#I’m so ready to be done with this clinical placement | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aisha-ot · 1 year

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Hi there, and welcome to my first ever blog post on my Occupational Therapy experience as a third year student.

This first blog post is going to be one of many steps in my journey to finding myself as an occupational therapist. Along the way we’ll be looking at my experiences at my hospital placement which is at King Edward Hospital as well as my emotional and psychological growth and development throughout the weeks. There may be some turbulence along the way but I can assure you that this flight is going to reach its destination come rain or shine.

Let’s begin by taking a look at my first week at King Edward Hospital. As I’ve been told many times before my anxiety is written on my face so let’s picture 3rd year student Aisha walking into hospital looking absolutely terrified. Walking into an unfamiliar place with the pressure of needing to understand both assessment and treatment for the first time can be a lot to handle. There’s also the added pressure of needing to cope and do well under real life circumstances with real patients which can be very daunting at first. However, despite the anxiety, I can also say I was quite excited to be stepping into a new environment ready to learn and grow. Along with being in a new environment I was also exposed to meeting new people within the Occupational Therapy field. This includes the OT’s in the department as well as the students completing their com serve and last but certainly not least my new supervisor Ms S. Correct me if I’m wrong but when I said supervisor I’m sure you immediately assumed the worst. Don’t worry, I did too. But I can gladly say that my assumptions were exceptionally wrong. Ms S’s first meeting with us at the hospital went much better than I expected. Although Ms S is going to be assessing and evaluating us on our demo’s and presentations and judging our clinical performance it was a huge pressure lifted off my shoulders after the first meeting with her as she explained that she is here to guide us and help us learn and that she wants to be the supervisor she’s always wanted. She clearly went through all the expectations of the students and the supervisor and she cleared up all confusion. Every day you can feel the tension in the room dissolve throughout our meetings which is honestly a lovely start to the day and a great way to ease the clear panic that’s written on all our faces.

Moving onto assessments. As OT’s we need to assess a wide range of client factors and performance skills of our clients in order to determine which aspects need improvement and to determine which occupations the clients deem meaningful so that we can build on those during the treatment sessions and improve their overall functioning and independence. Throughout second year we focused only on assessments meaning we should have been quite confident when assessing our clients. However, prior to meeting my client I was worried on how I was going to get all the information from him in a short span of time and upon meeting my client and finding out that he was in critical condition my anxiety skyrocketed. My initial interview and informal assessment sessions went well and I gathered as much information as possible despite the communication difficulty. However, once it came to the formal assessment session I was very nervous. This is when Ms S swoops in and saves the day as she called us into one of the OT rooms to observe her assess a patient and we could assist her along the way as well. I somehow volunteered to assist in transferring the patient from the wheelchair to the plinth even though I’d never done it on a patient before but looking back I’m so glad I gathered up the courage to assist as it gave me a chance to practice and learn being fully hand on with a patient. After that session, despite still being a little nervous, I was more confident on how to go into the formal assessment session with my client. I mustered up as much confidence as I could and assessed my client to the best of my ability and in my opinion I can say that the session went pretty well. Of course there are always troubles and problems along the way. In my case, my client was seriously critical. He was constantly groaning in pain and sometimes refused to carry out a task due to the pain and due to his severe cough and chest and abdominal issues.

After looking at my assessment findings and getting to know my patient better, I decided to carry out a treatment session that focused on a basic ADL of eating which incorporated transfers and mobility into the session. In OT we have something called Applied Frames of Reference’s (AFR’s) which uses different theories to guide therapists in evaluating, assessing and treating our patients. I’ve attached a link below for those that want to get a better understanding into exactly what AFR’s are and how they work. I have to be completely honest here and say that I did not know how to apply my AFR’s as well as I should and I did not know how important they were until we started to look at treatment this year when I noticed what a big role it plays in developing a treatment session. When getting feedback from Ms S on my treatment write up I was shocked to see how unaware I was of just how important AFR’s and models are in understanding how to assess and treat my patient. It came to my realization that if I been exposed to them more and did my own work behind the basics that were taught I would have been able to improve greatly, not only with this years treatment write up but also looking at last years assessment block. Going forward, I know now to always reference my AFR and to dig deeper into understanding the why of what is being assessed and treated in order to further improve my occupational therapy service to my clients daily. It can be hard seeing so many markings on your work that you thought would’ve done well but I can gladly say that I love constructive criticism and I try to improve to the best of my ability which is exactly what I will be doing for the rest of today once I get my very well-deserved nap in.

Although as stated before, I was quite excited to jump into things last week. This week came as more of a slow start seeing as Mondays prac was cancelled due to striking. I was extremely tired and quite honestly not in the mood to wake up early this morning and head to prac. However, once I managed to get myself there and after seeing my friends all ready to take on the day I felt myself ease up and feel more lively. The meeting with Ms S this morning also helped to clear my head and organize everything that needed to be done for this week and the next. So on we go to begin our treatment session with our original client and our next assessment session with another client.

*Alert: bad news incoming*

Unfortunately my client passed away earlier this week and I was unable to carry out my treatment session. It’s a very strange feeling having a client pass away and it may be difficult to understand but it’s heartbreaking for me as a therapist to know that my client had so much potential but he is no longer here to fulfill those treatment goals. As occupational therapists you look into the life of your client and gain an understanding into who he is and where they come from etc. which is why it is a tough pill to swallow knowing your client has passed. Seeing as this is the first time I’ve experienced a client passing away I was unaware of how I should feel and move forward which is why I turned to trust ole Google to research the effects and way forward after a patient passes. One of the points I read was to take time, even just a moment, to yourself and to talk with your peers to allow yourself to process the situation (Paul, 2021). Which is exactly what I did, I stepped out of the ward after finding out about my clients passing just to take a breath and process the information. I then went to my friends from my group to let them know and found comfort in their words. If there’s anyone reading this that’s facing a patient passing away, I’ve attached a link to the post for you to read and hopefully it’ll help you too.

Studying OT also means you turn into an OT nerd and I remember scrolling through Ot quotes last year to find the motivation to work hard. I remember coming across a quote that said “You treat a disease: you win, you lose. You treat a person: I guarantee you win — no matter what the outcome.” By Dr Hunter played by Robin Williams from a movie called Patch Adams. It really made me realize that despite my patient passing I know as an OT I treated him as a person and I know that I added even a speck of hope or joy in his life prior to his passing.

Despite being a little sad and down, I decided that I am not taking this as a bowling ball that just knocked me down. Instead, I am using this as a learning experience and pushing forward to focus on meeting and assessing my new patient which was done today and will hopefully be used as my client for my case study. This client is not as critical as the previous client however there are complications to her assessment due to her post stroke impairments and since she is quite old but after learning so much last week and from today as well I’m ready to face the next session with as much confidence and skill as I can.

In conclusion, as you can clearly see there was a bit of turbulence on the first leg of this journey. However, I’m ready to head into the next part of the trip with new skills, a newfound confidence in the field and a little chant in my head screaming “AFR’s, AFR’s, AFR’s” as I go along with the rest of me sessions. I hope you enjoyed my reflection into the past week and todays session and I look forward to traveling with you again soon. See you next week ;)

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thejakeformerlyknownasprince · 4 years

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The gang on their wedding days

[Been meaning to post this one for a while — since I’m applying to get married today, now seems like the time.]

Jake steps into the room like a child wandering into his parents’ dinner party. His bow tie is askew, seams of his jacket misaligned for all that it’s a custom-tailored tuxedo. If the buttons of his shirt aren’t one hole off from their intended placement, they still manage to convey that impression from across the room.

Rachel feels a rush of affection for him, her first best friend. The boy who’d run and fought and splashed through mud with her, back before adults started telling her to be careful of her dress and him to be careful of her. Only he could show up to his own wedding looking like he’s ready to be expelled at any moment. Only Jake.

And yes, she gets mushy at weddings. Sue her.

Tom steps up next to Jake, far more elegant in an off-the-rack suit. Some people actually got the fashionable genes in this family.

Rachel surges across the room. Tom gets a quick hug, and then she turns all her attention on Jake.

“You only have to look nice for the next three hours,” she tells him briskly.

“Three. Hours,” Jake repeats.

With expert motions she realigns his… everything, until at the very least the clothes are sitting the way the tailor intended. She tries to finger-comb his hair, thankful for the heels that put her at an inch above his height, but it’s obvious that he has also been running his hands through it and the style is hopelessly deformed.

“You can survive anything for three hours,” Rachel says as she does all this. “I’ve seen you do it.”

“But if I mess it up—”

“Then stop, go back, and do whatever it is over. We’re not exactly on a time pressure, here. Nobody’s gonna die if you trip at the altar or forget your lines.”

“Okay.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets, deforming his jacket again. “Okay.”

She can see him starting to relax as he glances around, shoulders coming down. Cassie’s place isn’t quite like they remember — it’s been repaired since the war, the Wildlife Rehabilitation Clinic expanded to nearly five times its original size — but it still feels as close to home as any place does.

“Have a glass of water,” Rachel says.

“But what if I have to pee during the ceremony?”

She rolls her eyes. “Babysit him,” she mouths at Tom.

Tom gives her a gesture in response that approximates What do you think I’ve BEEN doing? Whether he means the last four hours or the last twenty-six years is, really, a moot point.

Rachel leaves him to it, and charges off to go check on the others.

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

Marco leans against a tent pole, trying to roll one of the rings across his fingers the way Vegas poker players do with chips. So far it’s not going well.

“Canapé,” Ax is saying carefully. He attempts to lean next to Marco, nearly going all the way over. “Can-nap-peee?”

“Uh, no.” Marco catches the ring as it makes its third or fourth bid for freedom, stuffing it back into his pocket. “That…” He tilts his champagne flute to point. “…is a canopy. Or a chuppah, I guess. Canopee. Canapay is the little pastry thing you’ve already filched in bulk, don’t think I didn’t notice.”

“Ah,” Ax says. And then, “This temperature and rate of precipitation is within optimal survival parameters for humans, is it not?”

“Nuh-uh, Ax-Man, I will not be pulled in by your smooth small-talk skills.”

“Did you not wish to make conversation?” Ax frowns. And then he stuffs another canapé in his mouth. “This is making conversation,” he adds through the mouthful.

Marco squints. “Is it, though?”

“It is indeed. Did you know that the rotating-wheel can opener was patented in 1870?”

Marco’s response to that one gets cut off when Rachel comes charging across the open tent space like a small freight train. Tobias is balanced on her shoulder, flaring slightly as she runs. She yanks the champagne flute out of his hand. Marco makes a squeak of protest, but Rachel just sets it firmly on a bussing tray and turns back to glare at him.

“What did we agree?” she asks sternly.

Marco rolls his eyes. “That I’d stay sober-ish for the toast, and not do anything too embarrassing.”

“You’re the best man. You have one job, Marco.”

“Excuse you, the best man’s one job was that banger of a bachelor-slash-ette party we did Wednesday night. Did you like the part where we all dived out of a helicopter and flew clear through the lower atmosphere to that rooftop bar? Because—”

“So you got the drinking out of your system. You promised.”

“Sober-ish, come on, it’s just one wine-spritzer-thing!”

Rachel turns away from him, looking Ax over. “You realize you’re going to have to demorph and remorph at some point before the ceremony, right?” she asks. “And that when you do, someone’s going to have to go through the whole kit and caboodle of getting you into that tux all over again?”

“Yes,” Ax says. “Yes, I do.”

She stares at him. He stares back, looking as innocent as it is possible to look while also chewing three jalapeño pastries at the same time.

«You should probably just listen to her,» Tobias suggests. «By the way, where’s your date? Not that I quake in fear for the wedding cake or anything, but, uh…»

“Menderash has been instructed not to eat anything on a human plate without seeking my opinion first,” Ax says, somewhat stiffly.

“Yeah,” Marco says. “So far he’s only eaten two earthworms, a candle, some decorative sand, and part of Collette’s bouquet. You two have nothing to worry about.”

“Part of Collette’s bouquet?” Rachel demands. “We can’t send a bridesmaid up the aisle without—”

“Already replaced it, I am on top of this.” Marco flips his hair back from his face. “I am a flower master.”

«So where is Menderash now?» Tobias asks.

“Helping Cassie’s mom,” Marco explains.

«And Cassie’s mom is…?»

“Delivering a baby cow.”

Rachel makes a noise like she’s choking on air. “Doesn’t Michelle have vet techs for that kind of thing? She’s supposed to be getting ready, not, not…”

“It’s cool,” Marco says. “She’s got her makeup on, her hair is done perfectly, she’s got an apron-thing to keep her dress nice and gloves over her nails, it was a breech birth so they needed a real doctor and Walter was busy supervising the caterers, she’s got Menderash and Steve helping her out—”

“She kidnapped Jake’s dad?” Rachel demands overtop the continuing babble.

“He said he had never delivered an offspring outside of his own species before, and expressed deep curiosity on the subject,” Ax offers. “Menderash is a certified medic with andalite training, so they should be well-equipped to assist.”

Marco makes jazz hands in the air. “It’s a free pre-dinner show! Cow birth. Better than icebreakers.”

There’s a very long pause. Rather than dignify that with a response, Rachel turns and stalks away.

Marco watches her go, halfway awed at her ability to navigate an open yard so well while not only wearing six-inch heels and a multi-layer floor-length dress, but also balancing an enormous updo on top of her head and a red-tailed hawk on her left shoulder.

“Is it just me, or did Jake and Cassie make a monster when they asked her to be maid of honor?” Marco says.

«You wanna take over her responsibilities, then?»

Of course Tobias heard that. Stupid hawk hearing.

“No thank you!” Marco yells after them.

Cassie, meanwhile, is currently picking her way across the open space under the tent, bunches of dress hiked up to above her knees. This last is, of course, the source of Rachel’s consternation.

“Here.” Rachel attempts to pull the wads of skirt out of Cassie’s hands and drop them back to the ground. “You’re going to wrinkle it.”

Cassie stubbornly refuses to let go. “You told me not to let it drag on the ground. If I let it down, it’ll drag.”

“Cassie, Cassie. That is a hand-tailored Christian Dior gown that I commissioned to be custom-fitted to your measurements. There is no way that it is too long if you let it…”

Cassie drops the bunches of tulle. The end of the skirt falls all the way down, where the bottom two inches rest, unmistakably, on the muddy ground.

Rachel somehow manages to wince with her entire body while also not moving at all.

«It’s a look,» Tobias suggests, by way of consolation. «Kind of.»

“How…?” Rachel peers closer at Cassie. “Wait, where are your shoes?”

Cassie shrugs, embarrassed. “Uh, inside somewhere. I was having trouble balancing in them.”

“Well that’s why!” Rachel’s emphatic gesture almost dislodges Tobias. With years’ experience, he dodges her waving arm and retains his perch. “The dress was tailored to fit you with shoes on.”

“They were getting stuck in the grass—”

“They’re kitten heels!”

“Yeah, and they’re still heels.” Cassie looks stuck somewhere between amusement and embarrassment. “I don’t really do heels. Sorry.”

“Hey Tobias?” Rachel says, as if to thin air.

«Nuh-uh, leave me out, I want no part in—»

“Remember me telling Cassie that we should really try the whole outfit on before the wedding?”

«Uh. Yes?»

“Do you also remember Cassie agreeing to it, and then the day of, haring off to go try and save a bunch of vultures instead? Remember how we tried to reschedule, and there was that ALF mission on the same day so she never showed? Remember that?”

Cassie clears her throat loudly. “I think it’s a very nice dress. It’s fluffy and also comfortable, and look!” She tucks her hands away. “It has pockets.”

«Vultures are actually fundamental for waste disposal in ecosystems all over the world, and the poisons used on livestock—»

“Do you think you could at least wear the shoes long enough to go up the aisle?” Rachel asks. “And maybe even for a few photos as well?”

“Uh. I’ll try.” Cassie hikes her skirt back up (Rachel full-body winces again) and starts picking her way across the lawn back toward the house.

“There’s no way I’m going to be able to un-wrinkle it in time,” Rachel mutters.

«Yep. So you’re just going to have to live with it.»

“I hate living with it.”

«Wanna go check on whatever monstrosity of a replacement bouquet Marco probably inflicted on Collette?»

“Fine, fine.”

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

Cassie walks up the aisle in a custom-tailored gown, an edelweiss and valerian flower crown, and slightly muddy Timberland work boots. The sole on the boots is apparently tall enough that the skirt does, not, in fact, drag on the ground or get tangled in her feet.

«Somewhere out there,» Tobias comments, «Christian Dior is crying into an overpriced silk handkerchief and doesn’t even know why.»

Marco has never more deeply felt the utter unfairness of Tobias being able to use thought-speak while human, because they’re currently standing at the front of the aisle and he can’t even respond.

But Rachel should still count this one as a win. The gown looks stunning on Cassie, lacy and princess-ruffled while also having the kind of practical cut that allows her freedom of movement. And, Marco notes with a smirk, freedom to wear her morphing leotard underneath; the purple spandex is just visible peeking out from underneath the white silk neckline. He’s got morphing clothes under his own tux — never leaves home without ‘em — so really, he can’t judge.

Plus, Michelle’s got her dress and just her dress on by now, and her locs are still tucked into their silver-beaded updo. Really, the cow birth was just a momentary inconvenience.

“Hi,” Jake whispers, when Cassie reaches him.

She grabs his hand. Then she stuffs her bouquet into one of his jacket pockets, and grabs his other hand. “Hi,” she whispers back.

“This is pretty exciting, huh?”

“Yep.”

Ax clears his throat delicately, and they stop talking.

“There is an Earth tradition,” Ax says to the entire assembly, “that the captain of any ship may perform a wedding ceremony at will.”

In the front row of seats, Michelle laces her fingers through Walter’s.

“Although there is no legal precedent for this custom,” Ax continues, “it is nevertheless possible to become ordained as a wedding officiant if one just completes the proper applications.”

One of Jake’s great-aunts mutters something loudly about the lack of rabbi. Sarah leans over and kicks her in the ankle. Rachel beams her approval.

“Therefore, I am here to make official through human custom that which has already been forged through affection and respect.” Ax looks from Jake to Cassie and back. “The bond between warriors who have fought and faced death together can be neither lessened nor improved upon by mere ceremony. The honor shared between two such beings who have chosen to risk loving each other in spite of knowing the reality of loss is one that we recognize today. We can recognize it, but not sanctify it beyond the sanctity of what these two humans have already shared.”

Rachel lets out an audible sniffle. Marco does his best not to smirk at her. It’s not that sappy a speech.

“I have been assured that the bond between two humans who like each other far exceeds the bond between those who merely enjoy each other’s company,” Ax says.

And now Marco has to fight the urge to bang his head against the nearest support pole.

“I have witnessed this myself.” Ax stares around the room. “I have witnessed compromise and forgiveness, compassion and challenge between these two. I therefore believe it is correct and proper that this bond be formally recognized by the State of California. Is there anything you would wish to add?” he says to Jake and Cassie.

Cassie leans up on tip-toe. Jake bends to meet her.

She whispers her vows into his ear, not bothering to share with the rest of the gathering. After a moment, tears on his face, he leans in and whispers back.

Recognizing his cue, Marco grabs the rings and passes them over. They’re boring-looking, in his opinion, plain silicon bands without anything shiny. But they’re also easy to morph, easy to shovel manure while wearing, easy to wear without catching on anything. Very Cassie. Very Jake.

Speaking of which, the Timberlands prove to be a good call. When the time comes, Cassie stomps the shit out of that ceremonial glass.

**********

In a slight break with tradition, Rachel and Tobias are actually the first ones to go back down the aisle. Then Marco wheels Collette out, followed by Tom and Melissa, then Jake and Cassie go. That way, Rachel’s got time to sprint back over to the main tent and check on the banquet.

Most of the tables are arranged correctly, the centerpieces in place and the cards arrayed. Rachel does a mad sprint of the room, straightening decorations and confirming with the caterers that they got all the instructions about who needs what in their diet. Between the number of kosher eaters on Jake’s side and the number of vegetarians on Cassie’s, Rachel made the call to go all the way to a fully vegan buffet. That’s probably going to get some of the relatives complaining about kids these days and rabbit food, but there’s no pleasing everyone.

Rachel deftly switches a few of the placecards, thereby putting Jordan on point to deal with their great-aunt and grandmother who have both already overindulged at the open bar, muttering an apology as she does. She puts Tobias to work making sure the bows on the backs of chairs are straight, and rushes up to the long table at the front to confirm that the armless chair meant to accommodate Cassie’s bulky skirt is in the correct place.

D.J. is here, playlist at the ready. Dance floor is clear of grass. Weather’s holding, but tent covers are on standby.

Slightly sweaty, she rushes back out with a chair under each arm just in time to catch the guests coming across the lawn.

“Everyone except the parents, head off to the cocktail hour!” she calls. “Jake, Cassie, moms and dads, with me.”

While Marco’s date (a photographer named Dakota) sets up the camera, Rachel goes into a flurry of motion straightening bowties, adjusting hairdos, and touching up makeup. Steve’s got a spot of cow blood on his forehead, she discovers to her horror, and by the time she’s done scrubbing that off Jake’s managed to get his tuxedo jacket misaligned again. Finally she steps back, breathing hard, and nods to Dakota.

Everyone smiles. The camera goes off.

“Okay.” Rachel claps her hands loudly, because Jake and Cassie are looking ready to stand up and go join the reception. “That’s one down, just twenty-three to go.”

********

Rather than tossing her whole bouquet all at once, Cassie picks it apart and gives a single flower to every single guest she can find. When the bouquet itself runs out, she disassembles her flower crown and hands that out piece by piece until everyone’s got at least one blossom. It just seems fairer that way, she says when Rachel asks.

Several of the traditions, Rachel reflects, seem to be lost on Jake and Cassie. They cut the first piece of cake… and immediately hand it to Ax. And then they cut the second piece, and the third piece, and keep right on cutting slices of cake and handing them out to people until Rachel has to step in and wrest the knife away. She’s grateful that they refrain from any of the food-fighting nonsense, since both their wedding outfits are headed to a charity auction first thing tomorrow morning, but honestly. They’re supposed to eat the first two slices, not drop half a tier of cake into the black hole of hungry andalite.

Cake served, Marco clinks a fork against a glass. “Ladies, gentlemen, and proletariats!”

There’s a general murmur as people look around, trying to spot who’s speaking.

With a hand from Jake, Marco climbs bodily onto the banquet table. “Everyone!” he shouts, and now they’re all looking at him. At him, and at the champagne flute in his hand. “Jake and Cassie!”

It gets a polite round of applause.

“Gotta start at the beginning, right?” Marco looks around the room, grinning. “So there I am, some snot-nosed three-year-old, minding my own business. And this chubby, dorky-looking little white kid comes running up to me and is like…” He leans in. “‘You wanna be my best friend?’”

He grins at Jake, who is flushing bright red.

“I shit you not, that was his opening line. ‘You wanna be my best friend?’ So I’m like…” Marco pantomimes reeling back in shock. “I dunno man, seems like a lot of commitment to make to a total stranger. You want explore our options first, maybe get a prenup, see if we’re compatible? I mean, for all I know five years from now you’re gonna find some younger, hotter best friend and then there I’ll be out on my ear with nothing to show for it.”

There’s a smattering of laughter throughout the room. Marco visibly draws strength from it.

“But you know what?” Marco leans down to look around, smiling like he’s got a secret. “Little dork kept right on showing up to my house and letting me use his television and getting his mom to give me fluffer nutters, and next thing I know it turns out he really is my best friend. I think he was onto something.

“Anyway, you think that one was bad…” He raises his eyebrows. “Couple years later, there we are in first grade, and this girl in teeny-tiny first-grader overalls comes into the room like…”

Marco claps one hand over the top of his champagne flute and clamps the other under the base, and actually walks a few steps down the table with the determined air of a very small and klutzy version of Cassie.

“And her opening line is…” Marco raises the flute to his mouth like it’s a microphone, dropping his voice. “‘You wanna see my moth?’”

Again, there’s a smattering of laughter. Cassie has a hand over her mouth, halfway doubled over in giggles at the memory.

“Now, us being minuscule and all, I’m like ninety-nine percent sure that there was no double entendre going on here,” Marco says. “And I have to admit, no one has used that line on me since. So I say ‘sure,’ because I’m like six years old and this seems like a reasonable question. She lifts her hand up…”

Marco accompanies this with a pantomime of peering through his own fingers into his champagne.

He looks up. “And it’s not even a freaking moth!” he cries out. “Turns out, it’s just some little worm thing. So I tell her.” He puts on a snotty voice, mocking his younger self. “‘That’s not a moth, that’s just some little worm thing.’”

There’s a pause. Marco glances around the room. “See if you can tell where this story’s going.”

Marco and Cassie glance at each other. Cassie’s grinning smugly.

“She puts it in the classroom’s terrarium,” Marco drawls. “It turns into a rock. Two weeks later, rock cracks open and out pops a moth.”

The room cracks up again.

“So fast forward another few years, and she’s standing there holding this eight-eyed, venom-fanged thing. And she’s all like ‘just touch the spider, Marco. Don’t you want to be a spider, Marco? Isn’t it cute and fuzzy?’ As if she is completely unaware that she’s holding a giant-ass eight-legged freak.” Marco takes a sip for strength. “And right then, I look at Jake. And I’m thinking Jake, don’t ever let this girl go. Because if she doesn’t even think wolf spiders are ugly, then she’s got no idea about you. So here’s to Jake and Cassie. Made for each other, because no one else will have ‘em.”

Jake pokes Marco in the ankle, but he’s laughing as he does it.

“All right,” Marco says, “brace yourselves, and someone get some more tissues for my second mama, because I’m about to get sappy. I love you, Jean!” he calls. “I know we all gotta cry it out sometimes.”

She laughs and flaps a dismissive hand at him, but she’s also misty-eyed already.

“Dudes, I gotta be honest.” Marco is looking at Jake and Cassie. “I didn’t think we’d get here. I honestly did not believe, for a good long while there, that there were gonna be any weddings or graduations or driver’s licenses in any of our futures. Just seemed like a good idea not to bet on any of us having any futures, you know? Seemed like it might be the surest option.”

Cassie laces her fingers through Jake’s. Silently, her mouth pressed into a line, she nods.

“So, uh.” Marco sniffs, spinning back around and thrusting his champagne flute into the air. “Here’s to me being wrong, yeah?”

“To Marco being wrong!” Jake echoes, and tosses back his glass.

“To Marco being wrong!” the entire room calls back.

Marco jumps back down, Cassie and Jake catching him as he lands.

**********

After everyone but Menderash and Ax has finished eating, it’s Tom who becomes the next one to tink a fork against a glass for attention.

“In the spirit of full disclosure,” he tells the room, strolling slowly toward the head table. “I promised my brother there wouldn’t be a horah.” Tom stops, directly next to Cassie. “But what he didn’t know is that I’d already made a promise to my new sister-in-law that there would be. So what’s a guy to do?”

He snaps his fingers.

At this cue, several things happen at once. The DJ switches to “Hava Nagila.” Several people mob Jake at once. Tom grabs Cassie and lifts her bodily over his head, carrying her chair and all to the middle of the dance floor.

With a squeak of laughter, Cassie grabs the top of Tom’s head for balance. Jake is being hauled out next to her on a chair of his own, supported by Tobias and Menderash and Rachel and James. Marco and Ax are herding the rest of the gathering, shoving people into a circle and linking arms together as they go.

“I hate you!” Jake calls over the sound of the music and his own fit of giggles.

“Gotta keep the in-laws happy!” Tom yells back, unrepentant.

*********

“You sure you’ve got everything you need?” Rachel asks.

Cheyenne, the head caterer, gives her a double thumbs-up. The staff are tipped and most are ready to go, having divvied up the several extra schaeffers’ worth of falafel and butternut squash puree and other entrees that Rachel’d set aside for them. Melissa is set to take over tending bar from here, as planned, and she’s going to keep the groomsmen after for a few minutes for cleanup duty.

“Okay.” Rachel glances around at where the last of the countertops are getting a quick once-over with disinfectant. “Okay. If anything comes up…”

“I have your number.” Cheyenne smiles and nods.

Pushing back out of the room, Rachel heads for the gift table. Everything looks like it’s in good order, but she wants to make sure it all gets packed up properly and that none of the cards get lost in the kerfuffle. It’s mostly donation receipts, at Jake and Cassie’s request, but some of the traditionalists on both sides came with soup tureens or the like —

“Hey.” Jake catches her by the arm.

Rachel turns to look at him. “What’s wrong? Is it the great-aunts?”

“Nothing’s wrong. It’s all perfect.” He’s smiling shyly. “Thanks.”

“I need to check on the gifts,” Rachel says, because she’s a coward who doesn’t know how to do mushy conversations, especially not with Jake.

“The gifts are fine,” he says. “It’s all fine. Because you made it that way. So… thanks.”

When he pulls her into a hug, Rachel can’t resist straightening his hair one last time even as she returns the embrace. “You realize I do this for fun, right?” she asks, holding him at arm’s length and looking him in the eye. “Like, I could’ve hired a wedding planner, but honestly why bother?”

He shrugs. “Doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate everything. All of it. Without you, Cassie and I wouldn’t even…”

Then, because this is all getting too honest, Rachel links her arm through his and drags him onto the dance floor for, he’s about to realize, their middle school gym class’s favorite godawful square dance.

*********

When she has do-si-doed Jake within an inch of his life, Rachel tosses him at Cassie. She pivots around and gives Tobias a flourishing courtesy; he returns it with an equally ridiculous bow.

“It is marvelous, how well they have adapted their balance to compensate for their lack of legs,” Menderash comments to Ax.

“Very true.” Ax leans next to him against the bar. They are currently sharing a delicious beverage Melissa has made for them, simply by unscrewing the lid from a nearly-empty jar of olives and handing over the remaining liquid.

It is true, some of the dancers are more talented than others. Michelle and Walter are synchronized with each other and the beat of the music, even if their choice of moves is not nearly as audacious as the spinning thing Marco and Dakota are doing. The bride and groom, meanwhile, are looking at their own feet and keep bumping into each other as they move. Between their relative unconcern with anyone but each other and the broad hem of Cassie’s dress, the other couples are giving them a wide berth.

“Do you wish to attempt such feats?” Ax asks, glancing at Menderash.

Menderash gives a full-body shudder. He flaps one hand in an andalite gesture that, if translated to English, would approximate fuck that.

Ax grins, drinking more olive juice.

“Have you done such a thing?” Menderash asks.

“Never for very long,” Ax says.

Jake and Cassie have given up on dancing entirely, descending into a giggle fit in the middle of the dance floor as they both attempt to disentangle Jake’s cuff link from the lace of Cassie’s hem. Rachel swirls by, briefly blocking their view. She’s switched partners. Dakota is doing their best to teach Tobias how to waltz while Marco and Rachel are now swing-dancing their way across the dance floor.

As both andalites watch in awe, Rachel spins Marco in a circle, swinging him out and then drawing him back close to her body. Marco pirouettes, throwing his head back so that his hair flares around his face, and then throws himself backwards. Rachel catches him neatly around the waist, dipping him nearly to the floor. Marco braces on her shoulders and she flings him upward with her whole body so that she actually lifts him off the floor for a second before gracefully sweeping him back down. They separate until just the tips of their fingers are touching, and then spin back together until Marco suddenly swoops under Rachel’s arm, coming up on the far side as she pivots around in time fro him to fall back against her.

Ax is reminded of the way they fight. There’s something almost joyful in their ferocity on the battlefield. There’s something almost frightening in their enthusiasm on the dancefloor. Neither of them seems to know how to do anything by half measure.

One by one the other clusters of dancers have stopped to watch as well. Jake and Cassie, now sitting hopelessly tangled up in each other, seem quite happy to have the spotlight stolen.

Rachel swoops an arm around Marco’s waist and slides into a back-and-forth tango step. Within two beats he’s caught on, falling into the same rhythm as her. When the tempo of the song changes he grabs her shoulder and nudges her into a circular waltz. They’re unrehearsed, and inexpert, but moving with such force and communicating so rapidly that it doesn’t really matter.

“Yes,” Menderash says softly, “I very much do not wish to attempt to dance.”

Ax smiles at him over the rim of the olive jar. It’s empty, and in the time it takes him to set it back on the bar and catch her eye, Melissa has replaced it with maraschino cherry liquid.

The song crescendos; Marco leans his full weight back as Rachel flings him into a long spiraling turn that ends with him sliding on his knees clear between her legs, popping up behind her just in time to brace as she tips backward into him. She spins once, twice, four times, then swings him into a dip so low that his hair brushes the floor.

As the song ends they freeze like that, chests heaving, hair damp with sweat.

They both seem to become aware at once that the whole room’s watching them. Marco opens his mouth to say something, when Rachel’s smile turns wicked. That’s the only warning he gets before she opens her arms and lets him drop. Marco squawks indignantly, throwing out both elbows to catch himself. He gets ahold of Rachel’s arm and tries to yank her down as well, but ends up pulling himself to his feet as well.

The whole room breaks out into clapping. Marco sweeps into a low bow. Rachel visibly considers pushing him over again before deciding against it. Instead she runs to try and rescue Cassie’s hand-sewn lace hem and Jake’s antique silver cufflinks from their respective owners’ incompetence.

*********

“Hey Tobias?” Rachel says around a yawn.

«Uh-huh?»

Idly they watch as Tom waltzes Cassie’s grandmother around the dance floor. She’s 4’11” to his 6’4”, so it’s pretty hilarious to witness. But at least they’re not totally mismatched: each has a single sprig of valerian from Cassie’s bouquet tucked behind one ear.

She and Tobias are sitting on the ground at one corner of the dance floor. Rachel’s got her shoes off to massage her aching ankles, and Tobias is perched back on her shoulder. With clever motions of his beak he’s fishing the pins out of her hair one by one, dropping them into her hand as he slowly disassembles her updo.

“How do you feel about never, ever getting married?” Rachel asks.

Tobias drops another bobby pin into her hand. «Best idea you’ve had all year.»

#animorphs #animorphs ficlet #animorphs au #(sadly)#long post #weddings #jake/cassie #cake #alcohol mention #rachel berenson #is the canonically biggest cassie/jake shipper on the planet #do it for her #anonymous #asks

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johobi · 3 years

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Evening beauts! As I’m sure some of you have noticed, WYLEI13 is now in editing stage (Idek how it got there honestly I have been sick with a stomach bug this week and hardly left the bathroom💀. Also, Jungkook and MC do not shut up in this chapter and kept dragging it on💘).

Apologies for not answering your amazing, excited asks just yet🥺🥺! I have cheated and read them though, thank you for all the smiles you’ve given me. They sustained me while i was puking my guts out. 💖😳😫

I have my most important two weeks of this year coming up from Monday, I’m going on my first clinical placement. So although I tried my best to get it all done and dusted before then, I won’t be able to finish editing WYLEI until that’s over with. I have to channel all my energy into that for now. I’m so nervous and unprepared. I’m not ready to treat PEOPLE!! 🤪 but anyway! At least the writing is DONE.

I’ll keep my queue running so I’m not entirely gone. See you ASAP💘. Take care and if you need to kill some time I recommend Castlevania on Netflix bc S4 is coming soon and I love that show so much. 😪

#jo rambles

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theorganisedkat · 3 years

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A Day in the Life of a Medical Student

01/09/2021

Well... long time since I last posted, oops!

I'm bringing back a day in the life of a med student. The past 4 weeks I have been on placement in neonatology as part of my elective! I was originally planning on doing ICU in Vancouver and paediatric cardiovascular surgery in Toronto but due to COVID, our elective had to be UK based, so I have spent 4 weeks in Wales instead and it has been incredible!

Today went a bit like this:

07.30-08.30 Wake up, breakfast, get ready, etc.

08.30-09.00 Drive to the hospital and get changed

09.00-12.30 Palivizumab clinic - I observed and learned about RSV immunisations for most at-risk children. This is something that has been done for ~20 years, yet something I hadn't come across before!

12.30-13.15 Lunch

13.15-17.30 Observing and assisting with jobs on the neonatal ICU. I had the chance to take some bloods and a gas from some neonates today, spent some time with the nurses learning about their role, and observed the admission of a neonate, including the management of hypoglycaemia and the insertion of an umbilical venous catheter.

17.30-18.30 Home and tea

18.30-now Miscellaneous task and studying

Friday will be my last day on this placement, which will be a shame as I have had such a great time. The team have been super friendly, and I have learned a lot - it has surprisingly helped me apply and explore further a lot of the things I learned last year in adult ICU.

Currently listening to: Sunday Morning by Maroon 5

#mine #a day in the life of a med student #medicine #medblr #studyblr

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writings-of-dumpy · 3 years

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Thank God it’s Friday

A/N: OOOFFFF It’s been a long time. I’m very sorry, my life has been hectic this past year what with graduating and needing to pass my board exam (which I did!) and finding a big girl job (which I also did). So now here’s this pile of garbage that gave me the heebeejeebees, so fair warning. Wouldn’t recommend reading alone at night ...

Summary: Stiles’ first case in the FBI is much more than he bargained for, based on Friday the 13th with inspiration from “Thank God it’s Friday” by Ice Nine Kills., TW: horror, blood, violence

“Stilinski! You ready for a doozy of a case?” Stiles heard his boss, Agent Harold, say from his office door almost as soon as Stiles sat down.

Stiles smiled excitedly, despite it being nearly 7am. “A case for me already?”

“You’re lucky because it’s in your hometown, Beacon Hills. Last guy we sent down there got nothing out of those people, but I figure if we send a former local, it’ll go much better,” Harold said.

Stiles’ face fell. It had been almost five years since he had set foot in Beacon Hills. After he managed a system to handle the full moon by himself even without an anchor, he pursued his FBI dreams. And now, he had to go back as a part of fulfilling that dream.

“What’s the case?” Stiles asked. Harold handed him a thick manila folder. Stiles opened it to find various statements and a request from his father on top, followed by gruesome pictures of barely recognizable bodies and blood spattering on wooden cabin walls.

“A summer camp massacre happened last Friday. About 8 teenagers dead… I don’t know why the PD called us, but it looks like it’s a bit much for a small-town department. Think you can handle it?” Harold said.

Stiles nodded. “Yeah, I’ll head down there as soon as possible.”

Harold left with a nod of approval, and Stiles immediately called his father.

“Hello there, son,” Noah said cheerfully into the phone with a knowing tone.

“Don’t ‘hello there, son’ me, dad. You knew I’d get put on this case, didn’t you?” Stiles accused with a smirk.

“Well, I had hoped….” Noah said and Stiles could tell he was smiling with pride.

“Alright, so… why did you call the FBI?” Stiles asked and opened a blank document and readied himself to write down whatever his dad said.

“Well, like I said, I had a hunch you’d be called to it. And there’s stuff that other agents wouldn’t understand if you get my drift,” Noah spoke lowly. Stiles’ stomach dropped and he took a deep breath.

“I’ll be down there soon…” Stiles said and nodded. Stiles racked his brain about a thousand times while packing, thinking about what he had encountered that could have made such a scene. He knew Scott was away at vet school completing his final clinical placements, so Stiles doubted it was any sort of werewolf, otherwise Scott would be the one on the phone. Stiles did his best to relax once he started driving from his LA headquarters, but the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach was enough to make the hour long ride nerve-wracking..

When Stiles arrived at the hotel in Beacon Hills, a sense of foreboding overcame him. He wasn’t sure if he was simply picking up on the aura of the town or if the blood-soaked images rattled him more than he thought, but either way, he just wanted it to go away. He exited his driver’s seat and grabbed his luggage, then took a deep breath. He was a bit of a nervous wreck, what with this being his first solo case and the possibility of supernatural interference, but he did his best to focus on what needed to be done. He got settled into his hotel room and texted his dad that he was on his way to the sheriff’s station. It was mid-afternoon, so he had hoped the station wouldn’t be too swamped with people who wanted to catch up with him.

“So… what happened?” Stiles asked after he and his father shared a cheerful greeting and they settled in the sheriff’s office. Noah bit his lip and raised his brows for a moment with his head tilted toward the manila folder sitting on his desk.

“Well, the camp is about to open for the season, so the counselors were spending the night like they always do. The night before they were going to let campers in, all 8 of them were killed in the middle of the night. Now here’s the weird part—all campers accounted for and nobody is seen going in or out of the campgrounds before or at the time of the murders on the security footage. There was no sign of any sort of confrontation between the campers, either,” Noah explained as he handed Stiles the file folder with more photos of the crime scene. Stiles grimaced and tried to examine the photos for any signs of supernatural creatures.

“Is there a way that the footage is doctored?” Stiles asked after a moment of consideration.

“It’s an old-school film recorder. I had to scrape off about 40 years of dust just to look at it,” Noah responded with a shake of his head.

“DNA?”

“Campers only.”

“Fingerprints?”

“None.”

“Murder weapon?”

“Unidentified.”

Stiles nodded. After a sigh and a knowing look shared with his father, he said, “Looks like it’s time to talk to Deaton.”

Stiles and Noah drove to the animal clinic the next morning. When they arrived, Stiles couldn’t help but smirk to himself and thanked his father for opening the door for him. He smiled at the memories he had in this clinic, both good and bad. It felt odd to be here without Scott, but he didn’t want to alert his best friend before necessary. He was pretty sure something supernatural was happening, but he needed to rule it out first before he could move on.

They were greeted by a woman dressed in purple scrubs who Stiles noticed was wearing a stethoscope and had a pouch on her hip full of tools.

“Hi, how can I help you?” she asked with a smile.

“We were wondering if Deaton was around? We have a few questions…” Noah said. Stiles nodded and smiled politely at her. She nodded.

“He’s working on notes right now, but I can ask him for you, Sheriff Stilinski,” she said and got up from her chair.

“Thanks, Y/N,” Noah said with a smile.

Stiles quirked a brow at his dad. “You come here often?”

“Well, Liam doesn’t always want to, so I step in. I feel bad for the kid, he’s scared of doctors,” Noah mused. Stiles smirked and shook his head at how little things had changed in the three years since he had been to beacon hills.

“Both Stilinskis… This must be important,” Deaton said as he walked out from the back and motioned for them to follow him to the treatment area that Stiles was all too familiar with. He smiled and waved at the woman who reclaimed her seat behind the front desk. She smiled and waved back politely.

“I’m sure you’ve heard by now about the Beacon Hills Camp killings,” Noah began after they were out of earshot.

Deaton nodded. “Yeah, I don’t live under a rock…”

“We were hoping you could help us… Something to me says… it’s off. In a supernatural-y way…” Stiles explained. “There’s nobody on the camera going in or out, and all the bodies are accounted for.”

Deaton furrowed his brows. “So you have no suspects?”

“None. Not even a footprint,” Noah informed. “What kind of killer leaves NOTHING behind?”

“Either a very meticulous one, or one that isn’t human… I read that the medical examiner concluded the cause of death to be hemorrhagic trauma? Do you have pictures I can see?” Deaton asked.

Stiles responded and reluctantly handed the folder to him, “They’re grotesque to say the least…”

Deaton’s face fell and Stiles could almost see the blood drain from his face as he looked through the graphics. With a sour look, he returned the photos and Stiles tucked them away.

“The cuts are too clean to be any sort of local animal or werewolf… It looks more like a sharp and large knife. Whoever or whatever did that was very clearly not meticulous in any way… I think you’re right, Stiles. There is something supernatural happening…” Deaton concluded.

Noah and Stiles shared a worried look and Stiles felt his heart drop.

“Do you have any suggestions at all?” Stiles hoped.

Deaton’s lips moved to one side of his face, then his eyes darted between the two men, then the floor, and then landed on the door behind them.

“My technician is a psychic medium. I can see if she’ll help you,” he said to them with a shrug.

“You mean like a banshee?” Noah asked.

“Not quite… Banshees have the ability to detect and predict death… Y/N can, well... speak to the dead. She’s done wonders for those in this down who have lost someone suddenly,” Deaton explained. “She can see what happened I guess.”

Stiles was mildly impressed and pleased. If there was someone who could see deaths, then this would be a cakewalk to crack. Stiles and Noah nodded hopefully and Deaton called in the woman who greeted them. She looked slightly nervous and Stiles smiled slightly to himself in amusement. He knew going into the FBI would elicit a bit of nervous energy from everyone he come across in the field, but if only they knew he used to be just like them…

“How can I help…?” she asked feebly.

“Well, the FBI is looking for any help we can get regarding these murders…” Stiles began. “Deaton here tells us you have a gift for finding out what happened to the dead.”

She smiled slightly and nodded. “Well… I didn’t think the FBI would be interested in sanctioning hocus pocus, but I’d like to help in any way I can.”

Stiles nodded. “Well, this part of the investigation, for legal purposes, is to remain off the record. What I’d like from you is something that could maybe give me a hint as to who is doing these horrible things, and how to find them.”

She nodded. “Well, I’m happy to help.”

“Excellent. My name is Agent Stilinski, what’s your name?” Stiles began and held his hand out for her to shake.

“Y/N. Nice to meet you,” she said and shook his hand.

The three of them piled into the sheriff’s vehicle and drove to the camp. Stiles could tell Y/N was becoming more uncomfortable the closer they got to the campsite, so he looked back to ask her more about her power.

“So, you, uh… see what happened to dead people?” he asked.

“Well, it depends,” Y/N said with a shrug.

“Oh.. um, on what?” Stiles continued.

“Well if they know they’re dead, I can just… talk to them. If they don’t, things get… a bit more complicated,” Y/N explained. “It’s hard to explain exactly because every soul is different and responds to things changing differently. Sometimes they see me and respond to me, sometimes they just wander and I can’t make out exactly what’s being said or if it’s to me… Sorry, I feel like I’m rambling, does that make any sense?”

Stiles chuckled slightly, “I think I got the gist of it, thank you.”

Noah pulled through the gates of the camp and parked as close as he could to the crime scene tape. “So uh.. do we need a Ouija board or..?”

Stiles shot him a shocked and disapproving look.

Y/N let out a single-breathed laugh. “No, this should be fine… I might need to get closer, but I’ll tell you what I see or who I speak to.”

Stiles nodded and took out a pen and paper as the three of them got out of the car. There was a sudden shift in Y/N’s energy that Stiles noticed and he watched her closely as she looked around. She stepped under the caution tape with them and her hands clasped together. Her eyes seemed to follow something from the cabin to the lake and her expression slowly changed from curious to distraught.

“Were there any children that were here..?” she asked with a slightly broken voice.

“No, just teenagers aged 16-17…” Stiles said to her. He wondered what she saw to prompt such a question.

She slowly walked up to the cabin marked ’13’, which was where the bodies were discovered, as Stiles had recalled reading in the reports. He was impressed, he hadn’t told her where the crime took place and the caution tape was around the general campsite, not any one cabin.

“Something horrible has happened here…” Y/N spoke in a broken and soft voice. Stiles’ brows furrowed and he followed behind her as she walked into the cabin slowly. He elected not to answer her because he wasn’t sure she meant for anyone to even hear her remarks. A chill settled over the three of them as they walked into the cabin, and the sunlight seemed not as bright in the dingy and freshly cleaned cabin. Stiles would have been happy to have stayed in this cabin as a teenager had he not seen what was in it before the crime scene cleaners were called.

“What happened to you…?” she asked into the room with a tear-laden voice. Stiles noticed her eyes focus a few inches above her next to a bed Stiles recognized to be where one of the victims was found.

Stiles’ heart ached for her upon hearing the emotion she spilled out. He took a glance at his father, who had his eyes trained on her with worry. The two of them, as law enforcement, were taught to be skeptical of those claiming to have psychic or medium powers, but the Stilinskis knew better. While Stiles had never seen anything quite like Y/N’s powers, he was sure they were real. If werewolves and banshees and kitsunes were, how far-fetched could a psychic medium be?

“A man in a mask... He appeared out of nowhere? And went into the lake…” Y/N said as if she was confirming the information with an unseen person as a part of a conversation. A chill went up Stiles’ spine as he realized that she was communicating with a spirit. He wrote down what information he could get from her seemingly one-sided conversation.

“Oh no… No, no!” Y/N suddenly cried out. Stiles watched as Y/N quickly began to become hysteric. She screamed and reached her arms out towards nothing, and fell to her knees with tears running down her face like a fountain. Alarmed, Stiles and Noah rushed to her side.

“Shit-! Y/N, hey, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Stiles said as he wrapped his arms around her shoulders to make her look at him. Y/N’s face was red and blotchy as she cried out in despair, and Stiles worked purely on instinct at this point. He pulled her close to his chest and the two of them rocked back and forth gently. Suddenly, Y/N became limp in his arms. Stiles pulled away to look at her and saw that she had fainted. He felt her breathing against his chest, so he knew she was alive.

“Come on, let’s get her back to the car,” Noah said and ran ahead of Stiles to start it up. Stiles could barely lift Y/N off the floor before her eyes popped open.

“Agent Stilinski?!” she asked in a hoarse voice.

“Um... call me Stiles… Are you okay? You scared the hell out of me,” Stiles said as he helped her to her feet. His adrenaline was pumping and he helped her stand properly.

“I need to get out of here,” she said in a desperate tone. Stiles nodded and grabbed what he had dropped from the floor and the pair headed toward the car.

~*~

“So… a man in a hockey mask and a jumpsuit came into the cabin while the door was locked and butchered 8 teenagers, then went back.. into the lake?” Stiles repeated what Y/N had just said to him.

She shrugged. “That’s what I saw… I was only able to speak to Alice for a moment or two before…”

“What exactly happened that made you.. well..” Noah asked with a gesture from behind his desk at the station they had all regrouped at.

“You don’t want to know,” Y/N said in a serious tone.

Stiles looked concerned. “You said you saw what happened? Meaning..?”

Y/N shifted uncomfortably. “Sometimes… when things are horrific enough, there is a permanent loop for the souls and those unlucky enough to see it… The events that happened play over and over until the spirits somehow break free or otherwise find peace or are banished to move on… So, I saw the events of that night. And that is what caused… well, you saw.”

Stiles frowned and his heart sank for her. “I’m so sorry. If I had known that would’ve happened, I never would have asked for your help.”

“I just hope it wasn’t for nothing,” she said with a small smile.

Stiles smiled back, “Well at least I know to check the lake and look for a guy with a hockey… Hang on…”

Noah and Y/N looked up at Stiles as he stood up and trailed off his sentence. He turned to Y/N and continued, “You only see the dead, right? Then how come you could see the killer…?”

Y/N’s face fell. “You’re right… Whoever did this… is dead. And was dead at the time that they did it…”

“That doesn’t make any sense, how could a dead person kill 10 people?” Noah asked.

“No idea… maybe Deaton has a book or something? I’ve never encountered that before,” Stiles said to himself, mostly.

“Well, whatever it is, I’m sure Deaton has something to help given he deals in magic and supernatural nearly constantly,” Y/N commented.

Stiles looked at her with a blank stare, then spoke. “How do you know that?”

“She’s not an idiot, Stiles. Liam wolfed out right in front of her one time,” Noah commented. Stiles’ eyes grew wide.

“That kid is going to get us all killed one day,” Stiles said with a shake of his head.

Y/N smiled and let out a small laugh. “Well, it wasn’t all that surprising. Once you start seeing ghosts of werewolves, nothing really surprises you anymore.”

Stiles looked at her and gave her a warm and knowing smile. “I suppose you’re right.”

~*~

Stiles and Noah wanted to ask her more questions the following day, and Stiles made a specific effort to make sure Y/N was comfortable with that. She was, of course, and agreed to help them in any way she could. After the horrific events Y/N had witnessed, she was invested in the case. She saw the large ghost of the killer in the hockey mask and the merciless slaughter of all 8 teenagers, including Alice. She spent the entire night researching the history of the town for any pictures or signs that could point her in a helpful direction. She wanted to help the poor souls stuck in the cabin, and she wanted to help Stiles. While she was looking into the history of the campsite specifically, she came upon an article that piqued her interest, which led to may more articles like it. She quickly printed it out and hoped that Stiles would find it helpful.

When she entered the Sheriff’s station, she was greeted by Stiles’ concerned and serious face in Noah’s office.

“We weren’t supposed to meet for another hour, Y/N… Are you okay?” he asked in a low tone.

“Oh.. Right, well, I was doing some research and I found this. There was a boy in 1980 that drowned in the lake, but everything about the case has been redacted from public record except for his name. The picture… I saw that boy yesterday right before I saw Alice. I might be reaching, but I think there’s a connection,” Y/N explained.

Stiles’ brows furrowed as he examined the article printout. He glanced up at her and then handed the printout to his father.

“Do you remember this case, dad?” Stiles asked.

Noah sighed. “I do, but only vaguely. I was a teenager at the time, so I don’t know about the details, just that the boy’s mother was distraught… I’m not sure how this connects to our murder case, though. Kids drown in that lake all the time.”

“Well there’s a lot to unpack there, but for now, that’s exactly my point. At least once a year a child drowns in the lake on a specific day, the anniversary of this boy’s death in 1980. And once every seven years, there is a murder on the lake premises that happened exactly like this one,” Y/N explained as she pulled out article after article to prove her point. She hoped that they didn’t think she was crazy, or worse. Stiles looked over each of the articles handed to him with a careful gaze, and then shared them with his father. The pair shared a look, and Noah shrugged. Stiles then turned to Y/N, who was biting her lip in anticipation.

“So you’re saying that this boy’s death brought on a supernatural murder spree?” Stiles asked.

Y/N shrugged with furrowed brows. “I don’t know, but it’s something. Look at the date of his death, and then the days of each other drowning or slashing…”

“June 13th,” Noah commented.

“In 1980, that was a Friday,” Stiles added.

“And every seven years, on Friday the 13th, someone gets murdered,” Y/N concluded.

Noah looked at his calendar and shook his head with a scoff. “I’ll be damned. She’s right. Last Friday was the 13th.”

“I don’t see a name on any of these… Do you remember what the kid’s name was?” Stiles asked his dad.

Noah thought for a moment and then spoke up, “Jason… Jason Voorhees.”

~*~

Stiles was stunned. The amount of research and care Y/N put into finding this pattern must have taken her hours of dedication. He presumed that she had stayed up all night to find this pattern and decided to take great care when approaching the mother of the deceased child from so long ago. He and Noah knocked on the old wooden door and shared an uncomfortable look before a few moments passed and an older woman opened the door. She didn’t look quite as old as Stiles expected and assumed that she must have been a young mother.

“Hello? How can I help you?” she said once she had opened the door completely.

“Hello there, ma’am, I’m sorry to disturb you this afternoon. My name is Agent Stilinski and I’m with the FBI. This is my associate Sheriff Stilinski, as you may know. We were hoping to ask you a few questions in relation to a recent crime, would you be willing to help us?” Stiles said in a very professional tone.

The woman looked over Stiles’ credentials and opened up the screen door for them to enter. Once they entered the house, Stiles took note of any oddities he could find and he was sure his father was doing the same. The woman directed them to sit at her kitchen table and she took a seat across from them. Stiles pulled out a pad of paper and a pen, and approached the situation as compassionately as he could. This was his first time questioning a witness basically by himself, and he wanted to do it perfectly.

“Now, Mrs. Voorhees, we understand that there was an unfortunate incident involving you and the camp by Beacon Hills lake a number of years ago… Would you be able to tell us about that?” Stiles began.

The woman took a breath and gave a knowing nod. “The death of my dear son Jason… I’m not surprised you haven’t heard of him. Yes, I believe it was the summer of 1980, by boy was only 9 and he had always had a hard time swimming, but when I signed him up for that camp, they were sure that he’d come out a better swimmer and would always be supervised. Who knew that teenagers could be so irresponsible! They told me that he ran off by himself into the lake and nobody knew where he went until the two counselors who were coming back from their break saw his body floating in the lake…”

Stiles wrote down a synopsis in bullet points and gave her a compassionate look. “This must be very painful for you, I’m so sorry for your loss. The reason I’m asking you today is because last Friday there were eight teenagers murdered in their cabin. Did you hear bout that?”

The woman looked shocked, but Stiles saw glint of recognition in her eye. He had a hunch that she did know about it, but wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt.

“I knew nothing of that… Sounds horrible, those poor dears… I must not have read the paper that day.. You don’t think I had anything to do with it, do you??” the woman said and began to express a form of panic that Stiles had seen a few times, but only by people or creatures who were trying to deceive him.

He played it off, “No ma’am, we just wanted to get a full history of every incident that’s happened at the camp. Is there anything else you can tell us about that day?”

She let out a sigh of relief and thought for a moment. “Not that I can recall.”

Stiles closed his notebook and handed her his business card. “Well, if you think of anything, don’t hesitate to call. Thank you for your time, and I’m so sorry for your loss.”

The Stilinskis exited the house and loaded back into the sheriff’s car.

“That old lady is full of it,” Stiles commented once they began driving.

“She knew something and she wasn’t telling us… I think we need a search warrant,” Noah said with a shake of his head.

“How are we going to do that? No reasonable judge is going to grant that to you without some serious evidence,” Stiles added, exasperated.

There was a long pause where Stiles thought through every option he could. Then, Noah spoke up.

“If she’s willing, we can Y/N back there and she can tell us what she sees. Maybe Jason possessed his mom or something, but it seems like we need to get more to this story,” he said. Stiles’ eyes went wide and he looked at his father.

“After what happened to her the last time? Absolutely not. I cannot let her go through that again,” he said definitively and protectively.

Noah cracked a small smile and suggested, “We should at least give her the option. I know she’s invested in this case and I’m sure she wants to do whatever she can to help.”

Stiles thought for a moment and he wasn’t sure if it was his urge to want to see Y/N again or his lack of better judgement, but he agreed and the pair drove to the animal clinic.

“I’ll absolutely do that. Anything I can do to help is something I’m willing to do,” Y/N said when the idea was posed to her.

“Okay great. You and Stiles can go tonight and search for clues, work your magic, and find a ghost killer,” Noah said with a smile. Y/N laughed at his remark.

“Okay.. Um, I’ll meet you at the sheriff’s station at 7, then?” Stiles asked her.

She nodded. “I’ll be there with my Ouija board.”

Stiles’ eyes went wide and he saw her double over in laughter.

“I’m kidding!”

Stiles went back to his hotel and changed out of his suit and into a pair of joggers and a t-shirt to send in his report for the day. He had to carefully choose his words because not all of what he was doing was necessarily sanctioned by the government. If Pamela Voorhees was behind the killings (and he had a strong suspicion she was), he had to find tangible proof, not just ghost sightings from a local and very beautiful and talented medium. He submitted his barely-there report and hoped Agent Harold would be sated given the lack of physical evidence at this point in the investigation.

Once he was ready and the time came, Stiles packed his gun, badge, handcuffs, and a couple flashlights for this ghost excursion. Not very much bothered Stiles, but ghosts were quite terrifying. Ever since he had overcome his demonic possession, anything resembling a ghost gave him the heebeejeebees. He had to power through it, though. Images of the butchered teenagers flashed in his mind as a reminder to be brave and to get justice for them. He pulled up to the sheriff’s station and found that Y/N was already there and dressed in darker clothing as well.

“Hey! I brought snacks. I didn’t know how long we were going to be out, but I figured Cheez-its are always a good option,” Y/N offered him with a smile. “Are you ready?”

Stiles smiled at her offer and nodded. “You do this often?”

They piled into his car and she shrugged. “Not usually this official. I’ve never worked with a man in uniform before.”

Stiles chuckled slightly. “Well, I’m kind of out of uniform at this point, but I do have my gun and badge if anything were to happen.”

“Well still. I usually only do these sorts of things for people who are mourning and want closure from a sudden or unexplained death. I actually had Alice’s mother come up to me in the store today…” Y/N said somberly.

Stiles’ heart ached for her as he imagined the burden of a grieving mother desperately asking for help. “I.. can’t imagine… What did you say to her?”

“I lied. I told her her daughter was with her and resting peacefully,” Y/N said in a serious tone. “It’s not like I could say ‘yeah she’s trapped in a loop where she gets murdered over and over until her spirit can move on once justice is served, which might not be ever because it looks like she was killed by a ghost.’”

Stiles’ face fell. “I’m going to do my best to give them justice. I hope you know that.”

Y/N let out a breath and nodded. “I do. But I also know that this case is probably very frustrating and I’m sure everything we’ve found out so far you’ve kept off the record… While I’m hopeful and I believe in you, I know the reality of the situation.”

Stiles smiled slightly at her saying she believed in him as he pulled up to the caution tape in front of the camp where they had been yesterday. He shut his car off and the air immediately felt more chilled and ominous.

“Alright, let’s get to ghostbusting,” Y/N mused with a sly smile.

“Oh god,” Stiles groaned.

They ventured into the cabin and Stiles could sense Y/N’s trepidation upon walking inside the cabin once more. Only illuminated by the flashlights they brought, the room looked much smaller than in the daylight, and the eeriness about the room was accentuated by the close-by lake’s fog. He saw her eyes move about the room and land on the bed farthest from them and she seemed to go into a trance-like state.

“He drowned in all our sins, he drowned in our mistakes… fueled by the flood we pay in blood the curse of the crystal lake…” Y/N said in a fashion that impressed to Stiles she was repeating after something. Her voice was hauntingly low and almost sounded like a song.

Y/N was seeing a campfire on the edge of the room. She saw the spirits of not only the eight teenagers she had seen before, but countless others gathered around the fire and chanting along to the beat. She couldn’t figure out why they were there, but her gut feeling told her to not join them. For some reason, she couldn’t look away.

She repeated the chant once more, and Stiles saw her eyes water. He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, which she responded to by seeming to break out of her trance and looking up at him with a small and sad smile. She put her hand over his and Stiles took comfort in her warm touch when he suddenly heard a small whistling from outside the window.

“Ki, ki, ki, ma, ma, ma…” the whisper had said in a machine-made sounding rhythmic whisper.

“What the fuck was that?!” he whisper-yelled. He looked out the nearby window and saw nothing but the light fog surrounding a few trees that his flashlight hit with its beam. He turned back to the middle of the cabin.

“Probably the ghost we’re trying to find,” Y/N surmised plainly. Stiles looked at her with a pleading expression and wide eyes.

“I hate everything about that sentence,” he said in a desperate tone.

“OH SHIT!” Y/N screamed and Stiles immediately grabbed his gun and pointed it towards the door where he saw an enormous figure blocking their path. It seemed to be human and wielded a comically sized machete in one hand and an equally large axe in the other. Covering its face was a hockey mask that had two red marks above the eyes that Stiles could only see blackness in.

Stiles stood in front of Y/N and pointed his gun at the figure. “Drop the weapons and put your hands above your head!”

“It’s a ghost, you can’t just shoot it,” Y/N said.

“I can’t let you get hurt,” Stiles responded lowly and addressed the non-compliant figure once more. “Put the weapons down slowly and place your hands on top of your head!”

The figure didn’t comply and instead it began to advance towards them. Stiles’ heart was pounding and he felt Y/N run to the front of the cabin once the large man had cleared the doorway enough for her to sneak by him. Before Stiles could get another word out, Y/N shouted once more.

“Jason Voorhees!” she said. The man turned and faced her and advanced quickly towards her. Stiles fired a shot into his chest from the back and the man didn’t even flinch. Stiles heard anguished screams come from Y/N and he had to think quickly.

“Fuck,” Stiles swore and ran at the figure who had given Y/N a few good whacks from the machete. They were exited from the cabin and Stiles thought to maybe run to the lake. He didn’t have too much experience with ghosts, but he figured it wasn’t going to hurt anything.

“Jason Voorhees!” Stiles commanded, and the figure’s attention was drawn to Stiles. He dropped his hold on Y/N and stood in front of Stiles within a few steps.

“Good, Jason! Kill for mommy!” Stiles heard a familiar woman’s voice say. He looked over and saw none other than Pamela Voorhees standing in the same stance Jason was but with empty hands where she mimed holding the weapons. “Kill him so we can keep getting our revenge on this wretched town!”

Just as he was about to do some serious damage to Stiles, Y/N’s voice rang out.

“Jason Voorhees, you are not of this world, and I command you to leave! I cast you out of this realm and into the next!” Y/N screamed from behind the figure. Pamela’s gaze turned angry and both she and Jason turned toward her at the same time.

“No!” Pamela sneered. “How dare you?!”

Stiles noticed Y/N holding her side as she screamed with conviction at the attacker. “I cast you out!”

Without warning, the figure was gone from sight and only the machete and axe remained. Stiles saw Pamela lunge towards the dropped weapons and grab them, then run at Y/N screaming in anger. Stiles rushed the pair an managed to disarm Pamela and pin her to the ground. He pulled out his handcuffs and began to detain Pamela.

“Pamela Voorhees, you’re under arrest for the assault and attempted murder of Y/N Y/L/N,” Stiles said.

“He was my son and those counselors were off having sex instead of watching him!” she cried out as he handcuffed her and read her the Miranda rights. “They deserved it!”

“I suggest you use that first right before we consider that a full-blown murder confession,” Stiles said matter-of-factly.

Stiles looked over at Y/N and saw that she was stabilizing herself on a tree. She managed to sit down and was holing her side from what he could see through the darkness. Stiles sat Pamela by an opposite tree and pulled out his phone and dialed 911.

“What the hell happened?!” Noah said to Stiles as he ran out of his squad car once he and the ambulance arrived at the campsite.

“Officially, Y/N was taking a jog and got lost, then this lady came after her with an axe and machete from over there,” Stiles said to Noah. “So I arrested her. I trust you can handle her booking?”

Noah put his hands up and motioned for him to place her in the back of his car. Once the car door was shut, Stiles noticed that the ambulance had taken off with Y/N.

“Hey, before you go chasing after your sweetheart, I just want you to know this: I’m proud of you, son,” Noah said with a smile. Stiles smiled back and got into his car and raced to the hospital.

When stiles entered the hospital, he was greeted with a warm smile from Melissa, who happened to be at the front desk.

“Stiles! Hi, I didn’t know you were coming to visit!” she said with a cheery smile. Stiles smiled and gave her a quick embrace. She then noticed his attire, he assumed, and her face dropped. “What happened?”

“A woman named Y/N Y/L/N just got here, I believe?” Stiles asked with hope.

She nodded and went to look on the computer. “Yeah, they’re checking her in now. Looks like she’s still alert and responsive. Room 3.”

Stiles smiled and thanked her before rushing down the hall and pulling the curtain away from the front of Room 3.

“Stiles! You’re okay?” Y/N said. He noticed that a nurse was just finishing up a pressure bandage for the gash on Y/N’s side.

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to step out of the room unless you are family or significant other,” the nurse said impatiently.

“He’s my boyfriend,” Y/N said to her. “Sorry..”

Stiles blushed and smiled to himself at her boldness. The nurse nodded and left the room and closed the curtain behind me.

“Boyfriend, huh?” Stiles said with a sly smile.

Y/N blushed a deep red that almost matched the blood stains on her hand. “I didn’t want you to leave.”

Stiles smiled and bit his lip. “Well, since I’m your boyfriend, I get to kiss you, right?”

Y/N smiled and let out a small laugh. “I’m pretty sweaty and gross right now, but sure. Pucker up, lover boy.”

Stiles moved closer to her and placed a hand on her cheek. “Oh so now I’m lover boy?”

“I suppose you are,” Y/N responded and the distance between their lips closed. Stiles wasn’t sure if his boldness was feeding from hers or the fact that his adrenaline was still pumping through him, but in this moment he just wanted her to be safe and happy. When he pulled away form her, they shared a small laugh.

“That was really nice,” Y/N said. Stiles nodded in agreement.

“We should do it more often. Not the ghost hunting, but the kissing part,” Stiles suggested.

After they had finished at the hospital and Y/N had gotten plenty of suture in her, Stiles drove back to the sheriff’s station and parked his car.

“How did you know..?” Stiles asked. Y/N gave him a puzzled look. “With Jason’s ghost… How did you know how to make him disappear?”

“Well, when I saw his mother basically controlling him, I guessed that she had summoned him, so I used my ability to speak to the dead to cast his spirit away. I’ve only done it a couple times, and I’m glad it worked,” Y/N said.

“You saved me. Thank you for that,” Stiles said and gripped her hands in his.

Y/N nodded and smiled and held his hands in hers. “You saved mine, too. Thank you. You brought so many souls peace tonight… You should feel good about that.”

He smiled and looked down at their hands. “I’m glad.” As the sun began to rise, Stiles smiled at Y/N and gave her a kiss on the cheek after she yawned. “Go get some sleep.”

“Will I get to see you again?” she asked in a serious tone. Stiles nodded immediately.

“I live about an hour away, so we won’t have to be too long distance,” he said to her. “And.. if you wanted… You could help me out on the next case. Say we meet up next Friday?”

Y/N smiled and laughed with a nod. “As long as it’s not the 13th.”

#stiles stilinski #stiles x reader

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theres-a-goldensky · 4 years

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BL Show Review Series - Until We Meet Again

The next show I am going to review is (spoilers) my favorite BL to date. It’s called Until We Meet Again, and it is fantastic.

Disclaimer that these are my own opinions, and I don’t know where the BL community as a whole stands on these shows. If I disliked a show you loved or visa versa, no disrespect is intended!

MASTERLIST OF BL SHOW REVIEWS

Mild Spoiler Warning and TW: brief mentions of suicide and homophobia

Until We Meet Again Rating: 9 / 10

I’ve put off writing about this show, because I’m finding it hard to articulate all of the reasons why the whole thing works so well. First of all, it needs to be said that whoever did the casting should get whatever the Thai version of an Emmy is, because every person involved in this show is so, so good. The standout, however, is Fluke as the main character, Pharm.

Fluke is, in my humble opinion, unequivocally the best actor in the Thai BL world. So much of the emotional work is done by him, in a show that is very, very emotional, and he carries the weight of the narrative really well. This man can cry on cue, and I swear he can make himself blush on cue too. You believe every second of his performance, and he makes Pharm very likable, relatable, and sympathetic without tipping over into helpless damsel territory.

Part of what makes the character so good is the quiet but firm way that he sticks up for himself. When Alex, the popular drama club president, starts to flirt with him, instead of running to Dean or meekly tolerating it, Pharm smiles politely and rejects him in a way that leaves no room for confusion. And when Dean does something that Pharm is uncomfortable with, Pharm forgives him with the gentle caveat that he never do it again. It’s said kindly, but you understand that Pharm means it, and Dean understands that too.

Anyway, that’s a hundred words just about how much I love Pharm, and we haven’t even talked about the main relationship. See, this is why I haven’t written about this show yet.

A quick overview of the show is that back in the late 80s, two university-aged men named Korn and In fell in love. However, their fathers disapproved, and Korn’s father was a mob boss who had tight control over his son. In despair, Korn kills himself and In, sick with grief, follows.

(left: Korn, right: In)

Then, cut to modern times, we meet Pharm and Dean, who we quickly understand are the reincarnations of In and Korn, respectively. It’s Pharm’s first day at university, and while he’s there doing all the introduction stuff, he meets his future best friends, Team and Manaow, and locks eyes with Dean.

Dean and Pharm both feel this connection, and their relationship is the sweetest, softest, kindest thing you will ever encounter in one of these series. Dean is a taciturn third year who is the president of the swimming club. He has plenty of female admirers, but he’s been looking for someone all his life. When he finds Pharm, he knows that his search is over. He is so gentle with Pharm, who is dealing with PTSD from In’s memories. At the same time, Dean doesn’t play any games. He makes it clear that he likes Pharm and wants Pharm to like him back. He never tries to hide his feelings with Pharm or anyone else.

(left: Dean, right: Pharm)

Ohm, who plays Dean, has less to do than Fluke, because Dean is not the primary POV character of the show, and he’s much quieter overall. But what he does well is watching Pharm and touching him like he is the most important thing in the world. He’s open with his affection and never gets hostile or aggressive the way characters often do in these stories. He’s a big guy, but he’s very kind.

Korn and In’s story is told through flashbacks that are mainly meant to mirror Dean and Pharm in the present. It’s hard to watch their happiness when we know how it’s going to end up. Earth plays In, who patiently and insistently chases after Korn. His smile is like sunlight. Seriously, he is a gift, which makes it all the harder to watch him go through so much pain. Korn is much more stoic. I think of all of the characters, he’s the one I had the hardest time connecting with. He keeps a very stern face most of the time, but by the end, it still hurts seeing him suffer.

One of the key things that makes this drama different than other BLs is that it has a genuinely compelling plot. We get to watch as Dean and Pharm navigate their new relationship while trying to piece together what is happening inside their heads. They also need to figure out how much of what they feel for each other is them and how much of it is because of Korn and In’s memories. The story went places I truly wasn’t expecting at times and kept me interested the whole way through.

The supporting characters on this show are also great. The secondary couple is Pharm’s friend Team and Dean’s friend Win. Win is the vice president of the swimming club, and Team is a junior member of the club. They immediately have that playful, fighting vibe between them that is really fun to watch.

(left: Team, right: Win)

Win’s character has lots of tattoos and piercings. He looks like a bad boy, but just like Dean, he’s actually very nice. He’s more mischievous and outgoing than Dean though. This makes him a better match for Team, who isn’t afraid to match Win’s attitude and return his teasing back at him.

Oftentimes, the secondary pairings bore me a bit, but I loved, loved, LOVED Win and Team. They are getting their own series next year, and I cannot wait for it.

Something else I want to point out about this story is that there are no Evil Female Characters. No clingy ex-girlfriends or scheming, jealous love rivals anywhere to be seen. But there ARE female characters, and they’re all great. Manaow, Pharm’s other best friend, is the main one. She’s played by Thai BL mainstay Sammy. Manaow is loud and friendly and supportive. She also gets her own boyfriend, though I wish we saw more of that relationship (give it to us in the sequel, pleassssse). Dean’s sister Del quickly joins their group of friends as well. Then there’s the less prominent members of Pharm’s cooking club. Female family members who also play big roles in the narrative.

The show isn’t without its faults. The one BLARING example that comes to mind is product placement. Until We Meet Again has the most blatant and annoying product placement I have ever seen. It almost feels like the show is stopping and having the characters give full commercials mid-episode. I refuse to mention the names of the products, but they are highlighted in a ham-handed way that is even more crass when you contrast it with the quality of the rest of the show. The worst one, by far, is at least relegated to a sort of mini-story after the episode. It involves one character encouraging another to go to the sponsored clinic and get cosmetic work done. The whole thing is not just gross but also out of character for both of them. I’ve pretty much erased it from my mind. Capitalism can burn.

The other thing is that occasionally the pacing drags a bit. I enjoyed it, but the director lingers 5-10 seconds too long on some shots, especially those involving eye contact. This is normal for BLs, but not to this extent. There’s an almost-kiss scene that drags on for nearly a FULL MINUTE in an early episode. At this point, I’ve rewatched the show so many times that I know when to hit the skip 10 secs button to move things along at a faster clip. But the first time I watched, I was like, “OK, I get it. They’re looking at each other and remembering events from their past lives. You have thoroughly conveyed this.”

But those are comparatively minor gripes and didn’t detract too much from my enjoyment. Watch this show. Have tissues ready.

And if you’re interested in fanfic, I put together rec lists for multiple BL shows including this one that can be found here and here.

MASTERLIST OF BL SHOW REVIEWS

(Send me an ask if you have a show you’d like me to review - with the understanding that I will be completely honest - or if there’s anything you think I forgot or got wrong in this review.)

#until we meet again #uwma #bl review series #ohmfluke #deanpharm #dean x pharm #bounprem #winteam #win x team #kornin #korn x in #cooheart #kao x earth #thai bl #bl recs

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tw-anchor · 4 years

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35. Emotional Tethers

Anchor

Stiles Stilinski x Original Character

Episode: 3x11; Alpha Pact

Word Count: 7,880

Warning(s): Mature language, canon violence + gore, human sacrifices, Scott’s asshole dad,

Author’s Note: I’m updating with a new chapter today because I’ve been gone for a while and I need to play catch up. My grandma died, so I haven’t been very motivated lately. I hope you enjoy this chapter! Please let me know what you think, reblog, and like!

Masterlink in Pinned Post!

"Derek?!" Stiles shouted and he sounded so terrified it broke Olivia's heart. He slapped his hand down on Derek's cheek to stir him awake. "Derek, come on!"

Olivia shook her cousin's body while Stiles kept on hitting him. She didn't know if it was because Stiles was scared or taking his anger out on Derek for Jennifer's disappearance, but damn, he was putting all of his strength into his blows.

"Derek, wake up," Olivia shook him again. "Derek!"

Stiles curled his open hand into a fist and reared back, ready to punch Derek awake. Just as his arm reamed forward, Derek lifted his hand and caught it. Olivia sighed in relief and placed a chaste kiss on Derek's sweaty forehead before helping him up into a sitting position.

Derek looked around the elevator, bewildered. "Where is she?"

"Jennifer? Gone with Scott's mom," Stiles answered, his voice still panicked.

"She took her?"

"Yeah, and if that's not enough of a kick to the balls, Scott left with Deucalion, okay?" Stiles informed him. "So, we gotta get you out of here. The police are coming right now and we gotta get you the fuck out of here."

Olivia and Stiles both worked together to get Derek to his feet. "Woah," he stumbled slightly. "What about Cora?"

"She's with Isaac and Peter," Olivia told him. "They should be in the parking lot with the Argents."

"Olivia and I will hold the police off," Stiles added. "but you have to go right now."

Derek glanced at Olivia worriedly. "Be careful," he touched her cheek for a second and then brushed a thumb over the small cut just under her temple from where she hit the wall earlier. "and get that cut cleaned."

"I will," she assured him. "Go now."

Derek took off toward the parking lot and Olivia and Stiles made their way to the Emergency Wing's lobby. They sat in chairs right next together; Olivia laid her head on Stiles' shoulder while he grabbed her hand and locked their fingers together.

"I'm sorry all of this is happening, Stiles," Olivia whispered; there was something about the silence in the hospital that made her want to not disturb it.

"S'not your fault," Stiles kissed the top of her head. "Babe, you almost died last night. There wasn't anything you could do to stop Jennifer from taking my dad or Melissa."

"I know," and she did know that; she didn't blame herself for what was happening. None of them knew that Jennifer was the darach until she tried to kill her and Lydia. "but that doesn't mean that I can't feel sorry for the pain you and Scott are going through. How are you feeling?"

"Not great," his hold on her hand got a little tighter but he made up for it by playing with her fingers; it made her smile. "Maybe Cora was right, you know? We're only finding the bodies," he sniffed, a single tear making its way down his left cheek. "I don't want to find my dad's body."

Olivia gently detached her hand from his and wrapped her arms around him, her chin resting on his left shoulder. "We're gonna find him, Stiles, okay? We're gonna do everything we possibly can."

"How? We don't have a plan," he shifted so his face nuzzled her neck, his fingers pressing firmly into her back. His voice was absolute miserable and it made tears sting Olivia's eyes.

"We'll come up with one. I'll get Allison, Lydia, and Isaac and we'll come up with something. We're all smart, we can do it. Even if I have to join Deucalion, I will do that for you."

Stiles shook his head in protest and whispered. "Don't. I need you by my side."

Olivia stroked the back of his head. "Okay. I won't leave your side. Not even to go to the bathroom."

Her little joke coaxed a smile out of him, she could feel his lips quirk against her skin. He was about to reply when loud sirens alerted them to the fact that the police had arrived. They separated as the police officers and numerous FBI agents stormed into the hospital.

Stiles spotted a man that Olivia didn't recognize and sighed heavily. "Oh, just perfect."

Olivia gave him a questioning look but was unable to ask him what was up, because the man—who had to be a giant—walked over to them.

"A Stilinski at the center of this whole mess," the man stopped in front of Stiles, glaring down at him. "What a shocker. Think you can answer some questions without the usual level of sarcasm?"

Olivia started to protest—she was pretty sure Stiles was allowed a lawyer with him while being questions, or something like that—but Stiles had already spoken up, very sarcastically, "If you ask the questions without the usual level of stupid."

The smile smiled just as sarcastically. "Where's your dad?" he asked Stiles. "And why has no one been able to contact him?"

"I don't know. I haven't seen him in hours."

"Is he drinking again?"

"Is that question appropriate for this investigation?" Olivia glared at the agent.

The man gave her a firm be-quiet look and turned back to Stiles. "Answer the question."

Stiles sighed heavily. "What do you mean, again? He never had to stop."

"But he did have to slow down," the man prompted. "Is he drinking like he used to?"

Stiles licked his lips and glared up at him. "All right, how about this? Next time I see him, I'll give him a field sobriety test, okay?" his voice hardened. "We'll do the alphabet, start with 'F' and end with 'U.'"

Olivia bit the inside of her cheek to hold back her laughter. Stiles totally made the agent look like a fool.

The agent smiled tightly. "How about you just tell me what the hell happened here?"

"I don't know what happened here," Stiles exhaled heavily. "Olivia and I were stuck in the elevator the whole time."

"You're not the one who put the names on the doors, are you?"

Olivia and Stiles shared a confused look. "What name?"

"Argent."

"The word is guardian, Allison," Mr. Argent said as he opened the door to their apartment, Allison, Olivia, and Stiles piling in after him. "More than anyone, you know that's a role I haven't exactly lived up to lately."

"But she took Scott's mother and Stiles' father," Allison pointed out as they walked through the apartment and into Mr. Argent's office. "That's not a coincidence."

"Yeah, I'd also consider the fact that someone put your name up in large block letters on the elevator doors," Stiles added. "That kind of felt like a warning to me."

"I think it was Ms. Morrel," Olivia stated, remembering how the guidance counselor told Scott about Deucalion wanting them in his pack. "She knows everything about the alpha pack and she knew Jennifer before. I think she might be trying to help us."

Stiles scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest. "Well, she needs to get on that a lot faster, okay? Seeing as how the lunar eclipse is less than two freaking nights away."

He sat in one of the chairs in front of Mr. Argent's desk; Olivia went to him, putting a calming hand on his shoulder.

Mr. Argent gave him a kind look. "Stiles, don't give up hope."

Stiles ducked his head. "They could already be dead."

"I don't think so," Mr. Argent disagreed. "There's something about Jennifer's tactics. It's like she's still positioning, still moving pieces into place."

"And you're one of them," Allison reminded her father.

"Then let's not wait around to see the next move," Mr. Argent grabbed the map of Beacon Hills and the telluric currents and flattened it on his desk. "Everything she's done has been on a telluric current, so Melissa and the sheriff have to be somewhere on one of those currents, right?" he paused when he saw that Stiles hadn't followed Olivia over to the desk. "Stiles, if we're gonna find them, we need your help."

"You're seriously want to go after her?" Stiles didn't stand up, bracing his elbows on his knees. "I mean, what if she just takes you like the others, huh? No offense, but what's the difference between you and them?"

Mr. Argent reached for one of the drawers in his desk. He pulled it open and Olivia watched in shock as he pulled out a huge handgun. She inched closer to Allison, who gave her a reassuring smile. She had never been shot, but there was something about seeing Mr. Argent hold a gun in front of her that made her itch.

"I'm carrying a .45," Mr. Argent told Stiles bluntly. "Maybe she can heal from a shot to the leg and a few slashes to the face, but personally, I'd like to see how she holds up with half her skull blown off."

Olivia looked back at Stiles and quirked her lips, her expression telling him 'he's got a point.'

Mr. Argent set the gun back on his desk. "We've got one priority right now and that's to find Melissa and your dad," he said firmly. "We've got a map and every clue we need to figure this out. The only thing we don't have is time, which is why I need all three of you."

Stiles sighed and stood up. "Where do we start?"

Mr. Argent pulled out his blue light so they could see exactly where he had marked the telluric currents, the places where the victims were kidnapped, and the places where their bodies were found.

"The place where the sacrifices have been committed have usually been different from where the bodies have been found. I think the placement has to do with the strength of the current," he held the light over the map, hitting three different places. "So, there's the school, the animal clinic, and the bank."

"Wait, hold on," Olivia spoke up thoughtfully, her eyes studying the map. "You don't think she would use the same place twice, do you?"

"Only if she didn't succeed the first time," Mr. Argent hit the light against the mark at the bank.

"Scott's boss," Allison realized.

"Deaton," Mr. Argent confirmed. "It was her only failure. That could mean something."

"That's just one place so far," Stiles grumbled. "We're gonna need a lot more help."

Allison looked at Olivia. "What about Lydia?"

Mr. Argent looked at the girls, confused. "Lydia? What can she do?"

"She's a banshee, a harbinger of death," Olivia told him. "She's been finding the bodies without looking for them. Which, now that I think about it, might not be the best thing. Because if she can find Ms. McCall and Sheriff Stilinski, that means..."

No one said anything as her sentence trailed off. They all knew what that meant.

"We can still bring her in," Mr. Argent decided; Olivia nodded in agreement. "What about you? Are you able to locate them?"

"I can try. They're not considered official pack members, but their relation to Scott and Stiles might give me something," she glanced at Stiles, who gave her a small smile.

Mr. Argent nodded. "All right, good," he glanced at Allison. "Let's get ready then."

Olivia and Stiles watched as the Argents pulled out their weapons. Mr. Argent went down to the basement of their apartment building where they had a storage locker full of weapons, while Allison went around the apartment and pulled out the ones they kept with them all the time. Guns—big and small—bows and arrows, Chinese ring daggers—those were harder than they looked to use, Olivia knew because Allison had been attempting to teach her the ropes—more knives, smoke grenades, and anything else that would help defeat Jennifer, and/or the alpha pack, were laid on the desk.

Stiles looked at the collection of weapons with wide eyes. "Woah," Mr. Argent cocked his gun into place. "I thought you guys were retired."

"Retired, yes. Defenseless, no," Mr. Argent set the gun back on the desk and then turned to face Olivia and Stiles. "Make sure both of your phones are on. If either of you hear from Scott, let us know immediately."

Stiles checked his phone, where there were no messages or missed calls from Scott, and frowned. "Yeah, I'm thinking that's gonna be kind of unlikely."

Mr. Argent glanced at Allison, seeing the frown on her face. "All three you, try to remember he's just doing what he thinks is right," he advised them all.

Allison's gaze was already on the door; Olivia, Stiles, and Mr. Argent turned to see Isaac standing within the door frame. "I can't shoot a gun or use a crossbow, but..." his claws slipped out of his nail beds and he held them up. "Well, I'm getting pretty good with these."

The one thing she had not expected when she stepped a foot into her house a half-hour later, was Natalie rushing up to her. She pulled Olivia into a tight hug—a very tight hug—and held the back of her head, as if assuring herself that Olivia was alive and relatively okay.

Olivia should have expected it. Natalie might not be her mother, but all intents and purposes, she was. She watched over Olivia for six, going on seven, years, she fed and sheltered her, and she loved her and cared for her just as much as Lydia. Her stomach dropped when she realized that she hadn't gotten in touch with Natalie after the whole fiasco that she and Lydia went through with Jennifer. She had been too caught up with the events happening in the hospital and she knew that Lydia was okay, only because of her tether to her.

"I was so worried about you," Natalie sighed into her hair.

"I'm sorry," Olivia apologized sincerely but then had to lie about where she had been. "I was at Derek's. He took care of me."

Natalie frowned and pulled away from the hug to get a good look at her. "Your neck. God, I'm going to kill whoever did this to you two."

If only that was possible.

"I'm okay," she assured her aunt; and as if the universe hated her, her voice squeaked like she was a male going through puberty. She cleared her throat, having gotten used to the pain, and asked, "How's Lydia?"

"The poor thing has a concussion and a couple of stitches by her hairline," Natalie sighed sadly and reached up to Olivia's forehead, thumbing over the cut she had cleaned up at the Argents' apartment. "I'm so glad you two are okay."

"Me too," Olivia took her hand and squeezed it quickly. "If it's okay, I'm gonna go see Lydia."

"Of course, honey," Natalie nodded encouragingly. "How about in ten minutes, I come up there and help you get ready for school? I know you don't like to miss it."

"Thanks, Aunt Nat. I'll see you in a few."

Olivia left her aunt and climbed the stairs, heading straight to Lydia's bedroom, only a door from her own room. She knocked gently and waited until she heard Lydia's permission to enter, before going into the room. Lydia was sitting at the end of her bed, dressed in pajamas, flipping through pages of an old photobook. Olivia recognized it; it was the one from their first year in middle school.

She looked up and smiled at Olivia as she padded over to her bed. "Hey."

"Hey, how are you feeling?" she sat next to the redhead.

"My head hurts a little bit, but other than that, I'm fine," Lydia studied the bruise on her neck. "How about you?"

"Just a little bruise."

Lydia pressed her lips together sadly. "What happened last night?"

Olivia described everything that went on last night. She told her about confronting Jennifer with Stiles, Scott, and Derek, about how Jennifer had poisoned Cora with mistletoe and that was why she wasn't healing. She explained how they went to the hospital and the alpha pack showed up, the many ways they tried to thwart them, and the plan that they eventually came up with. Finally, she told Lydia about Jennifer taking Melissa and Scott joining Deucalion and the rest of the alphas.

"I don't believe it," Lydia shook her head with a sigh. "Scott can't really be with them. He can't be."

"He's doing it for his mom and the sheriff," Olivia frowned; more and more, she was thinking that Scott had made the right decision. And she should have done it with him. If making a deal with the devil was the price she had to pay to make sure Noah and Melissa were safe, she'd do it. "And the look on his face..."

"Okay, so what can I do?" Lydia immediately volunteered to help them, making Olivia smile thankfully at her. "I know I'm supposed to be some human Geiger counter for death or something, but you told me that I could maybe save some people. I don't know how to turn it on and off yet, but..."

When she hesitated, Olivia bit the inside of her cheek. "What?"

"Remember what Jennifer said when she was going to kill me after you?" Lydia reminded her. "She said I knew too much."

"You're right. She didn't know you were a banshee."

Olivia's mind raced. Jennifer tried to kill Lydia because she knew something about what was going on, but what was it? She thought back on how Lydia had been acting since the school year started, and other than finding the dead bodies and that stint at the Motel Glen Capri, she couldn't think of much else...Except, wait. There was something. The day before, when they were in English class learning about idioms, Jennifer had commented on Lydia's drawing.

"Your drawing," she said aloud to see if it sparked something in Lydia. "The one you always draw, the tree."

Lydia looked at her confused, "What are you talking about?"

"The tree you always draw," Olivia got up from the bed and rushed over to Lydia's desk, picking up one of the notebooks there. She opened it up and on the very first page, was the tree. She showed it to Lydia. "This tree. You've been drawing it everywhere, Lyds."

"What?" Lydia asked, horrified. She ripped the notebook out of Olivia's grasp and flipped through the rest of the pages. Over and over, on each page, a drawing of the same tree was there in various sizes. "What the hell?"

"She knew that you knew something about the tree, but she didn't know what," Olivia pointed out. "Do you know what the drawing means?"

Lydia shook her head. "No, I don't. I mean, I talked about it with Ms. Morrell once in one of our sessions, but—"

"Ms. Morrell knows?" Olivia cut her off urgently. "About the drawings and stuff?"

"Yeah, why?" Olivia didn't answer her as she pulled out her phone and started messaging Stiles. "Liv?"

"Sorry, sorry," Olivia turned back to her cousin. "Okay, Stiles and I are gonna head to the school and talk to Ms. Morrell. Do you think you can try to get ahold of Aiden and see if he or the other alphas know anything about Jennifer that we don't?"

"I can try," Lydia seemed bewildered at how flustered Olivia was. "Are you all right, Liv?"

"Yeah, yeah, I just need to go," Olivia rushed to the door before stopping and turning back to her. "Hey, do you think I should cover this," she gestured to her neck. "up?"

"No," Lydia said firmly. "You survived Jennifer's attack. You don't need to hide that."

Olivia inhaled deeply, feeling herself get emotional, and smiled softly at Lydia. "Okay, thank you. I love you, Lyds."

"I love you, too, Liv."

After getting dressed and throwing her hair into a topknot—she had not had time to shower, which was unfortunate, because she was pretty sure she still had blood in her hair—Stiles picked her up and they rushed to the school. As they started heading over to Ms. Morrell's office, Olivia got a text message from Lydia.

Lyds: Aiden's not texting me back

Liv: All right. Just keep trying, okay?

Lyds: I will. Be careful

Liv: You too

While she was texting her cousin back, she saw a message come in from Isaac. She ignored it for just a second as she looked up at Stiles and informed him of what was going on with Lydia, "Aiden's not texting Lydia back," she paused and saw that he had stopped walking in the middle of the hallway, his phone in his hand. "Are you okay, Stiles?"

Stiles continued to look at the phone, his face crumpling.

"Stiles, what's going on?" she asked cautiously. She walked over to be by his side and saw that Stiles had gotten a text message from Isaac as well. "What does it say?"

"Jennifer, she t—" he inhaled shakily, his hands shaking. "she has Allison's father. She took him. "She's got all three now."

Olivia's heart started racing in her chest but she somehow found words. "There's still time," she focused on that; Jennifer couldn't do anything until the lunar eclipse started. "We still have time, Stiles."

Stiles didn't respond. His hands shook terribly as he put his phone back into his jeans pocket, he was pale and sweaty, and she didn't need to have enhanced hearing to hear how shaky his breath was. Not only did his tether—his was her favorite, a light brown like his eyes when the sun hit them just right—start flashing, different than it did with the werewolf tethers.

"Stiles," she stood on her tiptoes to place the palm of her hand against his cheek, grounding him for a second. "Stiles, are you having a panic attack?"

Stiles struggled to breathe as he nodded, his eyes wide with panic.

"Okay, it's okay, um..." she looked around the hallway and thanked God that Ms. Morrell's office was close to the boys' locker room. "Okay, come on, Stiles."

The frantic gasping that came from Stiles was scary, she wasn't going to lie. However, she needed to be there for him. She had never experienced a panic attack, but she had read about them. And because she knew Stiles had anxiety, she had learned multiple ways to help people who were experiencing panic attacks. Even though everyone was different and so were reactions, she hoped one of the techniques would help him.

Olivia helped Stiles take a seat on the floor, his back leaned up against one row of lockers, and then kneeled down in front of him. Stiles was really beginning to worry now, his face had lost all color and his breathing had turned into hyperventilating.

"Stiles? Stiles, look at me," she gently grabbed his face and tilted it upward so he could look her in the eyes. "I know you're scared right now, but you have to calm down. Can you breathe with me?"

Stiles nodded, breathing heavily.

"All right, here," she picked up one of his hands and pressed it against her stomach where he would be able to feel how she breathed. "and breathe slow like this. Slow inhale, slow exhale."

She demonstrated the breathing for him. Stiles tried to copy her actions but his thoughts must have gone to his dad again, because he went through two or three cycles of breathing before it picked up again.

"Liv-Livvy," he gasped out, his eyes boring into hers, panicked.

"Okay," that didn't work. "um, okay. Tell me five things you see in this room right now."

He gave her a bewildered look. "I-I can't."

"Yes, you can," she insisted as she stroked his cheek with her thumb. "Right now, Stiles. Please."

"O-Okay," he panted, his eyes quickly tracing the room. "Okay, u-um, my locker."

"Good, good. What else?"

"Y-You're wearing—you're wearing a blue shirt. Blue is pretty."

"Yeah, it is," Olivia smiled at him. "Okay, three more things. You're doing great, sweetcheeks.

"The, uh," his breathing was better but not totally okay yet. He gasped quickly and then continued, "the regional ch-championship trophy."

"That's great, Stiles. Two more."

Stiles eyes darted behind her, where the sinks were lined up on the wall. "The leaky faucet. It's, uh, it's the third one."

Olivia glanced behind her and smiled when she saw that he was right. "Good. One more," his breathing was much calmer now. The gasps were gone and each breath he took was less wheezy. "You're doing great, Stiles."

Stiles' eyes went back to her face, searching it intently. "You're wearing that lip balm you like," he said finally. "it's pink and it tastes like strawberries."

"Yeah," she gazed at him fondly. He inhaled deeply and exhaled, his breathing back to normal. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," Stiles took the hand of hers that was on his face and kissed her knuckles. "How'd you know how to do that?"

"I, uh, I knew you had anxiety, so I looked up some methods that might help with panic attacks," Olivia answered him sheepishly. "I have a few more. You can name some colors or hold your breath, and you can even distract yourself with something funny that you like. Like for you, it'd be—"

Her rambling was cut off but Stiles pulling her in for a loving but passionate kiss. Of course, she returned the affection. She loved Stiles so much and she was very happy to know he was feeling better.

When he pulled away from the kiss and stared at her. And he was so damn cute, staring at her like she was the most wonderful person in the world. "You really did that?"

"Of course I did," she stroked his cheek again once she moved it back to his face. "I would do anything for you, I love you."

"I love you, too," Stiles pressed his lips to hers again and pulled away before she could react. "I love you so fucking much, Livvy. One day, after all this is over and we graduate, I'm gonna marry you. And then we'll go to college and get an apartment next to Scott, and we'll have however many dogs you want—because I know you secretly love them so much—and then we'll have a family and we'll—"

"Okay, okay, settle down there," Olivia giggled and gave him a bright smile. The only way she could describe how she felt at his words was that there were a hundred butterflies in her stomach who were just as overjoyed to hear him say that as she was. "We have to get your dad, Melissa, and Mr. Argent back first. We'll see about the rest then, okay?"

"Okay," Stiles nodded with a grin. After Olivia climbed to her feet, she brought her hand down for him to take. He took it gladly and she helped him up. "We should get to Ms. Morrell's office now, huh?"

"Yeah."

After leaving the locker room, they rushed down the hallway and stormed into Ms. Morrell's office. Ms. Morrell wasn't there at her desk like they thought she would be, but there was a student waiting for her. She looked kind of familiar, but Olivia just couldn't place her face at the moment.

"Are you here for Ms. Morrell?" Stiles asked her.

"No, I thought this was gym class," she snarked back at him.

"Okay, listen, we're not in the mood for unneeded sarcasm," Olivia put up her unfeeling mask she used for her classmates and the other students—and teachers—at the school. "Do you know where she is?"

"If I did, I wouldn't be waiting her for twenty minutes," the girl huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "So, how about you two lovebirds back out the door and wait your turn?"

"We're here for a session," Stiles told her.

"Well, I am, and I've got some serious issues to work on."

"Woah, hold on," Olivia studied the girl's face, finally realizing where she had seen her before. "You were at Heath's birthday party. Uh, it's Danielle, right?"

"We've had class together, but sure, I was the girl at Heath's birthday party," Danielle rolled her eyes. "I was his best friend and you and your cousin stopped hanging out with him. That's what Morrell and I have been working on three times a week."

"Wait, did you say that Morrell's twenty minutes late?" Stiles interjected.

Danielle nodded. "And I don't know why, either. She's always on time.

Stiles nodded in agreement. "Yeah, I've been seeing her since freshman year," he looked at Olivia. "She's never late...so, she must be missing."

Olivia gave him a knowing look. "What if we're not the only ones who think she knows something?" she mused. "Aiden wasn't answering Lydia, remember?"

Stiles nodded and glanced at the filing cabinet behind Ms. Morrell's desk. "Then let's find out what she knows," he knelt down in front of the filing cabinet and pulled out a lock-pick kit that Olivia had no idea he had. "You said Lydia's been seeing her since the start of the semester?"

"Yeah."

"What are you doing?" Danielle asked, affronted, as she watched Stiles break into the cabinet and sift through the files. "Those files are private."

"We're looking for my cousin's file," Olivia told her. "She gave us permission."

Danielle didn't look impressed but she didn't stop them or go to tattle on them, either.

"Find it!" Stiles stood up and tossed Lydia's file onto the desk.

Olivia opened the file and went through the various papers that Ms. Morrell had collected on Lydia. There were no notes like there would be if Morrell was a normal guidance counselor. Instead, it was full of Lydia's drawings, each one of them a tree just like the ones that filled her notebook back at home.

"Wait, wait, stop," Stiles caught her hand as she went to pick up another paper. "Look at that."

The paper he had pointed to had the tree on it like the others. However, this one was different. It was upside down compared to the other ones, making the tree look more like roots, and at the bottom, it was labeled. In Ms. Morrell's writing, it said, 'Nemeton.'

"Oh, my God," Olivia breathed in realization. "It's the Nemeton. That's where she's keeping them. It has to be."

Stiles nodded in agreement. "That's where Derek brought Paige, right?" Olivia made a noise of confirmation as they rushed out of the office, leaving Danielle behind. "Okay, so—"

"Stilinski!" the agent from earlier, who Stiles had told her was Scott's father, shouted for him as he stomped down the hallway.

"Fuck," Stiles cursed under his breath. "All right, you should go to Derek and ask him about the Nemeton and its location."

"I will," Olivia glanced behind him and bit the inside of her cheek when she saw that Agent McCall was only a few feet away from them now. "Be careful."

"You too."

Olivia walked away as Stiles confronted Agent McCall and swiftly turned into a different hallway, the one where her locker was located. She didn't leave like Stiles wanted her to, she had a few phone calls to make.

She took a deep breath and dialed Dr. Deaton first.

"Did you know your dad's car is in the school parking lot and has been since last night?" Agent McCall asked him. He was sitting on Coach's desk while Stiles sat on one of the students' desks right across from him. He felt like he was in the worst detention he had ever experienced. Scratch that, Mr. Harris' detentions were the worst.

Stiles ducked his head, staring at his fingers and he nervously wringed them together. "No. What does that mean?"

"It means he's officially missing," Rafael told him. Stiles stayed quiet: Tell me something I don't know. "Stiles, why am I getting the feeling you know something that could help us find your dad?"

Stiles lifted his head and narrowed his eyes at his best friend's father. "If I did, why would I not tell you?"

Probably because you, nor the FBI, know anything about what it's really like in Beacon Hills. You don't know about the supernatural, you don't even know that your son is a werewolf, a fucking true alpha, he thought bitterly.

"If it meant helping your dad, why wouldn't you?"

Stiles gave him a look that clearly asked the agent why he was being so idiotic. "So, you're asking me to tell you what I wouldn't not tell you?"

"First, I have no idea what you just said," Rafael said calmly. "Second, how about you just help me help you?"

"Well, I don't know how to help you help me tell you something that would help you if I don't know it," even Stiles was confused about his words, but he stuck to them.

Rafael furrowed his eyebrows. "Are you doing this on purpose?"

Stiles sighed. "I don't know anything, okay? Can I just go?"

Rafael shook his head. "Where are your other friends?"

"You mean Scott?"

"I mean Scott," McCall took out his handy-dandy notebook and listed off all of Stiles' friends, excluding Olivia—he knew where she was—and including some that weren't his friends. "I mean Isaac Lahey, Allison Argent, Lydia Martin, these twins Ethan and Aiden," he shut the notepad and put it back in his jacket. "I've been told your whole little clique didn't show up at school today."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "I don't have a clique."

Especially not one with Ethan and Aiden and...Well, I guess Isaac's part of our pack of friends...

"Stiles, come on," Rafael sighed, wishing he would just say something. "There's been a pretty disturbing amount of violent activity in this county in the last month, several murders tied to this school. I don't know what's going on here, but it's serious."

Stiles ducked his head again. McCall didn't have to tell him about what was going on. Stiles knew more about it than he did.

"And hey, your dad is missing," Rafael caught his attention; he lifted his head but didn't say anything. "Fine. But I don't want you going home alone. You have someone you can stay with tonight?"

"He's with me," a new, familiar, voice spoke up. Stiles and Agent McCall both looked over to the door where Deaton was standing, Olivia behind him. "Come on, Stiles."

Stiles eagerly jumped off the desk he was sitting and threw Agent McCall another glare before following Olivia and Dr. Deaton out of the classroom.

Olivia, Stiles, Allison, Isaac, and Lydia had all gathered in the exam room at the animal clinic with Dr. Deaton. Lydia had gone to see Derek and Peter, at Olivia's insistence, and asked them about the Nemeton, but according to them, Talia had taken those memories from them. That left them with no new leads on Jennifer or a location of the Nemeton, and the sun had already set. They had twenty-four hours to figure everything out.

"It has to be on a telluric current," Stiles declared, leaning against the stainless-steel cart in the middle of the room. "or maybe even at the axis of two or where they all intersect..."

"We just know that Derek took Paige to die there," Olivia finished.

"My dad and Gerard were there once," Allison told everyone from next to Olivia. "but Gerard said it was years ago and he couldn't remember where it was. And my dad obviously isn't here to tell us now."

"Yeah, mine either."

Olivia bit the inside of her cheek, and comfortingly rubbed Allison's back with one hand and Stiles' back with the other. She didn't know if it was comforting but she wanted to show her support for them anyway.

"Then how do we find this place?" Isaac spoke up.

The five of them looked over to Dr. Deaton, who had been pacing with a thoughtful expression the whole time they spoke.

"There might be a way," Dr. Deaton said finally. "but it's dangerous. We're going to need Scott."

Olivia immediately set to work on finding Scott's location. After only two minutes—she was getting much better at locating her pack members—Stiles and Dr. Deaton went to go find him. While she and the others waited for them to bring Scott back with them, she pulled herself into her map and tried to find Sheriff Stilinski, Ms. McCall, and Mr. Argent.

The whole thing was trickier than expected but she didn't care. Knowing that she was most connected to Stiles, she started with his tether. First, she dived deep down into it—while trying not to disturb Stiles, where he and Deaton were—and stayed there for a few seconds, getting used to the feeling of it. She pictured Noah and Stiles together, using one of the memories in which she had gone over to their house for pizza one night so Noah could get to know her better. She focused on them and their bond. Although Stiles and his dad didn't look much alike, their personalities were damn near the same, with a little less sarcasm on Noah's side. They really loved each other, and each one was the last family that the other had.

Once she was comfortable with both Stiles and Noah, she moved onto Noah by himself. Something about Noah just screamed green to her, but that was nice. Green was warm and comforting and that fit him. And when she saw a faded green dot in front of her, she knew that it was him. The thing was, the dot was dull and blurry—she couldn't see him properly. She tried going further toward him but she couldn't move. Something was keeping her back.

She cursed under her breath as she opened her, realizing what was happening. Lydia, Allison, and Isaac were all looking at her expectantly, wanting to know if she got anything. "Jennifer," she scowled. "I think she's blocking me somehow."

"Then we will have to go through with the plan. It's our last choice," Dr. Deaton entered the exam room, followed by Stiles and Scott.

"Yeah, what exactly is this plan?" Lydia asked curiously. Dr. Deaton and Stiles had left before the former was able to explain the plan.

"Essentially, Scott, Allison, and Stiles need to be surrogate sacrifices for their parents," Deaton explained.

"They're going to die for them?" Olivia asked, furrowing their eyebrows. She wouldn't be able to handle that. Stiles was the love of her life, Allison was one of her best friends, and Scott was a friend to her as well. Three members of her pack, three people that she loved and cared about would be gone.

Stiles, it seemed, could read her mind. "He can bring us back," he assured her, crossing the room to pull her into his side. He glanced at Deaton to make sure, "You can bring us back, right?"

Dr. Deaton pulled a half-grimace. "You remember the part where I said it was dangerous?" everyone nodded. "If it goes right, the three of you will be dead for a few seconds, but there's something else you need to think about. This is a dangerous thing for more reasons than one. You'll be giving power back to the Nemeton, a place that hasn't had power for a long time."

"This kind of power is like a magnet. It attracts the supernatural, the kind of things that a family like the Argents can fill the pages of a bestiary with," he said seriously, finishing up. "It will draw them here, like a beacon."

Olivia wondered if the Nemeton was the reason that their town was named Beacon Hills in the first place. If it had been a long time since the Nemeton had power, it might have been. The Hales had always been a prominent family in Beacon Hills for over a century, so it was entirely possible if they had named the town themselves.

Stiles shrugged. "Doesn't sound any worse than anything we've already seen."

Deaton shook his head. "You'd be surprised at what you have yet to see."

"Is that it?" Allison asked, folding her arms over her chest.

"No, it will also have an effect on the three of you," Deaton answered her. "You won't be able to see it, but you'll feel it every day for the rest of your lives. It'll be a kind of darkness around your heart and permanent, like a scar."

"Like a tattoo," Scott mused thoughtfully.

Stiles, Scott, and Allison were allowed to leave the animal clinic to head back to their homes to grab a token that represented their parents. While they did that, Olivia, Lydia, Isaac, and Deaton got to work on setting things up for the ritual.

The set-up was much like the one that they used for Isaac's when they were trying to find Boyd and Erica. There were three large tubs this time and each one was filled to the brim with water, ice, and herbs that Dr. Deaton had mixed for them. While Lydia and Isaac continued working, Dr. Deaton pulled Olivia aside.

He told her that, unlike Isaac's ritual, she wouldn't be able to help with this one. When Olivia heard his explanation, she agreed. Because Stiles, Allison, and Scott would be dead—at the minimum for a few seconds—she wouldn't be in the best shape. Deaton even told her that she may be out of it for a period of time while they were gone, if they were gone for more than a few seconds or even minutes. Honestly, it scared Olivia. She felt the whole in her heart desperately when Boyd died. It was undoubtedly going to be worse when the ritual started.

When Stiles and Scott came back, followed shortly by Allison, Olivia went straight to Stiles and wrapped her arms around his waist. He had to know that she was nervous about the whole thing because he wrapped his arms around her, too, and whispered soothing words into her ears.

"All right," Dr. Deaton said once the tubs were ready to go. "What did you bring?"

Stiles unhooked one arm from around Olivia and dug his hand into his jacket pocket. "Um, I got by dad's badge," he told everyone, staring at it sadly. "Jennifer kind of crushed it in her hand, so I tried hammering it out a bit. Still doesn't look great."

"It doesn't need to look good if it has meaning," Deaton assured him.

Stiles nodded and pressed his lips together.

"Is that an actual silver bullet?" Isaac spoke up, looking at the token that Allison was holding.

Allison nodded. "My dad made it. It's a kind of ceremonial thing," she explained. "When one of us finishes learning all the skills to be a hunter, we forge a silver bullet as a testament to the code."

"Scott?"

Scott held up a dainty watch. "My dad got my mom this watch when she first got hired at the hospital," he scoffed lightly. "She used to say it was the only thing in their marriage that ever worked."

"Okay," Dr. Deaton started to explain what they needed to do. "the three of you will get in. Olivia, Lydia, and Isaac will each hold you down until you're essentially...Well, dead. But it's not just someone to hold you under. It needs to be someone who can pull you back, someone that has a strong connection to you, a kind of emotional tether."

Olivia quickly looked up. "Did you say emotional tether?"

When Deaton nodded, Olivia and Stiles shared a knowing look. Stiles was the only one she told about her knew system of keeping track of her pack and how it worked much better than before. The fact that Deaton was mentioning an emotional tether like the ones she used couldn't be a coincidence.

Had she been led to start thinking of her attachments to the pack as tethers for a reason? The answer seemed to be yes. Olivia didn't know if she be freaked out or relieved that she was understanding her abilities better.

"Lydia," Deaton called out the redhead's name when she went to stand by Allison. "you go with Scott."

Olivia and Stiles shared another look, both of them shocked at the turn of events. Olivia looked back at her cousin with a questioning look but Lydia steadfastly ignored her as she went to take her place by a very surprised Scott.

Scott...and...Lydia? What was going on here?

They'd be cute together, though, Olivia admitted to herself.

Allison looked between one of her best friends and her former boyfriend, confused. "Are you sure?" she asked Deaton. "I mean, I have to go under, too. And Isaac—"

"Isaac will go with you," Dr. Deaton told her. "Olivia, you'll be with Stiles."

Well, that wasn't a shock. Isaac and Allison and Scott and Lydia, though? What a plot twist.

Before the ritual began, Olivia made sure to take Stiles aside for a second.

"If you stay dead, I'm gonna kill you," she warned Stiles, making him laugh through his nerves. "I'm completely serious, Stiles."

"I know you are," he smirked down at her. "It's gonna be fine, though. I love you, baby."

Olivia didn't object to the pet name. He was going to be dead for a few seconds, so she'd let it slide. "I love you, too, sweetcheeks."

They quickly kissed and Stiles placed an extra one on her temple, his lips quirking into a knowing smile. Olivia may be hard to read for other people, but it was easy for him to figure out what was going on in that stubborn head of hers.

They both made their way back into the exam room. Olivia squeezed Allison's hand meaningfully and smiled at Scott, wishing them a good luck without words. Then, they all lined up at their respective tubs.

Allison was the first one to step in, deeply inhaling at the freezing cold water. Scott got into his tub as well. Stiles looked back at Olivia before he got into his tub and she gave him the most reassuring smile that she could. It worked for him, though; he stepped into the tub fearlessly.

They were all having trouble breathing from the freezing cold water as they fully submerged themselves. A second later, Olivia took her place behind Stiles with her hands on his shivering shoulders; Lydia and Isaac did the same for Scott and Allison, respectively.

Teeth chattering, Stiles looked to his left to speak to Scott. "By the way, if I don't make it back and you do, you should probably know something. Your dad's in town."

Tears slipped down Olivia's cheeks as she pressed down on Stiles' shoulder at Deaton told them to begin. Stiles kicked and struggled underneath the water, but she kept going, knowing that this was what he wanted. It was just a little heartbreaking to keep him under.

Stiles, Scott, and Allison all stilled at the same time. Olivia didn't even have to let go, she collapsed under the weight of their nonpermanent deaths, slipping into nothingness.

(Gif is not mine)

#teen wolf rewrite #stiles stilinski x oc #stiles stilinksi x reader #teen wolf #stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski fanfiction #teen wolf fanfiction #stiles stilinski x original character

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faofinn · 3 years

Text

I Think I’ve Broken Something - Whumptober Day 12

@whumptober2020

The move from Edinburgh to London was difficult. Of course, Fao was closer to home and could spend time with Finn as he recovered, but he left all of his friends behind. The rugby team especially, lads who he’d been with since his first week of term. They’d all taught him so much, and it had been an emotional (and rather drunk) goodbye.

Now after a busy summer, he was ready to get back into the flow of Uni again, with lectures and labs and seminars, as well as more placement hours in different areas. He’d loved his time with Steve, but he was looking forwards to learning more in the other specialties. And of course, he’d joined the rugby team. First practice had been daunting, but they were a good group of lads and he soon fitted in. He was rusty, having not played or really worked on fitness for a while since Finn’s injury, but they were open and understanding and always asked after Finn. The socials were pretty good too, though the hangovers were less entertaining.

It was a Monday evening, and Fao headed out to training after a long day of studying. Typically, it was raining and already dark, and he wasn’t necessarily looking forwards to it. But it would get him out of the house and clear his head and get his blood up.

Whilst the weather was miserable, as soon as Fao was out and warming up, he felt good. Once he was soaked through anyway, the rain didn’t really bother him. After some skills training and a quick break, they split apart for some gameplay. It was a shortened, simplified game, but enough for them to get some practice. Soon enough Fao’s chest was heaving - he was sweaty and absolutely covered in mud. But it was good, it kept the demons at bay, made him feel alive. And the team already felt like family.

It wasn’t exactly surprising when he was tackled - he had possession, after all. They took him out at the legs and he went down hard. He was too preoccupied with trying to score as he went down, but as soon as he hit the ground he knew he was fucked.

He’d twisted awkwardly, gone down directly on his shoulder. If the sharp, shooting pain wasn’t a big enough clue that he’d done damage, the crack that accompanied it was a sure sign.

He rolled over, arching his back in pain. “Fuck!” Part of him was pissed he’d not even managed to score. The teammate who’d tackled him helped him to sit up, and Fao ignored how the world span slightly. The pain was really something else, and as the rest of the team ground to a halt, he focused on trying to breathe through it. At least it wasn’t a disolaction. It didn’t feel like it, which was a welcome change.

In a team full of healthcare students, it didn’t exactly take long to decide it was a broken collarbone. Fao had to agree too, the fingers of his good hand skimming lightly over the injury. Soon enough he was in the back of the captain’s car, and he fumbled for his phone. Sheila was going to kill him.

Well, when she picked up anyway. The first call eventually went to voicemail, but he didn’t bother leaving a message. He’d try again in A&E, hopefully he’d actually have some more information for her.

It wasn’t a long drive, and before long he was waiting on an uncomfortable seat in the ED, aware he was soaked to the skin, covered in mud and probably bleeding somewhere too. He was cold now he wasn’t running about, and the pain wasn’t getting any better. He tried calling Sheila again, resting his head against the wall behind him as he waited for her to pick up.

"Hello, darling. Are you finished rugby now?"

He hummed. “Yeah, I have.”

"Good, good. How was it? Are you on your way to ours tonight?"

“Uh, probably yeah. But I might be a bit late.”

"Going out with the team?"

“Not exactly...”

Her distrust could be heard down the phone. "What have you done?"

“I’m fine, I swear. But I am in A&E.”

"That is not fine!" She hissed down the phone.

“I’m fine, I’m fine. Just a crappy tackle.” He shifted in the chair and groaned. “Nothin’ serious.”

"Head injury?"

“Nothing like that.”

"What have you broken then?"

“Maybe my collarbone? But it’s nothing serious.”

She groaned, resting her head heavily against the wall. "Are you kidding me?"

“Honestly Mum, I’m fine. Not a big deal.”

"Are you at George's? Who's with you?"

“Yeah, I’m at George’s. I won’t be long. Matt’s with me, he drove me from the club. I’ll get the train home, it’s fine.”

"I'll come get you. Say hi to Matt for me."

“Don’t worry about me, it’s not bad.”

"You're my son. Of course I'm going to worry."

“Yeah, but it’s nothing serious. Jus’ a collarbone.”

"I wish you were right."

“I am right.” He grumbled, but he moved again and it jostled him; his breath caught in his throat.

"I heard that. I'm coming in."

“I jus’ moved wrong and it hurt. I’m fine.”

"Please let me come and get you?"

“Fine. You can come and wait at mine or somethin’. I don't know, help me pack a bag.”

"I'll get Fred to make some meals to put in your freezer too, you won't be able to do that with a broken side."

“Sure. Can I stay with you for a couple days first?”

She managed a laugh. "It's nice you thought I'd allow anything else."

“I’m okay though.”

"I hope so."

“Wouldn’t be stuck waiting in A&E if I wasn’t okay. They’d be treating me.”

"You wouldn't be in A&E if you were okay." She countered.

“But in the grand scheme of things.”

“I know, I know. Are you okay though? Really?”

He sighed, wincing as it hurt. “‘M cold, covered in mud and soaked to the skin, and it hurts. But I’m fine.”

"We have vastly differing versions of fine, Fao." She laughed. "I'll be an hour. You're doing great."

“I've had worse. I'll live, just fucks with placement and things.”

He had to hang up on her not long after, as they called him through. After some (painful) prodding, they agreed it was probably broken and needed x-raying. So he sat and waited forever for that (still in agony) and eventually it was done and he was called back in.

It was an impressive enough x-ray, but his doctor was happy it would heal just fine without intervention. So he was given a fairly hefty painkiller prescription, strapped up in a sling, and was told to attend fracture clinic in a few weeks.

Matt drove him back to his flat, Sheila's car parked outside. He thanked his friend for the lift, struggled to pick his kit bag up, and fumbled with his key. But he made it in eventually.

“Mum?” He called, glancing around.

“In the kitchen, Fao. Is Matt with you?”

He headed into the kitchen after awkwardly leaning on the wall to get his shoes off and dump his bag. “Nah, he went home.”

“You look a state.” She sighed, moving to fuss over him. “You need a shower or a bath, and then bed.”

“A shower sounds amazing. Then food?”

"Already cooking. Go on, go get a shower."

He nodded slowly and headed to the bathroom. Showering took forever, and was decidedly painful, but he managed to get the mud off of him and get some warmth back into his bones. Feeling somewhat better, but exhausted, he struggled into some trackies and a hoodie, and joined Sheila in the kitchen again.

“What are you cooking?”

“Fred made a pasta bake, it’s not mine, don’t worry.”

“Your cooking isn’t that bad.”

“Oh, come on. I’ve heard you and Finn talking.”

“I’ve had worse, put it that way.”

“Ouch, thanks.”

“It really isn’t that bad.” He said, hugging her with his good arm.

She hugged him back, rubbing his back. "How's the pain?"

He hummed distractedly. “Could be worse, I had some painkillers at hospital.”

“Did they give you some for later?”

“Yeah, gave me plenty. In my kit bag.”

“Good, good.” She pressed a kiss to his damp hair. “A lazy evening and then we’ll drive back.”

“Sounds good.”

"I'll pack some stuff for you too."

“Thanks. I'll need to bring my kit home too.”

Sheila shook her head. “As if I'd let you leave it here.”

The food didn't take long, and Fao picked at it a bit, not really hungry. He was sore and exhausted, and the pain meds had made him a bit nauseous. At Sheila's insistence he ate a fair amount, and then she fussed getting his stuff packed.

It didn't take that much longer for them to be ready to leave, and she drove him back home. He fell asleep on the way, head resting against the window. He woke when they got home, feeling worse, and brushed Finn off as he curled up in bed, so tired even the pain couldn't keep him awake.

#whumptober2020 #whumptober day 12 #no. 12 #broken bone #broken collarbone #rugby injury #university rugby #medical student #Faolan Blackwood #Sheila Daniels #Fred Daniels #Finn Daniels #sports injury #fao's a tit but we love him #whump writing #whump prompt #brothers in more than arms

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whump-it · 4 years

Text

The Collection Box/Honor Bound Collab. The Final Chapter

Tag team!!! @whumpygecko@pepperonyscience@newandfiguringitout @inaridriscoll @orchidscript @my-whumpy-little-heart

Here it is @whump-tr0pes !

Tw past whump of a minor but not shown.

“Isaac,” Callum said quietly, reaching out to touch his shoulder, get his attention before the nurse buzzed him through the door and on to the ward. He had jogged to catch up with him when he’d seen him from the other end of the corridor.

Isaac turned at the sound of his name, at the touch on his shoulder.

“Oh, Doctor Callum,” he thumbed back over his shoulder. “I was just on my way to see...but you knew that.” Isaac smiled.

“Look there’s a lot I need to tell you and I need to do it quickly and not here,” Callum said, beckoning for him to follow and walking away. “Not in there either.”

“Where are we going?” Isaac asked, glancing back at the door to the ward. Missing his visit to see Sam before it had even started. “What do you know? You’ve found something out? Something’s happening?”

“Pretty much all of the above,” he stopped at a corner, next to a linen trolley where the light wasn’t quite as clinically fluorescent. Isaac watched silently as the doctor pulled out his phone and fired off a quick message. “Stay fully and completely in control while I tell you this because if you don’t then the whole thing is going to go wrong. Can you do that?”

“I think I want to ask you to just tell me what the hell you’re talking about already because you’re making me nervous and I’m already worried enough as it is.”

“Cal,” Isaac whipped around at the voice. Not one he’d heard before. He watched while this man walked quickly to Callum and straight into his personal space to press to his back and nudge his face to the doctor’s shoulder blade before stepping back and holding out his hand. He already knew. This was Rory. This was Callum’s AP. The person who had worked it all out and the reason that Callum had been able to call him and tell him what he’d found out about Sam. About Colleen and Leo. The person that he had to trust if all of this was going to somehow turn out ok.

“You’re Isaac,” Rory said.

“You’re Rory,” Isaac replied, trying to keep his voice level. Even. He knew the work that had gone into everything that Rory had done. He knew that he had been an AP. He wanted to reconcile the facts.

“Is everything ready?” Callum asked, looking at Rory. Looking at him, Isaac thought, with the kind of connection that gravity possessed. Strong. Unbreakable. But including all around it. It didn’t feel like it smacked of a quick flash of fire; rather the stong interconnection of planets. Of universes. He wanted that for Sam. Sam deserved that. He deserved all that Callum and Rory had and had fought for. This was what was going to make it right.

“Ready,” Rory said with a determined and certain nod of his head.

“I’m just going to assume I’m ready too?” Isaac asked.

“Remember,” Callum said. “Fully and completely in control.”

“Fully and completely in control,” Isaac said.

“The police are on their way,” Rory said. “I’ve spent a long time with them discussing Sam and the evidence that I’ve found. Because it is evidence. And this time Isaac, this time we’ve got enough for the law to take this seriously. Finally. But uh, the reason they’re coming now...” he broke off and glanced around, peering off down the corridor one way and then the other. Callum lay a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “...Colleen is coming. I had a tip o...”

“Colleen!?” Isaac shouted.

“Please Isaac,” Callum said, stepping forward and moving his hand from Rory’s shoulder to Isaac’s. “Please. We have the advantage here and we need to keep it that way.”

“We’re all going in there,” Rory said. “We’re staying in there with Sam and with the police who should be here any moment. And when Colleen gets here they’ll be waiting. We’ll be waiting. She won’t get Sam. We’re going to watch her lose it all.”

“I feel like...like...” Callum rubbed at his right temple. “...umm...we need to be there with Sam.”

Isaac looked down at the floor, willing his breathing to even out and settle down. Blinking on the heat behind his eyes, and on the welling of tears.

“We need to be there,” he whispered, still looking down. “Sam mustn’t feel alone, not for a moment. Mustn’t feel like she’s the only option.”

“It won’t be easy,” Callum said quietly, softly. “For Sam. It won’t be easy.”

“But either way, Colleen Stormbeck will be arrested today,” Rory said. “And that’s why Sam needs you there Isaac. Needs you calm and confident and there. She won’t be taking them anywhere today and your face is the first thing that they need see once it sinks in.”

“I can do that,” Isaac said, looking up.

“I know you can,” Callum said. “Come on, I’ll buzz you in and me and Rory are staying with you and Sam until this is all done.”

Isaac followed along after the two of them, listening to the greetings that were called out to both Callum and Rory from the other staff, and a few from patients too. This was what he wanted for Sam. This ease. This life. This living. It could be done. He had the proof of that right in front of him. He prayed that Sam would be able to draw from that well when face to face with Colleen.

Sam was sitting in the chair next to their bed this time. Out of bed finally and out of the hospital gown that they’d been wearing. He had brought in some old sweat pants and a tshirt for them. It was a little too big but it provided some relief from the thin gown. It made them look healthier. More real. Lifted them a little.

“Isaac,” Sam said, quiet as ever but a smile ready and tipping their mouth into a small and shy smile. Rory stepped back to give them all space as Callum pulled the curtain around them.

“Isaac,” he said. “I think this might be your one to lead on.”

“Uh, yeah,” Isaac said, feeling an empty little pit open in his stomach, which rapidly filled with uncertainty and nausea. “So, uh, yeah. Sam. Can I hold your hand a moment? Is that ok?”

“It’s ok,” Sam said, reaching out. Isaac looked at their hand. Small and fragile looking, a yellowing bruise on the back of it from the placement of a drip line. Isaac met them half way and held gently but firmly. Enough to keep a grounded connection. They’d become happier around Isaac but he worried that it was comfort born of necessity. And now the big test was coming. Colleen was coming.

“So the guy outside the curtain?” Isaac said, hearing the door buzzing open and Rory talking quietly. He knew it meant that the police had arrived. Even from behind the curtain where he couldn’t see them, the room felt fuller. “That’s Rory, you remember we talked about Rory?”

“Doctor Callum’s AP,” they said, with a nod and an astonishing level of calm. Rory’s past had never seemed to shock Sam. When Isaac had explained him to them, Sam had smiled and said how lucky Callum was to have someone to go back to once it was all over. Isaac had wanted to cry at how much goodness they had stowed in one small body.

“Yeah, and all that work he’s done to help us out? I know it’s been hard to listen to, being stuck here. But you’re the centre of all of this. Your wellbeing is...it’s all I can think about.” Callum at down on the bed next to them both. “Rory’s talking to the police, Sam. keep hold of my hand ok? They’ve come here because...”

He was cut off by the door buzzing again and the loud click of practically stamped down heels across the hard floor. He tightened his hand and look across at Callum, eyes wide and mouth slightly open, part way through trying to explain what was happening right that moment. He’d run out of time. Callum stood and put a hand on the curtain, started to pull it back.

“No!” Isaac hissed. Callum stopped and looked at him.

“It needs to be seen to be believed,” he said. “Witnessed to be evidence. Trust me.” With that he pulled the curtain the whole way back, exposing himself, Isaac and Sam. Infront of them stood Rory and four police officers. And Colleen Stormbeck. Behind him he heard Sam gasp and let out a small whimper that seemed to have the edge of the word ‘please’ caught up in it. Please what he couldn’t say. Please take me back. Please forgive me. Please leave me alone. Please let me go. He knew it all too well. He knew the feelings.

“Sam,” Colleen said sternly. “What are you doing? Sitting there dressed in...” she waved a hand up and down. “...in that. Whatever that is. Get up. Get. Up.” Behind her the police officers started to move as Rory stepped back to give them room, not wanting to get in the way. He moved around them until he stood by Callum, touching up against him.

Through the hold on their hand, Isaac felt Sam starting to move and bit down on the urge to tell them not to. That they didn’t need to.

“Ms Stormbeck,” one of the officers said.

“Don’t you Ms Stormbeck me,” Colleen said, rounding on the officer. “I’d say ‘don’t you know who I am’ but clearly you do so if you have a modicum of sense between your ears you will back the hell up and leave me to my business.”

Isaac stood with Sam, keeping their hands joined.

“Ms Stormbeck,” the officer persisted. “We’re going to have to ask you to come with us.”

“And why exactly would I do that?” Colleen said, her voice laced with venom before she turned back to face Sam. “Sam you get over here this instant. You are my property and I expect you to act in the way that I tell you to.”

Sam twisted their hand out of Isaac’s grip before he could get a chance to hold any tighter. He watched in horror as Sam bowed their head and looked so very small. So broken all over again as they shuffled towards her past Calllum and Rory.

“Ms Stormbeck, you are under...”

“Don’t you dare,” Colleen hissed at the officer. “Don’t you, for one moment, dare continue with what you think you’re about to do. Sam! Get over here now you little wretch!”

“That’s what he called me,” Callum said quietly.

It stopped.

The room stopped.

The air didn’t shift.

Sam stood still, head down. Still. Still. Silent.

“No,” Sam whispered. “No.”

Sam looked up slowly. Not hesitantly but carefully. Taking their own time for the first time. In one and a half years this was their time to take. Looking directly back at them, Colleen narrowed her eyes. Isaac could see Sam shaking under the weight of her attention. Under the fear that if this all went wrong, if they’d rolled the dice and lost, then the consequences would be worse than anything they’d faced before.

“Sam?” Colleen said, gasping as the officer took hold of her elbow firmly. “Sam!” She shrieked the word out. “Sam!” Isaac stood and walked to them, stood beside them. Reached them just as the officer began reading the Miranda rights. She pulled and twisted in the hold of the officer as he pulled her wrists behind her and cuffed her. “You can't do this,” she screamed, kicking and squirming against the cuffs as another officer spoke into the radio at his shoulder, the door buzzing open in response. “Let me go! Let me go now, Sam is my property and you have no right to do this to me...”

Her voice grew quieter as she was taken from the ward, shrieking as she went.

The air still didn’t shift, but the weight of it lifted enough to breathe again.

Callum reached for Rory’s hand but Rory pulled Callum closer than just one hand would have allowed.

Sam shook where they stood and Isaac picked up Sam’s hand again.

“I’m...you’re...” Isaac shook his head. “This is just the start.”

“Will you help me?” Sam asked, tears in their eyes and a wobble in their voice.

“Every step of the way.”

#the collection box crew #the honor bound crew #oc callum morrow #oc callum #oc rory linden #oc rory #oc sam #oc isaac #sam is so flipping strong #tw minor whump mention #tw bruise

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scatteredcloud · 4 years

Text

Top Surgery: What Really Happens pt 2

Tumblr decided I couldn’t put any chest pictures in sorry

See the first guide for details about getting ready and the pre-op appointment! This guide is about the day of surgery, pt1 is about getting ready for surgery

Getting Ready - Recovery- Drains

My surgeon was Dr. Jerry Chao, who’s based in the George Washington Medical School. If you’re looking for a surgeon on the mid-Atlantic, I would absolutely recommend Dr. Chao. He’s incredibly respectful and does fantastic work. He also does FFS, and breast augmentation, and while I can’t speak for those results, he certainly did an impressive job with my chest. He has a history of working with trans patients, and is really good at avoiding dysphoria-inducing language. It’s clear that he’s genuinely committed to helping you.

Leading Up To The Big Day:

-You’ll get specific details about when you have to stop eating and drinking before surgery, but for me, I wasn’t allowed to eat after midnight the night before, and I had to stop drinking anything three hours before my surgery, which was 10am for me. (Apparently you have to fast because you might aspirate while under anesthesia, which means that your stomach fluids could get sucked up in the breathing tube which is, you know. Bad.)

-My surgery was scheduled for 1:30pm, but they ask you to arrive 2 hours before hand. We got there at 10:30, just to be sure.

- Like I said in the last post, bring something to do while you wait. It’s excruciating to be super nervous and then have to wait for a really long time with nothing to do.

-I’m not kidding about the waiting, once they call you back you change into your hospital gown, and then you wait another 30 minutes. My mom was able to stay with me until they wheeled me off for the surgery itself.

The Medical Stuff:

-The nurse came in to put my clothes and bag in a locker, and then she did my IV. I asked her to move it to my arm, because I’m really scared of anything happening to my hands. She said they do the lowest extremities by default so the tubes don’t get in the way, but you can definitely ask them to move it if it’s uncomfortable. She also put the pulse monitor on my finger, and that just gets taped on.

-This might not be true of other places, but I was specifically in with a bunch of other breast cancer patients who were also getting mastectomies, because it’s essentially the same procedure as top surgery. It made me feel a little dysphoric, but all of the curtains were drawn around people, so it’s not like they could see me or anything. It also meant my hospital gown was purple instead of a drab greenish grey, which I liked.

-About a thousand nurses and doctors come in and out to ask you the same questions over and over. Be ready to read off your legal name (yeah it sucks) like five different times. They have to verify that you’re still coherent and that they aren’t getting their charts mixed up.

-Because the hospital I was at was attached to a med school, some students asked me if I wanted to be in a study for a new device to help place IV’s. It was a good way to kill a couple minutes, but obviously this isn’t standard.

-The original nurse came back in and gave me some pain killers ahead of time, so they’d already be working by the time I was out of surgery, which was a huge help.

-Eventually my anesthesiologist and his crew came in to talk to me about what the medications would be and what they did. One of them put an anti nausea patch behind my ear, which has done wonders. I don’t remember the name of it, but I’m sure you cold ask about it. Then they walked me through the process of what being put under anesthesia is like, but I didn’t actually end up being conscious when they were doing all the stuff they talked about.

-My surgeon came in and marked up my chest. I had a picture here but tumblr decided that an incredibly clinical and objective picture of my chest was too titlating. This is ehere you an ask any more specific questions during the procedure, you can also ask about specific aesthetic things, like nipple size and placement, scar shape etc. Obviously the surgeon knows what’s best, but mine at least was very accomodating.

-After that, the anesthesiologist came back in and put something in my IV to make me really drowsy. By the time we got to the operating room I was already out of it, I vaguely remember them adjusting my arms, but then it was lights out for me.

Recovery:

-Anesthesia really is like time travel, you’re being wheeled out one second and in recovery the next. That was the part I was the most nervous of, just like not being aware of anything happening, but I was too sleepy to be aware of that going in to surgery -At least in my experience, recovery nurses are always more rude than the prep nurses. (My brother has to have MRI’s all the time so I’ve spent a good bit of time in the recovery room, some how they’re always kind of tactless) I doubt this is true of all recovery nurses, of course, mine was rushing me through the process though. They probably just want people out of there as fast as possible because of COVID. -I have on a compression vest, which makes my chest feel like the first time I put on a binder. It’s pretty tight, but it forces you to sit a certain way, and it helps the drains, well, drain. I know that some people just get wrapped in ace bandages, but either way, you’ll have some kind of compression on. This is what mine looks like: It’s going to look bumpy and weird with all the gauze on it, so don’t worry.

-I managed to sit up and drink some water right away, and I was just kind of groggy, which was good. The nurse brought my clothes back and I got my shirt on ok, but I was immediately too dizzy to stand right away. I ended up vomiting into the trash can next to me, but it didn’t last and I was able to get my pants on and they wheeled me out. -The nurse sort of explained the drains to my mom, but we ended up having to look up more information about them when we got home. THIS is the best source I’ve found for it. (Dysphoria warning, it’s a breast cancer site) Like I said, they were rushing. I was officially discharged at 5:30pm. -I don’t actually have a whole lot of memory leaving the recovery room and getting down to the car, I remember thinking that the nurse who was wheeling me out was going too fast. -My mom had wisely brought a bag to throw up in, which I did one more time, but then I fell asleep again. -I was able to get into bed, and the pain killers knocked me out until about 9:30. I had a smoothie, took a sleep aid, and was asleep by 11:30. I woke up really early in the morning to go to the bathroom, and I took another pain killer. I fell back to sleep at about 5:45am, and then I actually woke up at about 9:30am. Overall, my pain level is super low. I feel sore, but I’ve been able to get up and walk around no problem. Honestly the most uncomfortable thing I’ve been dealing with is feeling my heart beat against the gauze, and that’s just weird it doesn’t hurt. It affects people completely differently though, so I don’t want to imply that minimal pain is the standard. I’m really grateful that this is how it’s working out for me.

I’ll make another post when I get my drains out, and when I can see my chest, but I hope this helps!

#trans #transgender #top surgery #post op #trans health #top surgery guide #smh i had to remake this post lile three times

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tsthrace · 4 years

Text

What does a girl do when she realizes she needs to cut an entire chapter from her WIP because it doesn’t fit? She posts it to tumblr.

So yeah, this starts to build a scary world that might look a little too close to our world. It might introduce you to this badass trauma surgeon, Dr. Griffin, who needs to make a quick escape. And then it might leave you hanging. Forever.

Well, not exactly forever. This is now Clarke’s backstory for my WIP. She’ll resurface years later on a church-turned-farmstead. Guess who’s the priest of this church? So yeah...

Content warning: mention of rape (but no rape itself) and just general hits-too-close-to-home: you know—fascism, totalitarianism, misogyny, toxic masculinity. Oh, and Clarke swears a lot.

It’s angsty. That’s what I do.

3,260 words. No tagging for Clexa, because Lexa doesn’t come on the scene yet.

It’s also posted over on ao3 if you’d rather read it there.

---

We all thought it couldn’t happen here, even as it was happening here.

Clarke had been running for so long that she wasn’t sure if she was still being chased. She had spent the last six years wandering through parts of Washington she never knew existed. First to an abandoned sawmill a few miles east of Mansford in the mountains. It was a glorified barn, really, but a community of refugees from Seattle had been gathering there, doing their best to patch up the building’s roof and walls. Then, there was still enough gas to transport what they needed if they rationed properly. But they were all adjusting to life without electricity, without phones, without any sense of who they were without those things.

She was there only three months when word came that a militia had materialized in Darrington and was registering children and looking for doctors and healers. Healers. That’s what they called women with Clarke’s skills. People who had gone to school for 13 years, who had prioritized their craft over their health, their family, their relationships for a grueling residency followed by an only slightly less grueling fellowship. They called men doctors, even if they were less educated, less skilled, and less practiced.

Fuck them. Clarke’s response had become reflexive. It was her internal response when the police came that first night of what some called the Resistance but what the police called the Riots.

Unrest had been brewing for months, but It was when the President “temporarily” suspended the First Amendment right to assemble that all hell broke loose. Thousands of protestors became tens of thousands, even in small cities like Spokane and Tacoma. Police traded rubber bullets for real ones, patrol cars for tanks, pistols for AK-47s. Dozens of people landed in Clarke’s hospital, some gone before they were taken out of the ambulance, ripped apart by the people sworn to serve and protect them.

That was the night two officers were trawling the halls of her ward, looking for “resistors” to arrest.

“They’re unconscious,” Clark said slowly. “They’re sedated because they’re waiting to go into surgery.” She knew it was a bad idea to talk to them like they were kindergartners, but she couldn’t stop herself. What these men were doing was sick. Her patients were here because of them. Some of them filled with bullet holes, their lives barely clinging to them, others with collapsed lungs caused by broken ribs, others with simple fractures who would be out to fight another day. But Clarke wasn’t going to tell these guys that.

“Is there someone else we can talk to?” The officer said. His name badge said Blakely. “Maybe your boss?”

Clarke felt her fingernails digging into her palm. “Officer Blakely—”

“Corporal Blakely.”

Clarke went on as if she didn’t hear him. “I’m the person with the highest seniority here right now. If you’d like me to call the Chief of Surgery...”

Blakely pulled out a pad and pen. “What’s his name?”

“Her name is Dr. Marris.”

Blakely scoffed but wrote down the name.

“Is there a problem?” Clarke bent a little to catch his eye with her glare.

“Not at all.”

After that night, everything changed. The President sent in federal troops. There were tanks outside police precincts, and men in uniform carrying AK-47s stood at every corner in downtown and Capitol Hill. They rode the light rail, searching for enemies and booting out anyone who fell asleep on the trains. Curfews were instituted. Clarke had to have her ID and a letter from the hospital ready after every shift. The same soldiers (or were they cops?) stopped her every night, even after the sixth time when everyone knew everyone’s names. She had written theirs down. Because fuck them.

Two months later, the Seattle PD renamed themselves Washington’s 1st Militia when the President had encouraged all “patriots and protectors of freedom to band together, arm, and fight for American values.” Police departments across the country took this as a rallying call. They traded their police uniforms for military fatigues. They tore off their city badges and replaced them with a thin blue line. Bros before everything else, even democracy.

They pulled her out of the OR as soon as she wrapped up a craniotomy. It was her third surgery of the day, and her hands were stiff, her scrubs covered in sweat. The two soldiers’ assault rifles startled her, but she’d seen enough gore in her time to know how to keep a straight face. Blakely was back, but this time he was dressed like he was serving in a desert war zone.

“Officer Blakely.” She remembered he was a corporal but fuck him.

The corner of Blakely’s mouth lifted in a sharp smirk. She watched as his eyes glided down her body. “Congratulations, Ms. Griffin, you’ve been recruited to Washington’s First. We are in need of fine healers like yourself.”

Fuck you. The words raced through her mind, but she kept her mouth shut. She understood by now that those words aloud could do nothing but put her in danger. “How can I be of service?” she asked evenly, looking him straight in the eye. She had heard rumors that the militias were taking medical workers from their hospitals and clinics to set up their own facilities, but she thought they’d only take men for their specialists and surgeons.

“You need to come with us,” Blakely looked down at the sweat stains under her arms.

Clarke didn’t move. “What kind of healers are you looking for?” she asked in her most neutral tone.

“A variety, ma’am.” Blakely’s jaw stiffened.

A small crowd of the floor’s staff had gathered at the nurses’ station, halfheartedly pretending to work while they watched the interaction.

“Like nurses? There are a lot of nurses here who are much better at their jobs than I would be.” Clarke laughed lightly and glanced at the nurses. “I’d make a terrible nurse.”

A few of the nurses nodded, their eyes smiling because smiling with their lips might bring trouble.

“We already have healers for that kind of work.” Blakely took in a breath and looked around the floor, frustrated. He knew he’d said too much. “Maybe we should go somewhere—”

“Then I can’t possibly think why you’d need me. I’m sure there are doctors who can meet your needs.”

“Ms. Griffin—”

“After all, there are two other trauma surgeons on staff here more suited to your, uh, preferences.” Clarke glanced down at Blakely’s groin.

“I was sent to find you, Ms. Griffin.”

The more he called her “Ms.,” the more her resolve solidified. “I just can’t imagine what anyone would want with little old me.” She covered her voice in maple syrup. “Dr. Lee and Dr. Bancroft are very fine surgeons, very respectable. Dr. Lee graduated top of his class from UW. I’m supervising his fellowship, and he’s very skilled.” Clarke let the words roll like waves along a beach on a calm day. “And Dr. Bancroft is who we call whenever we need a feeding tube done right the first time. His focus on fundamentals is exceptional—”

“They want you,” Blakely said more loudly than he intended.

Say it, she taunted him with a sharp look, though the words that came out were light. “I’ll call Dr. Lee. I’m sure he’d be more suitable to you—”

“Ms. Griffin—”

“You’d rather have Dr. Bancroft? Sorry. I thought you’d want the more skilled surgeon, but to be honest, we do perform a lot more feeding tube placements than major—”

“We know you’re the best.” Blakely growled, giving in.

Clarke had won, but she still felt empty. “You can’t even call me a doctor.”

“Protocol.” Blakely refused to look at her. “Come with us, ma’am.”

“Do I have a choice?”

“You can appeal on grounds of pregnancy or motherhood.”

Clarke scoffed. “Of course.” She didn’t even try to hide her disdain, though she knew she had to play along. She looked down at her scrubs. “I need to change.”

“Of course,” Blakely said. His smile was sharp, an insult. “Though we’ll need to supervise.”

Clarke bit down hard. She had not joined the Resistance, but she’d been obsessively keeping track of their Instagram posts at @emeraldcityjustice. Militiamen never raped, she’d learned, especially if the woman was white and of marrying age. They didn’t call it rape, though, they called it “sexual theft.” They were not to spoil another man’s property (or potential property), and that meant no touching. This restriction forced men to get creative, find new ways of dominating without ruining the goods. Resisting, the posts said, meant speaking the militia’s language.

“But I say unto you, that whosoever looketh on a woman to lust after her hath committed adultery with her already in his heart.” Clarke had memorized some key verses, and she said this one loud enough for everyone around the nursing station to hear it. “Matthew 5:28. I think those are words in red. You know, Jesus. The son of God himself.” She would not let these fuckers anywhere near her.

Blakely squinted and his face turned to stone.

“The locker room is on the second floor,” she said. “You two are welcome to wait outside the door, if you like.” Clarke strode towards the elevator. Blakely glared at her a few moments before nodding at his partner. They followed her into the elevator. Clarke looked at her watch. 10:15 p.m. Shift change. The locker room would be packed.

“We need to sweep,” Blakely said as they stepped off the elevator and approached the locker room door.

Clarke sighed loudly. There was no use in arguing. Blakely nodded towards the key swipe. Clarke swiped her badge and a little red light on the handle turned green. Blakely opened the door then turned conspicuously so that his back was facing the opening.

“This is Corporal Blakely of Washington’s First Militia,” he shouted into the room. The volume of his voice made Clarke jump. “Private Cooks and I will be doing a sweep of this locker room in two minutes. Those who are not appropriately covered at that time will be taken into custody.” Blakely let the door close behind him and set a timer on his Apple watch.

Are you fucking kidding me? Clarke didn’t say out loud.

Five minutes later, Blakely and Cooks were back out in the hallway. Clarke knew they wouldn’t find anything. The locker room was a windowless space that was mostly concrete and tile. It had one exit, a fire hazard long ignored because that part of the hospital had been built 140 years ago. The only other door was a closet full of cleaning supplies.

Blakely nodded at Clarke to go inside.

“You have five minutes,” he said, fiddling with his watch again.

“I’d like to shower.”

“Four minutes and fifty-seven seconds. If you don’t come out on time, we will come in.”

Clarke swallowed and pushed through the door. Dozens of annoyed eyes lifted as she walked in. She just shook her head as she walked past them.

Because it was an old hospital, doctors—female doctors, even surgeons—shared the locker room with nurse supervisors, charge nurses and other medical staff who had seniority. (Male doctors, especially surgeons, did not share a locker room with anyone, of course.) It bothered Clarke on principle, but for the most part she liked being around the non-doctor staff, and it didn’t hurt to have a friendly relationship with the nurses when she was on the floors.

The women’s eyes quickly went back to their tasks of leaving. Between the unrest and a new virus no one seemed to know anything about, the hospital, which was already under-resourced, had been over capacity for weeks now. Everyone was tired, stressed, and getting more and more afraid. They just wanted to get home as soon as possible. The later at night, the more aggressive the patrols got.

Clarke walked to her locker and took a few deep breaths as she quickly spun the lock to its numbers and pulled it open. She took off her white coat and hung it on the hanger inside. She pulled out her backpack and checked that her phone charger was inside. She pulled her wallet out and stared at her driver’s license for a long moment, not sure if it would be a liability. She decided to bring it, along with her curfew papers, and a used copy of The Obelisk Gate she’d picked up from Horizon Books a few weeks ago but never opened. Next, she stuffed her street clothes inside along with two sets of clean scrubs (only later would she wonder why she took the scrubs). Finally, she grabbed the two boxes of protein bars and four bottles of Gatorade that she kept there to keep her energy up on long shifts.

Clarke almost laughed at how much could fit in her small backpack.

She looked at her watch. Three minutes left. Shit. She almost forgot to switch watches. She pulled off the little cheap thing she used at the hospital and replaced it with her dad’s chunky but sleek metal piece. It was heavy on her wrist, but that’s what she liked about it. Somehow she felt safer with it on.

She swallowed. She needed to move, but to move meant everything would be different. She threw her shoulders back, lifted her hands in front of her, palms up as if making an offering, and took in a deep breath. It’s what she did whenever she was about to make a first cut. She closed her eyes, felt the ground solid under her feet, felt her heart slow to steady saunter.

Clarke smiled to herself. It was a heavy smile, sad and defiant. Fuck them.

She grabbed her backpack, slung it over her shoulder, and walked to the broom closet.

“You alright, Dr. Griffin?” A voice rang out. Veró, the charge nurse from the post-op wing, looked up as Clarke was about to go inside. Her eyes were nervous.

“I will be,” Clarke replied as she closed the door. “Take good care of yourself, Veró. Be safe. You didn’t see me, okay?”

Veró nodded. “You stay safe, Clarke.” She closed her eyes for a long moment. Her smile was heavy with concern. “I didn’t see nothing.”

Clarke held Veró’s eyes for a long moment, then nodded, stepped into the closet, and closed the door behind her. It was a small space, but large enough for two people to fit—a fact Clarke had exploited with Lu, a nurse from the Telemetry unit, several times. There was a small, dirty, pointless window at the top of the closet that she and Lu had covered with a tray from the cafeteria so that the janitors in their breakroom across the alley couldn’t watch them taking their break. During the day, thin streaks of light leaked in around the edges. Clarke was grateful it was so late and that the alley outside got so little light. The metal shelving served as the perfect ladder, sturdy and wide. She disrupted the toilet paper and big bottles of cleaner as she climbed, leaving hints of her escape, but there was nothing to be done about it. The top shelf was blessedly empty, too high up to be useful.

She pulled the tray out of the way to reveal a window that was smaller than she expected. She turned a small latch and pushed the window. It didn’t budge. She pushed it again, harder this time, though she didn’t have much leverage. Nothing happened. The shelf wobbled minutely under her.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

It held steady as she gingerly pulled her full body onto the top shelf. She barely fit up there. She checked her watch. She maybe had a minute. Probably less. Clarke hit the base of the window with the flat of her palm. Nothing. She hit it again. Still nothing. She took a breath and closed her eyes.

Please.

She hit it again and heard a tiny scrape. One more push, and the window swung open with an achy shriek. It might have been shut for decades. Clarke was lucky. The drop from the second floor window to the sidewalk was short. The alley swept upwards from 9th Ave., ending at the top with the fifth floor’s windows being at street level.

She was out, and she had no idea what to do. By now, Blakely and Cooks would have noticed that she hadn’t come out. Maybe they’d give her another minute. She remembered the Apple watch.

Her mind churned and tumbled. She had opened holes in skulls with drills and saws. She had cracked ribs to expose hearts that stopped beating in front of her eyes. But now, on this warm summer night on an empty sidewalk, she didn’t know what to do. So she ran. The hospital was a mess of old buildings connected by narrow alleys—easy to get lost. But Clarke had done her residency and fellowship here—spent nearly a quarter of her life here—and while she didn’t know the alleys, she knew the buildings, recognized the skyways above linking everything together. She slid from shadow to shadow in the direction of the interstate. It was an intuitive decision, the way she knew exactly where to find the bleeding in surgery.

She kept moving, the rolling rumble of the highway getting closer. Finally, she found herself at the parking garage and knew exactly where to go. She walked calmly through the first level reserved for people going to the ED. She was careful to avoid the security booth where Mitch would be. He was a good guy, and Clarke didn’t want to bring him any trouble. She moved quickly towards an emergency exit which brought her to a fire escape facing the interstate. During her first year as resident, she and Dr. Salem used to meet there to smoke a joint after a 30-hour shift.

She paused. Think. She pulled out her phone and scrolled through her contacts. Her breath caught when she came across her mom’s contact. You could have called, she could already hear her saying. We would have figured it out. Even if there was enough time for her mom to get from Whidbey Island to the city—and there wasn’t—it wouldn’t be safe. Anyone she called could be implicated and punished. Unless she chose to crawl back into the hospital, she was now an RRL, a Resistor of the Rule of Law.

This is moment everything changes. The thought cracked across her mind like lightning and disappeared just as fast. The thunder would roll on for years and years.

She closed her contacts and opened Instagram instead. She went to the @emeraldcityjustice profile. Her grin was grim as she hit the Message button. How ridiculous this world had become.

“Canada or the mountains?”

“What?” Clarke shook herself out of a haze. The driver hadn’t spoken since he picked her up from a dark corner under the interstate where @emeraldcityjustice had told her to go. They immediately turned east over the lake to Bellevue.

“You’ll have to decide at the drop point in Everett,” the driver went on. “They can either get you on a ferry to Canada or you can head to a refugee community in the mountains.” He glanced over his shoulder to the back seat where she was lying down to avoid facial recognition cameras on the interstate. “Do you want to escape or do you want to fight?”

THE END. THAT’S IT. I’M SORRY.

#the 100 fanfiction #clarke griffin #WIP backstory #clexa fic backstory #action

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