“Whoa!” He yelps, catching Bailey’s arm before she can actually hit him. “S’just me.”

“Sorry.” She replies, detached.

“I heard about Eli.” He murmurs. “I’m sorry, Ladybug.” She sighs and shakes his hand off her shoulder.

“So am I.”

—

Bailey sits at a table in the corner of the dining area in the 8 Bit Pizza Bar, carving lines into its surface with her hunting knife, looking like she’d just lost her puppy. Hurk’s been watching her for an hour already, nursing a beer and only half listening to Sharky’s ideas for Hurk’s Gate, wondering if it would be better to go talk to her or to just leave her alone.

He finishes his beer and chucks the bottle out the open window. On a normal day, she probably would have reacted to it. “Cult’s doing enough to destroy everything, they don’t need help,” she’d probably growl, punching his shoulder and laughing.

Today, she doesn’t even flinch. Probably hadn’t even heard it shatter outside.

Hurk sighs, grabs two more bottles from the fridge, and makes his decision. He doesn’t know if it’s just better to leave her alone or not, but it seems shitty to just let her wallow like this. So he crosses the room and opens the bottle with his teeth.

“Looks like you need this.” He says, offering it to her. She doesn’t even look up, just takes it out of his hand and tips it back, draining half of it without once taking her eyes off her carvings. “Whoa there, Ladybug. Take it easy.”

“Sure, Hurk.” She huffs, taking another pull from the bottle, shorter than the last.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He says, sitting down and opening his own bottle. “Or beer, I guess.”

“Just thinking about Jacob and Eli.” She says quietly, rolling the bottle between her hands and closing her eyes. “Don’t feel right.” Hurk doesn’t say anything. He’s not sure there’s anything to say. Instead, he reaches out and drops a heavy hand on her shoulder. He expects her to jump or jerk away from him, but she doesn’t. She just lifts her own hand and puts it over his.

“Anything I can do?” He asks, catching her fingers and stroking them with his thumb. She doesn’t respond for a long time.

“No, Hurk.” She says at last. “Thanks though.”

He should probably push, insist that she talk to him and let him in. Let him do something to make her feel more at peace at least. But he knows there’s nothing he can do.

So instead, he sits down in the chair next to her and drinks his beer in silence. He doesn’t push, he doesn’t do anything. He just sits with her.

Finally, after they’ve both drained their bottles and the sun has set outside, Bailey sighs and leans back in her chair. She’s still too skinny, her eyes are sunken in and her cheeks are hollow, but when she looks at him and smiles wanly, he can’t help but think she’s the most beautiful girl he’s ever met.

“You know, if you took a picture you wouldn’t have to stare so much.” She says softly, grinning when he huffs and rolls his eyes.

“Puh-lease. I’m just wonderin’ when you’ll notice that big-ass booger on your face.” He teases, laughing outright when she gasps and covers her nose and mouth with both hands.

“You’re a dick.” She growls, but the skin around her eyes crinkles and she starts to laugh too. She snorts and they both laugh harder, practically howling.

#far cry 5 #hurk drubman jr #hurk drubman jr/female deputy #my writing #Sharky Boshaw #joseph seed #jacob seed #john seed #faith seed #deputy correa #fc5 fanfic #long post

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stylesbicon · 5 years

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Reasons I hate my boss and quit my job and gave up my work visa just because I hate her so much:

racism- lol she thinks shes better than all the chinese people she works with and also has lived here 10 years and never even bothered to learn chinese but its ok bc she thinks the whole world will just speak english to her lolololol whattttttt

lies- she makes me lie on forms to make things more convenient to her and she lies to us all the time to make herself look good. also me and my friend got promotions we didnt want or deserve because she wanted us to take some of her responsibility so she lied on our reviews

insecurity- she literally bullies us bc she is sooooo insecure about herself like ive had 2 friends quit because of her and she's treated them even more like garbage after they resigned because EVERYTHING has to be about her or some shit

lack of support- lololol she is literally supposed to TRAIN US and she cant even do that without talking herself up. like first of all she is the WORST teacher to train other teachers i have never observed someone so bad at teaching in my life. but then she makes excuses for herself.... excuses that would be unacceptable for us to make. she is supposed to observe us teaching like any DoS would do but she canT FUCKING SHUT UP IN AN OBSERVATION without making corrections or talking to the students or drawing the attention back to her. one time she actually TOOK OVER TEACHING MY CLASS when she was supposed to be observing me and then told me a bunch of shit in the feedback session about how bad i did like... you never even SAW me teach bitch. and shell have these "supportive observations" for us to like supposedly give us pointers or whatever but instead after the class is just like an hour long roast session about how much we suck and it's actually driven coworkers of mine to tears and really made them contemplate quitting. we can't ask her any questions about anything because she'll just tell us to check our schedule or our email and that we can find the information there but like... literally its not there thats why were asking... and she still wont give us the answer... i still havent had any training on the job she promoted me to 3 months ago lololol it's because she obviously knows nothing about it but she'll never come out and tell me that she says we can come to her and talk to her about any problem we have like with her or whatever but literally whenever any of us have done that she's taken it so personally and like brought up our issue in meetings in front of everyone else... she literally makes us do everything for her she doesn't teach a single class... which she's supposed to... and delegates anything she's told to do to us who are VERY busy like we stay late at work every day doing her shit... also she just shows up to work whenever she wants to like she'll schedule herself to come in at 9 with the rest of us and show up at 11 and meanwhile we've had to make split-second decisions about things with her not there and when she comes in she yells at us for not consulting her about things like YOU WERENT HERE if we're sick she doesnt give a shit ive literally been yelled at for not giving her 24 hour notice for calling in like... being sick doesnt work like that motherfucker. my coworker had a kidney infection and had to be in the hospital for 3 days and she asked my coworker why she couldnt just wait for the weekend to do this so she didn't have to miss so much work. then she went over to her apartment just to make sure she was actually sick

transphobia- lolololol they day she found out i was trans she had a private meeting with me accusing me of lying to her for over 6 months and then immediately changed my name in our online schedule to my birth name (it's still there folks!) and then just last weekend she changed the name on my staff profile which is on full display for anyone to see to my birth name because there was "going to be a government inspection"(so???) and i was not told in advance or consulted i just had to walk in and see that imagine my reaction

this bullshit today- if we want a day off we have to request it a month in advance which... fucking whatever. so i requested on the 20th of april for a week off in mid-june bc she said she isnt granting requests for july and i wanted to take a vacation this summer. she said it sounded fine, okay. i gave her my resignation 2 or 3 weeks ago now. i asked her today if i could go ahead and put these vacation days into the system and she said no, because me resigning changed the terms of our agreement and she wouldn't honor my vacation request anymore. like??? could you have told me that back when i could have had time to resubmit it??? because now im leaving in a little over a month and she KNOWS it. and she said i cant even resubmit a request until i read an email from her about the next steps surrounding my resignation which... i still haven't received... she basically told me that i have to take it at the end of my time working there so basically leave early however many days i have left for my vacation... and if i don't do that she'll give me more classes for the summer... so basically blackmailing me out of the vacation ive had planned for 5 weeks now, that she approved FIVE WEEKS AGO and im just now being told i cant have.... cool also lol when my coworker resigned she told her to not even bother requesting vacation days because she'd deny them lolol i smell bullshit

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writing-parker · 6 years

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Walk Me Home, Ch. 1

Summary/Pairing: Joanna Taylor finds out Tony Stark is actually her dad. All the Avengers will be featured in this, but ultimately this is a Peter Parker X OC pairing.

Word Count: 10k

this will eventually be rated M

A/N Hi all! So for the past couple of weeks i’ve had this idea for a fic in my head. I’m really not sure how any of this works, but it was really fun to write. Please comment and let me know what you think! There should be another chapter soon.

This has only been edited by me, so excuse any errors.

_________________________________________________________

She remembers the first time she saw Peter Parker. It’s really a surprise she did, considering she met him the day her life fell apart. Maybe it was his eyes- soft and brown and warm and looking at her with an intensity she wasn’t used to. She met him at a time in her life she didn’t even know she needed him, but eventually she would understand.

She was 16 and all she ever wanted was to make music. It was all she could remember dreaming about since she was 7, when her mom gave her an old guitar for her birthday. She learned four chords and wrote her first song that day. After that everything fell into place, and by the time she was 16 she was on her first world tour, opening for some of the biggest stars in the world. She was living the life she always dreamed of- until the day it came crashing down around her.

“Stage IV pancreatic cancer,” She heard the words but she couldn’t wrap her mind around them, like a foreign language in her ears. Her mother, so strong always, was crying softly, but Jo stared straight ahead and arranged her face to in a mask of indifference. Now she needed to be strong for her dying mother.

“So what’s the next step, what are treatment options?” Jo’s mind started moving a thousand miles a minute.

The doctor gave her mother a pointed look, “I’m sure you two have a lot to discuss,” she said, “I’ll leave you alone now.” She got up to leave the room.

“Wait, where are you going, we have to figure out a plan,” Jo yelled after the doctor.

“Joanna.” Her mother grabbed her hand. “Calm down.”

“Calm down? You’re kidding.”

“Honey, I’ve known for a while. You and I need to talk,” Joanna’s mother patted the space next to her on the hospital bed, but Jo walked over to the window and looked idly. They were at Mount Sinai in Union Square in New York City- the world moved so quickly on the streets below her but Joanna felt like she was moving in slow motion.

“Mom this is the best hospital in New York City, which is the best hospital in the United States, which pretty much makes it the best hospital in the whole world.” She sounded desperate even to her own ears, “We’re going to figure this out, it’s going to be fine,” She started pacing, growing frantic.

“Joanna.” Her mom said again softly

“What? It’s not like money is an issue. The record and the tour are selling so well-” tears started to well up in her eyes

“Jo,” her mom said again, more firmly this time.

“I can’t lose you.” The young girl’s voice finally broke. She found herself in her mother’s arms, “You can’t leave me,” She sobbed. It was always Jo and her mom. The only thing she knew about her father was that he was alive, and that he didn’t want her. She never met her dad and never cared to ask about him. She didn’t have any other siblings. Joanna and her mom, always, no one else allowed. Things were going to change.

“Baby, I’ll never leave you,” Her mom squeezed her hard. “I’ll always be with you, even when you can’t see me.”

And just like that, over the course of 30 minutes in a hospital room in New York City, her entire life changed. Jo allowed herself two days to be sad. To wallow and cry and scream at god for doing this to her, oh god why did it have to be her. And then it was time to plan and prepare for the worst.

Her mother insisted she finish her tour. There’s only three weeks left, baby, her mom had said, you have to finish this tour. So she did, but it wasn’t the same. The doctor said that it wasn’t safe for her mom to travel, so she went on her own, and she got used to being alone. She was already used to media attention- she was young and beautiful and on a stadium tour- America’s sweetheart, Hollywood’s new golden girl. These were things that the media called her, but she just felt like a girl with a dying mom. So she kept singing, and found solace in the thousands of people singing the words she wrote alongside her. It was a distraction she desperately needed.

But then it was over, and the stages were packed up and all the confetti had fallen and it was time to go back to New York. Jo stepped out of a cab on 14th street and was immediately swarmed by paparazzi, but she kept her head down and made it up to her mom’s room.

The sight of her mother almost knocked her over. It had only been three weeks but it was easy to tell how sick she really was. Her already thin mother must have lost 25lbs. Her face was gaunt, and she wore a ballcap to cover her thinning hair from the treatment.

“Hi, mom,” Joanna kissed her on the cheek. Jo found herself telling her mom about the last several weeks of tour, all of it spilling out. How the crowd in Dallas was the biggest she ever played for, and at every show more and more people knew the words to her songs. She went on until it seemed trivial, and she noticed her mom stopped responding to her stories.

“You’re quiet,” Jo observed.

“We need to talk,” Her mom said.

“About wha-” Jo started, but was interrupted by a knock on the door from a nurse. “Eleanor, Mr. Stark is here to see you whenever you’re ready,”

“Give us 10 minutes,” her mom answered.

“Mr. Stark? Tony Stark? Why would he be here to see you? Mom what’s going on,” Jo waited for her mom to correct her. Why would Tony Stark be there to see her mom? She was confused and nervous and stressed and a thousand other things. She had grown used to feeling this way, she supposed, but this time she really wanted to know what the hell was going on.

“Joanna, honey, we both know I’m not going to be here much longer,” Jo opened her mouth to say don’t say that, but her mom sushed her, “I’ve been thinking about who is going to take care of you when I’m gone. And I’ve put a lot of thought into this decision, and I think it will be what’s best for you, best for everyone in this situation.”

“What does that have to do with Tony Stark, mom?” She asked a little more harshly than she meant to, but nothing was adding up.

“I didn’t think it was going to be this hard,” She barely heard Eleanor say under her breath, “But here we go: Tony Stark is your father, baby. And when I… when I’m not here anymore he’s going to be your guardian.” The words fell out of her mother’s mouth, and everything became blurry to Joanna.

“My guardian? What about Aunt Lisa or-”

Her mom cuts her off and explains that they’re so far away and they have young children and they can’t be here for you like Mr. Stark can. But she’s confused because her mom told her that he father never wanted her. But Jo’s mom doesn’t mention that for some reason.

Tony Stark. Her father? Her mother kept on explaining but Jo didn’t hear the words. The man she saw on the news growing up, the arms-dealer billionaire who destroyed all of his weapons to do good. Iron man.

She was still lost in her thoughts when there was a light knock, and Tony Stark himself appeared in the doorway. He gave Joanna a look she didn’t fully understand- curiosity, sadness… longing, maybe- before looking past her to her mother.

“Eleanor,” He says quietly and strides over to her bedside and kisses her cheek, “It’s good to see you again, despite the circumstances,” Tony takes a step back and looks at Jo again.

“Hey, kid,” He says timidly, “I’m a big fan.”

Joanna is confused for a moment before she remembered she was a popstar. She still thought it was weird when people recognized her. Despite paparazzi following her and more than 5 million followers on Instagram, she was still used to being invisible to men like Tony Stark.

Jo says the first thing that comes to her mind, “I’m sorry, but what the actual fuck is going on?”

Tony’s eyes widen, “I guess it’s too soon to ask you to call me dad, huh,” He says to Jo before turning back to Eleanor, “So I take it she doesn’t know…anything?” He assumes correctly.

“She is still in the room,” Jo snaps angrily at Tony.

“So feisty. Just like you El.” Tony reasons. “Look, Jo, can I call you Jo?” He doesn’t wait for Joanna to answer, “Look, this is hard for us to explain.”

Eleanor interrupts, “Tony has nothing to explain sweetheart. This is all my doing. I found out I was sick 8 months ago, Joanna,” Jo starts to do the math in her head, but her mom continues for her, “Yes, the week before you left for tour. And at first the doctors were optimistic,” Eleanor goes on, explaining, “That’s why I missed the first month of tour, I wasn’t working, I was getting treatment.”

“It didn’t take long for them to realize nothing was taking, nothing could treat this cancer. So they gave me options. Either stay here and keep poisoning my body with radiation, or spend my last healthy months with you, on your first tour. I had to go with you, baby,”

Joanna doesn’t realize that there’s tears running down her cheeks until her voice cracks, “What if they could have helped you, mom?” It feels all wrong to be doing this in front of Tony Stark, but she keeps going, “You should have told me, I would have-”

“You would have what, canceled your tour?” Eleanor shakes her head, “Over my dead body,” Jo freezes, Tony snorts, and Eleanor smiles softly, “That was a really bad figure of speech,” Joanna cracks a sad smile.

“That doesn’t explain Mr. Stark-,” Joanna says to her mom.

“Call me Tony,” He interjects, but Jo ignores him, not looking away from her mom.

“- Have you always known, I mean I guess he’s always been my father but why didn’t you ever tell me? Why did you tell me he didn’t want me? Why did you call him now?” Joanna keeps spouting off questions too quickly for anyone to answer. She feels Tony Stark’s eyes on her.

“You told her I didn’t want her?” He says to Eleanor, not taking his eyes off Joanna, “So she spends her whole life thinking her dad doesn’t love her and I spend her whole life not knowing she exists?! How is that fair Eleanor?”

It was all too much for Joanna to wrap her head around, “I need to not be in this room,” She announced before walking out the door, knowing how unfair it was that her mother couldn’t run after her.

It was late, past visiting hours and she found herself roaming the hospital until she found a quiet place to collect her thoughts. She pressed her back against the wall and slid down until her butt hit the floor. Her mom was dying. Tony Stark was her father. Oh, god, the press is going to have a field day with that, she groaned internally. Her mom had lied to her about her dad not wanting her. Could she be angry at her dying mother, should she be angry at her mother? Things were never easy growing up, and this whole time a billionaire was her father? It felt like the world had stopped spinning.

She heard footsteps before she heard his voice, “Hey, kiddo,” Tony Stark said, sitting cross-legged in front of her. Jo picked at the skin on her thumb, “This really sucks,”

She wiped the tears from her face and looked up at Tony Stark. Jo gave him a smile, “This sucks so much,” She said in a small voice.

“We’re going to figure this out,” He assured her, putting a hand on her knee. Joanna nodded and let Tony help her up. The older man put his hands on her shoulders and looked at her.

Jo cringed under the scrutiny “What are you looking at?”

“My daughter,” Tony breathed, reverent. He paused before he said, “You have my eyes,”

“Mom always said so,”

Tony’s phone rings and the moment is ruined “Do you have to get that?” Jo asks him. Tony pulls his phone out quickly and checks the caller ID. He must decide whoever it is is unimportant, because he silences the device and puts it back in his pocket.

“No, I can let this one go,” He says to Jo, “We have a lot of talking to do. Let’s go back down to your mom’s room.”

And they talked. Eleanor explained everything. She and Tony had a brief fling in the 90s, during his playboy phase, which resulted in Joanna. She decided that she didn’t want to tell Tony and end up forcing him to marry her just because she was expecting a baby. So she didn’t tell Tony and she lied to Joanna. At the time it made sense, she told them.

But now it just seemed like a cruel joke. They talked in the hospital room for a long time, until Eleanor fell asleep clutching Jo’s hand. A nurse finally came in and addressed Joanna and Tony.

“Alright, you guys, it’s time to head out. Ms. Taylor needs her rest,” The woman shooed them out of the room. Jo and Tony stood outside Eleanor’s room, staring that their shoes.

“Um, so where are you staying, do you need a car? It’s pretty late,” Tony asked her.

“I have a Loft in Bushwick I record in, there’s a bedroom. I was planning on staying there.” Jo answered him. Truthfully, all she wanted to do was go to sleep. “I can take the train, it’s like a block away.”

“Please let me get you a car, is it even safe out there?” Tony looked concerned.

“Look, I appreciate your concern, but you’ve been my dad for all of 4 hours. I’ve done just fine without you for 16 years. I can get on the fucking train and go home myself,” Jo snapped at him. The two stand eye to eye for a few moments, both testing the others boundaries.

Tony took a step back and raised his arms in defeat, “Please be safe,” He sighs. The girl turns on her heels and walks down the hall, towards the elevator. Tony Stark stands there for a while watching Jo, watching his daughter walk away from him.

He never imagined he would feel this way when Eleanor called him all those months ago. She was sick, she had told him, and she needed help. She had had a baby more than 16 years ago and it was his. Joanna Taylor. He recognized her name, but didn’t know much about the girl. She was a singer- that much he knew. There was that one song of hers that was always stuck in his head, and we’ll never be royals, it don’t run in our blood… he hummed quietly to himself.

He had picked up a magazine with her face on it a few months ago (He actually bought two). Joanna Taylor, Exclusive Interview: Pop’s New It Girl Tells All. After a few moments of reading, Tony Stark felt his hands start to shake. Here was this girl that was half him and she had been out there for 16 years and he had no clue. He couldn’t breathe for it, and here he was reading interviews about her sudden fame, and how red carpets make her uncomfortable because she’s still getting used to how she looked and she didn’t like it when people looked at her. She gets that from her mom, he thought with a wry laugh.

But now Jo’s mom was dying. And for some reason Eleanor wanted him to know Jo. To care for her. He was sure he would screw it up somehow, but over the course of the last four hours in the hospital he had fallen in love with the girl, his daughter, and he would spend the rest of his life making up for lost time.

“This is Myrtle Avenue-Wyckoff Avenue, the next stop-” Jo was pulled from her thoughts as the automated voice from the subway announced they had made it to her stop. She spotted two girls, starting her way, and noticed the way their eyes lit up the moment they recognized her. One opened her mouth to say something to Jo, but she coyly lifted her finger to her lips, as if to say “shh”. The girls giggled and nodded, like it was their secret, something they only shared with Joanna Taylor.

Jo had found more and more people recognizing her on the streets, but with her first album almost a year behind her and the tour over now too, she was hoping things would settle down. She needed them too. The doctors gave her mom a few more months, but that wasn’t something she could think about too much. Right now all she could think was, holy shit, Iron Man is my father.

She stepped off the train and made her way down the stairs to the avenue below. Though it was late, almost midnight, but the streets were still lively around her. Joanna loved Bushwick- it was the first place she lived that took her totally out of her comfort zone. A true melting pot of all cultures, colors, and languages, each passing day in Brooklyn felt like more of an inspiration. Jo walked the two short blocks from the train to her apartment, shoving her key in the lock and making her way up to the loft apartment she rented to record and stay in when she was in New York.

Once at the top floor of the walk up apartment, she pushed her way in and was immediately greeted by a 65lb ball of fluff rocketing across the loft towards her. “Atlas!” She called the red Australian shepherd, “come ‘ere boy I missed you!” With all of the hype of getting off of her flight straight to the hospital, and then the whole Tony Stark thing, she had almost forgotten how much she missed her dog.

Not far behind atlas, her roommate, Camille, came running out of one of the bedrooms. Jo met Camille nearly two years ago, when she was just 15. Camille worked at the recording studio in the City where Joanna first started writing her album- right after her single Royals became the so-called ‘song of the summer’. Camille was older than Jo by nearly three years, but the girls hit it off immediately, and when the album was released Jo asked Cam to be her assistant.

“Welcome home!” Camille yelled across the apartment, running over to Jo to give her a hug. Jo took a look at Camille. With skin the color of a Chai Latte, haunting green eyes, and a mop of brown curls, Camille had to have been one of the most beautiful girls that Jo had ever seen. Immediately intimidated, it took Jo a long time to open up to the older girl, but once it finally happened they became fast friends. Jo isn’t sure what she would do without Camille.

“Happy to be here,” Jo breathed, finally able to relax a little.

“How’s your mom,” Camille asked timidly, knowing it was a hard topic for Jo to talk about. Camille was the first person Jo had told when she heard the news. They both broke down and cried on the floor of their apartment that night.

“The doctors say she has a few months left,” The dog at her feet nudged her hand. She didn’t realize she stopped idly petting him. She scratched behind his ears.

Camille let out a deep sigh, “I’m so sorry, Jo. I don’t know what else to say,”

“There’s really not much else to say,” Jo looks away, “… but I do have some other news.”

“Do tell,” Camille made her way over to the couch and plopped down.

Good thing you’re sitting, Jo thinks to herself before blurting out, “Tony Stark is my dad.”

Camille snorts, “Yeah, and Captain America is my new boyfriend.”

Jo rolls her eyes and takes a deep breath, “Cami, I’m being totally serious. One minute I’m getting off a plane to see my dying mother and the next a nurse is at her door saying ‘Eleanor, Mr. Stark is here to see you’. And my mom’s saying she knew this whole time Tony fucking Stark was my dad and they had a fling in the 90s-”

“Didn’t your mom sleep with like half of the East Village in the 90s? How is sure….” Camille stares at Jo, “Holy shit you look so much like him.”

“Yes she did, but that’s not the point. We have the same eyes. This whole time I’m thinking that whoever my dad is could give less of a fuck about me. He didn’t even know I existed, Cam. He wanted to know me.” Jo’s voice breaks. “I’m so mad at her.”

Camille busies herself petting Atlas. Her heart aches for Jo.

“But how am I supposed to be mad at her when she’s dying,” Joanna continues, voice dropping to a whisper. “What am I supposed to do next?”

“I don’t know kid, but I don’t think you have to figure it all out at once,” Camille reminds Jo. “…. But you do have to figure some parts out soon. I’m going to need to arrange a press release, interviews. The world already knows your mother is sick, but this is definitely not something that will stay secret for long.”

In the whirlwind of news, Jo barely even had time to think about the press. Fuck, Iron Man was her father. Like Saved-New-York-City-By-Flying-An-Actual-Nuke-Into-Outer-Space Iron Man. The whole world knew his name and his face, and a lot of people knew hers too. “This is a mess,” is all Jo can say.

Camille grabs Jo by the hands, “Here’s our game plan: you have an interview with Rolling Stone in 9 days. Two days before the interview, I’ll leak to the press that your dad is a fucking Avenger, you’ll answer some questions, and then no press or interviews or red carpets until you’re ready.”

Camille’s rationale sounded good to Jo, and she let herself relax a little. “Wine?” She asked Camille.

“I’ll grab the glasses.”

The two girls caught up over several bottles of wine, neither girl bringing up Jo’s mom’s cancer or Tony Stark for a while, until Jo, a little drunk, laughed softly, “Iron Man is my dad,” she snorted, and then started laughing so hard tears welled up in her eyes.

“What is so funny,” Camille laughed along

“Cam, my whole life, and I mean all of it, I sat around and thought about who my dad might have been. When I was in high school I used to imagine that he was a poet, or a singer or some amazing artist that had to fly all over the world. But when I was a little girl I imagined he was superhero, because why else would he not be around? He had to save people’s lives.

“Turns out,” Jo continues, “My dad is a literal fucking superhero.” And then she and Camille are hysterically laughing.

“Ok, ok, I can’t breathe,” Camille gasps. The two girls settle down.

“Do you think he’s going to try to like… parent me?” Jo asks. “Cause that ship has definitely sailed.”

“I’m not sure. Most people don’t look at 16 year-old pop icons with a top 40 album and think, ‘hm, she probably needs some fatherly advice’.” Camille mused. “Do you think Stark will be a strict dad?”

“I don’t know… I mean, it’s like I really need him for anything. I’m not a normal 16 year old. I have money, a place to live…” Jo rattled off.

“Yeah, kid, I know. But that’s not all someone needs,” Camille says sincerely. “Your mom clearly wants you to have a relationship with him, it’s practically her dying wish.” Camille had great relationships with both of her parents- something that Jo had come to envy. Camille knew how important those relationships were to her, and she imagined that Jo wanted something like it too, with her father.

“What if he doesn’t even care? Like what if he just came because she’s dying and then she’ll be gone and I’ll never hear from him again? I mean he’s Tony Stark he has a lot of shit going on and maybe he’s too busy-”

“Woah, woah, woah, calm down.” Camille hushed Jo, “Sounds like you’re already pretty invested in this, Jo. Are you worried you’re going to be disappointed?”

Joanna sighed. Yeah, there was a while a few years ago that she was obsessed with the idea of knowing her father and who he was. It was half of her, and she wanted, needed, to know more about him. So she kept bothering her mom about it until one day, when she was 12 or 13, her mom snapped and told her that her dad never wanted her, or wanted to know her. Joanna tried very hard to not care after that. But now she knew Mr. Stark never even knew about her. And the way he looked at her like she had been missing from his life this whole time gave her some kind of hope, she supposed.

“What if he doesn’t like me,” Jo whispers.

“That’s not possible.” Camille looked at the time glowing from the oven clock. “Shit, it’s like two in the morning, let’s go to bed. We have lots to figure out tomorrow.” The girls said their goodnights and Jo padded to her bedroom with the large windows, Atlas not far behind her.

She knows she has a lot to think about and even more to do, but she feels so tired when she gets into bed that she’s asleep before her head hits the pillow.

__________________________________________________________________

Across town, in a very different building on 45th street, Tony Stark stood in his office, looking down to the streets below him. New York was always lively, even at nearly 2AM. He let out a sign and ran his hand through his hair for the hundredth time. He met his daughter today.

She was so small. He hadn’t expected that. When he read interviews or saw pictures watched her perform she seemed larger than life. He was sure that every parent thought their kid was special, but, unbiasedly, his actually was. She won song of the year at the Grammys and was nominated for countless awards.

It’s all he had done for weeks. Research, he supposed. But soon he would have to talk to her. And then what? He didn’t know how to do this, to be a father to a teenager. One who was going through a really hard time with unlimited money and resources. How was he supposed to make this work? But then he saw her.

She looked like him. Dark hair, but she artfully dyed blonde that gave it a rooty look. Her hair was wild and wavy and long, something she got from her mother. She was small in build- maybe 5’3. But her eyes were haunting. They were his. The exact color and shape and intensity.

He heard the footsteps behind him before he heard the voice, “Having trouble sleeping?” Tony turned around to face the tall blond man standing in his doorway.

“Cap,” Tony greeted him, “Why are you in my living room at 2 in the morning?”

Steve Rogers pointed at the floor below him, “My living quarters are directly below yours. And you’ve been pacing.”

“So out of the kindness of your heart you came up here to see what ails me? I’m touched.” Sarcasm dripped from Tony’s voice.

Steve chuckled, “I was actually gonna tell you to go to bed so I could sleep. But if you want to talk about it…” he trailed off, expecting the man to blow him off.

But to Steve’s surprise, Tony blurts out, “I found out I have a daughter a few weeks ago and I met her today.” He says, then turns away to continue looking out the window.

“Oh and her mom is dying. And she’s 16 years old. And she’s Joanna Taylor.” Tony sits in an armchair and puts his head in his hands.

“Hey I actually know her!” Steve exclaims. Tony groans. Steve has been carrying around a notebook he filled with pop culture references he was trying to catch up on.

“Jesus Christ, Rogers, I’m trying to have a moment here.”

“Right,” Steve says, “So… what are you going to do?” Tony continues to look out the window. “Look, Tony. You don’t have to have it all figured out right now. I’m sure she’s just as freaked out as you are. Take things slow, get to know her. It will all come.”

“What if she wants nothing to do with me? What am I supposed to do then?” The words that had been stuck in the back of his throat since he found out about her tumbled out of his mouth.

“You’re kidding, right? You saved the world, Stark. Remember? I think it’ll be fine.” The two men sit in companionable silence before Steve laughs, “16 years-old? Yikes.” He raised his eyebrows at Tony.

“Don’t remind me. I’m still recovering from Parker,” But he smiles fondly at the memory of Peter Parker when they first met. 15 and naïve and ready to save the world. How was that almost 4 years ago already?

The bigger man laughs, “Peter turned out great, Tony. You found him at a time he needed a father figure and now he’s developing tech with the best in the world.”

“And he’s not dead,” Tony laments

“Definitely not dead, and I’d say that in our line of work the odds of that are higher than an average teenager. So, see? You managed to keep one teenager alive and happy, you can definitely manage another one.” Steve puts a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “Get some sleep, Stark.”

Oddly enough, Steve’s words comforted Tony. The two didn’t see eye-to-eye always, but they were fighting on the same team. Tony knew he wouldn’t sleep tonight, so he started to work on new updates to his suit. Once and acceptable hour (at least acceptable to him) rolled around he sent a text to Jo.

Let’s grab coffee before we go see your mom today. TS.

It’s a start, he supposed.

Jo woke up to the light streaming in her windows softly. She never closed her blinds at night, loving the way the huge windows in her loft let in the morning sun. She stretched and rolled over, reaching for her phone. Ignoring several texts, her eyes focus on one from a number she doesn’t recognize. TS. Tony Stark. He wanted to get coffee before going to see mom.

Joanna looked at the time on her phone 8:17am. She still needed to shower and tend to the slight hangover she had from all the wine last night. She poured herself a glass of water and texted Tony back

JT: Coffee Project @ 10??

TS: See you there

Jo takes the train again as she makes her way to the small coffee shop in the East Village. She’s a bit early, so she expects to get some writing done before Tony shows. Much to her surprise, Tony is already seated at a table in the back. He stands when she approaches the table.

“No need for the formalities, pops. You can sit,” Before the words are out of Jo’s mouth, she regrets them. She had no filer. Tony sits with an amused smile. “Sorry,” she sighs, “I’ve got a bit of a foot-in-mouth complex.”

Tony laughs, “It’s no problem. I ordered you a coffee.”

“Perfect, I need my fix.”

“Fix? Aren’t you a bit young to be addicted to caffeine?” Tony wondered. He saw the dark circles under Joanna’s eyes, “Did you sleep well last night?”

“Definitely not too young, I’m in a different time zone basically every other day when I’m touring, coffee keeps me alive.” She shrugs, “I slept great last night, actually. First time back in my bed in like three weeks,” She takes a sip of the coffee in front of her. “You look like you didn’t sleep a wink. Somethin’ on your mind?” She jokes

Tony chortles, this girl is funny. “Nothing new,” He kids back with a sly grin. Then he sighs, “So,”

“So,” Jo repeats

“What now?”

“You’re the adult, you’re supposed to know!” Jo laughs at him. At least talking to him was easy, the conversation flowed nicely. “I’m too nervous to say something stupid.” She admits.

“You’re nervous? Imagine how I feel, having to make conversation with Joanna Taylor!” He rests his chin on his hand, “It’s a nightmare. I’m going to say something weird.”

“You’re Iron Man!” She says a little loudly, laughing. Some of the other coffee shop patrons turn to look at them. She’s used to people staring at her, even taking pictures, but this time she was sitting across the table from Tony Stark, and people were confused.

“I guess we both have big expectations to fulfill,” He takes a drink of coffee.

“Guess so.”

“So what have you been up to the last 16 years?” Tony asks Jo.

She laughs out loud and just starts talking. About writing her record and the tour and how hard it’s been. She explains how hard it’s been to find people to work with, because who wants to take orders from a 16 year old. She got a little over-excited, telling him about her vision and her stages and the lights and words. How close she paid attention every tiny detail, because of how important the stories she was telling were to her.

Tony Stark hung on her every word. He couldn’t believe he helped make her. She was the most incredible teenager he had ever met. As they talked though, he was filled with slow, anxious dread. She was so small and vulnerable and naive about the dangers of the world- of the universe. And he had seen it with his own two eyes. How could he protect her, she definitely couldn’t protect herself. He was lost in thought when he heard her small voice.

“Are you in the City full time, Tony?” He blinks and answers her, and then it’s her turn to ask questions and he effectively pushes the dark thoughts to the back of his mind. Eventually the time would come for him to worry about that, but it wasn’t now.

They go on like this until Sunday visiting hours at the hospital begin at 1, Jo checks her phone and exclaims, “Crap, how is it already one? I have to go see my mom. Do you still want to-” Tony doesn’t let her finish.

“Right behind you, kid,” Tony interrupts her. Always, he wants to add but refrains. Who knew how big of a part of her life she wanted him to be, he definitely didn’t want to freak her out. So he stands and helps her out of her chair and follows closely behind her and tries to find the right words to say.

Time passes just so- Joanna meets with Tony once or twice a week and she goes to the hospital see her mom. As days pass her mom gets sicker and sicker and sicker, disappearing right in front of her eyes. One day, when Jo knows her mom’s time is coming to an end, Eleanor sits at the edge of her hospital and grabs her hand, “Joanna.”

Jo’s stomach drops, she knows her mom is about to tell her something bad, “Mom?”

“It’s time to say goodbye sweetie,” Jo’s eyes immediately fill up with tears and she looks down. She and her mom had talked about this already. When it was time, Jo’s mom would let her know. Eleanor didn’t want her daughter to see her get any worse. “Don’t cry. You knew this was coming,” Eleanor rubs Jo’s hand with her thumb.

“I didn’t think it would be so soon,” Joanna whispers, tears freely falling. “How am I supposed to leave you alone?”

“Honey. I’m not alone. My sisters are here. I’ve made my peace,” Jo’s aunts had gotten in a few days ago. She knew then how bad things were getting.

Jo lets out a sob. “I don’t know what I’m going to do without you,” She admits.

“You’re going to change the world,” her mother smiles and hugs her.

They sit like that for a while. Eleanor holding Jo. Holding each other and whispering over and over, “I love you.” Neither ready to say goodbye, but knowing it had to happen soon. Eventually, Eleanor’s sisters, Jo’s aunts, come into the room. They spend their last hours together as a full family peacefully. There are a lot of tears and even laughter, but more than anything there is love.

Soon it is time for them to say their final goodbyes. Jo hugs her mom one last time and says her final goodbye to her mother. She didn’t know something could hurt so much, she couldn’t breathe for it. All that she knew was that nothing would be the same ever again. She bid goodbye to her aunts, making plans to talk later.

Tears blur her vision as she makes her way to the lobby of the hospital, walking quickly. She pulls out her phone to call an Uber, knowing she’s in no position to take the train, when she runs into a hard body, and her phone falls out of her hands, shattering the screen.

“For fucks sake!” Jo exclaims, wiping tears from her face, “Could you watch where you’re going?” She bends down to pick up her phone, but the other person beats her to it.

“I’ll replace that,” A familiar voice says, handing her back the broken device.

“Tony?”

“Let me give you a ride,” He says, reaching out to put his arm around Jo’s shoulder, but thinks better of it, and places his hand on her back and takes her out a side door of the hospital. He feels her breathing start to grow heavy and notices the devastating look in her eyes. He opens the back door of the large SUV, ushers her in, and gets in behind her.

“Where to, boss?” Happy, his driver (among other things) asks.

“Just a sec, Hap.” He says to the driver, “Did something happen, kid?” He tries to make eye contact with Jo, but she keeps staring at her lap.

“Tony, I.. she.. we,” The girl stutters, crying in earnest now, “We said goodbye today, she said she didn’t want me to see her like this anymore, and…” Tony can’t understand her, she’s so distraught. He can’t take seeing this girl, his daughter, in so much pain. He wants to take it from her, to keep it from her so she’ll never feel like that again.

But that’s not how it works, so he tentatively reaches to hug the girl. Joanna throws one arm around Tony and uses the other to clutch his dress shirt, crying into his chest, “I’m so scared,” She repeats over and over.

Happy looks in the rear view mirror. Tony Stark looks like a fish out of water with his 16 year-old daughter clinging to him. He wasn’t exactly known as the most touchy-feely person, but seeing him so tender with the girl makes Happy smile to himself. He puts up the divider between the front and back seats to give them some privacy.

Tony strokes Jo’s hair as she sobs. Usually, he knows exactly what to say. He always has a quick remark or joke on the tip of his tongue, but at this moment he had absolutely no idea how to comfort the crying girl. But he knew her pain, and that she was too young to be having this weight on her shoulders. After all, his parents had died when he was just 21. But for a girl to lose her mother at 16 just felt different.

“It’s going to be okay,” he whispered into her hair, “I’m here, everything is ok,” Joanna continued to sniffle and cry until she wore herself out and eventually fell asleep in the back of the car. Tony isn’t sure how long he sits there, listening to her breathing, before he taps the window and asks Happy to take them to Avengers Tower. When they arrive, he gingerly picks the sleeping girl up carries her to an empty bedroom in the living quarters, piquing the interest of several avengers.

“Is that international pop star Joanna Taylor?” Sam Wilson deadpanned, sweaty from his workout, “In your arms?”

“A bit young for you, don’t you think Stark?” Wanda joked from her spot on the couch.

“You didn’t tell them?” Tony sighed at Steve, who trailed in not far after Sam.

“You didn’t tell me to!” Steve says definitively.

“I didn’t tell you not to.”

“So I just should have known?” Steve rolls his eyes.

“Just when I thought we were finally thinking as one, Rogers.” Tony rolls his eyes back and carries Jo to a guest room, laying her in the bed. Mumbles and rolls over, pulling the blankets around her body.

Tony then strides back out into the common room where a handful of his team are loitering, curious. “All right,” he bemuses, “team meeting, Avengers assemble, whatever. How many of you are there here…” he looks around, “Enough of you, I guess.

“Quick announcement: Joanna Taylor is my daughter. Steve and Happy have the details, bother them if you have any questions.” Tony turns on his heel and walks out of the room, figuring in the next few days the word would spread fast enough that he wouldn’t have to answer too many questions.

Hours later, Jo wakes up in an unfamiliar setting. She’s in a large, plush bed, shrouded in darkness. She remembers saying goodbye to her mother, literally running into Tony, and having a meltdown in the back of his SUV. She must have fallen asleep, worn out from crying.

She threw the covers off of herself and got up, turning on the light on the nightstand. Her phone sat there, with a brand new screen. She smiled to herself and checked her texts, seeing one from her mom that just said I love you and another one from Tony.

TS: Fixed your screen, shouldn’t be breaking again. PS- we’re having dinner on the 8th floor of the residency, come eat when you’re ready.

Her stomach growls at the first mention of dinner. Jo makes her way out of the bedroom and walks down a corridor where she notices another empty bedroom. Entering the main room, she is met with a brand new updated kitchen and large open concept living area, it’s at least double the size of her apartment in Brooklyn.

“What the fuck is the 8th floor of the residency, where am I” She mutters to herself, looking for some kind of signage pointing her in the right direction.

“Hi Joanna,” An automated, robotic voice scares her so bad it sends her to the floor, “You are currently on the first floor of the residency in Avengers Tower, on 45th Street in Manhattan, New York.” Jo’s heart is beating so fast from the voice that came out of nowhere, she can barely hear what its saying. “You will find that, in the Avengers Tower, the first 59 floors are to Stark Industries offices. Floors 60-70 are for the Avengers Initiative, and Floors 70-80 are the residencies.”

“Uh, thanks…?” She looks around, trying to find the source of the voice, “What are you exactly?”

“I’m FRIDAY,” the voice sounds again, “You can think of me as one of Mr. Stark’s assistants. I’m sorry I frightened you,”

“It’s okay. How do I get to the 8th Floor of the residency?” Jo asked, feeling stupid.

“I will call an elevator for you, it will be here in approximately 30 seconds,” FRIDAY answered her.

“Thanks FRIDAY.”

“You’re welcome, ma’am.”

“Don’t call me that,” Jo calls to the voice before stepping in the elevator that opened in front of her. The elevator moves almost silently up to the floor where some others are gathered, waiting on dinner. This apartment is nearly the exact same as the one she was just in, but decorated differently. She sees Tony hunched over the kitchen counter with two other men, laughing quietly over something on a tablet. There’s two women on the couch, quietly watching the news.

She steps off the elevator and suddenly feels very nervous. “Jo!” Tony looks over at her, and then all eyes in the room are on her, “You’re awake,”

“Uh, yeah,” She nods in his direction, “Thanks for fixing my phone,” She holds up the device and strides over to where Tony is standing with the others, feigning confidence. It was something she often had to do in her line of work, and she was getting good at it. “What’s so funny?” She gestures to the tablet on the table where a video is paused.

Tony chuckles, “Don’t be mad but I had FRIDAY alert me when you were up. Yanno, in case you might need something,” Tony laughs a little, “I had her send a live feed of you, and well, this is what she sent,” Tony slides the device to her and presses play.

It’s a video of Jo right after she woke up, when FRIDAY scared her. The video shows Jo walking from the bedroom, her mumbling indistinctly, and then the voice coming from nowhere. She sees herself jump about a foot in the air before falling to ground, hand over her heart, eyes wide.

Joanna laughs out loud, “Happy to be your entertainment for the evening,” She says, arms out wide. The three men join in laughing, relieved that she can make light of the embarrassing situation. She then looks at her father and the two men around him. She recognizes Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson immediately. Truthfully, the Avengers had reached a world-wide celebrity status that was unlike anything she had ever seen before. Not everyone liked them, but everyone knew who they were.

And Jo was suddenly very aware of the men that were standing in front of her, and how she must look after the shit day she had. Her eyes were red and dry, and her long, wavy hair was a bird’s nest. Sam, the tall, dark-skinned man to her dad’s left put out his hand to shake hers, “Sam Wilson,” he introduced himself, smiling at her. She shook his hand, “Joanna Taylor,”

“Oh, I know,” He says to her, chuckling, “I took my 14 year old niece to one of your shows, she says that you’re the only one who gets her.”

“I’m glad ya’ll had a good time,” Jo smiles at him, before turning to the other man with her father. Steve Rogers was bigger in person, towering over her and the other two men next to him. And oh, god, was he good looking. Tony looked over to see Jo subconsciously fixing her hair and standing up a little straighter when she introduced herself to Steve Rogers. Tony rolled his eyes, but knew the older man would never make a move on a 16 year old. And he was used to seeing women’s reactions around the soldier. He figured the young girl was probably very flustered and smiled to himself.

Wanda and Natasha got up from their position on the couch to meet Jo. Once introductions were done, Sam moved over to the oven and pulled out the roast he made for the team. They all settled in for dinner, Jo fielding questions from the others about her and Tony’s new relationship.

Eventually, it grows late, and Jo excuses herself, telling the group how nice it was to meet them, and that she’d be around much more. Tony follows her to the elevator, “I can have FRIDAY call you a car?” He asks her.

“That would actually be nice, I got a google alert that TMZ published how bad my mom is doing… really not in the mood for paparazzi,” She smiles softly, looking at the floor.

Tony asks his AI to get Happy for Jo, and they make their way down to the private garage. “Thanks for everything today,” Jo says in a small voice, rocking forward on the balls of her toes, “It means a lot,”

Tony pulls her into a hug, it feels stiff at first, but then she melts into her father, something that she had been dreaming about since she was a little girl. “Anything for you, kid.” And he meant it. Her pretty face and quick wit had him wrapped absolutely around her finger. He never knew it was possible. He always thought that he would be a parent like his dad was, cold and unforgiving, which is why he thought he didn’t want children. But he was so soft around her.

“See you soon, Tony.” Jo says, stepping up into the large SUV. Tony doesn’t go back up to his apartment until the SUV is completely out of sight.

Four days after Jo says goodbye, she gets the call that her mom passed. She hardly remembers the days following. It was a lot of I-love-yous and Im-so-sorrys and paparazzi camped outside her Bushwick apartment. She cried until she couldn’t. The funeral passed in a flurry of black. She was surrounded by people for a week straight- asking her if she was ok, making her eat, telling her what to do and exactly when to do it.

She was ready to scream all the time, and she just wanted to be alone. Finally, after 8 days of constant nagging, she was by herself. But then she couldn’t stand to be. So she starts drinking. And when her party friends, the socialites and models that she pretends to like, call. She goes out. She keeps drinking. She sorts lines of whatever drugs they put in front of her. She sleeps with boys and she doesn’t remember their names.

She feels Camille worry for her. She ignores calls and texts from Tony. She sees headlines next to her face with the words “Fall From Grace” in bold font. She can’t bring herself to care. Because her mom is dead and what does it matter anyway?

One night, she’s already drunk, stumbling out the door in high heels with whatever boy showed up at her apartment that night. He had pretty blue eyes and lots of tattoos and a world tour that just ended and let his hands wander over her body.

“I’m going to come out tonight,” Camille calls after her.

“The more the merrier,” Jo says. The three get in a car and head to the city. Jo tries to have a conversation with Camille, but the boy next to her is kissing her neck. She tries to pull away, but he just pulls her closer, his hand sliding up her breast.

“Knock it off,” She snaps at him.

“Stop being such a prude,” He retorts, but pulls away none the less. He then pulls a joint and lighter from his wallet and lights up in the back of the car. He passes the joint to Jo, who takes a big pull and passes it to Camille. Camille declines, shooting a nervous look at Jo, who doesn’t even notice.

The nights go on as they all do. Bouncers pretend they don’t know she’s not 21. They get a table with bottle service, and Jo gets so wasted she can barely remember her name. But on this night in-particular, she’s out of control, dancing on tables, telling fans to fuck off. She can barely stand up straight, and Camille notices the boy she’s with getting handsier- giving her more drinks she doesn’t need. Another man, dark hair, is sitting close to them, his hand running up Jo’s thigh. Things looked bad

Camille pulls the phone from Jo’s small purse, and sends a text to the only person she can think of.

JT: Hi, this is Jo’s roommate Camille. We’re at Up & Down downtown. Jo’s not doing too good right now, I need you to come get her.

The reply is almost immediate.

TS: We’ll be there

Immediately relieved, she slides Jo’s phone back into her bag. Camille knows Joanna might not forgive her for now, but things were getting out of hand, and she was worried about her best friend. Then, the boys Jo is with pulls her up and start to direct her to a private room and Camille immediately panics.

It’s the same moment Tony Stark strides in the dark club with another young man. Peter Parker- Camille recognizes him- Spiderman. She wonders if they were together. Running up to the two men, Camille points in the direction of the men dragging Jo away from the crowded table.

“Thanks Camille, we got it from here,” and with that the stressed out girl gets herself a cab home.

Jo doesn’t see Tony and Peter approach her, but rather feels herself being ripped from the grasp of the boys.

“Where are you going?!” A familiar voice asks. It takes her eyes a while to focus on her father. Her eyes are red and unfocused, high as a kite.

“What are you on?” He demands. She looks at him with blurred eyes, not able to form words. “What did you give her?” He turns his attention to the pissed off boys.

“Hey, man nothing she didn’t want. We were gonna give her more of what she wants, before you interrupted,” And with that, he boys hand is on Jo’s arm, yanking her roughly towards them. She stumbles and hits the ground, crying out.

“You really shouldn’t have done that,” Tony says. But before he can react, Peter Parker has both boys on ground, and is helping Jo to her feet. Tony gives him a look.

“What? No one should touch a girl like that,” Peter defends his actions, tips of his ears turning red. Jo leans on his chest, unable to stand upright. She smells like weed and alcohol and something unmistakably her. It’s intoxicating.

“I’m going to pretend you’re not blushing over my daughter right now,” Tony rolls his eyes and they begin to make their way to the exit. “Why would any human ever voluntarily come here?” he shudders.

Joanna, who has no idea what’s going on, struggles against Peter, “Where are you taking me,” She slurs.

“Jesus christ was that even English? We’re taking you home,” Tony answers.

Jo must fall asleep on the way home, because the next thing she remembers is Peter Parker lifting her up like she weighed no more than a feather and carrying her up the four flights of stairs to her loft. She mumbles that she can walk herself, but he either can’t understand her or he’s ignoring her. Once inside, Peter puts her down and she sways a little, but manages to stay upright. Tony steps in front of her

“What were you thinking, Jo?” Tony says harshly.

“I had it under control,” She whispers back

“The hell you did! If we wouldn’t have come when we did…” he trails off remembering those two punks pulling her small, intoxicated form to a private room, “You need to make better decisions than the ones you’ve been making!”

Jo snorts and rolls her eyes, “Sorry to break it to you, Mr. Stark,” She practically spits his name at him, “But I don’t need you to parent me.”

“Well who the fuck else is going to do it then?” He sees tears well up in Jo’s eyes and immediately regrets his comment.

“Fuck you,” She says vehemently

“Wow, the first ‘fuck you’. What a memorable parenting moment.” Tony says under his breath before continuing, “You are out of control. This lifestyle is going to kill you if you keep it up, don’t you understand that? Nothing good comes from all of this!” He gestures to her kitchen table, where the drugs and alcohol from before the club are sitting.

“You don’t just get to come in and be ‘dad’ all of the sudden, Stark. That’s not how this works!”

“Forgive me if I haven’t been in a situation like this before, but I’m trying my fucking best.” They’re screaming at each other across the apartment. Peter sheepishly stands behind Tony, trying to make himself invisible.

“I don’t need your money, I don’t need your advice, I don’t need anything from you!” Jo gets in his face, “I don’t need you.” She repeats. As she says the words, she knows they couldn’t be further from the truth.

Her words hurt Tony in a way he didn’t know was possible, but he reminds himself that she’s drunk and high out of her mind on cocaine. Of course she needed someone to take care of her. “I just found you, I can’t lose you again.” He whispers.

She blinks and looks up at him sadly, “You never had me.”

Tony shakes his head and takes a step back, “I need some air. You shouldn’t sleep right away with all that shit in your system. Give it an hour or two.” And he strides out of the apartment, shutting the door gently behind him. Jo grabs an empty beer bottle and hurls it at the door, flinching at the sound it makes when it shatters.

She sits at the table, puts her head in her hands and groans. What the fuck was she going to do now? Jo jumps at the sound of Peter clearing his throat. “You know, I, uh, my parents are dead.” He says, kind of forgetting what he was saying when her eyes met his.

“Cool.” She sorts.

“No.. I mean… what I was saying…” He paused, flustered. “I lost my parents when I wasn’t much younger than you. I know how it feels. Tony was great, actually. He helped me a lot.” Peter runs a hand through his hair.

Jo looked at him with still bleary eyes, “I don’t care,” then she stomps to her room and slams the door.

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halaolamana-art · 6 years

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#boring #junk #life story nonsense #sorry #long rant

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shirleylawson · 3 years

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R&R in Scotland

May 2014

I am telling you! You could not make this shit up!!!!!!!!!!!!

I am convinced I am jinxed. Someone is stabbing a wee voodoo doll with my face on it, and the bastard is not perturbed even though I keep fighting him/her and pretending like it’s water off a ducks back, with my, "bring it on" jinx fairy attitude! And still my jinx keeps trying to break me. But it’s a weird kind of jinxed because I personally feel extremely lucky and blessed, even though the jinx still keeps throwing me shit.

My latest jinxed story is this week I’ve had in Scotland. One week today I’ve been here. I so badly needed a little ME time and to decompress. Scotland/home seemed like the answer but I can't say it' been therapeutic.

I was only here a few days when I woke up with stabbing pains in my chest and an ambulance was called by my Lesley, and the next thing I knew I was lying in the Emergency room in my pink, fluffy, panther onesie (well Lesleys onesie, but it wants to be mine)! I could see on the sphyg that my blood pressure was 250/110 , geezo I thought, didn’t know numbers went that high on these machines! Digital age eh? A lovely, lovely young 1st year resident doctor boy child, who had really just gone into third year at school surely, gave me an IV of morphine and valium that buzzed and whooshed it’s lovely, lovely LOVELY way to my limbs and head within one single minute. Onsie on, hands behind my head, laying back, sun shinning outside and right onto my little stretcher bed, life felt pretty good for about 20 minutes, for the first time in too long to remember. Lesley even managed to get an unexpected day off as ‘’carer'’ to her friend, ‘’NO SHE DOESN’T HAVE ANYONE ELSE TO GO WITH HER, IT’S ME, ONLY ME!!!’’, I heard her scream to her boss down the phone as I was wheeled passed by the paramedics to the ambulance! By the way, when you hear the mee maw mee maw of an ambulance in the distance, and you know it's coming for you, it's the freakiest shit! That was a first for me, it wasn't on my bucket list, but still, it was a first which is always a positive. But I’m lying there, in the emergency room, thinking, in my comfy onesie, where will we go for lunch I wonder. See Mr. Jinx? I really don’t care most of the time, you’re wasting all your good tricks on me really! Things don’t freak me out that much, I’ve pretty much done that seen most of it before so nope, the whole chest pain, ambulance (sorry to tell you but I actually loved the ambulance ride, I was so pleased as I’ve never ridden in one before and always wanted to see the inside), the whole taken to hospital thing was nothing really. I’ve been in more hospitals as a nurse AND as a patient than Mr. Jinxy’s had hot dinners, so he’ll need to try harder. All well, and by the next day I’m lying in Lesleys bright yellow bikini lapping up the ‘’normal’’ sun you get out of Dubai in her garden. A couple of days up North will sort me, get out of the city! So off I go…

No stress, no worries, no pain, no work, no editing, no clients, no husband and no kids…nothing! (all references are not in order of importance!) I felt quite chirpy on my drive up! I was awwwwing and ooooohhhing in all the right places at the beautiful scenery, window open, sun on my face, music on, out the car a couple of times to take pics, all well - not even getting upset that there was road works and I was jammed for an hour, nothing was a bother. I could smell Loch Lomand…I was a bit euphoric actually! The last 2 hours of the 4 hour journey, my euphoria was taking over by pain in my ankles. I was finding it difficult to use the gas and clutch pedals continuously for 4 hours because of my RA and my ankles and shins were complaining! By the time I swung round that bend that takes you into Oban, and that view that catches your breath from the top of your hill, wee fishing village, typically Scottish with it’s white houses and flowered gardens, it wasn't the view that was catching my breath... it was the agony of my ankles!! I found a place to stay pretty quickly and when I took my socks off in my room, it confirmed my suspicion. Red balloon legs and feet! I thought I’ll go have a shower, get the journey off my skin, take my meds and get into bed. On my drive up, I had stopped at a garage for petrol and also bought some cute little pink lady shaving razors, quite exited me, since I’d been here a week and had about 2 weeks of gorilla legs! So shower and a de fuzzing was waiting. When I get these flares, I get hundreds of little red, what look to me like blood blisters, on my skin wherever the flare is happening, in this instance, the legs. They disappear after the flare goes. You can probably guess what happened next! I’m drying myself outside the shower, in the guest houses fluffy, big, white bath towel and I notice my legs (and big fluffy white towel) were covered in blood! I’ve only gone and forgot about my little red occasional guests and shaved all their heads off!!! Blood!? Whatever they are, these blistery things, they are connected to a direct internal blood vessel system for sure, because they would…not….stop…BLEEDING! I get myself plugged up with around 100 wee bits of toilet paper stuck to my legs to stop the bleeding. You know, like the kind you see on mens faces after they’ve shaved sometimes? Well, same as them, but only 98 more! I was not gonna be stopped, onwards with my me time, I’m going out for fish and chips!!!!!

Fish and chips didn't prove to be such a good idea either as it turned out. Spotted a lovely wee bench, right on the sea front, all to myself with a view of little old fishing boats and the cry of seagulls, perfect. I'm eating away (great fish and chips I have to say) and I make the first fatal mistake of throwing a bit of fish out on the pebbled shore for the gulls. There's an instant swarm (or should I say flock) of seagulls, screaming and fighting over this piece of fish. Once it was eaten by the most definite gang master, as he was the size of a dog, he looked over at me and I swear he caught my gaze for at least 10 terrifying seconds. He had found the food source! That was the end of it all. I was dive bombed and swooped upon, well my box of chips, which was sitting on my lap was swooped upon. I tried to swipe them away by shouting a shoo shoo kind of chant noise and trying to act as if a swarm of birds attacking me wasn't bothering me as I was now entertaining the entire pub across the road who were all enjoying the lovely evening outside, all watching and pointing at me! I made a quick decision and threw the box down and bolted. Well bolted in my hobble kind of way at the moment, which I'm sure entertained the onlookers even more. An old lady passed me and disapprovingly shook her head at me, ''ohhhh you should't have done that!'' she said. I looked around and every seagull that has ever visited, stayed or immigrated to Oban was in the 4 foot space in front of my bench, fighting and squealing, a mass of feathers and beaks. I decided to give up in this particular day and head back to the guest house to watch the football.

At this point in a flare, I would normally sigh and think well that’s the next 4-5 days gone then. Cancel clients, prepare myself to be horizontal for at least a few days, and not in the horizontal good way, and generally prepare to disappear till it was over (except Facebook of course) Nope, I was there to de stress, me time, that’s what I was told I needed, some ME time, so I wasn’t going to let a flare get in my way. Cutting a very long story short, not a good move, going out, even for fish and chips and seagull gladiator games, didn't improve my flare. To cut another long story short I hobbled my way up to the doctors surgery first thing in the morning, hoping they would take me before three weeks on Wednesday and perchance even today? My luck was in. Jinx was teasing me. Half an hour later I’m having a 4 inch needle of cortisone injected into my ankles and sent away with a 5 days supply of steroids, bliss! I hobbled back to my guest house at twice the speed of the first time. Still slower than the 80 year old couple I was chatting with along the way, but still, it was progress. I hobble past my guest house and head for the car park as my ticket expired one hour before. Is there any point on telling you what was on my car? £60 fine! Exceeding the paid amount of time parked. No, no i don’t care I tell myself, my flare feels so much better, I might even be able to drive tomorrow and leave, not getting upset, it's only money (shit) and I feel better which is more important. I go to the machine and pay enough to last till 9am the next morning. I sit in the passenger seat, door open and write the nice traffic warden person a note. I say, please don’t give me another ticket if i don’t manage down before 9am. The doctor at the surgery can confirm I’m not able to walk well at the moment due to an illness, here is my phone number, I am staying at a guest home 5 minutes away. Nice note. Should do the trick. I stick the note to the inside of the passenger window and a gust of wind blows the newly bought ticket out of my hand. I tried to grab it but landed on my knees from the car door. Kneeling on all fours, head bend back watching the ticket swirl around in the wind was the first time I thought, it really is getting to be a bit much this jinx business! I don’t have anymore change. I have a £5 note. I head off down the street to find a shop to get change. I pass a young mother sitting in her garden bench on her ipad, trying to ignore the constant moaning and screaming of her three small children playing around her. I really felt sad thinking how she’ll regret that when they leave home, and wished she had spent every second looking at their wee faces instead of an iPad. Then I realise I sound like an old granny and stopped that train of thought. First shop I pass is Farm Foods (a frozen food store) and I decide an ice lolly would be just the thing. Of course it’s a whole sale, bulk buying freezer place, so I can’t buy ONE ice lolly. I buy a box of 6 and give 5 to the woman on the bench for her kids as I pass her again. Kids are delighted!

New ticket on the car, the note is there too, I’m back in my room, legs elevated, medicated up, just watched the Italy game (world cup) and wondering what tomorrow will bring.

Start of a new week, my second week in Scotland starts tomorrow.

But all said and done, I must ask the new tenants in Rome if they threw away the dish of frozen water in the freezer with the two frozen names written on pieces of paper in it? I don’t think I told them about it and explained what it was. I told the last renters and I know it was there last summer coz I saw it, so they hadn’t touched it in 3 years. I think the new renters have thrown it away. Those two names I had in the freezer will have escaped! My spell will be broken. They will have put their jinx back on me… I’m sure of it! Although that wouldn’t explain all the jinx’s when they were in the freezer these past three years now would it? Hmmmm I don’t think this white witch spell works actually now that I think about it.

My phone has just broken, screens just gone black. I can still hear it ring or sms’s come in, but I can’t reply or answer as it’s just black. Shame I sold that new phone last week. :(

The end

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jessahmewren · 6 years

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Miles between us and miles to go. Chapter 5/6

Written for @thexmasfileschallenge and tagging @today-in-fic

Day 12: Secret Santa

-0-0-0-

“All you have is now. Do the best you can with that.”

But how? It seemed like a tall order, an insurmountable task. Scully stood in the bathroom, looking at herself in the shatterproof mirror above the sink. Her eyes were hollow and dark underneath, and she was trembling slightly. At least the IV was gone, having been discontinued after her latest attempt to do it herself. She steadied herself at the sink. The cool tile of the bathroom floor sent steady jolts of sensation through her feet and legs. She was, indeed, alive. Now what?

She splashed some cold water on her face to clear her head and was surprised to find that it felt good. She did it again. “Ok,” she said aloud. Start with the basics.

You’re in the hospital because you tried to die and failed. Now you’re stuck, because apparently you can’t even kill yourself properly and you’re too chicken to try again. Yeah. You’re afraid to try again, and that’s even more pathetic than trying again and failing.

A mess. You’re a mess.

“All you have is now.” In Scully’s eyes, she had very little at the moment. The hospital room, the emptiness, and the good, cold water. And hunger, she realized. She was hungry. The realization stupefied her with its simplicity. She wasn’t before, and now she was. So she had hunger.

And she had Mulder. Always Mulder. Mulder was there and he wouldn’t leave. He said it would take time, to give it time. But time is the enemy when you don’t want to live; there’s always too much of it, and too many things trying to fill it. Like Mulder. Mulder, who kept his hand to the darkness without closing his fingers around it. Mulder, who was full of so many good things. How she wished they could have raised their son away from the hell that was their lives.

Mulder wouldn’t leave. She had him. She shut off the lights and closed the door behind her.

As she was walking out, the door to her room swung open. It was Mulder. He carried a bag and tossed it on the bed. His demeanor had changed into one of tightly wound tension. “I brought you some things,” he said in a rush. “Get changed, we’re leaving.”

She watched him reach up behind the wall-mounted television and retrieve a gun wedged under the frame. Scully’s eyes widened in surprise. “What’s going on Mulder?” Her heart rate accelerated.

“We’ve got to go, Scully.” He moved closer to her now, his eyes resolute. “They’re going to put you in lockdown. Maximum security wing, tomorrow morning.” He locked eyes with her. “I can’t let that happen.”

He handed her the bag. “Get ready,” he said tensely, and turned to leave. She knew that in his mind he was already strategizing whatever had to transpire, while she knew nothing. Less than nothing. She stood there, hesitating.

“Hey,” he returned to her, reached and gingerly cupped the back of her neck with his hand, centering her face with his. “Do you trust me?” His voice had lost its urgency. Time slowed, resonating between them like the final note of a beautiful aria. She shook her head, a short, rapid nod. Under the scrutiny of his gaze, she forgot to breath. Of course she trusted him. She trusted no other. “You know I do,” she exhaled finally. It was firm and decisive.

Mulder looked away, breaking the contact. “I’ll be right back,” he said. And he was gone.

She opened the bag on the bed. It was a piece of her luggage with her clothes inside. On top was a folded set of hospital scrubs, a stethoscope, and shoes. She put them on and tied her hair in a low ponytail. The shoes were a little loose, but would work. She checked the mirror again, smoothing her hair back. She was ready.

-0-0-0-

“You’ll only have five minutes after the shift change, then you’re on your own.” Sara looked at Fox Mulder, a man she hardly knew and had met only days ago. “Thank you,” he said in a low tone. He looked at her with some reluctance, thinking of how much he’d already asked of her. “I need the location of the security cameras…fifth and second floors, the parking garage, and the elevator. Do you think you can do that?” She shifted in the small supply closet and nervously checked her watch. “Ok,” she finally said. “I’ll have to get them from security somehow. Look, I have to go. You need to make your move soon.”

Mulder looked at the young woman fully. “I know what you’re risking for this,” Mulder began. Sara stopped him with a raised hand, and he saw the scars on her wrist. “Just take care of her,” she said quietly. “Take care of both of you.”

Mulder exited and made his way down the hall, his demeanor one of casual urgency. He opened the door to Scully’s room and slipped inside.

Scully stood by the window in the undulating shadows of moonlight, her arms folded across the middle of her borrowed navy blue scrubs. Her shoulders were slumped slightly, but when she turned to look at him, her eyes were bright. She’d tied her hair back, revealing a delicate profile and graceful neck. The scrubs were entirely too long for her, and she had cuffed the under to try and hide the fact. She was beautiful.

Mulder cleared his throat, seeing a glimpse of the Scully he knows and loves. “You ready?”

Scully dipped her head, and for a moment, there flitted a whisper of a smile. “Yeah.”

-0-0-0-

The plan was simple enough, though executing it might be something else entirely. Sara had sweettalked the surveillance blueprint from security (citing a paranoid schizophrenic’s conspiracy theories), but that might’ve been the easy part.

While concocting the plan, she still maintained her rounds and responsibilities, dividing her attention between the two worlds so as to not arouse suspicion. It was unbelievably complex, and verified (to Sara, at least) that she would be utterly useless as a secret agent.

She rounded the corner, passing the fifth floor nurses station. All of her coworkers seemed to notice her at once, but their attention was only a product of her heightened awareness. Her illicit activities made her feel exposed, made the hair on her arms stand on end. On some level, though, it was thrilling. In a place where the only kind of excitement was what patient was going to expose themselves at the nurse’s station on what day, or who you got each year for Secret Santa, this was downright explosive.

Sara ducked into Room 514, looking as business-like as possible. Her heart thundered in her chest, her throat constricted. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves.

Agent Mulder and her patient were standing close together. Dana appeared calm and focused, a welcome change from the erratic, angry woman she’d known for the past week. Her long-suffering visitor was talking to her in a low, purposeful tone, his words indiscernible from where Sara stood by the door. Dana listened intently, her head turned slightly into their conversation. Occasionally, she nodded. She said something then, and he lightly touched the slight bend in her elbow, holding it briefly. The sweet intimacy in that simple gesture made Sara feel uncomfortable, like a voyeur. She had misjudged them, she realized. They were definitely more than friends.

“It’s time,” Sara announced steadily. “We don’t have long.” She handed Agent Mulder the folded blueprint, then crossed to the shelf against the wall and reached for one of the hospital gowns stacked there. “I need to get changed.”

Dana looked at her, then at Mulder. He stepped forward, taking the gown from her hand and tossing it on the bed. “No, you don’t.” Sara looked at him, stunned. “I can’t let you take the fall for this.” Mulder swallowed, his eyes softening. “You’ve done too much. We’re doing this my way.”

Sara shook her head. “It will be easier if Dana and I trade places. If she keeps her head down you two can just walk out of here.” She searched his eyes, realizing it was futile but trying anyway. “Listen, she’s not due for a bed check for at least another fifteen minutes. That gives you plenty of time.”

Mulder’s jaw clenched, but before he could reply, Dana interrupted. “And what about you? What do you think will happen to you when they find you here?” Her voice held a brittle edge, but her eyes betrayed the concern there.

Sara swallowed. She already knew what would happen. At best, she’d lose her job, most likely her license. If she didn’t go to jail, her career, at least, was over. Mulder’s expression was stoic, non-negotiable. “We do this my way.”

She understood.

-0-0-0-

“I’m sorry, but this has to be convincing.”

Sara winced as Agent Mulder tightened the bonds around her wrists and ankles. He’d torn part of the bed sheet in strips, and he now bound Sara’s hands to the bedrail. She was on her knees on the cold floor, her ankles bound behind her in the same way, her hands tingling from the tourniquet around her wrists. Her thighs trembled in the awkward position. “You don’t have to do this,” Sara said. “If they find you—“

“They won’t find us,” Agent Mulder said tersely. “And you’re an innocent in this. Wait a few minutes for the shift change, then keep them busy explaining what happened. Tell them you came in on rounds, and you were blindsided. When you came to, we were gone.” Agent Mulder tore another strip from the sheet. Dana reappeared from the bathroom and handed him a washcloth. These were two people practiced in working as a team, she thought. Sara shook her head slightly, indicating that she understood. Her mouth was a grim line. “Thank you,” Agent Mulder said, and then, “I’m sorry,” as he stuffed the washcloth in her mouth and tied the gag tight. Dana looked on, her face unreadable.

-0-0-0-

Mulder and “Sara” walked casually down the hall, toward the elevator. Scully wore Sara’s glasses, but kept her head down, pretending to review the file she carried. A close-fitting long sleeve white shirt under her scrubs hid the bandage on Scully’s wrist. Despite the ill-fitting scrubs and the difference in their hair color, with a stethoscope and her comfort in such attire, she looked the part.

They kept a steady, determined pace, yet Mulder was careful not to go too fast. They slipped by the first security camera, then the second, making their way to the electronically sealed double doors that would lead them out of the psychiatric ward. Scully unclipped Sara’s ID and swiped it over the security pad. There was a low buzz, and the doors lurched open.

Directly into the path of a middle-aged, balding physician waiting on the other side. Mulder recognized the elegantly embroidered name on his white coat (“Johansson��) from Scully’s door. He was her doctor. Scully kept her eyes down, trying to keep a low profile. Johansson noticed the “nurse” right away. Glancing only briefly at Mulder and forgoing any pleasantries, he addressed her in a clipped, dour tone. “Sara, I need those test results on the patient in—“he stopped abruptly, recognition flashing in his eyes. He opened his mouth, probably to call for security, but never got the chance. In a flash of movement, Mulder struck him with the butt of his gun, rendering him unconscious. Mulder caught him before he fell completely to the floor. He checked for a pulse, and then he and Scully towed the man’s dead weight behind the empty security desk. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be long until someone found him.

Bypassing the elevator, Mulder grabbed Scully’s hand and led her into the stairwell.

They were running out of time.

-0-0-0-

#the x files #txf #xf fanfic #angst #dana scully #fox mulder #thexmasfileschallenge #msr #oc

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becuzpurple · 7 years

Text

Hospital - A One-Shot (pt 1 of 2)

I was asked for some Cuddly/Caring Ed and came up with this idea. The bulk of the cuddles and caring will actually come in part 2, though (sorry!).

I wrote a part of this from Ed’s point-of-view for the first time, which was really weird for me since I’m so used-to and comfortable using Kate’s voice. But she was unavailable (you’ll see why soon), so Ed needed to step up!

Enjoy!

Something was definitely not right. I’d had a stomachache since late morning. It was just below and to the left of my belly button at first, and then it traveled right. Eating didn’t help, and I was pretty sure it wasn’t intestinal pain, either. Painkillers did nothing - it actually got worse as the day went on. It was unfamiliar to me - I’d never felt pain quite like it before.

We’d had plans to visit my parents that evening, and celebrate my mom’s birthday. I wasn’t sure if I should cancel or not, or maybe just stay home and let Ed take the kids without me. But I decided to suck it up and go. At about 4 pm we all piled into the car and made the short ride over to my parents’ house.

My mother loves to cook. And even more than that, she loves to feed people. The old adage ‘Food is Love’ is a motto she lives by. Even though it was for her own birthday celebration, she happily spent all day preparing a delectable feast for her loved ones. She said that seeing her family together around the table enjoying both each other’s company and the meal she prepared for us was all she needed.

But not even my mom’s lasagna could fix this. I didn’t feel like I could keep much food down, so I just picked at it, taking a few small bites here and there. The pain was still getting worse.

Ed said I looked pale. He was concerned, as were my parents. My sister-in-law Amy, a nurse, was the first to mention that maybe I should go to the ER. Once I started running to the bathroom vomiting every 10 minutes or so, I reluctantly agreed with her.

I apologized profusely to my mom for ruining her birthday, and she predictably hushed me, assuring me that my health was infinitely more important than a silly party.

Nate and Lucy stayed with my parents while Ed took me to the hospital. We had no idea how long we’d be there, so figured it would be best if they spent the night with them.

Ed had to pull the car over twice on the way to the hospital so I could throw up.

What is this?

Worry was etched all over his face as he drove us through the stop-and-go city traffic. We didn’t talk much during the drive, but he kept his hand on my knee the whole time.

We were in the waiting room for almost an hour before anyone saw me. It was a Saturday night - the busiest time of the week for an emergency room. I visited the bathroom no less than 6 times to vomit while we waited. Nothing was even coming out anymore - it was all just dry heaves. I was in significant pain, I was miserable, and I was baffled. I came back to our seats from one of those bathroom visits, shaking my head and shrugging, feeling discouraged.

“Has this ever happened before?” Ed asked softly, his voice laced with concern.

“No,” I slowly shook my head. “I don’t know what this could be…gallbladder, maybe? Appendix…?” I felt my eyes go wider as I thought of another possibility. I didn’t voice it, though.

Which didn’t matter in the least, since he’d apparently had the same thought.

“Could you be pregnant?”

——————————————————————————————-

I was finally called back to triage, where I was asked a series of the usual questions:

Describe the abdominal pain. When did it begin? It started late this morning - dull, kind of centered, a little to the left. A few hours later it moved right and down and got worse - much more sharp.

Do you have a normal appetite? Not really. I don’t think I can keep anything down.

Any nausea or vomiting? Yes. I’ve been vomiting every 5-15 minutes for the past few hours.

Are you experiencing any vaginal bleeding? No.

When did you begin your last period? Umm, almost a month ago I think? I think I’m due in a few days.

Do you experience any pain with intercourse? No.

Any dizziness? No.

Any pain in your shoulder or back? No.

I also told the nurse that I’d stopped my birth control pills the previous month. It seemed like something worth noting.

She was the only person we’d shared that information with at that point. It was a decision we’d come to together, at the tail-end of what was honestly the most stressful, intense, nerve-racking, heart-wrenching, soul-baring near break-up/fight I’d ever been through. It lasted days, but in the end we were both clear and honest with ourselves and each other about where we wanted our relationship to go. Not that he hadn’t been forthright about that before. It was I who had been fooling myself, and by extension, him. But now it was voiced. It’s real. We are stronger, completely committed, and in it for the long-haul.

We weren’t exactly trying to get pregnant, but we were no longer trying to prevent it, either. It was a huge step, for sure. Given my age and my past miscarriages, we thought we might need to see a reproductive endocrinologist once we officially started ‘trying’. But we weren’t quite there, yet.

I knew that if I was pregnant, then it was very early, and something was probably very wrong. So, at that point I was praying that it was my appendix or gallbladder.

After another 40ish minutes of waiting my name was called again, finally, and we were led back to an examining room. But before we even entered, I was handed a sterile sample cup and redirected to the nearest bathroom.

I did my duty and returned to the small curtained-off area where Ed was waiting. I changed into the hospital gown the nurse had given me, and then she returned to take my vitals, including my temperature.

“Hmm. 98.5…no fever…” She looked a little surprised by this.

We waited an interminable 15 or 20 minutes, during which time I continued to dry-heave. I’d been given a clean, plastic bucket, but nothing was coming out, anyway. I was miserable. Ed was trying to distract me with stories of his own hospital escapades. He’s broken a lot of fingers and toes! Boys…

Finally, the doctor came back with the results. She glanced at me and then at Ed, and if she recognized him she made no outward sign of it.

“Everything was negative. You’re not pregnant so no ectopic pregnancy, you don’t have a UTI, and there are no kidney stones.”

I nodded. “OK…”

“There is definitely something going on. I suspect it’s appendicitis, but I’d like to run a few more tests to be sure. I’m ordering blood work and an MRI. But first I’d like to do a quick physical exam.”

I laid back and tried not to worry too much while the doctor applied pressure to various parts of my abdomen, observed my reactions, and asked me to rate any pain I felt on a scale of 1-10.

My memory of that night is a bit fuzzy, so my awareness of how time passed is not great. But I do remember waiting around a lot for tests and results and room availability and doctors. My blood was drawn right away, but we waited a while for the MRI to be done. Then we waited some more for someone to tell us…anything.

It was after midnight before Dr. Pianga returned.

“I’m confident that you have an angry appendix. Your white blood cell count is high, which indicates that you’re fighting an infection…although you don’t have a fever, which is atypical. The MRI images clearly show that your appendix is inflamed, and I do see what looks like a blockage in your appendiceal lumen, which is the hollow part of the appendix.”

“Does she need to have it out?” Ed asked.

Dr. Pianga nodded. “Yes, I’m afraid it needs to go,” she said, nodding at him, then me.

“OK.”

“I believe you’re a good candidate for a laparoscopic appendectomy. It’s less invasive than the open surgery, and has a shorter recovery period. It’s actually performed as an outpatient surgery, so you won’t even be admitted. You’ll be home by mid-morning.”

——————————————————————————————-

Ed’s POV

While we waited in pre-op, they hooked Kate up to an IV and started some medicines - antibiotics, a pain reliever, something to stop her vomiting, and a sedative. She became very sleepy, but also really hyper and chatty - even more so than usual. She spoke quickly and emphatically.

“I can’t believe I’m having my appendix out? This morning I had a stomachache and now I’m having surgery? That’s crazy. I’ve never even had surgery before.”

“No?”

“Oh, well I had a c-section. I guess that’s surgery, isn’t it? Oh, god I’m so glad it’s not an ectopic pregnancy. I was really worried that’s what it was…”

“Yeah,” I replied softly, nodding.

“I want a baby, Ed. I want to have a baby…babies!”, she said a little too loudly.

“Shhhh, OK. OK, darling.” I smiled down at her, smoothing her hair back away from her face, and then took a quick glance around to see if anyone else could hear our conversation besides Ebony, the nurse who just re-entered our curtained-off ‘room’.

“No, no…your babies, not just any babies…” she seemed to be under the impression that I might have mistakenly thought she wanted some random, general babies.

I was sat down on the edge of her bed, right next to her, and couldn’t help the smile that broke out at hearing those words.

I softly kissed her forehead, and then took her hand in both of mine.

“I want that, too,” I whispered softly.

I hated seeing her in pain, worried, and so vulnerable. This was new territory for me. I’m not very familiar with American hospitals or surgery procedures, and felt quite out of my element. I wasn’t going to let her see that, though. I knew it was a pretty common surgery, but I was worried, all-the-same.

The possibility of an ectopic pregnancy had scared the piss out of me. The idea of losing our baby before even getting to know him or her? No. Just no. And Kate has had more than her share of losses in her life. It would kill a good part of me if that were to happen to us. To her.

The anesthesiologist came back and administered the drugs via her IV to put her under. Kate looked a little nervous, so I whispered sweet and silly and entirely inappropriate things to her to get her to smile, and she was out almost immediately. Ebony was trying to hold back a smirk after everything she’d just overheard, and wasn’t doing a very good job of it. I grinned sheepishly back at her.

“Will she remember any of that?”

“Probably not. But believe me, she means every word she said. That stuff is truth serum.”

——————————————————————————————-

Pt. 2 - Home

As always, likes and reblogs are mucho-appreciated, as is any feedback you might care to offer. :-)

-BP💜

#becausepurple #becuzpurple #untitled 2-part one-shot!#LOL #ed sheeran #ed sheeran fanfic #ed sheeran love story #teddy sheeran #teddy sheeran fanfic #Ed & Kate #Ed & Kate love story #no smut in this one #not sure abt pt 2 yet #haha #Ed's POV #caring/cuddly Ed

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