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scuttle-buttle · 3 years

Text

Chapter 11

WC: 2077

Rated: E

Chapter Tags: full on angst, discussions of emotional trauma, mild depictions of blood/gore, mentions of self h*rm & su*cide, mentions of child abuse, discussions of physical disabilities, institutionalization, some dialogue & plot canon to TV show, hurt/comfort

🧠

The rest of the conference went by much like the first day did. Both you and Laszlo bought a few books for your collections. An ease had settled over your conversations with the help of Sara and John's presence; you spoke more freely with each other. You tell yourself it is not because he's going soft on you or vice versa, but rather that you have found yourself in this imaginary bubble where you happen to get on well. It's inevitable that it will pop once you’re back at school and Laszlo will revert back to his usual callous state.

Laszlo. It still felt odd to think of him like that, rather than by his title. You couldn't lie, it gave you a sort of thrill. Even in your dreams you had only called him by his honorific. Thankfully you didn't have another dream after Friday. You couldn't escape the feeling that you'd said something incriminating in front of the man in question. So you chose to pretend it didn't happen.

Monday morning came and you headed to the train station. Once again he had secured a private cabin for the journey. This time you came prepared with a book since you had yet to replace your broken phone.

"Thank you again for inviting me to this, I really enjoyed myself. It was really nice of the department to foot my travel expenses, the hotel was really fancy. I may have helped myself to a mini-bottle or two," you joked.

"There is no need to worry about the department's finances; they were not involved."

You pause. He paid for you? Laszlo did say he would take care of the arrangements; but the four-star hotel, the private compartment train tickets, the admission to the conference, and every meal? Shit, that must have been a fortune, hundreds of dollars at least.

You don't know what to say, so you settle for an awkward "oh." A moment passes before you add "I appreciate that, um, I can pay you back. Might take some time but I can."

The professor is flippant in his reply. "There is no need, it was well spent for the research and knowledge acquired." He opens his book signaling the conversation is over.

You lick your lips. Fine then, I'll just consider it payment for emotional suffering and damages of the last eight weeks.

The first few hours of the journey were spent reading one of the new books you picked up at the convention. Occasionally you would peek over the pages at the professor. He was engrossed in his own selection; sometimes he would pause to write down a thought.

Around the seventh hour of your journey you had given up on reading anymore in favor of looking at the fields outside. The silence was comforting.

Laszlo had trouble concentrating on the book in his hand. He saw you as a conundrum. One minute you could be sociable and teasing with your comments, then next you were biting at his throat with your quick wit and fierce ideals. He decides that he wants to know what made you into who you are today. Now is as good a time as any.

His eyes on you cause a tingle up your spine but you ignore it. Laszlo breaks the silence; "may I ask a personal question?"

"You just did," you answer, still peering out of the large window. He huffed once, amused. At his following silence you face him. You raise your eyebrows to signal him to go on with his question. Curiosity grows at the thought of what he intends to ask.

"Twice now you have made implications of a traumatic past," he begins.

Bubble popped.

Interrupting, you snark "is this the part where you psychoanalyze me, doc? Because trust me, I've been through enough of that." You pick at the lint on your jeans.

Laszlo tries to choose his words more carefully the next time he speaks. "What I mean to say is, the first afternoon in the classroom where you defended that student you implied you had been witness to a trauma. You then displayed signs of anger and embarrassment before leaving prematurely. Yesterday you mentioned having entered a psychiatric facility. As an alienist I can't help but find myself curious about your experiences."

You slide your eyes to meet his from across the cabin. Your face is devoid of any emotion. "We all have our demons. Even you can't argue with that."

Your jaw clenches. Everyone had warned you. They all said he would try to worm his way into your head to figure you out. All the reviews, the gossip, everything. It was a big fat 'I told you so'. You give a pitiful laugh at the situation. "You know, everyone told me that you would pull this stunt."

He seems confused by your statement. "And what is that?"

"That you'd get inside my head and try to figure me all out or whatever. You already know I googled you beforehand, what everyone says about your methods. By now I assume you've done a little research yourself. I promise you there is nothing exciting here," you scoff and point to yourself.

"You would be correct in your assumption." You chew at your cheek as he starts. "I do know some of what happened in your past. Yet I also know that society likes to dilute the truth into something either more palatable, more entertaining, for people to consume greedily. What I want to know is what you have faced. How you have not allowed the experience to overcome you so much so that your humanity is erased like the characters I lecture on."

Eyes closing of their own volition you are thrown back in time to that night so many years ago. You didn't talk about it anymore. Bitsy knew of course, but that was the extent.

Laszlo waits. He knows this is likely to push you over the edge if your history with him means anything. Quite frankly, anyone would be tossed to their limit at his interrogation had they gone through what you had. John always told him that he needed to work on his bedside manner; that he had a habit of coming on too strong in his pursuit of learning the intricacies of the human mind. But your earlier comment about being sent to a so-called 'nuthouse' rubbed him the wrong way. It left a bad taste in his mouth. He needed to know. He needed to understand.

Laszlo can imagine the reprimand that he would receive from John and Sara for this. Just as he considers apologizing for his intrusion you open your eyes.

"She was fine. None of us suspected anything was wrong. I came home from having dinner with some… boy, and she had locked herself in the bathroom. She- she must have started over the sink and moved to sit on the side of the tub. She was hunched inside it when I got the door open. I pulled her out. Blood was… everywhere." Your voice is clinical as you explain.

"After, I shut down. So I checked myself into a psych ward a few days later when I couldn't get the feel of her blood off my hands. It's slippery, you know. And it smells. You wouldn't think so but it does." You clear your throat. "I did the therapy, took the meds they prescribed, all the standard treatments. Later I started watching true crime documentaries. I'd heard about exposure therapy so I figured the more I saw the gore, the less the image of my dead roommate would bother me. And it did help. The nightmares stopped after a while, I came back to school. I was better, just not the same.” You had watched the passing landscape as you explained. Turning to face him you speak again. “That's why those pictures didn't bother me. They weren't anything I hadn't seen before."

He contemplates you. The discovery and subsequent loss of your friend in this manner would no doubt cause lingering effects to your psyche. A stain that would forever remind you. "I offer my sincerest condolences. I do not presume to know what that would be like to experience, but I am glad you sought help afterwards. To make the choice to alleviate yourself of your own suffering where possible.”

As he says this he realizes that your anger towards the idea of being enslaved to unconscious impulse makes perfect sense. It explains why you focused so much energy on defending your belief in free will. That you have the power to choose how you carry your joy, your anger, your healing. It reminds him of how he held onto his own guilt and hurt, ignoring how it festered within him for so long. He feels as though he needs to share a piece of himself with you.

“I played piano as a child, quite well too. My mother hoped I would someday make a career of it. I vividly remember playing Mozart’s Concerto for Piano No. 20 in D Minor at a holiday party when I was seven years old. It was my favorite to play.... It requires two hands." You finally look at him. "My father...” He pauses to gather himself.

Now it is the doctor that cannot meet your eyes. As you listen you feel your confusion grow. How could he have been a talented pianist if he only had full use of his left hand? Unless..., the realization dawns on you just as he continues, his words slow.

“My father had two sides. One loving and the other brutal, the two often coexisting. It was something as trivial as putting me to bed, I recall... A game of tug of war. We were laughing…” He inhales a sharp breath. Already you can feel the tears begin to blur your vision. “I don't remember if he was drunk or if I said something that offended him. He must have pulled my arm behind my back.” Laszlo exhales shakily. “In small children, fractures can often affect…” he trails off, unable to finish. You can hear how he barely holds himself together.

Your heart aches for the broken man that sits in front of you. He never let on how much his arm bothered him, at least not within your presence. Suddenly you don’t see him as this rude, insufferable, obsessive man, but instead as someone that spends his life trying to protect himself. He projects his own anger and hurt so that he may, just for a minute, forget about his own demons. He wants to help others even when he feels he cannot bear to help himself.

But unlike you, he has to live with the physical reminder of his past every day of his life.

You stand and move to sit on his right side. Before allowing yourself to think too much of your actions, you place your hand atop his own, curling your fingers around his palm and squeezing delicately. You don’t bother wiping away the tears on your cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Laszlo;” the whisper is barely heard above the sound of the train. A second passes where you fear you have overstepped and offended him by touching the affected limb. When his thumb tightens against the backs of your fingers you know he is not. He holds you in place.

“You asked me how I kept my humanity. How does anyone really? We learn to take what we get and we carry it in a bag. Sometimes you have to drag the damn thing behind you. But eventually the weight gets less and less if you allow yourself to move forward, even if it’s still there with you all the time. I dealt with what happened years ago and it does still haunt me. It’s easier now than it was, but… I- I suppose I’ve learned from you too. Sitting in those lectures and hearing you talk. We can either let it haunt us for the rest of our lives… or we can accept it… and use the memory of our pain to help ourselves and others.”

“I’m not sure the choice is entirely in our hands.” His tone is mournful.

You turn to smile at him through your tears. His own eyes are bloodshot. “I disagree. If it weren’t, if we didn’t have the freedom to choose that, we’d all be murderers.”

Tag list

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#the interpretation of dreams #laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo x reader #laszlo kreizler #the alienist #the alienist angel of darkness #daniel brühl #daniel bruhl #laszlo kreizler fanfic #laszlo kreizler daniel bruhl #scuttle-buttle #tw self harm #tw suicude #tw child abuse

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doctorstethoscope · 3 years

Text

The Right Chapter 24 || Aaron Hotchner x Fem Reader

Happy Saturday my loves! A little fluff/angst double whammy for your afternoon :)

contains: grouchy aaron, food mention, description of anxiety, canon-typical description of murder

wordcount: 2.4k

“I seem to remember you being the one lecturing me about the bureau’s generous sick leave policy not all that long ago,” You told Aaron as you gently shoved him back into bed three days after he’d broken his leg.

“I also recall that in that situation, you were the one who was injured,” Aaron grumbles, and you roll your eyes.

“Yes, and you stayed home to take care of me. Now, I’m returning the favor,” you reminded him.

“I’m not going to get a brain bleed, I just need the leg to heal. You don’t need to stay with me all day while I sit in bed.” He argues.

“You’re right, but I think we both know that if I wasn’t here, you wouldn’t stay in bed, and seeing as how you can’t get as far as the bathroom without my help, that might present a problem.” You chastise him. “I’m not coming home to you bleeding out in the hallway because you fell over and couldn’t help yourself.”

“You make me sound like I’m eighty years old.” he scoffed.

“Well, if you agree to wear a life alert, maybe I’ll go back to work.” You said, throwing your head against the pillows. There’s a few moments of silence, punctuated by Aaron’s deep sigh.

“I’m glad you’re here. Sorry I’m being grumpy.” He apologized. “I just don’t want you to have to take care of me.”

“You’re injured and in pain. You’re allowed to be grumpy,” you told him. “And I plan on taking care of you for the rest of my life, so you should start to get used to it.”

“Can I hold you for a little while? You don’t have to go near my leg,” he says, knowing you’ve been extra-gentle to avoid his injury since you’ve been home together. “You could put your head on my chest and I could just… hold you,” Aaron asks shyly, and your heart melts.

“Of course, baby.” you say, snuggling your torso in close, leaning your head against his pec and resisting the urge to toss your legs over his. “See? Sick leave isn’t all that bad,” you tease him.

“No, I suppose not,” he smiles, rubbing an arm up and down your back.

“Jack is so excited to have you home.” You comment.

“Not that it matters, I can’t even take him to the park or ride a bike with him.” Aaron grouses.

“Aaron, he’s over the moon just to have time to spend with you. He could sit here in bed with you watching Toy Story on a loop for the next six weeks and I’m sure he’d tell you it was the best month and a half of his life.”

“A month and a half… I’m gonna go crazy.” Aarom remarks, more to himself than to you.

“You’re gonna have to take up a hobby. Maybe knitting,” you snort, and Aaron smiles.

“Yeah, or braiding or something,” he agrees offhandedly.

“Braiding?” You ask.

“Oh, I mean, or maybe I could get back into Chess, finally get good enough to beat Spencer--”

“No, no, back up, what made you bring up braiding?”

“Uh… it’s just… something I’ve been thinking about in case we ever, you know, made a decision, and felt like maybe---”

“Aaron, spit it out,” you laughed.

“Just… if we had kids, or a daughter, I would want to be able to do her hair. Because if you’re not home, I don’t want to be the dad that doesn’t know how to do his daughter’s hair.” He confesses, the embarrassment clear in his tone. You place a kiss to his chest.

“You are a good man, Aaron Hotchner.”

“I’m glad you think so, anyways.”

“Alright, you’re getting grumpy and self-deprecating, which is a bad combo. You need a nap.” You instruct him teasingly.

“You’ll be here when I wake up?” He asks, tightening his hold on you just slightly.

“Of course, love. You go ahead and rest. I’m not going anywhere.”

You went back to work a little over a week later, when Aaron was mostly off of his pain meds, and able to get himself around the apartment without any assistance. You were still staying there when you weren’t on a case, and found yourself grateful that you’d decided to sign a month-to-month lease-- you weren’t sure what the point was of keeping up the pretense of separate places anymore. But, then again, with Aaron injured, now probably wasn’t the best time for a move. You're working through a few scenarios in your head when Spencer interrupts your train of thought.

“How’s Hotch feeling?” He asks as you and the rest of the team board the jet to head home after a case.

“He’s doing better,” you tell him. “The pain isn’t bothering him as much and he’s getting a little bit of his range of motion back. I’m still trying my best to keep him in bed, but I’m sure you can imagine how well that’s going,” you tell him with a smile.

“Well, tell him I can’t wait to have him back. I hate all this paperwork,” Morgan cuts in with a playful chuckle, and you shove at his shoulder.

“I’m trying to keep him home, Derek. Besides, we all know that Spencer is doing most of the paperwork for you,” you called him out, and Emily and JJ laughed.

“He’s just so fast,” Morgan defends himself, and now everyone is laughing.

“We do want him back,” Emily tells you. “But not until he’s good and ready. And then, you know, maybe even a few weeks after that. Wouldn’t kill him to take a vacation.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” JJ smirks.

“Please, he’s already itching to get back to work. I think he’d leave me if I asked for a vacation.” You tell Emily.

“No, if you asked for a vacation he’d buy a plane ticket in an instant. And he’d bring his work phone and his computer to the beach and try to solve a murder from underneath a palm tree,” Morgan argued playfully.

“Sometimes when we take a case somewhere warm, I stand in the parking lot for five minutes and face the sun. And if you close your eyes, it’s almost like a vacation.” You say.

“Weren’t you literally taken hostage the last time you did that?” Spencer asks, and you roll your eyes goodnaturedly.

“Well, there goes my tropical getaway,” you tease.

With Morgan as acting unit chief, paperwork deadlines are considerably more flexible, which is to say nonexistent. Strauss would probably have a field day when she went to review the case file, but that wasn’t your problem. And, quite frankly, as you rushed to your car to get home to your boys, you couldn’t care less.

When you swing the door open, you interrupt a very spirited game of Connect Four between Jack and Aaron. You notice that Aaron has at least three opportunities to make a winning move, all of which he ignores in favor of allowing Jack to push his chips in at random.

“You’re home!” Jack exclaims when he sees you, scrambling across the living room and wordlessly commanding to be held by you.

You hoist him up onto your hip, not without difficulty. He was getting big, and it made you a little sad. It strikes you that you won’t be able to do this forever, wrap him up in your arms and make him feel small and safe and secure. You squeeze him tighter. “Were you good for your daddy while I was gone?”

“Uh-huh.” He nods, pulling back to look at you and running the collar of your shirt in between his thumb and forefinger absentmindedly.

“And was Daddy good? He stayed off of his booboo leg?” You asked the only Hotchner who would give you a truthful answer.

“Daddy was good.” Jack confirms, and you narrow your eyes skeptically.

“Did he bribe you to say that? Ice cream for breakfast, or a new comic book?” You ask.

“No. We watched Toy Story and I learned checkers. I had cereal for breakfast, not ice cream.” He tells you, and you relent.

“Sounds like you had a lot of fun, bug.” You say, putting him down and crossing the living room to sit next to Aaron on the couch, who leaned over to press a kiss to the top of your head and placed a hand in your lap.

“I did. But I missed you.” Jack tells you, climbing onto the couch next to you.

“He’s not the only one,” Aaron whispers, pressing another kiss to your hair.

“I missed you both, very very much,” you tell them, snuggling closer into Aaron and placing a hand in Jack’s hair.

“We had pasta for dinner. I saved you a plate,” Aaron tells you.

“Thank you, baby.” You tell him. “But, I’m pretty sure it’s past somebody’s bedtime…” You mention, and Jack pouts immediately.

“I told him he could stay up until you got home, but he promised he wasn’t going to fight when it was time for bed, right buddy?” Aaron reminds his son.

“Come on, sweet boy. I’ll tuck you in,” You tell him, pecking Aaron’s lips briefly before scooping Jack up off of the sofa and bringing him to his bed, tucking him in with extra stories and kisses to make up for the nights you missed while you were gone.

When you come back into the kitchen, Aaron has heated up the leftover pasta and is waiting for you at the counter.

“You didn’t have to get up, I would have done that,” you tell Aaron, knowing full well that he’d never actually listen.

“How was the case?” He asks as you settle in and start to eat.

“It wasn’t too bad. We got the guy to surrender without hurting any of the hostages. A few of them were in pretty rough shape, but they should all recover.” you tell him in between bites.

“And the team? Everyone’s doing okay?”

“We’re all good, babe. JJ’s getting really good at the geographic profile, but I think it annoys her to stay at the station when we’re all out.”

“She’s pregnant. It’s not worth the risk,” Aaron reminds you.

“I know, honey, but it’s still annoying. It’s kind of like when you break your leg and you’re not allowed to go to work but you still have to hear all about it from your girlfriend,” you point out, and he smirks at you.

“Morgan’s doing okay? The field agents aren’t giving him any trouble?”

“Morgan can handle himself just fine against any cocky field agent. You don’t need to worry about us, sweetheart. We’re okay. You trained us up good,” you smiled at him, and he blushed, rolling his eyes at you. “We want you back, but we want you back healthy,” you tell him.

“Well, the doctor cleared me to start PT in two weeks. So hopefully I’ll be back sooner rather than later,” Aaron tells you.

“That's great news! So the cast is coming off soon?” You ask.

“Yeah, he wants to see me again to take it off and give me the final go-ahead for PT.”

“And you’re gonna take it easy at PT, because you know you can’t rush recovery, right?” You remind him.

“Yes, mom,” he teases you with a smile.

“It’s my turn to fret over you. Karma’s a bitch,” you smile at him as you get up to take his plate to the dishwasher. As you do so, his phone rings.

“Hotchner,” he says into the receiver. “Woah, woah. Slow down, please. Are you okay?” Aaron says, and you turn around immediately, concerned. “Garcia, hold on. I’m going to put you on speaker. Yeah, she’s home. She’s here with me.” Aaron says, his eyes flicking over to you as he pulls the phone away from his ear and adjusts the volume.

“Okay, so, I have been keeping an eye on Josh’s arrest record, awaiting his arraignment and his court dates so that we could throw a big ‘Josh is in prison for life party,’” she tells you, spitting out information a mile a minute. “There hadn’t been any movement for a few days, and I couldn’t figure out why, but I decided to check one more time before I went to bed tonight, and Josh’s dealer posted bail for him four days ago.”

“What?” You say. You heard her, heard every word she said in perfect clarity. But there had to be a mistake, right?

“Garcia, what do you have on the dealer? What has Josh been doing for the past four days?” Aaron asks, and you hear him, but you also… don’t. Everything sounds like you have cotton stuck inside your ears, or like you’re underwater. This couldn’t really be happening, could it?

“That’s a trigger,” you mumble quietly, and you think that Aaron doesn’t hear you, he’s so focused on his conversation with Garcia that you try hopelessly to follow. He turns to you, after a moment, tucking his phone back into his pocket.

“What did you say, doll?” He asks you.

“That’s a trigger. You know, how we say that serial killers have triggers that make them start killing people. This is probably a trigger to start killing,” you say, staring at a spot of dirt on the tile. Jack must have tracked it on his cleats, and Aaron couldn’t mop with his injury. You should really clean that. You needed to get the dirt off the floor. Mop, mop, where did Aaron keep the mop? You pulled it out of the closet and were headed for the stain when you felt Aaron’s hands come to rest on your shoulders, blocking your path.

“Hon, what are you doing?’ He asks, trying to make eye contact with you, which you avoided.

“The floor needs to be mopped.” You answer, emotionless.

“Why don’t you come sit down, the floor can wait,” he says, trying to guide you towards the sofa.

“Aaron, your knee! Go sit. Go, go. I just need to get the floor clean. Please just go sit and I can fix it. It’s okay. I got it.” You got more and more worked up as you continued to stare at the dirt, watching the stain grow as your vision blurred, as if the dirt were mocking you.

“Hey, hey hey. Where’d you go, angel? Come back here with me, love. You’re gonna be okay. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.” He says, wrapping his arms around you.

You’d never wished more that you believed him.

tagging: @romanogersendgame @wanniiieeee @zheezs14 @greeneyedblondie44 @angelic-kisses13 @baumarvel @ssamorganhotchner @ijustwannaread2k19 @rexit-mo @shmaptainhotchnersmain @qtip-blog @averyhotchner @the-modernmary @itsmytimetoodream @choppa-style @hotforhotchner11 @infinite-tides @isthatme-thatsme @g-l-pierce @bakugouswh0r3 @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x you #hotch x reader fic #hotch x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #hotch x y/n #hotch fic #criminal minds #criminal minds fic

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woozisnoots · 4 years

Text

modest jeon wonwoo

° pairing: wonwoo x reader ° genre: university!au, host club!au, fluff ° word count: ~1.7k ° warnings: none! ° a/n: this had no business being this long and idek if i like it lol but I want to specifically dedicate this piece to @wonwoosimp bc she’s literally the sweetest, best bean in the world [insert uwu meme here] thank you for gifting me my very first photocard, I literally cried opening it! I love you so much, I hope you enjoy!

welcome to the svt host club!

masterlist!

you entered university with a certain goal, a purpose. eventually, you were going to be the pediatric surgeon that the 13 year old you ushered you to be.

…let's just hope the knowledge of your brain was enough to get you through the first four years of pre-med. with your 3.7 high school GPA, you were lucky to get into your first choice college, let alone your current major

from the start of the semester, you dedicated yourself to studying the anatomy and physiology of the body until you knew every nook and cranny there was to know. and the library was the perfect sanctuary to get your shit together

as much as you loved your roommates, their constant fights over closet space and boy toys gave you no peace of mind what-so-ever

bless the library for being opened 24/7. If your roommates found you sleeping on their only working desk, you would find yourself waking up to the sound of tripping freshmen trying to get to their first 8am class right in the middle of the hallway

but the lone table in the corner of the library just on the third floor did you good at staying focused. even provided some good naps in between every now and then

the day before your first anatomy test, you LOCKED yourself in the library. no one was going in OR OUT of the premise just to sit across from you on YOUR table until you fully memorized the different layers of epithelial tissue >:(

gosh, you even scattered all your notes across the table just so people got the memo that this seat was: [OFF LIMITS]

yes, off limits to everyone except a certain jeon wonwoo.

the way you met was abrupt to say the least

besides your table, you had a pretty good view of the entire campus — from the main health science building all the way to the student parking lot

and just below you, an astonishing sight of a mob of screaming girls chasing after a mouse guy in glasses. not to be inconsiderate and heartless, but unless you heard someone scream bloody murder, diving back into your flashcard you go

tissue after tissue, you start to get delusional because at this point, everything is starting to look the same

slumping down into your chair, you take a second to mentally recharge, drinking the water you’ve neglected for the past three hours

you time yourself for a five minute break, going through the notifications on your phone

before you could read your roommate’s ongoing ramble on the latest update of the “crazy good looking, god-like, elite host club that the university has to offer”

a ‘club’ that you didn’t even know anything about nor cared for

you hear a loud ‘thud’ coming from the bookcase in front of you

from the side the tall, lean guy with glasses that you saw earlier emerged with his hands gripping his tricep

you try not to draw too much attention to him. half the reason being you didn’t want to embarrass him by laughing at the fact he ran into a 10 feet tall bookcase

and you did not need this man distracting you. it’s your eight week streak being this productive, a new record for anything you’ve done in your entire life and your pride wouldn’t let you have it if you lost it just because you saw an attractive man on sight

you scribble down a decent guess to the tissue identification question that you’ve been stuck on for the past few minutes, not bothering to look up

“that’s actually dense connective tissue, not smooth”

jolting up from your seat, you look up realizing the guy 5 feet away is now right in front of your face looking down at all your papers

“you can tell because they’re striated”

you stare at him in disbelief wondering how he could have gotten so fast with just looking at it for a few seconds. eyeing him up and down, he definitely looked around the same age as you but he wasn’t someone you’ve seen around the science buildings. and you would know since you took the liberty of familiarizing almost everyone within the department

“do you mind if i sit here?” his hands already on the edge of the chair ready to pull it out from underneath him

“...yeah sure”

“oh i’m wonwoo by the way,” he says as you both exchange awkward stares and knowledgeable nods

okay well since he’s proven that he might be of help to you, you might as let him stay. from what you’ve gathered, he didn’t have any stuff on him aside from his phone that you watch him get out of his front pocket, getting ready to play pacman

forget how attractive he is, this guy has some brains.

for the rest of the day, as you guys sat across from each other, wonwoo would occasionally bounce back and forth between giving you study tips and playing whatever game he decides to play at that moment in time

he was surprisingly really good at this? he knew more things about the subject than your professors did, and that’s saying a lot. like you’ve been looking at cells for WEEKS and you were lucky to get at least half of them. which begs the question:

“how do you magically know all this?”

the blank expression on his face tells you he wasn’t expecting that question but he quickly shrugs it off. “i just know a few things from my parents that’s all”

you would have questioned him further but the time on your phone read “22:57” and you already broke your number rule about sleeping early before a big test

as you pack up all your stuff, wonwoo pushes his chair in, bidding you farewell

“good luck on your test tomorrow!”

you appreciate the gesture, mentally thanking him for his help and proceed to go back to your dorms, preparing yourself to tell your roommate all about the exciting? day you had

“YOU MORON. JEON WONWOO?”

laying flat on your back on your bed, you cover the bottom half of your face, quivering under your sheets as you stare at your roommate’s outrageous outburst

you explain what happened and who you met today at the library. when your roommate asked to describe him in more detail, all you said was that he was pretty smart for someone who wasn’t particularly in your major

your roommate lets out a loud scream into their pillow, gripping the bed sheets before giving you the earful of the century

“he’s just being modest. he’s a korean lit major but he’s one of the uni’s top students since both his parents are the head of the science department.

…AND he’s one of the most requested host club members. so you caught yourself one big fish today bud.”

top student? science department? HOST CLUB? none of that was processing in your brain. the one club that you wanted nothing to do with and you just happened to meet their top money maker

grand.

the thought didn’t keep you up at night only because you thought that today’s encounter was just coincidence and you probably would never have to see him again.

(sad though, your roommate was right. he is rather good looking.)

the time that it took for you to take your test the next day flew by so fast that you questioned if it even happened. the first step you took out the classroom, you start to second guess all your answers, regretting that you didn’t check a third or even fourth time before submitting

your train of thought halts when you see jeon wonwoo standing in the empty hallway

“i’m sure you aced it”

and just like in a netflix original romance movie, he reveals a bouquet of pink begonias from behind his back while shyly adjusting his glasses

“these are for you. to congratulate you”

weird way to phrase it but you were still gonna take the flowers. “host club tendencies?”

“so you found out?”

from a distance, you can hear the rushing footsteps from downstairs followed by a sense of purpose. “i think i was bound to” :/

you didn’t know how you felt about the current situation. you had no idea what host club was until you got here and you still don’t know what they even do. for all you knew, this could just be a gesture to get them more clients

but if his actions were genuine… you wouldn’t mind seeing him again

“i have to start learning muscles for our next exam. heard it was one of the hardest ones. i’m not sure if you have more studying tricks up your sleeve?”

“i might.” a cocking little grin now appearing on his face

“good. same place at the library tomorrow then. and this time? try not to bring your dedicated fans wherever you go”

so these study sessions continued. you guys occasionally had to change spots - from cafe to an empty bio lab - if the mob ever saw a single hair follicle that might be his

but each time, wonwoo brought something more just himself. one day it would be coffee, others days it would be food. things to keep you motivated.

for a korean lit major, he was taking a lot of time out of his day to help you, being attentive to all the strategies that help you study and such

possibly making your assumption from months back, true.

by the time finals rolled around, aside from the spursts of review here and there, study sessions became more casual. you didn’t feel the need to overwork our brain since you already knew all the information (something you actually learned from wonwoo himself)

possibly the last meeting you’d have with him was similar to your first: just you two together but him playing on his phone. and yet before the night ended

“i have a proposal.”

“i’m not giving you money for your dumb club.” bold of him to assume you would-

“no but i really appreciate the thought :)

why don’t we turn these study sessions into… study dates instead?”

your assumption after 6 months later: finally confirmed

“but that’s only IF you ace your finals.”

well let’s just say at the very end, you had a successful first semester and are now one step closer towards being the surgeon of your dreams.

plus, you even landed yourself a pretty cool boyfriend in the process

let’s hope his parents put in a good word for you when you apply to med school!

#seventeen #wonwoo #caratwritersclub #seventeen imagine #wonwoo imagine #seventeen scenario #wonwoo scenario #seventeen au #wonwoo au #seventeen fanfic #wonwoo fanfic #seventeen series #jeon wonwoo #wonwoo x reader

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not-close-to-straight · 4 years

Text

100% Professional (Six)

MASTERLIST

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

“So what, he flaked out on your date?” Gwen took a loud swallow from her over sized coffee thermos and smacked her lips. “Why are you so bent out of shape, you’ve never had someone cancel a date before?”

“No.” Peter said shortly. “I’ve never had someone cancel a date before. People like dating me, they always show up.”

“Mmm. Bite me.” Gwen retorted. “Well, welcome to the club of rejection, it happens to all of us, even blonde haired stunners like myself.”

“Your hair is pink right now.” Peter pointed out and Gwen replied, “Which is the only reason why my own date got canceled last week.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t because you showed up with a stack of flyers to hand out about the evils of Hammer Tech?”

“I might have come on a little strong.” the pretty girl agreed. “I suppose protesting mega corporations isn’t everybody’s idea of a good time.”

“No, probably not.” Peter slumped into his chair and propped his feet up onto the table. “What am I going to do, Gwen?”

“Oh my god, you’re really upset about this!” Gwen’s eyes widened in surprise. “Pete! I thought you were just cranky cos you didn’t get laid! You really like this guy, don’t you?”

“I told you that.”

“Well yeah, but you like everyone.” she said flatly. “Plus, he’s a client so when you said you liked him and that his muscles made you cream a little---”

“GWEN!”

“--I assumed you were just talking from a professionally horny standpoint, not from a real interest standpoint!” she cried. “I mean, damn Pete! You can’t date clients! If word gets out that you’re that kinda massage therapist, I dunno if you’ll lose your current clients or gain a whole bunch of very sketchy new ones, but either way? You definitely crossed a line.”

“I know.” he muttered. “Couldn’t help myself.”

“I’m pretty sure you could have helped yourself.” She countered. “All you had to do was be professional, Pete. Work with the guy, take his money and leave again. How difficult is that? You could have definitely not tried to get in his pants.”

“Gwen--”

“No, listen.” Gwen put her coffee down and pinned Peter with a look. “I heard what you said before about how you didn’t expect the attraction and how it’s so easy to be with him and how you guys sorta fell into each other and how you text all the time and he makes you laugh and all that. But tell me something. Have you stopped and thought for one second how hard this is on him?”

“I--”

“You tell me how easy it is for you and that’s why you want to pursue it.” She interrupted. “But your shocking lack of professionalism aside, have you even considered how difficult this is for Wade. Just once?”

“Um.” Peter hesitated. “...no? He said he felt it too so I thought it was okay.”

“You told me Wade has to live up high because traffic noise gives him panic attacks.” Gwen recounted and Peter’s face fell. “That he had to get raging drunk just to get through the first massage and then had an actual breakdown when you gave him that weighted blanket. Does that sound like a person who could dress up and stroll downtown for a date with you? Just because Wade's comfortable in his own space and over text messages doesn’t mean he can do it all outside, you know.”

“I didn’t think about that.”

“For all you know, he’s NOT comfortable in his own space.” she continued. “He could be pretending so it’s not weird for you. Do you know what he does right after you leave? Does he have to take a shower, have to meditate or medicate? Is he basically paralyzed for a few hours until his anxiety settles down?”

“...things are tough with Flash.” Peter realized. “That’s why you’re so in tune to everything right now.”

Gwen nodded miserably, her jaw clenching, and Peter whispered, “I should stop by and see him.”

“Flash doesn’t want you to stop by and see him.” She denied. “He doesn't even want me to come by. My fiancee came home from over deployment and can’t even be in the same room as me most days because I remind him of how good things used to be and how different it all is now. Remember how we were going to get married when he came home? The first time I tried to kiss him hello, Flash panicked and didn’t come out of his room for like, three days.”

“I remember.” Peter’s lips pulled down into a frown. Flash had been so hoo-rah about going and being a hero and now he was nothing like he’d used to be, shutting out the love of his life Gwen, his oldest friends Harry and MJ and even Peter, who had been his roommate through all four years of boarding school and their first year of college. “I-- I remember.”

“So you know what I did?” Gwen shrugged as if it still didn’t break her heart. “I decided to be Flash's friend because that's the only way I’m able to be part of his life. I try to take on disgusting billionaires, try to date to fend off the loneliness but end up scaring them away because let’s face it, I’m intense, and then I spend as much time with Flash as I can. Sometimes that means we talk, sometimes that means I sit clear on the other side of the couch and watch him watch a movie. I'm his friend."

“You’re trying to tell me I need to be content with being Wade’s friend." Peter blew out a deep breath. "Like if I want to stay a part of his life, I have to respect the boundaries he has, even if they are boundaries that seem like they come out of no where."

“Don’t make everything about you, Pete, I’m trying to tell you that if I don’t get laid soon I’ll actually die.” Gwen retorted and smacked Peter’s feet off the table. “But also yeah, if you want to be around Wade, you’re going to have to settle for friends. Obviously you both thought Wade was ready for more, and obviously he isn't. Back off, bud. Be his friend or leave him alone. Quit complaining about your hurt feelings and try to realize Wade probably hates himself right now for what he considers a failure. Not going on a date with you? He probably thinks its a failure. Stop bitching and have some compassion.”

“I hate your advice.” Peter reached over and took Gwen’s hand, smiling when she squeezed at it. “But I'm pretty sure I needed to hear it, so thank you. And I’m sorry about Flash. I’m sorry that the reason you know all this is cos you’re living through it.”

“I'm sorry about Flash too.” Gwen cleared her throat and blinked away a few tears. “And this therapy session will cost you one bagel and another cup of coffee, so get to it. I don’t hand out all this advice for free, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Peter pulled out his wallet and headed towards the front of the coffee shop. “Love you, Gwen.”

“Yeah.” she said absentmindedly, going right back to her book. “I'm real swell."

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

Benefits of group therapy. Wade typed into the search bar on his computer. Local group therapy for veterans. How long until therapy starts working? How long after trauma is therapy useless?

He took a gulp of a drink that was way more whiskey than it was Coke and searched, What qualifies as trauma? How long will I have panic attacks?

And then with his breath catching and vision blurring with tears: How long before I feel normal again? Do people with PTSD ever date again?

His phone buzzed and Wade picked it up without thinking, swiped the screen without looking, sure it was going to be a reminder of meds or a confirmation text from tomorrow’s physical therapy appointment.

From Peter: I’m not going anywhere, Wade. I’m not going to bother you, but if you need me, I’m here and if you want to talk or need some of my Grade A humour to distract you for a minute, I’m here for that too.

From Peter: I’ll let you make the first move though, I don’t want to intrude or push like… boundaries? I don’t expect anything from you, but know that I’ll be happy to hear from you all the same.

Wade blinked down at the message, then up at the current screen on his computer, scrolling down until he found an article he’d only skimmed earlier: How to be there for someone with PTSD. Tip one was to reassure the person that you were there but didn’t expect anything, that you would respect their boundaries and needs but also would grant them their distance.

Peter had obviously read a similar article or pamphlet and even though the text read a little stiff, it was clear Peter was trying and it made Wade’s heart hurt in a very real way that even after everything, Peter was still trying.

He didn’t text Peter back though.

Instead Wade put his phone away and went back to looking up group therapy locations and reading anonymous reviews about different therapists.

He’d gone to therapy after his injury, he’d even gone to a psychiatrist, he’d gone to a hypnotist for the nightmares and about every other ‘-ist’ out there but it apparently wasn’t working, he apparently needed something more because living like this wasn’t working anymore.

There was a group specifically for injured veterans, former soldiers whose entire lives had been changed by a moment overseas, and Wade clicked through that website to until he found a time and a location and the suggestion that he “click the attending box partly so Sam knows how many cupcakes to bring, partly to set it as a personal goal for yourself!”

“I’m doing this for the cupcakes.” Wade muttered as he checked the box. “Only for the cupcakes.”

….and with one more glance at his phone, “And maybe for Pete.”

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

SAY SOMETHING ABOUT THE CHAPTER!

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

@ships-galore @ceealaina @izziebladez @cwar1864 @hausoffro @tonystarkisanangel @multishippinglife @girlnic @iam93percentstardust @paranormalmoonlight5 @igotloki @moosette05 @wayward-student-philosopher @kaz-brekkers-gloves @atomicfandombomb @1fuckingshitup69 @agentlokii @livewire28 @tulipsnbigcats @kimstark @alex-stark-rogers @bibbarnes @heeeyitskay @goindownshipping @quietgayguy @nanita90a @justaniche

@chiby-chan @thanossucks @i-am-worth-it-25 @dan4thefam

#ncts fics #spideypool

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bigskydreaming · 4 years

Text

So this is definitely one of my least favorite things to do, because there’s so many people on here that need help, but if anyone has a couple bucks or a five they can spare, that would be an enormous help to me today.

For those that know my situation, as far as I know, everything is still on track for me to have the lets-pull-all-twenty-eight - of-your-remaining-teeth-at-once-it’ll-be-fun! surgery on Tuesday. I’m reeeeally looking forward to it, and also the Month of Living Without Any Teeth At All while I heal and they figure out the fittings and everything for my bionic teeth or whatever. Everything about it sounds swell. Can’t wait, it’ll be great.

SO. The plan is for me to take the bus out to the desert on Monday afternoon, reenact some of the best scenes from Saw on Tuesday morning while under hopefully heavy sedation, with fingers and toes crossed that these doctors actually listen to me for once about my ridiculous metabolism making most anesthetics wear off super fast. Because. Ugh. Doctors literally never believe me about that which has led to some pretty not cool experiences in the past, but none of those experiences have been yanking out every one of my teeth by the root all in one go, soooooooo, if ever there was a time for them to think maybe I actually know what I’m talking about and make adjustments for that, I’m pretty sure I want this to be that time.

Thanks to my keen intuition, I have predicted that this whole process is something I probably want to be deeply unconscious for, and during, and tbh, maybe a week or so after that too. But like, I’ll mostly settle for just not waking up when they’re only actually on tooth eight, you know?

If I seem like I’m babbling cuz I’m nervous, its probably cuz I’m babbling cuz I’m nervous. I’m so not kidding about unpleasant experiences with anesthetics in the past, so while this wasn’t actually my reason for making this post, while I’m thinking about it, if anyone wants to also maybe shoot a quick prayer-tweet over to whomever you might personally @ with that kind of thing, I would be super grateful for anything of that nature, like something along the lines of “Dear Merciful Higher Power/Universe/etc, if there’s any way you could see to it that Kalen spends most of Tuesday knocked the fuck out, that would be awesome, thanks!”

Its just, I’m kinda over being in excruciating pain all day every day, like, I gave it a shot, just don’t think its for me, I’m afraid I just don’t have what it takes to be a hardcore raging masochist or whatever, so I’m just really not looking to set any new personal pain records next week if at all possible.

ANYWAY, requests for spamming higher powers on my behalf aside, the other reason for this post is I only have $3 in my bank account and an appointment this afternoon whose co-pay is going to be $50. But I can NOT miss this appointment, its super critical. See, so, the other thing is, my jaw has decided its reached the point where it just doesn’t want to close at all anymore, so I’ve gone from only eating once a day to only eating no times a day, and since I’ve already lost an absurd amount of weight and muscle mass over the last two years because of all this shit, they’ve put me on a regimen of regular IV intakes or whatever that’s called, just to like....get the nutrients I need into me somehow, y’know?

And especially with the surgery coming up on Tuesday, and my immune system all shot to hell and my various other Vitally Important By-Products of Eating Food levels are low enough to have my doctor using mostly just four letter words when reviewing my latest labs, they’re literally trying to pump me full of as much of the various Nutrients And Other Stuff IVs as they safely can between now and then. And as much as I’ve been pretty much going 24/7 trying to stay afloat with all of this, I just...did NOT budget for needing to be hooked up to an IV every other day because my fucking jaw picked now to level up on being an asshole and like, physically will not cooperate with my attempts to survive on cheap $5 a day meals.

So instead this week its been $50 co-pays every other day, because apparently when your body for whatever reason literally can’t take in the cheap 7-11 snacks and Happy Meals you usually live off of because That’s How Being Poor Works, it makes total sense that the one and only alternative for keeping your body fueled is to go to this little clinic place that hooks you up like you’re at a gas station, except you’re some kinda pretentious European model that won’t accept any less than the top dollar diesel, because I guess even Bags of Nutrient Water gotta somehow manage to be name brand shit, because yay capitalism. Everything about it is just so efficient and logical and works so well, especially if you’re part of the 99%.

Anyway I’m TRULY sorry I’m all over the place with this, I haven’t taken my ADHD meds because swallowing is the Devil’s Work right now, and also I haven’t had my daily Bag of Nutrient Water yet so my brain is like no I will not be cooperating. To sum up, once I get to next week I’m all set, everything’s in place for the surgery, insurance, I have a place to recuperate, I even already have my bus ticket for Monday purchased, my specific monetary issue right now is I am literally down to my last $3, I am currently physically unable to chew my way through a full meal, so I’m literally just paying co-pays of $50 every other day to spend 45 minutes sitting in a chair while my body sucks life-sustaining nutrient water through a needle.

That might actually be the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever said or heard said and yet its factually 100% true. Our world is so fucking bonkers, jfc.

Literally ANY help getting me to today’s appointment, would be amazing, and then I have one scheduled for Monday morning before I leave, if I can find a way to make that too. And tbh I don’t actually know if one is even an option for tomorrow yet because the clinic I’ve been going to so far isn’t open tomorrow and I’ve yet to hear back if my doctor found somewhere else to send me that I can actually get to. So who the fuck even knows.

So yeah, sorry for making you ping-pong your way through that mess, this is my brain on Empty, like I said, I haven’t had my Bag of Water yet today. But any help is appreciated, whether reblogs, donations or good-thought-tweets for me on Tuesday. I’m a big fan of any of the above. Even $2 or $5 gets me closer to what I need, and if you can’t spare anything or have already sent or are sending what you can spare to another donation post, I totally and completely understand. And again, even just....good thoughts for Tuesday would be awesome, and certainly can’t hurt. I’m not like, worried about the surgery or whatever, its pretty simple, its more just....extensive. And my only real hope or want for it is just keeping the Ow factor as limited as it can possibly be. Whether that’s from the doctors coming through with a good strong hit of the goofy juice or some higher power telling all my nerve endings to take a sick day or just sit this one out, I am so open to either or anything in between or even coming out of left field.

And now I’m done. Thank you. You’re all rockstars, or insert your genre of choice. In conclusion, capitalism sucks, eat the rich, and buy a bi a bag of water today please. I’m pretty sure there’s a T-shirt slogan in there somewhere, but fuck if I can pin it down.If anyone else does, hey, go nuts with it. I’m literally a bi guy who needs to buy bags of nutrient water every other day right now. That’s so fucking dumb, someone’s gotta be able to milk some mileage out of it.

My Paypal:

https://paypal.me/bigskydreaming?locale.x=en_US

Or if that link doesn’t work, try this one instead:

https://www.paypal.com/paypalme2/bigskydreaming?locale.x=en_US

My Ko-fi page: https://ko-fi.com/kalenp

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xxgoblin-dumplingxx · 4 years

Text

In Tatters: Four

“Welcome Back to Chainmail Crop tops, Today’s Table Top Adventure is brought to you by Skillshare-” Your voice is cheerful, and it reminds Bucky off the ad breaks for Radio dramas. He catches Steve’s eye and snorts.

They’d practically begged to watch you record something. Usually, you worked in your apartment. In the second bedroom that served as studio space for most of the podcasts and youtube series, you did when you weren’t writing or editing for someone else. Currently, there were 6 people crowded around a card table in varying degrees of pajamas. You were, probably, the most comfortable in a sloth onesie that had little felt claws that flopped over your fingers.

Steve and Bucky weren’t quite sure what they expected, but it certainly wasn’t this, and they were enjoying it immensely. Like they’d enjoyed everything else that had gone on around them in the last few weeks. You’d forced a friend to watch CATS the movie with you. You’d reviewed a classic film. You did part of a video series breaking down Marxist theory using, of all things, Barbie Movies.

It was insanity. Utter insanity. But it was fun.

You made people laugh. You made them laugh. And by the time taping wrapped on that podcast, their sides had hurt from laughing so hard.

“Ugh,” you groan, flopping facefirst on the couch, cheek resting on your arm as an arm and a leg dangle off the cushions.

“What’s the matter, doll?” Bucky asked, padding over and lifting the hood of your sloth outfit back so he could see your face.

“My head hurts,” you tell him.

Bucky frowned and kissed your temple, going to get a glass of water and some Tylenol. Headaches, Bucky had learned, were the shorthand you used for a lot off discomfort that made other people uncomfortable when you talked about it. Depression. Anxiety. Whatever another way, your brain could twist itself into knots. He didn’t doubt your head hurt. It was a small room, and things could get loud. But he doubted that was the only wrong thing.

Steve tilted his head and watched you struggle to sit upright again to drink the water and take the pills Bucky handed you, ‘You hungry?” he asked, just generally. Bucky was always hungry. With you, it was hit or miss. When you shrug, and Bucky nods, he smiles a little, “I’ll order pizza,” he said, “Y/N looks too cozy to make her put on clothes.”

When you smile a little and lean against Bucky’s side, Steve feels his heart flutter. You don’t even flinch when his metal arm tightens gently around you and shifts you closer. And he knows it makes Bucky feel good when you don’t. He’d been worried about it, how you’d react when he took his gloves off. Or didn’t wear sleeves. But you hadn’t flinched, you’d laced your fingers through his the way you had before and kissed his cheek.

“Definitely too cozy to go outside,” Bucky said, snuggling you closer, relishing the way you fussed at him for tickling you.

Steve chuckled, and half turned, scrolling through his phone to find the app he used to order pizza. He liked apps. They meant he didn’t have to talk on the phone. At least not as much. And while he waited, he looked at the pictures that lined the shelf. One caught his eye. It was a group picture. You and a bunch of other people dressed for some sort of event. One that required matching purple t-shirts. A pretty girl was kissing your cheek, and it doesn’t escape his notice that she’s wearing a ring on the third finger of her left hand.

“Hey Y/N,” he said, picking it up and half turning, “What’s this from?”

You turn your head, and Steve watches several emotions flit across your face for a second. “Oh-” you say, taking a deep breath, “That’s from when I took my Fiance to California... We went to Disney for her birthday.”

“Fiance?” Bucky asked, not accusatory, just curious.

“Yeah- Passion,” you answer. “I- yeah. That ended badly.” You don’t really know how to talk about that. Getting your diagnosis as Bipolar. The cheating. The lying when she said she was breaking up with you because you were ‘just too much’ while it was really because she already had a new girlfriend. You hadn’t handled it well. At all.

“How badly?” Steve asked, sensing a story.

“Wound up in a psych ward for a couple days after I stopped taking my meds, badly,” you tell them, not looking at either one of them.

They both winced reflexively. Not in disapproval but at the tone of your voice. Like you’re waiting for them to be mad at you. Steve puts the picture back on the shelf carefully and comes to sit on your other side. They both want to ask. They want to know how things had gotten that bad. They knew about your medication. That you took it, and... thanks to google, more or less what it was for. They’d asked what you took. And looked it up. Not because they were judging you, bot out of concern for your safety, really. It was things they didn’t know were medications.

“Sorry,” you murmur, wrapping your arms around your knees.

“What for?” Bucky laughed, “We got 100 years of history together... there’s no way we’ve told you everything. And it’s not like you could just casually bring up being hospitalized after a bad break up.” He kissed your head, and he and Steve wrap their arms around you gently.

“It’s true,” Steve said, kissing your jaw, “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

You sigh, “I just don’t know where to start.”

“Wherever you want,” Steve answered, “We’ll catch up. We’re old, not slow.”

You nod and tilt your head back to look up at the ceiling. “I guess it started when I had that first manic phase. Like. No impulse control. Straight lost my shit for a minute and wound up on the psych ward because Pash thought I was gonna kill myself or something.”

They stay close, listening and Bucky makes a soft sympathetic noise, “I didn’t know what was happening... Stuff had happened before but. Not like this. It was scary. And getting a diagnosis was kind of a relief... It told me that there really was something wrong. And that it could be managed. And it was fine. Until it wasn’t.”

You break off and take a deep breath, “Look. Long Story Short, Pash had been done with my shit for a while... and she was looking for an out. It didn’t take very long for her to find one. So she cheated on me for a while and waited until she could reasonably tell me “I just can’t handle this” and leave without looking like “the bad guy.” You know you’re leaving some details out. The fights and stuff. The people you’d caught her cheating with after your meds had tanked your sex drive for a little bit. The money she’d stolen from you and gaslighted you into believing you’d spent. They don’t need to know that. And you don’t really want to talk about it.

Steve and Bucky exchange looks over your head. Suddenly a lot of things made sense. They’d been letting you set the pace of the relationship. The number of dates, the amount of time they spent with you. How much intimacy there was. And they’d felt like you were holding back. Hesitating. They’d thought it was reticence about being a “unicorn” of sorts again. But the piece about your last relationship and being cheated on made things make a lot more sense.

“Sweetheart,” Steve says softly, “I’m sorry.”

You shrug, “I mean. It’s been a year. She and this other girl are happy I guess. And that’s cool.”

“You deserve to be happy,” Bucky said, tilting your chin up carefully, “You believe that, don’t you?”

“Sometimes,” you answer, smiling a little, “Mostly when I’m with you two dorks.”

“Dorks?” Steve said, mock offended. “Who you callin’ a dork, ya nerd?”

You shrug, “I mean. I did film studies and art history in college... I basically majored in ‘nerd’. So... I’d say I’m a pretty good judge of dorks.”

“You’re running off at the mouth again, Darlin’,” Bucky rumbled, kissing down your neck softly.

Steve smirks when your breath hitches and watches fondly. Bucky’s always had a gift for finding buttons to push and it’s honestly a joy for him to watch as he handily chases your train of thought out of your head.

“Let us take care of you, huh?” Steve murmurs, kissing your temple.

You whimper in need and Steve grins, reaching for the buttons on your jammies, “So snuggly, Buck. So soft and cute.”

“She is,” he agrees, leaving your neck alone and letting Steve pull you against his chest. “But I gotta say Stevie,” he teased, grinning when your face heats, “getting all three of us in her little bed is gonna be a trick.”

“We’ll make it work,” Steve said, kissing you slowly, “We gotta. Because we gotta show our girl a good time.”

“How good a time?” you ask breathlessly.

“Baby,” Bucky drawls, throwing you over his shoulder, chuckling when you yelp in surprise, “You’re gonna see stars.”

tags:

@past-perfect-future-tense, @lookinsidemyhead, @rinkashirikitateku, @dumbubblegum

#stucky #stucky x reader #Steve Rogers #bucky barnes #fluff #smut #past relationship mentioned #mental illness #past trauma #hurt/comfort

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cocoascriptures · 4 years

Text

| LIFE AFTER LIBERTY | 1. JUSTIN F. “Staring at the sky ain't gon' fix my problem...”

a/n; because they did my boy (he wasn’t always my boy tho let’s get that clear lol) dirty and we’re all wondering where life takes us after high school. So here’s a blurb? Headcanon. I’ll try and do all of them even tho no one will probably see this lmao. Inspired by Kevin abstract’s, “echo” since it reminds me of Justin.

When Justin found out he was HIV-positive on the night of prom, he automatically thought he was going to die. And of course that scared the shit out of the 17 year old.

However his doctor, Dr. Ellis Grey assures Justin and The Jensens that HIV-positive did not mean he had aids. In fact if the virus did not reach stage 3 (aids) Justin could live a normal life, with meds to control it.

Even tho his life changed drastically the night of prom, Justin would do what he needed to stay alive. He spent many of his high school years putting his life at risk and now felt like this was his punishment— or rather wake up call.

Of course he did he research with the help of clay and Mrs. Jensen but at times it felt too overbearing and he found himself snapping at the two, later apologizing, even though his family understood

Justin didn’t like to feel sorry for himself but sometimes he just needed to sit in his funk. He’d eventually snap out of it and continue fighting like he knew he could.

He made it to graduation with the support of the football team, basketball team, Clay, Jess, the rest of his friends by his side, and with old friends, Mr. and Mrs. Jensen in the stands supporting him. Sure there was a small part of him that wished his mom was here to see him walk across that stage, I mean what kid wouldn’t want their parent(s)/ guardian watching them accomplish the bullshit of high school?

His mother was another reason Justin had to beat his addiction. He had that on the back of his mind, and now this new piece of him that was part of his journey.

Justin decided to go to Sanderson university, believing that if he left Crestmont now, he would spiral. Community college was the smart route for him for right now, even though he felt like he wrote that essay for nothing, Mr. Jensen told him if he wanted to transfer he could still use that essay if he decided to go off to a four-year institution.

With school starting in the fall, Justin spent most of his time with Jess and his friends who wouldn’t be staying in Crestmont. With clay off in Nevada with Tony for two weeks, Justin enjoyed the limited time of summer he had left with his friends

Which meant hard decisions... Jessica Davis still stayed with Justin even finding out that he tested positive. Their relationship was a lot of push and pull but Jessica seemed to want to see this through. They found love in each other. They taught each other what love is.

However with Jessica out of state, socializing between the two became scarce. Ultimately Justin and Jessica came to terms with calling it quits but still friends from a distance?

Justin needed to focus on himself and his studies. It was hard not being with the one girl he was truly in love with but he knew it was for the best and as corny as Mr. Jensen says, “if it’s truly meant to be, then you’ll two will find a way back to each other,” Justin couldn’t help but to believe that—but he didn’t hold his breath

Justin Foley Jensen, fucking hate school and had a bitter attitude towards college at the start of freshman year in high school only because he didn’t see his future there. He didn’t know where he saw himself, probably living off Bryce if he didn’t end up like his mother. Who knows? Now? Justin was glad to say he made it to college.

He had no idea what to study and didn’t like that pressure what’s so ever but was told he could start off with general studies until he figured it out. “There’s no rush,” his counselor told him. It was nice knowing that you didn’t have to have it all figured out because to Justin, he had no fucking clue. Especially after everything he went through and continues to go through.

He starts off with the basics, taking three classes. Two on campus, one online.

He goes to meetings for his addiction, therapy sessions twice a week, and even visits the counseling & psych services that are provided on campus when he feels like he needs extra help

He talks to clay almost every other day, “dude it’s like you never left, first you were a pain in my ass, now it feels like you’ve been buried up there and I can’t shit you out.” “Oh, fuck you, Justin.” “I love you man.” “Yeah, I unfortunately love you too.”

He lets his hair grow a little longer and some facial hair, to make him look a little older

He doesn’t join any clubs yet since he already has some extracurricular activities he’s handling on his own

He does however, get a job in the next town over, Alcombey, which is a total snooze fest but something he needs in order to not be tempted.

It’s A part time job at a noodle bar 15 mins from Crestmont since two of the previous jobs did not want to hire him due to his background check. “Fuck them anyway,” Zach texted, “both of those places look like five nights at Friday’s but worse. Hey, I’ll even leave them a bad review on yelp.”

Justin was glad Zach was still around, because if he wasn’t he’d probably lose his mind from being lonely. Zach decided to take a year or two off from school but their old coach was still putting his ass to work, coaching.

The two were friends before, usually gravitating towards each other when Bryce and Monty were off being the usual piece of shits that they were. In a sense they were each other’s back ups when they didn’t want to deal with the other’s foolishness but Justin and Zach could be on their bullshit too

Anyway, during this time they became a lot closer and would consider each other, “besties” zach’s words, not Justin’s.

They’d usually chat on sundays since the pair kept themselves busy during the week, Zach with coaching, and Justin juggling school, meetings, his health, and work—but they’d find time to hang out during the months

“Dude, come see fast twelve with me.” “I mean sure, I’m down for the action but how many more fucking movies are they going to make?” “Don’t question a masterpiece. It’s the best film series of all time.” “Actually it’s twilight.” “What the fuck did you just say?!” “Say I’m wrong.” “You’re wrong. Got damn wrong!” “I’m getting Tyler in on this!” “Whatever man, do what you gotta do!”

Two years seem to go by pretty quickly, Justin living his form of normal. He graduates with an associates in physical therapy and transfers to Arizona to complete a bachelors to masters degree in the same program—physical therapy

From there he meets a new group of friends but still has his weekly calls with clay and Zach, either separate or three-way, still texts/zooms/Skype/FaceTime the friend group chat every couple of months to catch up

Ryan is now on a reality tv show and has 30.9k followers on Instagram, Courtney works for a e-commerce fashion company and is in a polygamous relationship—one is non-binary, the other is a bisexual trans woman, Alex and Charlie are engaged!!! “Alex?! Why would you want to marry him?” Justin asks Charlie, everyone knowing that Justin and Alex have a love-hate relationship, mostly hate but still sociable? Light friends? “I’m in love with him, why wouldn’t I? There’s no one else for me.” Charlie deadpans. “Good luck.” “Fuck off, Justin you’re just mad that no one but Jess wanted your dumbass.” “Actually I’m sorta seeing someone so kiss my ass.” Zach and clay are all smiles at this point.

Jessica is taken back by all of this new information since she sort of fell off the face of earth along with Ani. She wanted to be the first to say what’s going on in her life but when Courtney and Ryan are in the chat things usually go one direction and it’s hard to get a word in.

Justin didn’t mean for this to slip out but Alex liked to piss him off.

Zach and clay already knew this information so it wasn’t news to them.

“Well spill the tea love, we’re waiting!” Ryan snaps his fingers to break the silence.

Justin fills the group in that he moved in with his new friends in a house off campus that he met the night of his twenty-first birthday. It all happened sporadically but it was one of the best decisions he’s made

It’s six of them including Justin in one house in a hot ass desert, he was planning to rent an apartment off campus by himself with the money he managed to save up, even tho the jensens offered to pay his first month’s rent, he learned to take responsibility on his own

Until he met the five at a festival downtown. It was weird for Justin to spend a birthday on his own, even tho he didn’t have the best upbringing at a young age, he still managed to be around someone even if that meant his mother high on the couch, spending it with Bryce/ the team, or celebrating it with the jensens, this was his first time all on his own, truly

But life was all about new experiences. So he was out on his own looking at the artwork, even if it wasn’t his thing, it was still cool to look at. Modern art never made any fucking sense. He did try majority of the food there, with his hungry ass. Indigenous food? That was too good.

He was at yet another food truck when he heard arguing from not too far behind him. He didn’t care to hear this conversation but it was loud enough not to hear it.

He spotted her 5’4 frame self arguing with some dude that was taller than zach’s big foot ass and she was going in

Another guy, a Irish red head who was behind him waiting at the food truck snorted as he watched Justin eat and watch his two friends debate

“That ones a fucking mess, I’ll tell ya. She’s the one that’ll tear off ya neck and shit down it.”

Justin’s eyes were wide at this point. He’s heard some things in his life before but that one was surely knew.

“Benji, man. You are?”

He introduced himself just as the small brown girl managed to bring the 6 ft+ dude into a headlock. She sure had a grip. The two scuffled until they knocked over a table near by filled with figurines.

That’s when they booked it, pulling Justin with them like he asked to be involved.

This was the mischief he needed back in his life, all in good fun but nothing like the extremes of Crestmont

They became acquainted, friends pretty quickly before moving in together and Justin did something he shouldn’t

He fell for his roommate, a 5’4 Indian Gemini girl (he still didn’t understand astrology) who loved to argue/ “communicate” do yoga, majoring in astrophysics—much to the disappointment of her parents, loved Joan Jett & the black hearts, Fiona apple, Fleetwood Mac, and absolutely loved screaming her vocals out to r&b songs, preferably Whitney Houston—mostly when she was drunk

Her name? Jiya and she loved calling Justin her, “boo”

Justin didn’t think he’d find love again. Especially three-four years after Jess. Was it still too soon? He felt like he should feel guilty, Zach assured him that he shouldn’t and deserved to be happy with someone else, and clay was the voice of reason pulling out pros and cons...typical clay shit.

Jess didn’t say much in that moment and Alex and Courtney picked up on that immediately.

It felt like Justin needed permission.

So two days went by after that call and justin was just getting home from a late night class to Jess calling him

They had small talk which wasn’t the norm between them. Usually when they fought or had a disagreement they made up by having sex.

This wasn’t an argument though?

At first Jessica’s tone didn’t feel right to Justin, like she was still in disbelief that he moved on? Yet she ended up telling him that she had hooked up and dated around a couple months into her freshman year

Now she was with diego

And Justin couldn’t help but to laugh, which put Jessica on defense mode

The conversation went from tense, to silence, to awkwardness, to communicating, to closure

“I want you to be happy, Jess. I’ve always wanted you to be happy, even if it’s not with me. It doesn’t have to be. I love you enough to know I can’t be selfish. I can’t keep holding onto the past, we both can’t. Our time apart proved that.”

“But that doesn’t mean I didn’t miss you at all during us not speaking like we used to.”

“I know. And that’s okay, I’m not mad. At first I was, thinking it was too easy for us to call it quits. It used to not be like that, us going hours without speaking but we got used to it. And I think that says a lot.”

“...does she make you happy?”

“She definitely knows how to make me laugh and I’ve needed to laugh for a long time now. Everything about her feels right, we’ve been on a few dates. Well she was the one to initiate it, I was too in my head about it.”

“A woman that knows what she wants, she’s alright with me then.”

“It’s still fuck diego, from where I stand.”

“Justin!” “I’m kidding! You deserve all the happiness in the world too, Jessica Davis. Thank you for being a part of my life. Thank you for loving me when I didn’t think I deserved it.” “Oh you asshole, you’re gonna make me cry. You’re worthy of love, every ounce of it and don’t you forget that. I’ll always love you, Justin. Take care of yourself.”

And life kept on moving. By 25, Justin was a official physical therapist—working his hardest to provide comfort in those that needed it due to their injuries physically and hopefully mentally.

He and Jiya decided to move out into an apartment together, renting of course since Justin did not want to stay in Arizona forever. He hated hot weather. Not a fan at all. He wanted to move to Colorado or somewhere in the mountains or some shit. Jiya didn’t care where they lived as long as they were together.

It was hard for her to find a permanent job with her degree but she did well at hotel management.

They adopted a dog, an Italian greyhound. Justin didn’t want that breed exactly, not trying to be a dog shamer like Jiya liked to call him but his legit words were, “what if I get up in the middle of the night, to see that rat with big eyes staring at me?” “Would you like for us to get a pet rat?” “What? No! That’s not what I’m saying at all.” After three months adopting Raimondo the Italian greyhound, jiya shows up with a bearded dragon. “The hell is that?!” Justin screamed perched on the couch leaving Jiya laughing, “Our new child, you pussy.”

By thirty Jiya received a job opportunity in Vancouver, Washington and off they went.

They bought a mobile styled home, however Jiya truly wanted a bungalow, but this was what they could afford right now. It was painted indigo blue with a red door and they had a shed that looked like a barn.

It was honestly spacious for the two of them, with four bedrooms. Why did they need four bedrooms? By now Jiya knew she couldn’t have children and didn’t know if she wanted any. Plus they weren’t married so but it’s not like they didn’t talk about it.

One room was for her yoga sessions if she didn’t go out to any. Plus the other rooms could be used for whenever their families wanted to come and visit or friends.

Jiya got a long well with Justin’s side. Especially clay, which Justin saw coming from the moment he met her. That made Justin happy that clay and the jensens approved of Justin’s choices of women. Sure he had a few but when he loved, he loved pretty hard and for a long time.

“That’s just the cancer in you, boo.”

“Enough of this zodiac shit, I’m trying to sleep.”

“Yeaaah, on this Gemini bo-dy boy!” Jiya argued with Justin laying on her chest.

“I’m sleeping on the couch with raimondo.” Justin moved to get up.

“Fine by me, more space in the bed.”

Justin held mock-offense, “I can’t believe you’d just let me leave! You know our couch feels like rocks.”

Jiya gasped, “you said you liked that couch!”

“Well, I lied.” Justin smirked with a shrug of his shoulders.

And that’s when a pillow fight started which ended with them on the floor along with a make-out session and love making.

Justin was always careful before but living hiv-positive and being involved with Jiya he made sure he did all he needed to on his part and to make her comfortable

When he first told Jiya and the group, it was quiet. Two of the roommates believed the stigma and ignorant comments and questions were made/asked. Jiya, Benji, and Heidi were the main ones that came to his defense and he would always remember that.

By thirty-two, Justin asked Jiya to marry him on a picnic by the lake. And she RAN from him. Which had Justin yelling, “wtf?!”

“Sorry, there were huge ass bumblebees or dragonflies coming right for us! And you know I’m allergic.” “So you were just going to let me get stung?” “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you, if you see me run, you run too.” Justin huffed finding the moment ruined until Jiya plucked the ring box from his hand and got down on her knees holding the box out to him, “yeah I’ll marry you, boo. You’re my favorite person on the earth, next to Aishwarya Rai Bachchan. But you get my point.”

Justin snorted. He was in love with a major dork. He took the ring and placed it on her finger grabbing onto her hands after she nodded in approval at the ring, pulling her to her feet. He wrapped her hands around his waist and cupped her face bringing their lips together.

Justin Foley Jensen found his happily ever after.

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thethoughtsfromthreeam · 4 years

Text

California

Pairing: Agent Whiskey/Jack Daniels x OC

Warnings: PTSD

A/N: We’re coming out of the angst mood and this will be the last wholly flashback chapter. We return to present day in Part 8. Doesn’t mean there won’t be flashbacks, but the action is now moving forward!

And I can’t believe the number of people who have followed this blog in the last week or so (has it only been that long?) and the people who are liking the posts. Y’all know how to make a girl feel good. :)

Reminder: I haven’t seen Kingsman: The Golden Circle, so I’m just using the Wikia, IMDB.com, some gifs, and my own weird ass brain to make up this whole ass story.

Tag List: @zeldasayer , @romanticgumchewer, @tarrevizslas , @coolmaybelateruniverse , @the-feckless-wonder, @lavenderl3mons , @pascalisthepunkest , @mandoandyodito , @randomness501 [please message me to be added or subtracted]

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [PART 5] [PART 6]

Part 7

Road to Recovery

It was the sharp yelp and half sob that startled nurse Cider at her desk. Looking up she realized the sound came from her only occupied bay. She got up and walked into the room to find Sirah laying awkwardly in the bed, tears trickling down her face.

“You tried to move again, didn’t you?” the nurse asked. She didn’t need an answer, she already knew it. She was just being polite. Sirah gave a slight nod. She’d been fully conscious for only forty-eight hours, but every moment of it was a cycle of pain and then calmness as the drugs kicked in. She was in the pain portion of the cycle.

“It’s so hard to breathe, Cider. I just can’t seem to breathe.”

“I know, honey. Let me get you more comfortable and see if that helps a bit.” Cider stepped out and waved over another nurse. They came into the room and each grabbed Sirah under her arms to pull her gently up. But something about the way they held her made their patient go rigid with fear.

“NO!” She cried out. “NO, don’t take me!”

For a moment, she wasn’t in the med bay, instead her mind was suddenly back in California and trapped in the fear she felt while captured. She started shaking violently and both nurses dropped their hands. Cider reached out and touched Sirah’s forehead gently, calling to her.

“Sirah, honey, it’s okay. It’s okay. It’s just me and Tea. We’re here to help you, it’s okay.” Cider rubbed her palm on the woman’s forehead while grasping her hand with the other. After a moment, Sirah’s eyes looked over at the nurse and seemed to refocus.

“Good, honey. Good.” She kept her voice calm and even. “Tea and I are going to help you move, remember? We’re going to put our hands back under your arms and under your legs. And you’re going to be more comfortable. Yeah?”

Sirah nodded and this time, while keeping her eyes focused on Cider, she let the nurses move her. Soon she was shifted higher and suddenly she felt as if she could breathe again. The nurses tucked her back in, took a few vitals, and patted her hand before they left. While they worked, in the shadows outside the room stood Champ. As the nurses passed him, he paused before entering the room. Looking at the ceiling, he took a deep breath and willed the tears from his eyes before walking in.

Normally, the man was larger than life, standing taller than most of his agents physically and bigger than everyone else through his personality. But when Sirah laid eyes on him, she noted he looked smaller, older even. He sat down next to her bed and took her hand, cradling it to his cheek. She let the tears stream down her own as his warmth seeped into her hand and then into her heart. She was home again.

---***---

She had been in a coma for several weeks as the med team worked to fix what they could, but once she woke up, the reality of what happened to her began to set in for the team. The trauma of her experience wasn’t something she had been trained to handle and she spiraled deeply into this scary new world as the days passed. Soon the personality that inspired Tequila’s Shirley Temple nickname was gone and in its place was a woman full of fear.

One day after Ginger had visited for some time, Sirah cried pitifully when her friend left. She curled into herself the best she could, thinking her friend was never coming back. The abandonment compounded everything.

Champ and Dr. Licuados consulted daily with the in-house therapy center about the situation. A therapist was assigned to her, code named Orange, but in the early days there wasn’t much either doctor could do to ease the pain and fear. The three watch as Sirah nearly become a ghost of herself.

Her friends were sick to their stomachs at the change and tried to do whatever they could within their power to help her through it. After the event with Ginger, the four of them agreed to take turns being with her. Just being in the same room was often enough for Sirah most days, so they’d bring work or field reports or even just books to pass the time.

Ginger took the mornings, Tequila took the afternoon shift, and Champ stayed by her side in the early evenings. But Jack was the one to stay with her at night. Seeing his sleeping form on the couch next to her brought her immense comfort and often, she would reach out and touch his hand with hers. Every time, even dead asleep, he grasped hers in return and never let go.

---***---

A month after she woke from the coma, the doctors agreed to move her to a private therapy bay to continue her recovery. Her cuts had scarred over, her burns were stable, and the breaks and fractures were just about healed. She was able to begin the next phase of her healing and the days took on more structure.

Physical therapy in the morning with Tequila there as her own personal cheerleader and sometimes Ginger when he was out on assignment. Regular therapy with Dr. Orange in the afternoons, and in the evenings, Jack came “home” to stay with her. Champ made it a special order to have lunch with her daily and sometimes his wife would join them.

Her recovery probably wouldn’t had gone as well as it had were it not for her friends. The love and support they provided guided her through the dark moments. One night, after she had been cleared to take a shower, Sirah stood beneath the water, relishing the feeling of being clean. Without thinking, she turned her face upwards into the spray and immediately her brain was flooded with the memory of her water boarding.

She pulled back, gasping and cried out before she fell against the shower wall in terror. Immediately, Jack rushed into the bathroom, calling her name. He pulled back the shower curtain and found her sitting on the floor, crying and shaking with the memory. He turned off the water and dropped to his knees. He wrapped her in his arms and held her against him. Nothing he could say could reach through to her, so instead he rocked her body as she cried. It cut him to the core and broke his heart into a million pieces. Soon she quieted down, and her arms snaked around his waist.

“Moonshine, let’s get you cleaned up.” She nodded and was patient while he soaped up a rag and gently cleaned her. He rinsed and dried her off before helping her dress. When he got her settled in bed, he texted Tequila to come take his place. When he arrived, Jack outlined what had happened and said he needed to step out. Tequila clapped a hand on his shoulder before sitting down on the couch. If Jack needed a minute, then dammit, he was getting one.

Jack ran down to the training room and turned on the lights. He rolled his neck and cracked his knuckles as he walked over to the punching bag. He took a deep breath and threw out his right arm. The contact stung but it didn’t stop him. He took the rest of his anger and grief out on the bag. He eventually collapsed against it, exhausted, but calmer.

---***---

“Orange. . . can I talk about that night?” Sirah sounded hesitant, but the therapist gave her a reassuring smile. Half a year had passed since California and Sirah now found herself curled on the end of her couch, wrapped in a blanket. The therapist sat at the other end, leg drawn up and facing her.

“Needles.” Sirah looked out the window. “I could smell the needles of the redwoods as I laid there. . .” Their talk continued and several times, Sirah broke down. She cried for Malbec and Sherry, the agents who were her friends. She cried for herself. She just cried all the tears she couldn’t while captured. And then she talked some more.

After nearly three hours, she felt exhausted, but lighter. Facing California was hard, but each day seemed to get easier. Dr. Orange told her to sleep a bit and left the apartment. But for the first time in weeks she didn’t dream of pain or of fire or even of a dead woman’s eyes. Instead she dreamed of New York City.

“Jack, are we sure this is correct?” Sirah looked at the notes sent from HQ regarding the case. They sat in his New York office reviewing files and she scribbled notes in the margins.

“I’m sure moonshine, I don’t think Tequila would send us incorrect notes.” Jack flipped through the file in front of him before turning back to the computer. He updated a few things and went back to the file. Sirah picked up the notes she made and gathered a few more items.

“I’ll be right back. . . .” her voice faltered as she looked out the window. He turned to see what captured her attention. Blocks away from where they were at, fireworks lit up the sky. She walked over to the window in a sort of trance, mesmerized by the beauty of the scene – the brightly colored fireworks against the dark sky and the surrounding glow of the city. Jack walked up behind her to watch, too.

Without thinking about it, he laid his hands on her shoulders and his chin on her head. She sighed and leaned back into him, eyes still on the display. He dragged his hands down her arms and wrapped her close against him. She melted into him and they stood in comfortable repose until the display ended. The sky darkened again, and the sounds of the city were no longer muffled.

She turned in his arms and pressed her face against his chest. Her arms came up around his waist and she clung to him. He shifted and kissed the top of her head. She smiled into his chest and sighed again, this one even more contented than before. She eventually moved out of his arms, dragging her hand across his chest as she walked around him. He caught the smile on her face, and one grew on his own.

“I’ll be in the library for a bit. I want to check up on some things. Can you wait a few hours until I have more information?” She looked at him.

“Moonshine, I’ll always wait for you.” She beamed at him and slightly nodded her head before taking her items and walking out the door.

He’d wait a lifetime for her if he needed to.

---***---

She woke up from the dream with a contented smile on her face, an event that hadn’t happened since before California. As she became more alert, she realized she was alone. Everyone worked to keep a similar schedule as before even after she moved back into her home and when she looked at the clock, she noticed it was close to dinner time. She asked Champ to come to dinner and as if her mind conjured him, he walked through the door, knocking as he entered.

She smiled as he sat down and laid out the dinner his wife made. He also handed her a lumpy package that had her name scrawled across it. She opened it and while he went to get plates, she pulled out a beautifully thick navy sweater. It was oversized and the sleeves were longer than normal.

Once she was cleared to wear regular clothing, Sirah had taken to completely covering herself. She was self-conscious about the scars all over her body and while the logical part of her brain said no one would care, she still did it anyway. Champ’s wife was a quiet woman, but she was observant and smart as hell. Champ wouldn’t have married her if she wasn’t. The sweater was something that would give Sirah the cover she wanted with much comfort.

“Champ, can we talk for a moment?” She sounded serious as he returned and sat down next to her.

“Of course, honey. What do you need?” The voice was kind and she found herself feeling ever grateful she had such love around her. It’s why she knew she’d get passed this.

“Don’t call me Sirah anymore.”

#agent whiskey #jack daniels #pedro pascal #agent whiskey x oc #agent whiskey x reader #pedro pascal x reader

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calligraphist-artemisia · 4 years

Text

Quid Pro Quo

Summary: While everyone's healing after their first fight against Haggar's super powered Mech, Coran brings up the perfect way for them to relax and pass the time: a fun game of Monsters & Mana! While Shiro argues the value of (once again) playing a paladin, Keith goes for a more unexpected role.

Also posted on Archive of our Own - under the username Kishirokitsune

Quid Pro Quo

Quid pro quo - a favor or advantage granted or expected in return for something.

The aftermath of their battle against the Komar Mech found the paladins of Voltron in a rough state. While the lions protected them from harm to the best of their ability, there were still injuries and each of them had spent two long weeks confined to their beds in the med-bay so they would have proper time to heal from their ordeal. And even after that, they were released under the condition that they take it easy for another week.

After being active for so long, it was hard for any of them to patiently sit around and do nothing, especially when there was so much that needed done.

It was Coran who came up with a solution to their boredom.

He rounded up everyone and giddily took them down to the common room, where he had commandeered a round table for their use. There was a hand-drawn, gridded map spread across the surface, a handful of dice, and a set of five familiar figures.

“You save the game pieces?” Lance asked, sounding delighted. He swooped in and picked up the model of Pike, cradling it in his hands.

Allura smiled as she stepped up next to him, reaching for Valayun. “This is brilliant, Coran! But are you sure you have time for this? You and Shiro are perfectly able to go out and help with reconstruction.”

“Sam said that if he sees me working for the next twenty-four hours he's going to tie me down and make sure I get some rest,” Shiro said. “This sounds like the better choice.”

Pidge snorted in amusement, but didn't comment on it. She looked delighted to hold her figure of Meklavar once again.

Only Hunk looked a little concern, though it was quickly revealed that it wasn't over the game itself. “But Keith didn't play with us last time and he doesn't have a model.”

Coran twirled his mustache, a twinkle in his blue eyes. “Don't you worry about that, my young friend! I found a machine here that prints models in 3D and have already made new ones for our adventure today. They will all be revealed when the time is right. Now sit! And we shall resume our journey through the magical realm of Aurita!”

It didn't take them too long to get settled in around the table. Coran chose a spot at the top of the map, with Keith and Shiro to his left and right. Pidge was on the other side of Keith, followed by Hunk, then Lance, and finally Allura, bringing the circle back to Shiro. Each of them picked up a game pad and found their character, reviewing theirs stats and refreshing their memory of how the game worked.

“Before we begin, does anyone want to create a new character?” Coran asked, looking pointedly at Shiro.

Shiro crossed his arms over his chest. “I'm happy playing as Gyro. I don't see what I'd want to change characters.”

The other paladins – minus Keith – groaned in exasperation.

Coran hummed as he booted up his game pad. “I thought you might want a backup in case anything...unfortunate should happen?”

There was a moment of silence in which Keith looked up from his game pad to raise an eyebrow. When no one chose to elaborate on that, he went back to creating his own character, wondering what he'd gotten himself into.

“Coran, is something going to happen to Gyro?” Shiro asked.

“Only the dice know,” Coran replied mysteriously.

Shiro sighed as he selected the character creation screen. “I don't understand what you have against me playing as a paladin. I like being a paladin.”

“Can we make a rule that he can't make another one?” Lance asked.

“Now, now, far be it for me to stymie Shiro's creativity. If he wants to rewrite his backstory so that there is a third brother, then that's up to him,” Coran said. “Let's see... we've had Shiro and Gyro. What shall be the third brother's name? Hiro?”

“I hate all of you except for Keith,” Shiro said, prodding at his screen.

Coran gave them all a few more minutes while he searched for the storyline he wanted to use. It was bound to be a fun one, especially after his talk with Keith the day before. He had been sure that the others would be interested in another quest, but Keith hadn't been part of the original game and he wanted to include the current Black Paladin in their fun.

As it turned out, Keith had an interesting idea, and Coran had the perfect plot to go along with it.

He glanced up, smiling softly as he watched Allura lean over to Lance to ask him about something. Hunk appeared to be mumbling spells under his breath and then checking his game pad to make sure he got them right. Keith had his pad turned so Pidge couldn't sneak a peak at what he was doing, no matter how hard she tried.

It warmed Coran's heart to see them all having fun after everything they had been through.

He cleared his throat to get their attention and begin the game. “Tales of your miraculous defeat of the mighty and powerful wizard known as Dakin have spread far and wide across Aurita. Townspeople rejoice wherever you go and you no longer want for food and drink. Today we begin in the wilds of the Mysterious Forest, on a quest for a king of a distant land. It appears his daughter, Princess Mora, has been kidnapped and it is up to you all to save her!”

“A princess?” Lance's eyes lit up.

Hunk groaned. “Oh no... Coran, does it have to be a princess?”

“Yeah, can't we rescue a handsome prince instead? It doesn't always have to be a damsel in distress,” Pidge complained.

“But rescuing a princess is a staple of all classic stories! C'mon, guys, don't take this from me!” Lance begged.

Allura rolled her eyes.

Coran looked at them peevishly for interrupting his storytelling. “Are you going to let me continue, or would you like to run this campaign on your own?”

No one spoke again.

“As I was saying...”

If not for the haunting sounds of wildlife, the Mysterious Forest would be a beautiful place to explore. Trees towered overhead, their branches reaching out to cast shade over the ground, while still allowing in enough light for the underbrush to thrive. A single main path, comprised of dirt compacted under heavy travel, wound through the forest.

A sheer mountainside rose to the right of the path. It looked as though the rock had been carved away some time ago, though by what, no one knew.

Valayun led the way down the path, her bow knocked in preparation for trouble. She had heard tales of bandits and thieves who lurked within the woods and knew it was best to be ready to anything. Her blue eyes wearily scanned the underbrush, watching out for any movement.

Behind her was Pike and Block, who quietly talked to pass the time. Pike was particularly excited about their current quest to find a kidnapped princess, and was disappointed that no one else seemed to share his enthusiasm.

Meklavar traveled behind them, her ax at the ready. Her stonesense screamed that something wasn't right, and she was easily the jumpiest of the party.

Bringing up the rear was Gyro, who looked around with a sense of wide-eyed wonder at the beauty of the wilderness around them. He was particularly taken with the brightly colored flora and the pleasant smells they emitted. He felt like nothing could possibly go wrong. After all, the weather was pleasant and their quest had only just begun!

What could possibly go wrong?

“Shiro, roll for perception,” Coran instructed.

Shiro frowned. “I thought I already did that.”

“You did. Now I need you to roll a second time,” Coran said.

Everyone leaned forward to watch Shiro roll the die, eager to see what it would stop on. There was a collective groan when it tipped over one final time to end on “two”.

“Tough luck, Shiro,” Keith said sympathetically.

Coran's delight was obvious to everyone and he toned down his cackle to a snicker, hiding his face behind his game pad. “Suddenly, there is a loud crashing sound from the cliffside! Something has knocked into the precariously perched boulders up at the top, jarring them loose. They fall, picking up speed as they go, and while they make a great deal of noise, Gyro is too busy admiring the flowers to pay attention. Will anyone warn our poor paladin of the danger he faces?”

“How do you not hear a landslide?” Pidge asked with a shake of her head. “Nevermind. I'm the closest to him, so I shout out to try and warn him.”

“Shiro, another roll, if you will?”

Shiro sighed and rolled again, not at all surprised to see another roll number. Even the dice gods were working against him. “Am I dead?”

“Oh, I'm afraid so. You hear Meklavar's warning, but aren't able to move in time and are crushed by a landslide,” Coran rattles off as though commenting on the weather.

Shiro gave the Altean a petulant look as he sent over the data for his new character without being asked.

Keith watched the exchange with a furrowed brow. “Should I make a second character now, or...”

“You don't need to. Shiro just has really bad luck,” Pidge reassured him.

Coran took a moment to scan through the new data before jumping back in. “Our heroes take a few hours to mourn their fallen friend and construct a small monument in his honor.”

The loss of Gyro the Paladin dampened even Pike's spirits. The four heroes continued on their way, searching for the entrance to the caves where it was rumored that Princess Mora was being held.

“Does anyone else think it's weird that we haven't seen any bandits yet? You'd think they would at least have traps laid for us,” Meklavar said.

“Are you trying to jinx us?” Pike demanded. His eyes scanned the foliage critically, as though he expected something to immediately jump out and attack them.

Valayun uneasily slowed, closing the distance between her and Pike by a few paces. “Maybe we've gone the wrong way?”

“Can't be. This is the only path,” Block said. “Unless they didn't take the path?”

Meklavar shook her head. “No, you're right. They must have taken the path, especially since they have a captive with them. We would be able to see if they went another way, wouldn't we? There would be broken branches and stuff.”

They looked to Valayun in the hope that she had some skill in tracking, but she was just as confused as the rest of them.

The four of them stopped walking as a debate broke out over whether they should keep going or if it was best to go back and look for tracks. Pike and Valayun were for staying on the path, while Block and Meklavar wanted to go back.

And that was when things went from bad, to worse.

A howl pierced the air just before a massive wolf sprang out of the underbrush, taking all of them off guard. It used its advantage to pin Meklavar to the ground and opened its mouth to reveal a row of sharp, white teeth.

Meklavar closed her eyes, praying that someone would save her, or else that death would be swift and painless.

Pidge laughed as Kosmo licked across her cheek before he lowered his paws and padded over to the do the same to Keith.

“It's nice to see you too,” Keith said with a chuckle. He patted the cosmic wolf on the head, and once Kosmo was satisfied with the attention he received, he crawled under the table to take a nap near his favorite people.

“A new encounter has begun and it's time to figure out attacking order! Everyone, go ahead and roll your dice,” Coran instructed. “And just for fun... Shiro and Keith, the two of you can roll as well.”

Shiro trepidatiously reached for his die.

The sparkling light of Block's magic formed a barrier between Meklavar and certain death, which gave Valayun the opportunity to lay into the beast with her arrows. It reared back, releasing Meklavar from its grasp, and that was when Pike rushed in to pull her to safety.

“Are you alright?” Block shouted as he began charging up his next spell.

“I'm okay!” Meklavar quickly called back. She took a moment to reorient herself and then unhooked her ax so she could jump into the fight.

Arrows flew and spells were slung. A gleaming ax swung against the side of the beast. Pike's sharp blades danced as he flitted about.

None of it appeared to do more than anger the wolf.

“Should we run?” Block asked.

“Do you really think we can outrun that?” Pike asked in disbelief.

Block ducked behind a tree for a little extra cover. “Maybe if Valayun summons one of her magical steeds and I enchant my staff to fly, we might stand a chance at getting away.”

“And what would that solve?” Meklavar demanded. “We run and leave the princess with those bandits? Even if we get away, we still need to come back this way and there's no guarantee that this creature will be gone.”

“Meklavar is right. We have to deal with this now,” Valayun agreed.

Pike loudly shrieked as he barely dodged a swipe from one massive paw. His voice went high as he asked: “Does anyone have a plan for that?!”

Meklavar thought for a moment. “Maybe if we all attack it at once and hit it from different angles. That might confuse it enough that it won't know who to go after.”

“It's worth a try,” Valayun said. She selected a summoning arrow and fired it into the air. A moment later, a flying horse swooped down and allowed Valayun onto their back. She took to the skies to distract the beast, giving her allies enough time to get into place.

And then their assault began anew.

The beast snarled in rage. Just as they had hoped, it didn't know who to go after first. It turned to look at each of them, but each time it tried to attack, someone would hit it from another angle.

A horn trumpeted.

From within the forest, a man with dark hair came riding in on a magnificent black steed. He lifted his sword high and joined the battle.

The beast didn't last long after that, and as it lay dying on the forest floor, the adventurers approached the newcomer. One-by-one, they introduced themselves, until all that was left was for the stranger to speak his name.

“I am but a simple ranger, traveling with my fearless companion,” he said, fondly patting his horse's neck. “My name is Paladin.”

In that moment, anyone in or near the common room was treated to the sound of the Paladins of Voltron losing their minds over a single sentence, while Shiro sat back and looked very pleased with himself. Coran was laughing so hard that he was crying.

Once Coran calmed enough that he could speak clearly, he wiped away his tears and coaxed them back into playing their game.

With the addition of Shiro's ranger, they discovered that they had missed a second path and it was only thanks to his tracking skill that they were able to find it. The new path was a shortcut, leading directly to the caves, while the main path would have eventually branched out, with one trail leading up to the top of the mountain and the other leading out of the forest. Coran was the only one disappointed that they no longer needed to fight their way down through the mountain.

They charged ahead into the caves with their spirits renewed, and Lance happily showed off that Pike held torches in his inventory, after buying them during his and Shiro's mini-session with Coran.

“So is Keith actually playing, or is he just here to watch?” Lance asked as he rolled to dismantle a trap that Hunk nearly triggered.

“I've been playing!” Keith protested. “You've seen me roll!”

“Oh yeah? Then where's your character?” Lance challenged with the air of someone who knew they had already won.

Coran stepped in before things could escalate to shouting. “Keith and I discussed his role before we began, and I have sent him messages to determine where he currently is and what he's doing. Be patient; he'll join you soon.”

“I didn't know these things could send messages,” Pidge said, looking at her game pad with renewed interest.

“My bandmates and I always used them to enrich our experience with the game. Not only can it be used to send messages between the Lore Master and one of the players, players can also send group messages. Depending on the race you've picked, you can choose to send messages in that language, and it will only translate for anyone who has knowledge of that language,” Coran said. “Though it's more like gibberish than an actual language. Now, where were we? Ah, yes...”

The team of eager adventurers continued on their way, dismantling traps and using their wide range of skills to avoid trouble. They only got lost once and that was when they encountered a small party of bandits, who kept dropping their weapons and were incompetent in general.

Pike pilfered anything useful before they moved on.

“This is way less interesting than Dakin's lair,” Meklavar said, sounding disappointed. “Where's all of the treasure? The interesting weaponry?”

“Well that's why they kidnapped the princess, isn't it? They're holding her for ransom so that then they'll have treasures,” Block suggested.

“I don't know why you keep saying things like that when you know it's just going to bring us more trouble.” Pike directed his words to Meklavar, who ignored him. “Besides, just because you haven't found anything, doesn't mean there's nothing here.” He grinned and jingled his coin purse in front of her face.

Paladin frowned at the blatant theivery that was being flaunted in front of him. There was no point in saying anything. Pike had only laughed the first time he scolded him for it.

“Meklavar, can you read anything with your stonesense?” Valayun asked.

Meklavar placed her hand on the wall and frowned. “There is... something. I can feel it more strongly now. I think there's another dwarf here!”

“That's good, right?” Valayun asked.

Meklavar shrugged. “Not if they're one of the bandits. Then we might be in trouble, since they'll be able to tell we're coming.”

“I don't like this,” Block said nervously.

“All we can do is keep moving forward. If we stop to worry about what could be, we'll be here all day,” Paladin said. He took the lead down the hall, not waiting for anyone to respond, and the others hurried to fall in line behind him.

They all kept their weapons drawn. There was every chance that they were walking deeper into an ambush and none of them wanted to be caught unaware.

Every now and then, Meklavar reached out to touch the stone walls, trying to get a feel for what was going on. Just before a turn, she hissed out “wait!”

Paladin brought up his sword in time to block a strike from another blade. The clang of steel-on-steel rang out in the tunnel, impossibly loud. Paladin grit his teeth and bore down, refusing to let the assailant take an inch.

“Who are you? What are you doing in this place?” demanded the stranger.

“We're here to beat you and rescue the princess!” Pike exclaimed from the back of their line.

The stranger frowned. “They kidnapped someone else as well?”

Paladin let up a little, puzzled by that statement. “What do you mean 'someone else'? We only know about Princess Mora.”

There was something very strange going on, but no one could feel that more than Meklavar. Her stonesense sang, but not in a way that indicated danger. “Paladin, I don't think he's one of the bandits.”

The stranger rolled his eyes. “Do I look like a bandit to you?”

Behind Meklavar, the others made sounds of protest - “Of course he does!” - but Paladin evidently agreed with Meklavar and slowly lowered his sword. He kept it at the ready, just in case.

Valayun refused to lower her arrow and kept it trained on the stranger. “Who are you? How do we know you're someone we can trust?”

“Because I believe I'm the one you were sent to rescue,” he told them. “My name is Mizerik, son of Princess Mora.”

“Nope.” Lance shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. “No way.”

Pidge appeared utterly delighted by the twist. She turned to Keith with a grin and raised her hand, palm facing him. He looked puzzle for a moment and then held up his hand the same way.

“High five?” Pidge asked.

Understanding dawned on Keith's face and he gently clapped his hand to hers. “What are we doing this for?”

“Because we're dwarf pals! This is going to be so much fun!” Pidge said. She picked up her gamepad and began to intently type something.

“You two planned this?” Allura asked, looking to Coran.

He beamed at her. “Keith had the idea after I explained a bit about how the game works. It's all part of an even bigger story I have in mind. I figured that since you all could use something to do, I could do a bigger campaign than the last time. This is only the beginning!”

“I think we'll be able to find time for that,” Shiro said, sounding amused.

“Still worried that my dad might make good on his threat?” Pidge asked.

“You think he won't?”

Pidge wasn't going to argue with him on that.

Coran let them talk for a moment while he took a drink of water. They'd been going for a while and could probably wrap things up soon, or at least take a break before heading into the next part of the campaign.

He scrolled through his chosen story and decided that he'd wait to see what they wanted to do about the remaining bandits first. There wasn't any treasure to find, but the odds were that they would press on until they found something interesting, and he had a misleading side-plot involving a mysterious key if they really wanted to go that route. He almost hoped Keith would convince them that it was unnecessary, but the thought of getting to send them on a wild floklop chase was highly amusing.

It was all dependent on whether or not they took Keith's deal. There was something his character was after, and in exchange for helping him, he would grant a favor.

What was it the humans said again?

Quid pro quo?

#voltron #fanfiction #monsters and mana #no pairings #between vld season 7 and season 8

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glorious-blackout · 4 years

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Summary of Junior Doctor Life - Surgical Receiving Edition:

Came back from annual leave to find that the pager I left in our doctor’s room has vanished off the face of the earth. Which is honestly a dream come true, until you start the annoying process of requesting a new one.

Surgical Receiving means you’re the junior who covers all the new patients coming in, while also holding the page that accepts GP calls referring patients to the department. We need to either accept or redirect these patients, and if they’re accepted we need to clerk them in and take bloods on top of our other jobs. It ultimately creates far more work than you can physically do in one shift, hence me feeling guilty for managing to grab a whole 20 minute break during my 12 and a half hour shift.

It’s also a seven-day stretch: three 12 and a half hour shifts - which usually end up being 13 hours - followed by four 9-hour shifts. By day seven I was starting to crave the sweet release of death, though I would maybe have settled for a good nap.

Carrying the Surgical Receiving page means you occasionally get calls from GPs who aren’t quite at the stage of referring a patient, but are asking for advice. I’ll say again: the GP who’s been working for several years has to ask me - the clueless FY1 who’s only been working five months - for advice on a patient I’ve never met. It tends to go about as well as you can imagine.

It’s also an indication that the receiving page should really be held by seniors who can actually make informed decisions about who to accept and offer useful advice to GPs. The only reason we carry it is because the shift is so rubbish that none of our seniors can be bothered.

Six out of ten calls we get from GPs are due to suspected appendicitis (very few of which actually turn out to be appendicitis). The rest is a lovely mix of gallstones, rectal bleeding, bowel obstruction/perforation and abscesses. Who says surgery isn’t glamorous?

It only took five months but I finally have a patient who stuck something up their bum that doesn’t belong there (it was lip-balm...and no, we still don’t know why).

One day two of my patients decided to collapse while on the toilet. The first lady was so dramatic that a peri-arrest call was put out... only for it to turn out she’d had a fainting episode due to dehydration (when I saw her that afternoon she was sitting up and reading a magazine). The other lady had some extensive rectal bleeding which led to her BP dropping into her boots and the need for multiple blood transfusions. We were all a bit exhausted by the end of that shift, not to mention wary of letting any of our patients near a loo.

One of the patients absolutely hates me with a passion, to the point where she groans every time I approach her. Granted, I tend to be approaching her with a needle so from her perspective I probably am a bit of a monster.

(She’s surprisingly tolerant once I explain why I need to take her bloods/insert a cannula for the umpteenth time. It just takes a bit of gentle coaxing :P)

A common phrase you hear during the really busy shifts is “Look, I know you’re swamped but...”. Nine times out of ten the nurses are genuinely sympathetic and the request is reasonable, but there is the odd time where they seem to want you to discard your mountain of jobs in order to deal with their problem.

Case in point: I was paged three times to review a lady who was still nauseous despite having regular anti-sickness meds. She was otherwise well and we’d made a plan for her during the ward-round which I’d only just put in place. This wasn’t a priority compared to my other jobs and I had a more unwell gentleman to review, but the nurse was insistent that I review this lady just for ‘peace of mind’. Which is a nice thought... so long as you happen to have a spare 20 minutes (which I didn’t).

After three days of Receiving you do a Post-Receiving shift: basically you look after the same set of patients but you no longer carry the page or accept new ones. Seeing as all the required surgeries/treatments are usually over by that point, most of Post-Receiving revolves around sending people home. Which on the one hand is lovely because your workload reduces every day, but on the other it results in you having to do fifteen discharge letters/prescriptions in one shift.

The last day of Post-Receiving should, in theory, be a breeze. Your list of patients has dwindled from 30+ to 9 and most of those nine are on their way out. Sadly my dreams of an easy shift were ruined when one patient who should have been going home selfishly decided to drop her oxygen saturations. C’est La Vie.

The wonderful folk who designed our rota were obviously sadists, because instead of splitting up this particularly exhausting set of shifts, they’ve grouped them together so you have two Receiving/Post-Receiving weeks in a row. Round Two starts on Monday... Yay?

#junior doctor shenanigans #rambling #medicine #considering I've spent a month dreading this shift it actually is survivable (albeit tiring)#next week is technically more brutal though so we'll see if I'm still alive by the end of it :P

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pixelpolaroid · 5 years

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Oath by the Blood- Chapter 8

Further into deception

No one likes going to the doctor. Even if it’s something simple like a check up or when your doctor happens to look exactly like you. No one likes it. And Jackie was no different. If he could have avoided his check up with Henrik he would have, and he definitely did try a few times, but the doctor himself was hard to slip past which is why he was currently sitting in a medical gown waiting for the physician to re enter instead of at the bar to meet up with Danny.

Jackie thought that if he made separate plans, he could use that as an excuse to avoid their appointment, but somehow Schneep had managed to twist his words enough to agree to stay for the night. Jackie’s still not sure what happened, but nevertheless, now he was here.

The hero had been fidgeting with the front of his clothes for what felt like an eternity. What was taking Henrik so long? It wasn’t like he had a ton of record to look over. Again, they were practically the same person! He’d had Jackie fill our a form that just asked how he’d been doing physically within the past two week, but it wasn’t like it was that long.

Just when he’d started to think that maybe he could sneak out, the door to Henrik’s office that connected to the med center opened. Henrik was reading over some papers on a clipboard and glanced up with a cheeky smile. “Glad to see you’re still here,” He commented, crossing over towards a separate table in the cubical.

The doctor sat at the chair and spun around to face Jackie, his leg propped up on his knee while holding the clipboard and a pen. “Now, I’m going to need you to be completely honest with me through this examination. Doctor’s orders, got it?” Jackie felt a slight tingle on the back of his neck and straightened up his back, nodding slowly to the physician. Henrik smiled and looked back down in his lap. “Good.”

“Now then, first thing, I just want to ask you a few questions. I read over your paperwork but I wanted to know if there were any personal concerns you had about your physical health,” Henrik explained. “I’ll be going over what I think my be concerning but if you have anything,”

“I feel perfectly fine,” The hero suddenly interrupted in a demandingly insistent tone. He crossed his arms and looked towards the door to the rest of the cabin: his exit. He didn’t say anything besides that.

Schneep narrowed his gaze on the hero. “Are you sure?” He begun flipping through the papers, skimming over till he found the information he was looking for. “How about I ask some questions you already answered. Just to make sure you were honest.”

The hero could hear the scrapping of Henrik’s pen against the paper, then it stopped. “On average how much sleep have you been getting in the past week?”

“Three, maybe four hours a night,” The hero almost immediately slapped his hand over his mouth, eyes blown wide.

“Interesting,” Henrik mentioned, scribbling something on Jackie’s form. “Because here you stated you’ve been getting 7 to 8 hours,” He side eyed the hero, still angled facing down. “Seems like there’s a bit of a difference.”

Jackie hesitantly pulled his hand away. “What did you do?”

“What about nutrition,” He casually asked, ignoring the other’s question. “Have you been eating properly?”

“Only really when everyone else is,” Again he shut his mouth with both hands. The hero sat there, face gone pale now, expression quickly turning sour on Henrik. “What is happening.”

“Any unexplainable or unwanted thoughts?” Henrik looked up at his patient with a suspicious look.

Jackie gritted his teeth, nails digging into his thighs. “Henrik,” He uttered. “Please, what are you doing,” The hero felt a strain on his muscles, like all his limbs were tied to a rope that was being pulled away in every other direction.

Henrik’s eyes softened and the strenuous feeling began to fade. Jackie was left panting like a dog slouched forward against his knees, while in the meantime Henrik was writing something on his board, keeping it hidden away from the hero.

Eventually, Jackie’s breathing evened out, he looked at the doctor with a grizzled expression. When he finally looked up from his papers, Henrik seemed to be pulling himself back into reality. “You need to be honest with me Jackie,” He insisted. “Trust me, it will make it easier for the both of us.”

Jackie suddenly felt incredibly weary of the doctor. He looked around the center, as if he was here for his own trial instead of a medical checkup.

“Now then,” Henrik brought back his normal tone again. “Let’s get back to it shall we.”

---

“Bend over and touch your toes,” The doctor watched as Jackie obediently followed another of his instructions. The whole time, Jackie remained completely silent and simply listened to Henrik tell him what to do and how to move next.

Finally, Jackie was back to sitting one the edge of the bed while Henrik took simple vitals. Checking his ears, measuring his reflexes, but when he took the hero’s temperature, he paused. Henrik looked down at the thermometer confused. He turned to the small sanitary station and deposited the device before pulling out a new one from the cabinet, retaking his temp.

“Was zur Hölle?” Henrik muttered to himself. He looked up at Jackie, placing the back of his hand against the hero’s forehead, the way a parent would when their child claimed to be sick. However Jackie didn’t feel like he was burning up, the way he would had he been running a fever. No, this was in fact the opposite. Henrik moved his hand to touch the hero’s arm, and Jackie instinctively flinched away, an action that Henrik notable noticed.

“You’re freezing cold,” He claimed. “Not just your skin, but your interior temp is far too low,” Jackie looked away and shrugged, not making any comment. Henrik set his clipboard aside, just enough for Jackie to get a glance and see it covered in red pen markings. The doctor stepped in front of him, feeling his arms and down to his hands. “Your whole body is cold. Wha- How long have you been this way?”

The hero just glanced away, shrugging. “Since I got back I guess,” Jackie hadn’t mentioned it to anyone, obviously. But ever since he returned, he was constantly cold. Going outside didn’t bother him, he would spend 20 minutes just standing in the shower with the hot water all the way up. His skin would be irritated and red when he left, but he still felt cold. Eventually he just got used to it, among other things. “It’s really not a big deal.”

“Yes it is!” Henrik stepped back, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is why I do these check up, because none of you ever fucking tell me when something is wrong,” His voice was strained and exasperated, clearly extremely irritated with the hero. He took in a few slow breaths and tried to calm down though.

“I’m going to have to run a few more examinations. And I’m going to speak with Eclipse and see what they know,” At the mention of the writer, Henrik heard Jackie let out a slight muffled, almost growl sound. He turned to his patient questionably. “Something wrong?”

Jackie seemed to try and bit his tongue, but couldn’t help bring up his concern. “I just don’t trust either of them really,” He crossed his arms remaining silent after that. He’d said enough.

Henrik let it go, just nodding as he looked back at his notes. “Well, that’s all I have. I know this wasn’t the most pleasant thing for you, but I truly am just looking out for you Jackie,” He wrote down something on a separate paper and ripped it off, handing it to Jackie. “Record your temperature every day for the next seven day and come back in a week. I want to further discuss this with you,” Henrik took his papers and headed back into his office. “And it’ll just be talking. No tests for now. You can change and leave when you’re done.”

It was a few minutes before Henrik finally heard the door to his clinic close, indicating Jackie’s departure. He remained in his office though, reviewing what he wrote down. A the bottom of his page though in messy letters read “doesn’t trust Eclipse.” Henrik paused and thought about it.

Eclipse told him that they conducted a few tests before returning the hero to them; had they done something to make him distrust them? No, that wouldn’t make sense. Eclipse struggles to keep the other egos trust as it is, it wouldn’t make sense to do something that could harm that. So why did Jackie have such little trust in them? True they did make questionable actions in the past but that was a long time ago, and he wouldn’t remember that anyways.

Henrik pursed his lips in consideration. The facts didn’t add up. And back when he was interrogating him, Henrik did truly feel bad about using his powers, but why was he so vigilant on lying to him. He lied multiple times on his paper, he tried to lie again when he questioned him, and honestly, Henrik couldn’t help but shiver at how easily he seemed to bat his eyes to it. It was so easy for him to lie to someone who was his friend. Someone that was trying to help and be there. How much had he been lying already? How far did his falsehood go?

#oath by the blood #Dr Schneeplestein #jackieboy man #mention danny sexbang

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the-woman-in-the-writing · 6 years

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“Broken Stoplights” a short story

Rating: PG-13 Contains: Graphic imagery Word Count: 1,305

Author’s note:

An attempt to describe a headache without using words such as pain, headache, migraine, et cetera.

Meat. Meet.

Bare. Bear.

Weak. Week.

Flower. Flour.

What do you call these?

Your 1st grade teacher called them homophones. Now let’s have a quick review before I tell you this story.

Homophones are words that are pronounced the same but have different spelling and meaning.

Alright, remember them?

It’s okay if you don’t (but I’m sure you do), we’re not going to use them for this story. We’re going to use its counterpart: Homonyms.

Homonyms, on the other hand, are words that are spelled and pronounced the same but differ in meaning.

Take, for example, the word beat.

It can either be the action of assaulting someone or a sound.

For this story, you need to remember only one homonym.

Tissue.

Tissue is a paper you use to wipe liquid or dirt off off things. You’re aware of it, I’m sure. It’s not 1857 anymore.

But…,

Tissue is also the cellular organization level between cells and a complete organ. Make an ensemble of similar cells and you get a tissue. Combine tissues and you get a complete organ. Combine organs…so on, so forth… We finally get to you.

But for this story, we need to get to me.

The weatherman last night was right. The road felt slippery on the wheels of my car because of the rain and 42 kilometers per hour windspeed. I was on my way to my mother’s place because she wanted help fixing her new curtains (ugly, if you ask me), but really, she just wanted company. Of us four siblings, I was the only who bothered to check if she isn’t burning the kitchen down ever since my father divorced her (he cooked for us).

It was about 2am when she called me.

“You need help fixing curtains?” I groggily said on the phone.

“Yes.” Mom said plainly.

“It’s 2am, Mom, why are you just telling me this now?” I asked while trying to answer the question myself.

The line went silent, but I could hear The Carpenters singing in the background. She was watching her wedding video. Again.

“Oh, you know me, forgetful sometimes–”

“Mom, I told you. You have got to stop sulking around and watching your wedding video. It’s not helping.” I tried to turn on the lamp beside me, but its sudden flash felt like someone tried to squeeze my brain.

“Oh. You heard? I was just–”

“Dad’s not gonna come back, Mom, whether you waste your time on that damn video or not. Besides, you cheated on each other. It’s both of your fault.”

The line went silent again. Probably said too much out of grumpiness.

“I’m sorry–” I tried to apologize but she talked over me.

“No, I’m sorry. It’s late and you’re right. This video isn’t going to do me good. Good night. I’ll see you tomorrow – I mean, later.” She said with a hint of pity for herself.

“No, Mom, it’s not your fault, I–” She hanged up.

And so, we’re here.

Now, this is where tissues come in. The first kind.

For some reason, I caught a cold and had to place a box of tissues beside me. I blew my nose and threw the tissue on the seat next to me. In a few minutes and stoplights, that seat is going to have a mountain of tissues, and I guess it will feel like a cushion if somebody sits on it. I groan out of irritation and turned left to the highway.

The storm was picking up – and luckily, not traffic – and flashes of lightning crossed the sky like it was trying to break the sky apart. Someone was squeezing my brain again.

The mountain of tissue is now just a hill, and I couldn’t tell apart if it was lightning I was seeing or the vitreous gel in my eye is pulling my retina. To distract myself from the invisible hand prodding and pinching my brain, I tried to occupy myself with something else.

How many patients am I going to visit during my rounds later? I hope Mrs. Corinth agrees to take her meds without having to call two nurses to maker her do it. The two nurses in the emergency room seemed like they were having an enlightening conversation three days ago.

“The Egyptians would put the pharaoh’s organs inside a jar, thinking it was sacred or something.” The first nurse said.

“That’s disgusting.” Amelia replied, scrunching her nose.

“Yeah, and you know how they get the brain out?”

“How?”

“They have this, like, long, tiny hook” – he hooked his index finger – “that they would insert through the nose. Then they would pick the brain with it and pull pieces of it in long strings out of the nostril–”

“Oh, Jeffrey, stop. I’m gonna vomit.”

Same, Amelia, because right now, it feels like some Egyptian is picking my brains out through my nose.

Now comes in the second kind of tissue.

The tissues encasing my skull and covering the surface of my brain are inflamed, lighting up my sensory and motor cortex like a broken stoplight changing from green to red to green to red to green…

I press my finger hard on my temple, making circles around it. The road is blurrier, not because of the rain drops racing across the windshield, but because of the vitreous gel pulling my retina. I could taste mucus on my lip, so I blow my nose again.

I close my eyes, trying to build a shield over my brain so that nobody would squeeze or pick it out, but by the time I opened my eyes again, a roadworker flashed his light to my car, sending signals again to my sensory and motor cortex.

Green to red to green to red to green to red.

“Oh, Jeffrey, stop, I’m gonna vomit.”

Last night’s Chinese takeout rose up through my esophagus and out of my mouth, spreading across on my jeans and on the steering wheel.

“Damn it, get yourself together.” I said to myself, attempting to push down the almost-digested dumplings back in my stomach.

I tried to get another tissue from the box, but I was all out. I knew I had another one in the glove compartment, so I reached for it. I opened it, pulling out papers and receipts to try and find tissues or wipes. My attention switched from the road to the compartment. There was roadwork beside me and I knew I needed to focus more on getting past it before I get the tissues or wipes, but the vomit on my lap and the ones sliding between my fingers on the steering wheel really felt gross.

If you were in my place, you’d know.

What I’m doing right now is difficult. Trying to wipe off vomit while retrieving tissues and keeping my attention on the road is challenging as hell, especially when there’s a lightshow happening (which I can only see) and an Egyptian pulling out strings of my brain from my nostril.

Then suddenly, my fingers slipped from the steering wheel, making me lose my balance and land my head on my mountain of tissues. The sensory and motor cortex of my brain kept on lighting up, and the tissues encasing my skull sent more pressure.

I get back up immediately, grabbing the vomit-covered steering wheel, but it was too late.

The road was no longer slippery, but bumpy, as if I was driving on wet dirt, and the light I was seeing was no longer from my pulled retina, it was from a construction vehicle I was colliding with.

Both tissues, the mountain and inside me, covered in more blood than necessary…

Hazard lights flickering like my sensory and motor cortex…

Changing from green to red to green to red to green to red…

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mldrgrl · 6 years

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Slow and Fizzy

by: mldrgrl Rated: NC-17 Summary: Your Hanella Christmas fic is here. Basically it’s just fluff and smut. Smut and fluff. Sluff. Flut?

Stella could hear laughter outside her office door and she took a glance up from her report to look out the window. The office party appeared to be in full swing. She went back to her report and tuned out the noise.

For the first time in perhaps ever, she had taken the holidays off. A full two weeks vacation that would begin the moment she walked out the door until after the new year. It was easier to do this year considering her responsibilities had become more analytical than hands on in the field. In the past though, she never minded working on a holiday. There was no reason not to. Crime didn’t stop just because it was Christmas. This year, however, she wanted the time off. She wanted to spend it with her husband.

All she needed to do was finish her report.

On her desk, her cell phone chimed and she picked it up and opened the text message. It was a photo of men’s white boxers with mistletoe just above the button fly. Below it, Hank had written: Should I get them in white or red?

Stella closed her eyes for a moment and shook her head as she chuffed a short laugh through her nose. She texted him back: Doesn’t seem very fair.

Thirty seconds later, there was a photo of thong panties with the same mistletoe printed on the crotch in reply. I’ve heard it’s better to give than receive anyway, he’d written.

Don’t fret, Watson, I’m a believer in equality. I do need to get this report done however, so I can be on my way.

There was no response, so she put her phone down, but a minute later it chimed again. Hank had texted a string of emojis: kissy face, santa, Christmas tree, eggplant, taco, , bed, bathtub, a heart in every color, the Union Jack, an American flag, and then four more eggplants and about ten tacos.

Stella shook her head again, but didn’t respond. A little under an hour later, she was shutting down her computer and gathering her things. She called the car service she frequently used that would reliably pick her up within the next ten minutes and then she put on her coat and gloves. Her satchel was light, only burdened with her laptop and not the usual files to review. She had to pause at the door to reassure herself she wasn’t forgetting anything important.

Christmas music hit her full force when she opened her office door. A young man she recognized as one of the mail clerks was singing a karaoke version of Last Christmas as a group wearing santa hats laughed and shared punch from plastic cups. Stella observed the party with mild amusement as she slowly made her way out of the office.

“Happy Christmas, Ma’am,” one of her first-year detectives waved to her as she passed.

Stella searched for the woman’s name in the recesses of her memory. “Happy Christmas, Fiona,” she replied, giving the detective a brief smile.

“Not staying for the party?”

“I must get home, actually.”

“Have a nice vacation. Delayed honeymoon is it? They tell me you were recently married. Congratulations.”

“Thank you.” Stella adjusted the grip on her satchel, the thought of being the subject of office gossip making her momentarily tense. “Enjoy the party.”

No one else stopped her on the way out. Outside, the air was cool and crisp. A light wind ruffled her hair and stung her cheeks. She stood at the top of the stairs by the entrance for a few moments to acclimate, and then she headed down to wait at the curb. The car arrived a short time later and she nodded her hello to the chauffeur, Nicolá. He’d been driving for her with some regularity for years.

“Headed home, signora?” Nicolá asked, his dark eyes meeting hers in the rearview mirror from under the brim of his hat.

“Yes,” she answered, sinking back into the plush seat and removing her gloves. “Home, please.”

One of the things Stella liked about Nicolá was that he was never one to initiate small talk. He was friendly and polite, but never pried. Sometimes she asked him questions if she needed a distraction, and the conversation was always easy. She knew he was in his late sixties. He and his wife came from Sicily when their five children, four boys and one girl, were very small. His daughter had married last summer. His youngest son was a med student.

Stella gazed at the Christmas lights adorning shops and trees as they drove by. She’d never decorated her home at all, never had a Christmas tree, and never put up lights, though when she was a child, one of her nannies had made green and red paper chains with her to countdown to the holiday. She also vaguely remembered hanging a white stocking on the mantle for several years that was filled with her favorite sweets come Christmas morning. Otherwise, she’d never grown up with any sort of tradition surrounding the holiday.

“What will you do for Christmas, Nicolá?” Stella asked.

“I have a new grandson this year, signora,” he answered.

“Do you?”

“My wife is beside herself with joy. She says she will cook the biggest lasagna ever, but baby Gio, he has not one tooth. I think she is trying to make me fatter than I already am.”

Stella smiled.

“What will you do, signora?”

“I’ll just be spending a few quiet weeks with my husband.”

“Ah, have you married that dark haired American man?”

“I have.”

“That’s a good thing. When he rides with you, you are happier.”

“Am I?”

“Oh, yes. There is a saying, l’amuri è come a tussi, nun si po ammucciari. It means, love is like a cough, impossible to hide. Your American man suffered loud, uncontrollable coughing, clear as glass, but you also. You keep it deep in your chest so no one will hear, but I see it.”

Stella smiled again and she felt it reach her eyes. Nicolá winked at her in the rearview mirror and she turned to the window again, the smile still pulling at her mouth.

“There is another expression,” Nicolá said. “Quannu amuri tuppulìa, 'un lu lassari 'nmenzu la via. It means, when love knocks, be sure to answer.”

They were very near Stella’s townhouse now, only a few blocks and a turn there. Up ahead was the a neighborhood grocery they often ordered from, but that she’d rarely been inside of. The storefront was sweetly decorated with twinkling lights.

“Would you stop here, please?” Stella asked.

Nicolá slowed the car to a stop. Stella pulled her gloves back on and grabbed her satchel.

“I wait here for you, signora?” Nicolá asked.

“Not necessary, I’ll walk from here.” Stella exited the car, but turned back before she shut the door. “Congratulations on the baby.”

“Congratulations on your American. Happy Christmas, signora.”

“Happy Christmas, Nicolá.”

What caught Stella’s eye, the reason she had Nicolá stop the car, was the display of poinsettias outside the entrance of the grocery. They were small and the pots were wrapped in foils of bright green, red, or gold. She touched their red leaves with the tips of her gloved fingers and then chose a pot wrapped in gold and went into the store.

If Christmas had a smell, the front of the store had it. Along with the warmth that hit her was the spicy aroma of cinnamon and pine. She adjusted her hold on the poinsettia, tucking it in the crook of her arm, and picked up a small basket of scented pine cones and then a wreath adorned with holly.

“Need a basket, Miss?” a store clerk asked.

“Please.” Stella placed each item in the basket the clerk offered and then put it over her arm to browse the aisles. She left the store ten minutes later with the poinsettia, the pinecones, the wreath, a box of assorted Turkish Delight, and a bottle of sloe gin.

The bags were cumbersome, but it was a short walk home and she managed. The house was dark, but she called Hank’s name even though it was apparent he wasn’t home. She checked her phone for messages she may have missed, but there was nothing since his texts while she was in the office. In his absence, she hung the wreath on the front door and placed the basket of pine cones on the table in front of the window, next to the poinsettia.

While she was in the store, she’d remembered something from when she was small. Her father had read her A Visit From St. Nicholas while sipping a sloe gin fizz. She was tucked under his arm, snuggled against him, turning the pages since he had to hold the book with one hand and his drink with the other. She’d asked him what sugar plums tasted like and he’d said maybe like Turkish Delight.

Part of Stella considered taking a shower and slipping into her pajamas, but they’d talked about going out for dinner tonight, so she stayed in her slacks and blouse. Out of habit, she nearly pulled her laptop out of her bag, but she stopped herself at the last minute and opened a book instead.

She was two pages deep into an advanced reader that Hank had been sent by his publisher when he came home. There were snowflakes in his hair and on the shoulders of his jacket, which he brushed off at the door.

“It’s snowing?” she asked.

“Starting to,” he answered.

“Certainly cold enough.”

“Yep.” Hank brushed a hand back and forth over his head. A shopping bag dangled from his fingers.

“What’s that you have?”

He lifted the bag slightly and looked at it. “This? Ran into Santa while I was out and he asked me to hold these for you.”

“Presents?”

“You’ve been busy. Look at that, now we have a Christmas tree.”

“A poinsettia hardly qualifies as a Christmas tree.”

“Tree enough.” Hank stepped out of his shoes and crossed the room to the front table. He pulled three small, gift-wrapped boxes out of the bag and placed them wherever he could fit them around and under the potted plant.

“There wouldn’t be a mistletoe g-string in any of those boxes would there?”

“Don’t want to ruin the surprise.”

Stella tossed the book that had been sitting on her lap onto the table as Hank sat down next to her. He tipped himself towards her and ended up with his head in her lap. She slid her fingers through his hair, wetting her hands with lingering snowflakes.

“How was your day, dear?” he asked.

Stella tweaked his ear in response and hank quickly turned his head, nipping at her wrist. She chuckled and took hold of his chin as he leaned up and tried to kiss her, turning her head away at the last second.

“Oh, you’re feisty tonight,” Hank said, flipping around so he hovered over Stella and nuzzled her neck. “Does it have anything to do with this Christmas spirit that’s gotten into you?”

“I was simply feeling in the mood.”

“Mm, in the mood. I like the sound of that.” His nose traveled up the side of her neck and under her ear.

Stella tipped her neck for Hank and rolled her head to the side. One of his hands moved up to the back of her head and his lips grazed the back of her neck on the way down to her shoulder.

“Have you ever had a sloe gin fizz?” Stella asked.

“No, but I’ve had a fast hard fuck. Why do you ask?”

“I was thinking about Christmas earlier. Remembering a year my father had read me A Visit From St. Nick while sipping on a sloe gin fizz.”

“What’s A Visit From St. Nick?”

“‘Twas the night before Christmas, et cetera, et cetera.”

“I’ve got one for you,” Hank said, and his tongue dipped into the teardrop opening at the front of her blouse to lick the hollow of her throat. “‘Twere three nights before Christmas and in each and every room, Hank planned on fucking Stella.”

Hank ended there and cupped one of her breasts as he rocked his hips against hers. She opened the leg towards the outside of the couch to let him sink down between her thighs and leaned back into the arm of the couch.

“And?” she said.

“And what?” he mumbled, rubbing his face down her belly to push her blouse up with his nose.

“What’s the rest of the poem?”

“And so we fuck. The end.”

“Oh, no,” she said, taking his head between both of her hands and pulling his face back up to hers. “I want the rest.”

“Since when is poetry a turn on for you?”

“It isn’t. I’m simply saying you cannot leave a poem unfinished like that.”

“I have better things to do.” He bucked his hips up between her thighs for emphasis.

Truth be told, Stella had been ready and waiting for him since he’d texted that afternoon. Sometimes just the thought of him being home waiting for her could arouse her to the point of angry frustration. But, there were also times when she liked the delayed satisfaction. Liked to toy with him a bit. Liked for him to think he had to work for it.

“I insist,” Stella said.

Hank groaned. “Fine. ‘Twere three nights before Christmas and all Hank wanted to do, was eat out his wife and give her a nice screw.”

As he spoke, his hands moved up and over her body and his head moved further south, but suddenly he came back up and pinned her arms back above her head with a strong grip. He held her wrists close together with both hands, but let go of one to reach down and toy with her waistband before he continued the poem. She left her freed wrist in place.

“He unzips her pants,” Hank whispered, narrating his actions in rhyme. “Quickly unbuttons his own, then slides in two fingers, making her moan.”

“Mm,” Stella grunted slightly, tilting her hips for him as he curled those two fingers inside her. He teased her with slow strokes, all the while managing to work her down until she was flat on her back on the couch, elbows bent so her arms were still above her head and her wrists rested loose on the top of the arm. He had one foot on the ground and one knee between her thighs, pressing her leg open for him.

“More,” she said.

“Thought you wanted it slow and fizzy,” he taunted, withdrawing his fingers only a fraction and softening his touch.

“More of the poem,” she taunted back, even though her muscles clenched and quivered, begging for more of him on their own and making her neediness well known.

“I can keep this up all night,” he said. “Why should I go so fast? I’ve got one question in mind: how long can you last?”

“Shut up and fuck me, Watson.”

Hank jerked his hand up and pressed so deep against her g-spot she gasped. Her toes tingled and curled and her hands closed into fists, but there was nothing to grasp. She was almost there, almost there, if he would just do that again, once more, maybe twice.

“I can feel how close you are,” he said, stilling his hand completely so that she growled at him with gritted teeth. “You’re so wet and glistening, but I won’t let you come until I know that you’re listening.”

Stella arched her back up in protest, trying to force him to move against her. He chuckled quietly and she turned her face away from him, cheeks aflame with how much she needed him to give her release. Out of desperation, and maybe a little bit of revenge, she reached down and drove her hand into his jeans, giving him a hard squeeze in hopes that he’d crumble under the weight of his own desire to be inside her. With his face so close to hers, she could hear him smile.

“You know I do my best work with your hand on my cock, Sherlock.”

Stella groaned.

“In fact, I think I might dedicate my next book to your right hand.”

“Please,” she said, drawing her hand out of his pants to reach up and grip his hair.

Hank’s mouth moved so close to her ear that his breath made her shiver as he whispered, “I need to you know, you’re the love of my life. And how happy I am, that you are my wife.”

He didn’t even move, but Stella shivered with release from only his voice in her ear. He could’ve been smug about it and stopped to congratulate himself, but he didn’t. He withdrew his fingers and sat up a little, tugging on her pants.

“Lift dat ass, babe,” he said.

Stella pushed her hips up and Hank dragged her slacks and panties down her thighs. One of her legs was trapped between him and the back of the couch, but that didn’t stop him. He managed to finagle her pants past one of her knees and that was enough. She was already reaching for him when he pushed his own jeans off his hips and that was enough for her as well.

With practiced ease, Hank drove into her. His sticky fingers clutched her thigh to bring her leg up higher even as she hooked it up and over his hip. He paused for a few moments, just to kiss her, to sweep his tongue into her mouth and to take a few panting breaths against her lips. She kissed him back, and then pulled his head up by his hair to look into his eyes.

“And I heard him exclaim,” he panted, snapping his hips into hers in increasing momentum. “As he fucked his bride dizzy, Merry Christmas to all, and that’s what we call slow and fizzy. Fuck, I’m gonna come.”

Hank’s thrusts grew slower and deeper until he dropped his head and groaned into Stella’s shoulder. His body grew heavier on top of her and she reveled in the feeling of it. The sedate happiness she experienced in that moment felt like Christmas to her.

“I love you,” she said.

Hank lifted himself up just enough to brace his arm on the back of the couch and look down at her. “I know,” he said. “Merry Christmas, Sherlock.”

“Happy Christmas, Watson.”

The End

#i wrote this #hanella #sherlock and watson do Christmas #Christmas smut

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careerbitespod · 3 years

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Episode 2 Transcript: (NURSE) Turning Setbacks into Success with Kim Ceccarelli

Rachael Barksdale: Welcome to the Career Bites podcast where we make career exploration easy - and fun! This week, I explore a career that has been front and center in this pandemic - nursing. I am so fortunate that my guest took time out of her busy schedule to speak with me, given that she is not only a full-time nurse, but also a mother to a toddler and expecting her second! Kim Ceccarelli is a progressive care unit (PCU) nurse in Oregon, but the path to get there wasn’t an easy one - and for Kim, the journey isn’t over yet. I hope her story will inspire you to persevere as you embark on your own path. Here’s my conversation with Kim.

A lot of people are watching the news and seeing all of these nurses talk about the COVID situation and personally, having worked with a lot of nurses when I had my first kid almost a year ago - nursing is really intense! I personally super admire anybody who’s a nurse or wants to be a nurse because I know I don’t have what it takes. Why did you choose to go into nursing?

Kim Ceccarelli: So the starting point, I mean in high school I always had like, you know, that career that I wanted to get into. But I never understood why I wanted to be in it. I just knew that it was something that I really liked being a part of because I always volunteered at the hospitals. My first volunteer gig was at the - like in the medical ICU at Madigan which is on the Fort Lewis military base back home in Tacoma. And I just always admired the work ethic, the way they interacted with patients, just how sharp they were, too, and just how much the doctors and the pharmacists always turned to them. But then it’s like, I always admired them but then I wasn’t sure, like what is it about me that could contribute to this area? And then the turning point happened while I was in college, still trying to figure out my path. I bounced around a little because life was happening, and one of those major life events was that my grandmother who - who lived with us - she was having issues with small strokes and whatnot, but she had the big one while I was on holiday break. And that scared the...the dickens out of me and...but you know, high school because I had to work in a hospital as a volunteer, I had like CPR skills and whatnot, but I just turned her to her side because she was having the stroke, and eventually she had a seizure, which I didn’t know all that connected at the time, and had to call 9-1-1. And that was a really scary situation, you know, having a personal loved one go through that. And again, it was the nurses in the emergency room who calmed us down, and her down, as well as my mother who was sobbing tears, you know. It was the nurses - after the doctors explained things in confusing medical lingo, that the nurses made more sense about like what the imaging was, what medications they were giving, how long she might be there. And then it was the nurses who, eventually when my grandmother went into hospice, they took such good care of her toward the end of her life that just being involved with it even just indirectly, like on a personal level now, was like “I want to be that for other people”. And so, I persisted and - but that was kind of why I chose to be a nurse.

Rachael: Wow, that is super inspiring. And, what a crazy way to get into that, to have your grandmother have that experience.

Kim: Mm-hm.

Rachael: That’s scary, but sometimes it’s those really intense life moments that push us down a certain path. So, you mentioned some of those things that nurses did, they were the ones that explained what was going on in terms you could understand, they were the ones that were comforting...If I were to shadow you during one of your shifts, what are some of the things that I would be experiencing?

Kim: We work 12-hour shifts, maybe other places do 10 or eight, but mainly in the hospital it's a 12-hour shift. We see you first thing in the morning. We’ll take your vital signs that range from your blood pressure, charting down your heart rate, measuring your respiration - so as you’re talking, we will not tell you that we’re measuring how much you’re breathing but we’ll do it very discreetly - we’ll check your blood sugar if that’s what we have to do. And then we kind of just do, like a little mini assessment, like head to toe, ask you your pain levels and whatnot, ask if you slept well if you were there overnight. And then just kind of review as to why you’re in the hospital because it’s always good to know what got you there in the first place. And I have a lot of patients, too, that don’t understand why they’re in the hospital either because of old age or they’re altered because of whatever their condition brought them in for, so we kind of just have that routine to kind of go over like “where is the patient at?” And so after I do my assessments, I usually check-out meds. Typically we have like these 8 or 9 o’clock medications that need to be given - that’s either stuff that they’ve been taking at home if they were taking, you know, maintenance medication, and anything new like that brought them there that they have new orders for, medications for. I’m always seeing how the patient’s doing, seeing if they have the strength to even sit up on the edge of the bed, if they can even swallow or drink well, if they can even take their medications at all. We are like a stroke unit too, as well, so I’m always trying to ensure their safety and make sure they don’t choke on their pills. And then a big chunk of my time lately is charting. At least for my unit, we have to chart like every four hours, and then even more frequently if we’re monitoring the trajectory for a stroke, or if they just got out of surgery usually it’s like every 30 minutes to an hour, just depends on what they’re there for and what kinds of protocols and procedures are in place for that kind of thing for charting. I’m always on the phone, too, if I’m not in a patient room, either mediating care with the nurse managers, the care coordinators. Sometimes these patients’ primary care clinics give us a call for an update. Sometimes I’m talking to hospice organizations if the patient is going that route. Then, I’m talking to the physicians, I’m talking to all the therapists - physical, speech and occupational - just asking how the patient’s doing. I’m talking to all of the imaging departments because we have to coordinate times for x-rays and CTs and MRIs, all that kind of stuff and...I feel like I’m always mediating when I’m not in a patient room. And sometimes, depending on family dynamics, I’m talking to a handful of family members who are okay to get information, because we do have confidentiality laws, but I mean if I’m able to talk to a family member - if it’s okay with the patient or if they’re a power of attorney. Some families like to call throughout the day and some just want a quick update first thing in the morning. I mean all that makes for a really busy day. Then you get things like, that blindside you, like codes or rapid responses, or just like a change in health status that takes all of my attention.

Rachael: It sounds like you don’t have any down time whatsoever, which I think for some people is great, they want to be busy. And that’s good to know for some people that - they’re considering nursing but they need those breaks. I mean you’re going 12 hours straight. How often do you do your 12-hour shifts in a week?

Kim: Yeah, so, I mean, if you’re 12-hour shifts in a hospital typically it’s three days a week. You can have those either all consolidated into three days in a row which is very tiring, but I mean, if you’re young and you can do it - kudos. But even at 30 I’m like “oh my gosh I am so exhausted”. And usually that first day off after three days, which is like 36 hours in three days, but then you account for like, you know, getting to work and staying late sometimes because of charting, or like something happened at the end of the shift. Sometimes it is 40 hours in three days.

Rachael: Wow.

Kim: Which some people don’t seem to understand when they’re like “oh yeah, you only work three days a week that must be really nice” but if you have all those days clumped together, which a lot of hospitals make you do, it’s...it’s rough.

Rachael: Right, it’s just the super-concentrated work week, that’s what it is.

Kim: Oh yeah. I mean, I will say, a lot of my lulls happen like at 2 or 3 o’clock. And I will say also that I’m super fortunate that I’m part of a hospital that has a union that fought for breaks. Breaks are legal, we’re supposed to have your three 15-minute breaks and a one 30-minute break. Some places don’t necessarily do that. I’m not going to, like, name-call or anything, but that’s kind of the consensus in nursing that people just go without their breaks, and that that’s just normal. But that’s not normal and it’s not safe for patient-care or for nursing staff. Yeah, luckily I am in a union that fought to add an extra nursing position to have what we call a “break relief nurse”. So I - I fortunately get all of my breaks. So that makes a huge difference in my day.

Rachael: That’s awesome.

Kim: I feel really grateful to have that.

Rachael: One of the questions I had written down here to ask was how you felt about these ongoing concerns, you know way before COVID pushed every hospital to the limit, about the nursing profession at large having nurses overworked and underpaid, culturally kind of under-appreciated. They’re sort of the teachers of the...of the medical profession, you know, they’re completely essential and yet, unfortunately, disregarded in a lot of ways. I guess, do you want to elaborate on...on your thoughts on that or how you’re seeing the situation from the inside?

Kim: Even before I started working as a nurse, during my clinicals in the two years - two, three years before becoming one - yeah, I just wondered, like, when is my preceptor going to have her break? Like, what’s in place? You go 12 and a half hours almost, thirteen or fourteen depending on what goes on, and I’m like, “this shouldn’t be a culture that’s accepted like this”. We need to feel more appreciated by management. So, I mean, it’s hit or miss, I haven’t worked at a place that doesn’t have a union or - I mean, most of the area hospitals in my, in my state do have unions except for maybe one, but breaks and management of relief for these nurses is pretty standard or at least it’s trying to be the standard. But no, I just, I just don’t think like that culture of not having your breaks and going for 12 hours straight should be accepted and I...I definitely signed the papers to, you know, have that be considered in a contract of ours at work. So it takes a lot of advocating and fighting for ourselves to make sure that we get that respect and those breaks.

Rachael: For sure. So nursing, again, this really intense profession, takes a lot of your time, what would you say would be the top three attributes for someone who’s successful as a nurse?

Kim: One is you need to have a strong backbone. Not all patients are very nice. They will say really mean things to us. Sometimes they don’t even want to be there because maybe a family member brought them in out of concern, or they didn’t understand why they were going because they’re so confused. And you know, in altered states some people can be really combative and whatnot. But we have to have a really strong backbone to just not take those kinds of things personally. Some people are just really sick so they just say some really mean things because they’re vulnerable, and we have to realize that. And so I always say, like, you have to meet the patient where they’re at. So that’s why I do that little review at the start of my shift, which includes introducing myself and reviewing their course of care, and what to expect for the day. And then, second is to never act like you know it all because nursing is an ongoing learning process. And even though I precept and train new hires, or new graduate nurses, like three years into this, I - I still feel like I’m always learning, even new procedures alongside the doctor like just - supplies, I’m like “oh, I’ve never heard of that kind of catheter or whatever” - but it was a preference for a physician and that makes the procedure go easier like for paracenteses and whatnot. Yeah, so it’s always being willing to learn, too, and always accepting advice even from older and newer nurses just to receive their input, because I feel like you’re not going to go anywhere if you’re not willing to learn more. And then another attribute is - I know you mentioned earlier that nurses are underpaid or - but it depends on where you work, hospitals do get the highest pay and such - but that’s not what influenced why...and so we should always reflect and acknowledge that getting into nursing is so much more than just the pay. But it’s because you legitimately want to care for the people that are kind of under your wing. And because they’re going to be from all stages of life, all walks of life, they’ll be at a different stage in, like, their illness either toward the end of life or maybe they just found out something, you want to have the compassion and the empathy for people who are going through these trying times. Especially now in light of COVID.

Rachael: I’m going to take a step back then and let’s talk about how you got to nursing in the first place. We talked a little bit about this before the call, about your unorthodox education path to get to this point, so walk us through that. After high school, what path did you take and what did you learn after going through that process?

Kim: Yeah, for sure. So like I said before our call started, I went and did, you know, the four-year college route, because, you know, that’s all that was kind of ingrained into us in high school, like “go to a four-year college”. So I went. I discovered that I’m not a really great person with studying or I didn’t have like a really good study ethic cemented for myself. Life also happened, like I said, when I was a sophomore in college my grandmother had that stroke. So I was in and out of the university campus helping my mom set my grandma up for, you know, the different areas of healthcare that she needed, like hospice and dealing with the emotions of that. So life happens. I ended up getting a degree out of Gonzaga in psychology because that’s what I ended up changing my major to. It was nursing at the time, but because of life I had to change it. And I actually had an advisor that told me that because of one low grade that I shouldn’t be a nurse. So even though I had, like you know, that turning point in my life that inspired me to become a nurse, I also had someone who told me not to. And that was - that was me saying “I - I’m not going to listen to that”. Why would an advisor say, “you shouldn’t be what you’ve always wanted to be”? So that was definitely a driving force too, but you know I persisted because it was really truly what I wanted. And I - after Gonzaga I had to take a few prerequisites just to kind of, you know, get that A-grade or to really solidify my knowledge in that area, especially anatomy and physiology. And then applying to nursing school was a whole other ball game. Nursing schools are very competitive. They usually have really really large application pools for a small cohort. For example, the school that I eventually got into, there were 600 applications the year that I applied, but they only took, like, 80 students. Which feels like a lot, but out of 600 applicants that’s not a lot. And the applicants for these nursing schools, it’s just so large at any of the schools that you look into and so...It took a couple years to get into this program, but again, persistence was the name of the game for me and I was like “I am not giving up”. So in that time that I had to reapply, and ever since I got out of Gonzaga, I knew how important it was to start working directly with patients. So I worked in assisted living facilities, I worked in skilled nursing homes, I worked with patients in memory care - and honestly, the care that my grandmother received inspired me to look into these areas so I understood what she was going through when she eventually had to be out of the home. Yeah, so I went through to do a two-year associate's degree. A two-year associate’s degree still allowed me to sit for the national licensure exam, called the NCLEX. That in itself was a - that was a doozy and I spent like seven weeks straight just studying and honing my ability to take tests. Because that’s really what it is, it’s like how well can you take a test? The information you learn in school was honestly enough to help you take the exam, but you really had to hone in your test-taking skills with that. I got licensed on my first try. You hear as nurses that “oh, someone passed it the, like you know, the minimum amount of questions”, which is 75, like their thing shut-off. Because I have to work extra hard at everything I do I feel like, I finished at like 115 questions. And the exam can let you take as many as like 250 questions for this licensure exam - so I felt good, and you know, it was a really hard two or three days to wait, but I got - I got licensed by the state of Oregon and I was extremely happy with myself. All that hard work of, you know, working and being rejected initially, my - my grandmother’s passing, like all that really culminated into that one moment where I read the email saying “Congrats! You are now a licensed nurse”. It was a very tearful and joyful moment. But I still pressed on, like even though I just got licensed I felt like I didn’t really have time to celebrate because I was looking for a job. And then even after I started a job I still needed to get a Bachelor’s of Science in Nursing because that was kind of the minimum degree to have in hospitals especially. So...and I wanted to make sure, you know, I covered all my bases. So my first year that I was working I worked nights, three times a week for the 12-hour shifts, and at the same time I was attending an RN to BSN program at Oregon Health and Science University. That was for an entire year, so three-quarters - I got my holiday breaks and whatnot. And that focus was very different from my associate’s degree. My associate’s degree was very hands-on learning, was more about pathophysiology, pharmacology, how to do assessments, like things to look for, like practically basically. But OHSU taught me about more in-depth on nursing leadership, epidemiology, community health concerns and that kind of stuff - which I really liked. Some people maybe were like “oh, that’s not very different from like the ADN” but I really thought that that helped me hone in my critical thinking skills as a registered nurse, and I was very appreciative of having that opportunity to go to OHSU. Because the nice thing is this RN to BSN program partnered with my community college and seven others in the area that allowed associate’s degree nurses to transition to this program without having to competitively apply. So it was like a nice, seamless transition to a BSN program so that we could get more BSN graduates in the workforce. Because they - there was something from the Institute of Medicine or whatnot that said that they’re trying to get like a certain percentage of nurses with their BSNs in an effort to improve patient care. Which I think is cool, so that’s nice to have in our area and I feel very lucky to have that.

Rachael: To clarify, you don’t need to have your bachelor’s degree to become a nurse, you only need to have a two-year degree and pass the licensure exam, correct?

Kim: Mm-hm, basically. And an associate’s program can let you do that. But the hold-up is is that most hospitals, or most health systems, they’re trying to phase that out almost so they’re trying to make the minimum requirement to even apply to have a bachelor’s degree. Which it makes it confusing because it’s like “well, why do we have all these associate’s degree programs?” But one, it’s inexpensive compared to like a four-year college that offers a BSN, and it honestly I feel like it makes it have better access to nursing, just getting the education that way.

Rachael: So you mentioned you went right into a four-year degree program and that didn’t work for you...Would you recommend to potential future nursing students to go the associate’s degree route?

Kim: If time and money are important factors I would say, bring out the money if you know exactly what you want at 18, to go for that four-year degree. But if, like, money is an issue then going the community college route to get like your prereqs done and finding a program that has a nursing school, like an associate’s degree nursing program, to go that route, just to save money. It really depends on what your priorities are and what your financial capabilities are, too, to going to school - because no one wants to have loans. So you have to do what’s best for you financially too. And a bachelor’s program I’ve found, some people - the ones that I’ve gone to school with - was a little harder to look into because I felt like they wouldn’t be able to get the childcare, whereas the community college I went to, they provided childcare whilst kids were in class. There was an on-campus kind of, like, childcare program that was available. So it really depends…

Rachael: Do you have other future education or career aspirations going forward?

Kim: Even when I got my associate’s degree my sisters always joked with me that I will forever be in school or aspire to forever be in school. Which is kind of funny and true at the same time. Because I really do want to get the highest terminal degree and get that satisfaction of saying that I did it and that I’m doing this for myself, but I’m also doing it for my patients and the care that I provide. So I actually have a couple applications out to area nurse practitioner programs, and specifically I want to be an adult gerontology nurse practitioner in primary care. I love my hospital gig, I love everything about it: I love the people I work with, I love the patient population...18 and over. So that’s been, like, my niche and the area I thrive in. But a lot of the care that I provide is very reactive. I see them, you know, while they’re at their sickest and then when they’re - when they’re well enough to go home or stable, like I have no idea what happens after that. And that’s kind of the piece of healthcare that I’m like, “well, how are they doing?” Like, I want to know how they’re doing. And so what kind of influenced the whole nurse practitioner route was that I want to be a provider that helps people stay out of the hospital and help them manage with proper education and follow ups to help them manage, you know, their chronic conditions like whether it be diabetes or cardiac issues or whatnot. You know, help them manage it at home and give them the power to be able to manage it. And so that’s kind of what sparked that, just the whole reactive process in the hospital, and then...I just don’t feel...fulfilled not knowing how they’re doing after that discharge day. And then you also wonder - or I’ve also wondered - “why does this same patient keep coming back for the same thing (recurrence in like a heart failure exacerbation)?” Like are they not taking meds? Is there no access to their meds? Do they - can they not get to their primary care physician, because are they too far? Or do they have transportation issues? Like all those things really, like, buzz around my head: “why is this patient here?” The hospital’s great, we do our job, but you’re only in the hospital because you’re very, very sick. And I feel like management outside of the hospital is super-duper important, for all of our health.

Rachael: I feel like that just goes to show how much you care about what you do as a nurse and just who you are as a person that those considerations cross your mind and inspire you to be the best nurse and the best healthcare professional possible so…

Kim: Mm-hm.

Rachael: That’s super inspiring for me, personally, just to know that you care so much that you want to be the best that you can, not necessarily just for yourself but for others as well. If there was one piece of advice you would give a high school student, whether they are looking into nursing or not, about adulting and choosing a career path, what would that piece of advice be?

Kim: Honestly, with getting into the career that I’m in now, getting your feet wet and working right away, whether it be in any capacity, to get into a medical field. There are a lot of certificate programs out there and places that even you could volunteer in as a high schooler. It’s really important to get your feet wet so that you understand and know what you’re getting into, and see how you interact and just how you do with other people at their worst. Is that something you could handle? The blood-and-guts thing is also one factor. I have had people who’ve shadowed me and they’re like “I can’t do this. I can’t deal with the needles, I can’t deal with that”. So it’s like always getting your feet wet and just kind of diving in. Like, don’t say “oh I want to be this” without the experience or the knowledge or the capacity to handle it, so I always say get your feet wet in whatever capacity you can either through work, either through volunteering, career interviewing, what have you, anything. Always reach out. And I feel like a lot of primary care offices are really good places to start, like if you have a primary care physician. Just even asking the nurses who work there, or the medical assistants, anything to get started.

Rachael: That was Kim Ceccarelli, PCU nurse. To learn more about becoming a nurse, check out our show notes. Subscribe to and rate Career Bites podcast on your favorite listening platform. Follow us on Instagram @careerbitespod, or like us on Facebook. Join us next Monday as we sample another career with an everyday professional.

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