#honestly if the doctors were open on weekends that would solve a lot of my problems bc i keep forgetting to order my meds | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

the-starsabove-you · 4 years

Text

The Spotlight

Chapter 23- The Morning After Michelle groaned as her alarm clock rang and she quickly turned off her phone. She looked over and saw no messages. It had been a couple of days since the fight between Mat and Michelle. There wasn’t any messages from Mat and Michelle would call, but Mat wouldn’t answer. She rolled out of bed and grabbed her suitcase and moved to to pack a couple of things as she was traveling to LA for a gig. It was a standard fashion show. Michelle turned on the speaker and singing along to a couple of songs. It wasn’t until her phone rang and she saw it was Emily. She picked up “Hey Em, you ready to head to LA for a few days, ready to enjoy the sun?” She asked and Emily sighed “What happened between you and Mat?” She asked and Michelle let out a breath “How did you know something happened?” “Because I’ve been trying to spend time with my boyfriend. But Mat has been showing up to Tito’s apartment and they’ve been hanging out and talking. Mat seems to not wanna talk about it in front of me so I ended up leaving” “Mat and I had a fight at the red carpet event. It didn’t get solved and he left” She mumbled and Emily stopped her “We have a long flight ahead of us, you can tell me everything. Because it sounds like a long story” “Good idea” Michelle mumbled. She looked at the clock “I’m getting picked up in half an hour. I’ll meet you at the airport” “I already have my travel pillow and eye mask ready” She said and Michelle smiled “How are you and Tito doing?” “I really like him Mich, I don’t wanna say that L word so soon.. But I feel myself falling for him more and more every day” She said and Michelle smiled at that “Well you can tell me about Mr. Loverboy when we’re at the hotel. Are you gonna spend time with your parents?” She asked and Emily smiled “Yeah, I’m gonna have dinner with them. You’re more than welcome to join too” “Please, I miss your mom so much” She said and Emily chuckled “She misses you too, you’re her adopted daughter” Michelle and Emily talked more until Michelle got a text that her phone beeped and saw that her car was there. She said bye to Emily before grabbing her suitcase and some other things before heading downstairs. Sitting in the car, Michelle looked at her phone before opening up her messages and hitting Mat’s name. She sat there for a few moments until she noticed that there was a gray bubble and clearly Mat was typing something. Michelle waited to see if Mat would send something but the gray bubble left. Not coming back. Michelle wasn’t gonna force Mat to talk to her. So she typed out a message and sent it. ‘Hey, I’m going to LA for a few days. Work’ She left it at that, and didn’t want to bother with it. If Mat wanted to text her, he could. Once she found Emily and they boarded the plane. They were settled in their seats. Emily leaning back into her seat “So, what happened between you and Barzy?” She asked. Michelle explained everything that happened. Emily nodded and listened to the story. Emily clearly could tell that Michelle was still bothered and she sighed “Honestly, you both need to blow off some steam. I know Tito and him are gonna have a boys weekend” She said and Michelle sighed “What if he’s just tired of this? Dating me?” She questioned Emily gave her a look “He would have broke it off with you already, he wouldn’t lead you on” Michelle sighed “What if he goes to a bar and just finds a normal girl, someone that doesn’t get hounded by cameras following them?” She asked and Emily narrowed her eyes “Then I’ll punch him. But I don’t think he would give up so easily on you two” Michelle nodded “I’ll give him time to cool down.. God knows I have to face Marie’s wrath soon anyways” Emily’s eyes widen “Oh, I’m running for the hills when that day comes. I’m not going to be anywhere near that lady. I’m already scared of visiting her when I’m going to pick up my checks and she just gives me a simple hello” Michelle sighed loudly “Can anything get worse?” She questioned and Emily sighed “If there’s no snacks on this plane.. It’s a nightmare” They finally landed and they took a car to Emily’s house. Her mother lived near Saint Moncia’s piers. Emily’s mother was a sweet woman, very funny as well. She always had a smile on her face and had a good story to tell. Emily knocked on the door and Emily’s mother opened the door with a squeal as she hugged her daughter tightly “I’ve missed you!” Emily chuckled as she hugged her mother back “I’ve missed you too! It’s been a while” She said and her mom gave her a look “It has! I was getting worried that you finally had enough of me and changed your name and hair color and were going to disappear off the face of the earth.” “That’s gonna happen one day, when you least expect it” Emily said as her mother punched her arm and she saw Michelle “Michelle!” She said bringing her into a tight hug, Michelle laughing “Hi, Ms Smith. How’s everything?” “Working on a couple of patients. Being a plastic surgeon is quite busy” Ms. Smith said and Michelle nodded. Ms. Smith looked just like Emily, with the dirty blonde hair and had green eyes. She was a very skilled surgeon and had important clients. But Ms. Smith never liked to brag. “Sammy isn’t here?” Emily asked and Ms. Smith shook her head “He left a couple of days ago, on a business trip. Should be back soon, he’s in London for work and being a 26 year old man” “Damn it, I always miss Sammy when I’m around” Michelle snapped her finger and Emily laughed “Your little crush on my older brother is always amusing.” She said and Michelle gave him a look “I don’t have a crush on him. I just admire his work” “Yes because he’s a good businessman and a doctor, you totally don’t have a crush on him.” Emily said and Michelle looked at Ms. Smith “She’s bullying me!” Ms. Smith gave her daughter a look “Don’t tease her” She said and gave Michelle a smile “Sammy said hello to you, he says you guys should get together and have lunch. He knows that you had studied to become a doctor before becoming a model. So he was interested in what you knew” Ms. Smith ushered the two girls inside “Since my two girls are here, I thought it would nice for Tacos” Michelle punched the air “I missed your tacos!” Both girls running to the counter to assemble their tacos. Ms. Smith sat down and had her evening tea and both girls were sitting at the table, enjoying their tacos. “So, how’s your boys doing?” Ms. Smith said and Emily nodded “Tito is great, I’ll join him when he comes face the LA Kings so I can introduce you to him and take you to the game. But he’s so amazing.” She said and Ms. Smith nodded in approval “As long as you’re happy, my love, then I’m happy. I’m sure Sammy will be excited to meet

“My boy and I are currently trouble in paradise” Michelle muttered and Ms. Smith looked at her “Oh no, what happened?” “I took him to a red carpet event, the paps were treating him like shit and I snapped at them. Then he got upset and went on about how he should have never came and that he wanted to keep our relationship private”

Ms Smith observed Michelle and sighed “You both are in the wrong” She said and took a sip of her tea “He should have been more vocal about doing this red carpet event. You shouldn’t have snapped at the media because it’s probably gaining a lot of attention now” Michelle groaned “I haven’t been on the internet for a couple of days, I don’t want to know how much attention this got” She muttered and Emily gave her a look “Trust me, you and Mat were trending on twitter at one point” “Oh Marie is gonna kill me” She muttered and looked at her phone “I’ve been literally ignoring her phone calls” “Karma is gonna be a bitch because you’re gonna have to face her sooner than later” Emily said and Michelle sighed “Can I move to another city? I heard Vegas is cool.” Emily gave her a look “Stop being dramatic.. I think the first thing is to fix things up with Mat. The poor guy looked miserable when he came to Tito’s house.” She said and Michelle sighed “I just don't know how to approach him about this.” She whispered “You both just admit that you’re both wrong.. And talk it out” Ms Smith said and Emily nodded “That boy looks at you like you’re his entire world. I’m pretty sure he’s stuck too on what to say or do” “But don’t give up on him.. I know he wouldn’t give up on you either” Emily said and Michelle sighed and nodded “Okay..” “I know Tito and him want to go to the Brooklyn Nets game. I can ask if we can tag along” “Hopefully we can talk then” Michelle muttered and Emily went to her phone “Great, I’m gonna text Tito to tell him” Michelle and Emily were eating dinner and Emily looked over at Michelle “Wanna head to a club? We haven’t done our secret outings since after we moved to New York” She said and Michelle nodded “Sure, it’s been a while” “Can’t be too late, you have a gig tomorrow right?” Ms Smith asked and Michelle nodded “Not going crazy on drinking either.” She said and Emily nodded “Great, let’s get going!” Emily had retreated to her room to get changed and Michelle took the guest room. She changed into a leather-like jeans with a Guns n Roses t-shirt and a black leather jacket. Her hair in a neat pony-tail. Emily knocked on the door and she came in, wearing a black skirt and white blouse with a jacket over “Oh you look hot” She said and Michelle grinned “Thanks, I thought it would turn heads” She said and Emily smirked “You mean turn Mat’s head” She said and Michelle gave her a look “Please, Mat probably won’t acknowledge my existence tonight” Emily was now giving her a look “You clearly don’t understand men then” She said and Michelle sighed “Well I was invisible until I got famous.. So no, I don’t understand men” Emily snorted “Well, let’s start with the first thing. Give me your phone” She said and Michelle gave her the phone and had a look “What are you doing Em?” “I’m gonna be your personal photographer and taking videos of you, so shut up and look cute” Michelle huffed as she posed, Emily taking pictures and she chuckled “Also, I’m taking over your Insta” She said as Michelle looked at her “Excuse me?” She said as Emily smirked as she tapped a couple of pictures “And done, wait for it..” After a couple of moments, Emily and Michelle left the house to go to a club nearby. The LA city life was always beautiful. Emily grabbing Michelle’s phone as she took videos of Michelle walking and admiring the city life It wasn’t until an hour later, Michelle was standing near the dance floor and she was checking her phone and her insta stories and saw Mat was actually watching them. Michelle sighed and shook her head. She knew that Mat wouldn’t say anything. So she left her phone in her pocket as she danced the night away in LA.

#mat barzal #mathew barzal #mathew barzal imagine #mat barzal imagine #nhl #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #hockey #hockey imagines #hockey imagine

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taggedmemes · 5 years

Text

SENTENCE MEME ⟶ FLEABAG / 2.05 always feel free to tweak the sentence to fit your muse.

‘i thought i wouldn’t see you again unless you were in trouble.’

[cheerfully] ‘i am in trouble!’

‘isn’t he great? he’s so great! he’s funny, he makes jokes...’

‘i love word play.’

‘i’ve got a big case tomorrow.’

‘he’s a little bit controlling.’

‘don’t eat that.’

‘he’s unpredictable.’

‘i’m just going to go for a shit.’

‘i’m ignoring that.’

‘actually... you wanna go and have sex?’

‘i’m really good at it.’

‘he’s really good at it.’

‘i’m not going to be sick.’

‘i can at least take the bassoon.’

‘i am perfectly balanced, thank you.’

‘big night last night?’

‘is it that obvious?’

‘well, at least someone’s having fun.’

‘are you going to be sick?’

‘i’ve got a serious appointment later, i can’t miss it.’

‘i don’t need you! ...to do anything, thank you.’

‘just some water or gin would be lovely.’

‘our lovely friend has just dropped round.’

‘i’m going to be sick.’

‘you all right? you look horrendous!’

‘they’re being painted? isn’t that fun?’

‘i can come back later.’

‘i’ve been called away this weekend.’

‘my brother is ill.’

‘what’s he ill wit?’

‘is he all right?’

‘he’s in a bit of a state, to be honest.’

‘i just can’t do it.’

‘oh, this is going to be spectacular.’

‘you... poor man.’

‘family first! always family first.’

‘we’ll sort something out.’

‘thank you so much for your understanding.’

‘what a... CUNT. WHAT A CUNT.’

‘SEND THEM AWAY!’

‘well, that solves that problem.’

‘jesus! hoe long were you there!?’

‘you can’t just cancel a wedding.’

‘i don’t think you do know what i’m going to say!’

‘i mean that... with the greatest of compliments.’

‘i can deal with it.’

‘i can’t deal with it.’

‘it’s quiet tuesday.’

‘it’s chatty wednesday.’

‘you okay?’

‘are you okay? you look like something bad’s happened.’

‘i thought i was looking jolly.’

‘i’ve been offered a new job.’

‘i just wanted to say goodbye. and give you this.’

‘it’s my sister, she’s a bit mental.’

‘where are you? do you need me to come?’

‘i fucked it up. i fucked everything up.’

‘just tell me where you are.’

‘tell the truth.’

‘it’s horrendous.’

‘i look like a pencil.’

‘it’s not okay! i’m going to lose my job!’

‘IT’S FRENCH.’

‘you been drinking?’

‘he gave me champagne before he ruined my life. that’s how they get you.’

‘is this what you ask for?’

‘he’s just a bastard.’

‘that is exactly what she asked for.’

‘i’ve got two important meetings and i look like a pencil.’

‘no! don’t blame me for your bad choices.’

‘hair isn’t everything.’

‘it pays your fucking bills.’

‘bring me the bin.’

‘if you want to change your life, change your life.’

‘have you got any cigarettes?’

‘thank you for being there.’

‘shame you didn’t get to keep that doctor.’

‘i just felt... relief.’

‘isn’t that awful?’

‘i haven’t even asked you how you are!?’

‘i met someone.’

‘you are joking?’

‘i’m sure it’s very complicated.’

‘you’re a genius. you’re my fucking hero.’

‘i love your hair!’

‘i have to take my step-son his bassoon.’

‘i don’t want to get in the way of your family day.’

‘honestly, i’ve had such a day with it.’

‘well, that was exhausting.’

‘i will be back, though.’

‘you have a visitor. he said he knew you, so i let him wait in there.’

‘pleasure doing business with you.’

‘he took the pinny.’

‘he’s going to make a bassoon joke.’

‘is that a bassoon in your hand or are you just pleased to see me?’

‘would you say that to your son?’

‘he’s never pleased to see me.’

‘oh right, because if i was walking towards you with an amputated dick in my hand you’d think i was horny.’

‘i certainly wouldn’t put it past you to chop a dick off.’

‘please don’t hurt the guinea pig.’

‘i would never hurt the guinea pig.’

‘it’s fucking adorable.’

‘aren’t you supposed to be getting me arrested or something.’

‘you are the problem, you know that?’

‘you are the problem in my perfect, awful life.’

‘i haven’t seen you in a year.’

‘give me your phone.’

‘don’t let her leave me.’

‘i hope she doesn’t come home tonight.’

‘i will take you down, fucker.’

‘you better start sleeping with a lawyer!’

‘i’m already sleeping with a lawyer!’

‘better call my lawyer.’

‘your sister game me your address.’

‘i’ve only got underwear under this coat.’

‘i want to keep a clear head.’

‘i can’t let them down like that.’

‘apparently no one else will wear the outfit.’

‘i sacrificed a lot for this life, you know.’

‘do you want to get that.’

‘i don’t like opening the door to people i don’t know.’

‘i’m hoping he’s having an emotional crisis.’

‘you’re the best sex i’ve ever had.’

‘honestly you... you made me cum nine times.’

‘i can’t be physical with you.’

‘what, we can’t even wrestle?’

‘they don’t burst into flames, you know. i googled it.’

‘i can’t have sex with you because i’ll fall in love with you.’

‘if i fall in love with you i won’t burst into flames, but my life will be fucked.’

‘we’re going to have sex.’

‘for fucks sakes! stop that!’

‘OH FUCK OFF, I KNOW.’

‘we’re going to have sex, aren’t we?’

#KIND / SENTENCE.#KIND / IN CHARACTER.#BASED ON / TV SHOW.#fleabag #rp meme #sentence meme #sentence starters #starter sentences

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witcherarcanathings · 5 years

Text

Laces - Valerius x Female MC Lemon NSFW Under the Cut

Valerius x Female MC. JulianxMCxAsra implied. 3600 words. Smut under the cut if you want to skip to the good stuff.

You enter the palace conference room, preparing yourself for a court meeting with a diplomat from a neighboring kingdom. Everyone, Friends and Courtiers, already present and spread out amongst the room socializing until the Countess is ready to begin.

You were wearing black satin pants with side lacing crisscrossing through silver fasteners. The black strings were tied in bows at the top of your thighs. A rose red blouse that exposed your shoulders underneath a black waist cincher that matched the pants completed the look. Not your usual style, but the looks you receive as you entered the room told you it was the right choice.

Julian looked in absolute ecstasy as you approached him, Asra, and Portia, who gave you a thumbs up. You two had picked it out last weekend at the market.

“Y-you look… I mean...Is it satin. It looks good. I mean you look good. NO! I meant…” Julian flustered his pale skin turning crimson.

“What he means to say is you look beautiful this morning,” Asra said kissing your cheek,”And every morning.”

Portia clasped her hands together in joy.“Ooh! MC I told you! You look good girl! Just look at Ilya’s face. He’s as red as a tomato!” Portia teased.

“Shutup Pasha, I am not!” he retorted. Ilya smoothed his hair, trying to regain his composure. “But um, yes. You do look nice.”

“Nice? Not beautiful, stunning, the most amazing woman you’ve ever seen?” you teased.

Julian smiled, and struck a dramatic pose. “Oh curses upon me! I have offended our exceptional lady. Forgive me, my lady. You are in no doubt the most radiant, striking, voluptuous creature to have ever walked the earth. A pox upon me for my incompetence!”

“You are forgiven dear doctor,” you replied dramatically, holding out your hand.

He brought your hand to his lips and kissed it, wiggling his eyebrows. The four of you burst into a fit of laughter, then slid back into your normal morning conversation.

Suddenly you get the feeling that someone is watching you.

Valerius stood at the end of the table, eyeing you from his wine glass. You smile at him in greeting, and he motions for you to come forward. You sigh, having to leave your friends for what no doubt will be a less than pleasant conversation with the Consul. “I’ll talk to you later guys,” you say, as Asra grabs your hand and kisses you as you walk away.

Taking a few steps, Valerius greets you sighing, “ Good Morning, Magician.”

“Good morning, Counsul Valerius. Is there something you needed?” you asked, hoping to make this as quick as possible.

“Perhaps,” he said as you felt his gaze raking over you. “I must say your outfit is very...interesting.”

Oh gosh, you exhaled, here we go again. It’s too early for this shit.

You put on a polite smile, “How kind of you to think so, Valerius. If there was nothing else-”

“I meant it in earnest. Black is very becoming on you, a total improvement from what you wore at the last meeting. I congratulate you.”

You didn’t know whether or not to be insulted, so you thanked him and took a seat at the center of the table. It was almost time to begin and you wanted to be ready to take notes.

When Nadia entered, everyone began taking seats. To your dismay,Julian and Asra began arguing about who’s turn it was to sit next to you.

“Ilya you’re being unreasonable. You sat next to her at the last meeting, remember?” Asra grimamaced

“Yes, but yesterday was your turn for date night. And today it’s mine.” Ilya countered.

“This isn’t a date, Julian. We’re at work, and I was here first. To the chair, and in the relationship.” Asra replied smugly.

“That has nothing to do with it!” Julian shrieked.

“Boys!” Nadia snapped, “Take a seat. Now.”

Julian and Asra glared at each other in silence, neither one backing down.

Before you can solve the problem by announcing that they could sit on either side of you, you felt movement next to you and turned to find the source. Odd. Valerius had taken the seat to your right. Usually he sat to Nadia's right at the head of the table.

Your chin dropped to your chest. Placing a hand on your forehead, you sighed. Now you had to choose, before Nadia threw both of them out.

“Now, look what you’ve done Ilya. You’ve given her a headache,” Asra hissed.

“You Both Are giving me a headache,” Nadia Fumed. “Find a seat now, Or I will find one for you out the door.” she pointed.

“MC who do you want to sit next to?” Julian looked at her pleadingly.

You sigh. This was going to take a lot of diplomacy. Normally the three of you got along very well, inside and outside the bedroom. But sometimes, there were incidents like this one that, while flattering, came in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“Julian sit next to Nadia,” you ordered.

Asra smiled triumphantly, thinking he won.

“Portia switch places with Asra would you, I don’t want them bickering all day.” You say deflating Asra’s pride.

“Oh yes, I’d gladly sit next to M’Lady.” Portia said beaming, sitting to the countess’ right along with Julain, Asra, both unhappy. You were glad there were a few noblemen between them, or they’d be kicking each other under the table all morning.

To the countess’s left would be the Nevivon diplomat, the President of the Merchant’s Guild ( a tall woman with blazing red hair, sunkissed skin, and so much gold jewelry you thought you’d be blinded), The president of the Dock Workers Union, the Harbor Master, You, and Valerius.

You were still confused at why he was at this end of the table instead of closer to the Diplomat. Maybe Nadia had requested it, perhaps he had offended her in some way. It just felt strange being so close to him.

“Now that that’s settled, let’s all compose ourselves before we welcome our Guest,” Nadia motioned for the servants to open the doors.

A pepper haired man walked in, tall and with a good build. His fine turquoise and white silks swayed as he greeted Nadia, kissing her hand, and taking his seat to her left. Today’s meeting would be about trade. Nevivon wished access to Vesuvia’s fishing grounds, as well as increased sea trade, in exchange for lowering tariffs on Vesuvian exports. You didn’t know what you were doing here. You knew a little about trade as a shopkeep, but not on an international scale. But as a member of the court, it was your duty to be here. Besides you got to learn so much at the palace.

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NSFW. Public Sex/Clitoral stimulation/fingering

As the talks begin, you notice Valerius is still eyeing you occasionally, even when he is addressing the diplomat, or Nadia, or anyone else.

You smile uncomfortably, and shift in your seat.

“I take back what I said to you earlier magician,” he whispers.

“What?” you ask incredulously. You’ve never known the Consul to apologize for anything.

“I take it back. It’s more than an improvement. You’re absolutely breathtaking.” he purred, leaning into you as if to impart some critical information.

You feel the heat rush to your cheeks before saying, “thank you” and snapping your head back towards the diplomat, still reading Nevivon’s proposal. Why did they have to use so many words to say something so simple? Give us your fish, and We’ll lower the tariffs on the goods you export. End of Story.

You feel a hand sweep across your thigh, and for a moment you think it’s Asra playing games with you again. But no. You look up to see he and Julian have found a new way to continue their argument. You watch him sneer, as he reads the note Julian passed him, and prepares to write a scathing reply. Hopefully you’d be able to work it out later.

But where did the touch come from?Asra’s too busy passing notes at the table with Julian to have done it.

You look to your right, finding yourself face to face with Valerius, as he ghosts his left hand over your thigh. You give him a confused look. WTF was he doing???

“Silk?” He asks innocently.

“Satin.” You retort,”As if you didn’t know that.”

“I did.” He said taking a sip of wine. “May I?”

“You didn’t ask before-”

“I’m asking now.” he purred.

Why the hell not? “Fine.” you respond, wishing he’d hurry up and deliver the punchline to whatever joke he was planning at your expense.

His hand moves across your right leg, feeling the material. Despite your feelings to the contrary, you tell yourself his actions are completely innocent.

Its when he pulls teasingly at the string, you realize it’s not.

“Will this come apart if I pull it?” he baited, twirling the string around his long fingers.

“I-I don’t… It’s not supposed to…” You say flustered, brain frozen, still processing what was happening.

“Let’s find out.” he said pulling the string, exposing the bulge of your thigh.

“Pretty,” he murmured into his wine glass, taking a sip as he slides his fingers across the outside of your thighs admiring your skin,

"I didn't know your skin was so soft. How pretty it must look bruised and raw with kisses..." he mused, pinching gently.

You're sitting there frozen. You have no words. Snobby, spiteful, higher-than-thou Valerius literally just undid your pants and started feeling you up. In the middle of trade talks, with everyone still in the room.

With Asra and Julian just across from you. Asra and Julian who were completely oblivious to the situation, too busy fighting with each other. From across the table you could make out Julian’s scrawled “FuCk YoU, ASRA!” to which Asra replied, “ Not even if you begged,” And you knew that that was exactly what was going to happen later.

Which left you alone, with Valerius feeling your thigh under the table. Honestly you should have stopped Valerius right there. It’s not that you weren’t curious, it’s that you weren’t sure what he was up to. And you weren’t sure how Julian and Asra would feel. You three hadn’t exactly laid out the terms of your relationship.

And what did Valerius think he was doing? You didn't even know your pants opened that way, you thought the laces were just for style. But he knew. He’d probably been thinking about it when he was eyeing you earlier.

Even now, Valerius caressed your thigh as he gave his responses during the trade talks. betraying nothing on his face as he leaned toward you, following your gaze towards your lovers. “Look at them, so neglectful. So busy arguing, they can’t even see how needy you’ve become,” he teased squeezing your thigh, still looking into your eyes. “They don’t deserve to touch you. There are so many things I could do to you. So many ways I could touch you…”

If it wasn't for the glaring blush that enflamed your face, people might just think he was informing you about court business.

Looking down from the table, Nadia gives you a concerned look and asks if you are unwell, you look a bit flushed.

You try to stand to tell her yes you are unwell, that you’d like to excuse yourself and go to your quarters. Anything to excuse yourself, so you could figure this out. But Valerius tightens his grip on your thigh, clamping you to your seat like a vise.

"Don't even think of leaving. I'm enjoying this too much, and so are you," Valeius teased. Heat rushed to your core, and you knew you were done for. You wanted this just as much as he did.

"Y-yes. I'm fine,” You lie as Asra and Julian take a break from their war to look up at you with concern. “It's just a bit stuffy in here, I'm a little overheated." That last bit caused Valerius to smirk into his wine glass, taking a sip as he continues exploring the skin of your thigh.

"Tsk. I knew it," Nadia tutted, giving you a heart attack. You were sure she found out about Valerius' hand up your pants.

"Portia didn't I say it was too hot in here? I should have let out the windows earlier, no matter, It shall be remedied." Nadia waved to some servants, ordering the windows to be opened, fans brought in, and iced water for everyone. With that done, Julian and Asra, and everyone else looked away from you, to your relief.

"Good, Pet." Valerius cooed opening the laces a little more so he could reach your inner thigh. You grabbed his hand, purely out of modesty.

"What's wrong? We can stop if you like..." He says thumbing circles into your inner thigh.

"No... I don't think we should- ” You whimper a little too loudly.

"Shhh pet, quieter. They'll hear you" He hissed as a few of the courtiers eyes glanced back and looked away quickly as Valerius looked at them cooly. You apologized quickly and the meeting continued as normal, diplomats discussing trade agreements while Valerius listened and nodded,adding his bit when he needed to to make it look like he was interested. all the while working your inner thigh, squeezing the plump skin there.

"You're even softer there kitten, how I would love to sink my teeth right here," he said pushing his finger into the squish high inside your thigh, "I'd leave little bites and kisses, marking up your pretty thighs. Just so you'd know you were mine.”

You could feel the desire now, his last words making the heat building between your legs unbearable. You ground your hips down into the cushion of the chair, trying to relieve some of the pressure.

"oh you'd like that, would you? My face between those pillowy thighs, marking you? Or would you like me a bit lower..." He said sliding his hand deeper, his forefinger tracing a line against your clothed sex. You bit your lip, stifling a moan.

“Open your legs,” Valerius said so only you could hear, “ I want to see how wet you are for me.”

You were soaking. You just hoped that nothing showed through the fabric, as Valerius traced a line from your clit down to your hole before pulling his hand away, feeling your juices between his fingers.

He tutted, “ All this from a few words, and light touches.” he slid his hand back to your core “So needy, so sensitive. The doctor and his magician really have been remiss." He said circling your clit through your smalls.

"Please, Valerius. Don't I'll come." you begged so so quietly.

Valerius gave you a look of indifference as he took another sip of wine with his right hand, the left deftly pushing aside the fabric standing between you and his ministrations,caressing your folds.

"If you're going to come, be quiet about it, or I'll stop right now,” he warned, his eyes narrowing.

“I don't want this deal to fall through because you let everyone know what a needy little witch you are." He said pulling away. You nearly sobbed from the loss of contact.

You nodded slowly. "I'll be quiet. Please, Valerius."

"Good." he said, draining his glass. “And keep those lusty eyes on me. If I catch you looking at that Hack of a doctor or that bum Magician, you can forget about cumming at all. Understand?”

“Yes,” you plead. Anything.

He slid his hand back through the laces, continuing where he left off.

His fingers were so good, his movements so practiced.

Y-yes… Keep doing that baby…fuck me with your fingers, you wanted to scream.

When you started grinding into his hand he pulled away a little "not too much love. Slowly. Or they'll know. Not that I mind you telling everyone how much you want me. You do want me don’t you pet?”

You slowed your hips, and Valerius pushed his finger inside your first hole. It took all your strength not to keen at the sensation as he fingered you with languid movements. In...and Out. In...and out. As if he had all the time in the world to make you come. As if you weren’t burning with need. Not missing a beat when he was asked this or that about the trade agreements.

Despite what was going on under the table he listened intently,pushing for an addition here, for changes to this clause or that, dictating when he needed to.

Occasionally he would lean in and whisper "you're doing so well, pet. I love it when you’re so good for me."

You were close. So achingly close. Valerius had no idea how much you wanted to scream at the Nevivon diplomat to accept Nadia's terms and leave. Or to Slap valerius for having to argue some insignificant point, just to draw out your torture.

He knew you were close, knew that you wanted to come. "The details matter, pet.” He teased, “I can't let the city suffer just because you want to come."

You cursed under your breath.

Valerius pulled away, nearly causing you to falter and let a whine escape your lips, biting them hard.

"Careful pet, or I'll end this sooner that you like." He mocked.

Noooooo...You looked at him pleadingly.

"I'm glad we understand each other," Valerius answered to the diplomat, while looking you straight in the eye before turning away to finish business.

You were close, so achingly close. Just a few more strokes from his skilled fingers and you would be there. You snaked your hand down from the table to touch your clit, chasing your climax.

Before you could finish, Val leaned back to you and demanded ever so softly, "Hands on the table where I can see them. Keep them there."

You closed her eyes and threw her head back in exasperation. You swore you were going to cry if he didn’t make you come soon.

Valerius chuckled, pleased at your desperation. "It seems the magician and I are in agreement. Raising tariffs against Vesuvian goods would be detrimental for both sides, and would lead to renegotiations or an overall ban on goods from your kingdom. The Countess will be most displeased." Valerius scoffed, smoothly playing off your movements.

"I think it's ridiculous that you even considered coming to my table with that nonsense." Nadia retorted.

The Nevivon diplomat panicked. "Apologies Countess. We hadn't intended to offend your grace. We withdraw our request, in favor of the Consuls suggestion. Tariffs lowered in exchange for guaranteed protection of sea trade by vesuvian navy ships."

"Agreed," Nadia assented.

At this point you didn’t give a flip. Valerius was still working your entrance, the knuckle of his thumb rubbing against your clit. Please, I Need more, just a little more. You would beg him if you could.

"I should do this more often," Val cooed. " I could've used your assistance with that fool from Pranka." He was close enough you could smell the wine on his breath. Sweet and enticing. You wanted nothing more than to kiss those lips. Val caught your gaze, as you licked your lips.

"Don’t worry you’ll taste these lips soon enough. I plan on kissing every inch you once I’ve gotten what I need from this fool.” Valerius whispered, adding another finger.

Ooohhh God...so good...your body cried, as you clenched around him.

“So tight... I can’t wait to feel you clench around my cock instead of my fingers. For now, this will have to be enough.”

He picked up his pace, as you gripped the arms of the chair, to keep from trembling. Thank god the whir of the fans kept anyone from hearing your heavy breathing, and the squish of Valerius’ fingers inside your soaking cunt.

“Remember to keep those pretty sounds to yourself for now. I'll make you sing for me when we're alone."

You nodded, you didn't trust yourself to make words without a moan slipping out. God you wished you were alone now. Head down, ass up as Valerius railed you. If his fingers were this good, you couldn’t help imagining all the other things he could make you beg for.

It seemed like an eternity had gone by before you heard Valerius’ voice again, so close you could feel his breath on your neck,

"Come for me, Sweetling," he cooed into your neck.

You came right then and there, stars forming at the back of your eyes as you crashed. Hands fisting as Valerius continued to finger you through the waves.

When you relaxed, Valerius removed his hand, leaving a trail of your juices on your thigh. He brought his fingers to his lips, and sucked them as if tasting the sweetest of wines.

“Your pussy tastes so sweet,” he whispered. “I can’t wait to eat you out. For being such a good pet, I think I’ll make you come until you pass out.”

A bolt of desire shot through you. You still wanted him, pussy still clenching from your last orgasm.

You had soaked through her clothing. You’d have to change before Asra or Julian noticed. If they noticed. From the looks of them they had made up, and eager to ‘resolve’ their fight at home. They’d be fine without her.

"Don't even think about changing out of those pants.” he ordered, seemingly reading your thoughts. “I want you to think about what a mess you've made for me."

As your brain started to function somewhat, you realized the meeting was close to coming to a close. From what you picked up it seems things had gone well for both sides. As Nadia shook hands with the Nevivon envoy, the council got up to leave.

You and Valerius got up at the same time, and before you could walk away he grabbed your wrist, pulling you closer.

“I don’t want anything getting in my way, later. Make your excuses to your lovers if you have to, but you’ll be in my bed tonight,” he said as he restrung the laces.

#the arcana valerius #valerius headcannons #valerius lemon #valerius smut #consul valerius #valerius x mc #valerius x apprentice #valerius x reader #my posts #my writing #arcana lemon #arcana smut

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ruinmylifc · 5 years

Text

[ muse #1 ] ●● is that cillian murphy? no, that’s just dante armstrong, the 45 year old cismale who is a 𝐅𝐁𝐈 𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐓. some say they’re self-destructive & unpredictable, but their family and friends will swear they’re efficient & candid. when i think of them, i think of at least sleepless nights, bullet proof vests, movie nights with the family, confidential case files, last minute therapy sessions, hidden gun holsters, sunday night roasts, clean shaves. i wonder if his family knows that 𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐀 𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐑. ●●

yeah, i did another thing and this one is gonna stick bc well... if you look under the cut i have given you all of dante and myself so i apologise for the length but it just flew out of me. i haven’t even put any wanted connections bc that would make it 10x longer. just love me and i will love you all the same.

trigger warnings: medical terminology, chronic illness, hospitals, vomiting mention.

i’m proud to present dante sean armstrong, eldest son of eris dorothy (nee may) and basil wayne armstrong. his sister was born two years later and then came his younger brother another three years after.

his childhood wasn’t exactly rainbows and glorious days of splendor, but it wasn’t horrendous either. their family lived on a property in the countryside and owned some animals. farm work and chores were to be done every day as well as keeping up with their school work.

both of his parents were strict and enforced a lot of rules and there were to be no questions asked. they hounded into the three of them the importance of working hard and providing for the family and that’s stuck with dante. he wasn’t allowed to get away with the things some of the kids these days do ( eyes at all you rebel lil shits ) and dare he disrespect his parents, he’d be punished for it.

UPDATED NOV 24: with that being said, his parents didn’t show their love physically but they showed it in a lot of other ways. long holidays to the beach, constantly spending time together on the lake, picnics, going to sporting events when they could, traveling sometimes, card game nights. spending quality time together was their way of showing love. to this day, that is still how they show their children their love.

dante is incredibly intelligent ( unlike myself so i’m sorry pls bare with me ) and that could be seen from day dot. he was hitting milestones before the average child was and his parents saw potential in him. they pushed him harder than his siblings, with school work and work on the property. basil originally wanted dante to take over the property but once he hit high school, he knew there was no way he was going to be able to keep this boy there.

he graduated high school top of his class with a full scholarship to boston uni for law, so he packed his bags and he was off. he only saw his family at major holidays whilst he was at college as he put his head down, bum up and studied hard with a job on the side.

with that being said he played as hard as he worked and knows how to have fun, so he says anyway. when the armstrong wife comes along we will plot when they met and we will go from there but aside from that! he was a bit of a player, enjoying the attention and action if you catch my drift.

UPDATED NOV 24: cue graduating college, moving to ashcroft in his early twenties and he went to work in the force for two-ish years until he was qualified, fit enough and had the experience to apply for the fbi as a special agent. blood, sweat and tears went into this passion of his and lord behold, he got in. it’s fair to say that dante should be married to his job, bc he honestly loves it so much and worked so hard to get in. it’s a bit sad. that’s where he’s been since his mid twenties. cue actual marriage and along came their first child.

UPDATED NOV 24: the main goal in his life when children started coming into the picture was to go out everyday and protect his family, no matter the cost. if he worked a 80 hour week to solve a case or to lock up criminals, then so be it. that was more people who cold potentially hurt his family behind bars.

dante is a family man as much as he can be, but he finds it hard to separate work and home as they both mean so much to him. so yes, he is a workaholic and the things he has seen through the years as brought him night terrors but he loves his family to death. anyone touches them and he will go wild.

ADDED NOV 24: dante is one of those parents that has always said it how it is, not wanting to lie (to a certain extent) to them or shielding them from the dangers of the real world. he is a softy especially in times when his family are upset, things are happening, appts needed, etc, but he shows a lot of tough love. before he joined the fbi and the kids were little, he was as soft as one could be but with the trials of his line of work, he had to learn to be tough. that unfortunately comes home with him, like his work.

ADDED NOV 24: if there is a problem, dante wants ppl to tell him about it straight away and not cut out minor details. he needs to know everything and as soon as possible so he can help, can work it out whether that be work, social life, family, etc. he is v unpredictable with his response too so one day if someone doesn’t come to him abt something for a long time, he could be rather tame and just move on with it. on another day, he could go off his rocker. you can’t really pick it esp when he comes across as being cold. (he’s not!! he is really warm with those he trusts and loves i SWEAR)

dante not long had become a supervisory special agent when mateo’s case came up. dante found himself being emotionally drawn to mateo and the situation at hand, having always struggled with not letting things get personal. so he offered him protection, took him in and opened up his home for him. of course, keeping him around is detrimental to the case and there’s no way he will be letting him go any time soon, but dante cannot help but feel protective over him. he is putting his family at risk by bringing him in but he doesn’t regret it and is more determined to resolve the case.

UPDATED NOV 24: emilio is now caught and dante is suspended for using his weapon. now begins the process of gather evidence, trials, etc.

personality.

he is completely unpredictable ; you may think he’ll react to a situation one way but will completely go the opposite. he says things that would be unexpected from him and he keeps shit real. he won’t sit there and talk abt the world being a wonderful place bc he will laugh in your face and tell you to fuck off to fairyland. he’s seen too much shit and done too much shit to know that life is not a movie.

he can come across as cold but he just doesn’t like to talk if he has nothing to say and he has a resting bitch face, sorry.

UPDATED NOV 24: it can take a lot to anger dante but when he gets angry, oh you know about it. he’ll yell and throw things and throw a tantrum if it’s really bad but most of the time, he tries to keep quite calm. if it involves his family getting hurt, he’ll get violent, period. no one touches his family.

THIS: as much as he keeps a guard up due to his job and is a somewhat strict parent and whatnot, he is a sweetheart. he’ll make his kids breakfast in bed on the weekends and would come in and kiss their heads when he’d come home from work and he’d be the one setting up easter egg hunts and is MUCH more affection than his own parents. his family’s happiness brings him happiness and they’re really the only people that see him smile often. also, he won’t go to work without telling them all he loves them. always. even if they’re sick of it.

UPDATED NOV 24: also, he beats himself up and is normally the one that tears himself down to shit. once he has his mind set in a bad way, he’ll tear himself to pieces and he really is his own worst enemy. and it’s bad. like, he beats himself up about everything and even won’t sleep at night over little things like having a fight with the kids, or not filling in paperwork right, or not speaking to his wife one night bc he is just too Stressed. v much is not okay

ADDED NOV 24: bc of this he tends to push ppl away, very badly too. he doesn’t think abt himself often and just wants to make those he loves happy, but he just??? can’t sometimes??? and i think that can be so frustrating

bonus point ; he is a very passionate lover!

secret.

in terms of his secret!! when he was in his final year of college, dante was mucking around with a group of friends throwing a football and tackling one another in between lectures. he had run backward off of the grass onto the path to catch the football and one of the guys ran and tackled him, knocking him to the ground with a very nasty blow to the head.

knocked out cold, dante was taken to the hospital were he had a severe concussion but there was no bleeding in or around the brain.

after this he became violently ill ; he knew that concussion caused disorientation but this was weeks, even a couple months after the incident and he was still having trouble. he suffered from severe headaches, vomiting, eyesight troubles and even his personality changed.

dante knew he wasn’t okay so he went to a couple doctors, had a bunch of neurological tests, ct and mri scans and he was then diagnosed with non-communicating acquired hydrocephalus. basically, the blow to his head caused one of the ventricles in his brain to block which restricted the flow of csf ( cerebrospinal fluid ).

with that, a shunt was surgically inserted in his brain to drain the excess fluid to other parts of his body and he has lived his life with this as his own personal secret. he hasn’t told his wife or children and his siblings and parents are the only ones who know ( bc they were by his side ofc ).

UPDATED NOV 24: he’s had regular check ups every so many years and as of lately, the shunt has started to play up and he’s suffering from headaches for a while now. will he do anything abt it? probs not. there has been too much going on for him to even think about himself.

#ashcroftintro.#medical terminology tw #chronic illness tw #hospitals tw #vomiting mention tw #character study ― dante armstrong.#mirror ― dante armstrong.#spotify ― dante armstrong.#aesthetics ― dante armstrong.#answered ― dante armstrong.#memes ― dante armstrong.#family ― dante armstrong.#wanted connection ― dante armstrong.

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heresyourchecksir · 6 years

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What are the 95 fics you would recommend forever? Inquiring minds want to know! (Since I recognize many on the list you posted for the anon and loved them (and saw some new ones), and now I want to know them all! ^_^ )

Are you sure? Are you really sure you want the whole list? All 95 fics?

Too late, you’re getting them now. Once again, under the cut.

First things first, I took off the 27 I posted in this post, so really you’re only getting 68 fics in this post. Secondly, if you read a fic and really like it, please leave a kudos and a comment! Comments mean a lot to authors! Thirdly, if you like a story, click on the author’s name and see if they’ve written other fics you might like! There’s a lot of great fics by these authors that I didn’t include as well. On to the fics!

Zimbits

The Canadian vs The Fourth of July and Football by @benjji2795 (General) Words: 5,896

His mama didn’t mean anything by it, inviting Jack to come to Georgia for the 4th of July. She didn’t know about his feelings for Jack or that he was trying to use this summer to put some kind of emotional distance between them. But all the same, he couldn’t help feeling irritated with her when he opened their front door to a pleased-looking Jack Zimmermann.

Hope that you don’t run by milou407 (General) Words: 3,004

Every day after school, Jack Zimmerman and the rest of the Samwell hockey team end up in the diner where Eric Bittle works. This is what happens after that on one special day.

Guns and Ships and so the Balance Shifts by NowMakeThemKiss (General) Words: 476

Jack hates it when Bitty listens to his music loudly, until one day he doesn’t mind it so much.

Catfishing for Dummies by @andquitefrankly (Teen) Words: 12,001

Eric Bittle hadn’t planned on signing up for online dating. It was just something that had happened after a drunken night with his friends. He also hadn’t planned on messaging the super obvious catfish masquerading as Jack Zimmermann. And he definitely hadn’t planned on possibly falling in love with him.

Smells like Updog by @onesaltydemon (Teen) Words: 8,764

Honestly, just read the whole Count Jackula series. This one just happens to be my fave.

Bitty can’t help but notice something strange with his d-men, especially after he asks Jack to turn him.

learn what joy means by @biblionerd07 (Teen) Words: 6,089

5 times Jack thinks I love you, +1 time he says it out loud.

Your Words on My Skin by @dizzilytwirling(Teen) Words: 8,562

Soulmate AU where markings appear on your skin after you fall in love. Sometimes it’s pictures, symbols, a name, maybe meaningful words your soulmate says to you.

Give It Thyme by IBoatedHere (General) Words: 8,635

They have an herb garden.

Maybe I’m Waking Up by @idrilka (Mature) Words: 157,904

Jack signs with the Falconers, graduates, and leaves. It’s the hardest thing he’s ever done. What comes after is even harder.

I hear sympohnies in my head by @lilbookofkell (General) Words: 14,165

Eric listens to a lot of music. Life is never so bad that it can’t be fixed with baked goods and the right soundtrack, and he’s really good at providing both, if he says so himself.

Can I get a Wingman? by @omgtrashplease (General) Words: 2,806

Jack wants to introduce Bitty to his new teammates, but fears that they won’t get along. As it turns out, he should have been worried for the opposite reason.

Alicia and Bob (I&II) by @adventuresinsuburbia (General) Words: 1,182

A short ficlet about Jack telling his parents about Bitty - the conversation mentioned in Junior Year #13 - Riverside.

Weekender by @wrathofthestag (Teen) Words: 34,075

Honestly, wrathofthestag is another author that everyone should just go and read all of their stuff. Go do it.

Jack hates conventions – the crowds, the noise, the forced socialization, but it’s a work thing that must be done. Enter Samwell Hockey Player, Eric Bittle, who attends the convention with a group of friends. Suddenly things begin to look up. Jack and Bitty meet at Falcs Fest. Flirting, shenanigans, and love ensue.

Won’t Watch You Walk Away Again by @zimmermaenner (Teen) Words: 71,59

Bitty was never friends with Jack Zimmermann at Samwell, but after he graduates, he keeps running into him.

Enchanted by @ziimmermanns (General) Words: 14,212

OMGCP Enchanted!au – When Prince Eric runs away from a wedding and falls into a magical well, waking up in a strange world of flashing lights, cars, and skyscrapers, he’s a little overwhelmed.

Take Me in Your Arms and Leave the Rest by @omgericzimmermann (Mature) Words: 15,548

After an injury takes Jack out of his short-lived NHL career, he’s left drifting. So he buys a house and decides to rebuild it. Fortunately, he’s got a cute neighbour to keep him company.

when it’s over (you’re the start) by @whoacanada (Teen) Words: 13,404

Have I mentioned that I love whoacanada and all their writing?

Jack goes to sleep in Providence next to his boyfriend and wakes up in Montréal to discover he’s been in a coma since 2009. Refusing to believe Samwell, Bitty, and the Falconers were all a dream, Jack tracks down the real Shitty, Lardo, Ransom, and Holster to find they’ve shared the same group hallucination for years. Now, they’re on a mission to find Bitty, the love of Jack’s non-existent life, and the only member of SMH they can’t seem to get in contact with.

Remembering You by @abominableobriens (Mature) Words: 8,855

Sometimes, significant events have a way of shouting their importance before they’re even over. They’re like, flashes of memory before total darkness.

Revenge is best served @ by Perpetual Motion (General) Words: 1,894

The ESPN hockey anchors take a cheap shot. Bitty takes one back.

Of Pasts and Presents by @kenthoney (Teen) Words: 4,193

Jack has a type. Which is apparently anyone related to the Bittles.

Penalty Box by QueenOfBrooklyn (General) Words: 1,468

This is what happens when Jack Zimmermann, hockey start, is left alone to babysit.

New Skin by @rransom (Explicit) Words: 6,6104

The world tells Jack that he’s been living the dream. His doctors tell him that he’s so lucky things turned out they way they did. His parents tell him that he is so happy. If only he could remember why.

Puck by runswithsourwolf (General) Words: 1,696

How Jack Zimmerman unintentionally de-throned Kitt Purrson as hockey’s favorite cat.

nothin’ says lovin’ like somethin’ from a coven by @zombizombi (General) Words: 13,474

Bitty and Jack meet for the first time under interesting circumstances. What do the cards hold for their future?

Until Your Father’s at the Table by @alphacrone (Mature) Words: 25,122

Ten years after Samwell, Eric Bittle runs into Jack Zimmermann in a sports bar in Boston and rediscovers the most important relationship of his life.

In A Crowd of Thousands by @murrayhewitt (General) Words: 1,690

Samwell was not the first time Jack and Eric’s paths crossed.

The Courtship of Eric Bittle by @gracewatsonauthor (General) Words: 2,747

Jack Zimmermann has decided that he’s going to court Eric Bittle. After reading a very informative WikiHow article and asking Shitty for advice, he feels like he’s prepared.

I Know Now by @17piesinseptember (General) Words: 5,704

A study-group is organised by several team members, the true purpose of which is to set up Jack and Bitty. Week after week, Jack and Bitty find themselves alone together at the study group. Their relationship grows.

Nursey/Dex

ENGL145, Creative Fiction Writing by i_kinda_like_writing (General) Words: 5,068

When Nursey sees the option on his list of classes, at first he doesn’t even think about it. He is a poetry guy, he likes obscure metaphors and overwhelming imagery. And he’s good at it, so he doesn’t have any reason to branch out of his comfort zone. Then he makes his schedule and realizes that all the English electives he wants to take are during practice or when he already has a scheduled class that’s fulfilling a credit. All that’s left over is Creative Fiction and Straight White Guy Novels Only (he may be paraphrasing the second one a little.) So Nursey checks the box next to ENGL145, Creative Fiction Writing. That’s the start of it, really.

You and me and me and you by @ahausonfire (Teen) Words: 3,211

Friendship with Dex was never in the cards. Just. It wasn’t an option. Not when every glance between them and every thought declared was laced with vinegar and disdain. Not when the mere thought of sharing space with Dex off the ice had Derek’s shoulders tensing up into knots. So, no. Friendship with Dex? It should be unthinkable. It should be impossible. It should be the harbinger of some kind of apocalypse or something. And yet…

Even When We’re Ghosts by @bkmarchand (General) Words: 6,400

As most things are, this is Chris Chow’s fault. He doesn’t look like an instigator for trouble, with his perpetually cheerful smile and the way he tends to drop everything so that he can try and solve problems. Even Islanders fans wouldn’t call him a troublemaker, with his reputation for waving at babies and sitting with his legs swinging on top of his goal. Only those who know him personally can see it, the sly smile when a plan starts to come together, that look of faux innocence when he sarcastically tells you he has no idea what you’re talking about. William Poindexter is currently mowing the grass shirtless, sweat dripping down his back, and it’s all Chris Chow’s fault.

A Metaphysical Inheritance by @mcbangle (Teen) Words: 2,302

When Dex discovers a strange note from former goalie John Johnson in a mysterious book, his life changes in ways he never could have predicted.

Monster Haus by @dexondefense Words: 15,186

This is technically a series, but it’s too good to not recommend. The tag for it has some things not on Ao3.

AU where everything is the same, except they’re all monsters.

wasted on you by @oluranurse (Mature) words: 20,803

Derek Nurse thinks that if he never falls in love with another redheaded asshole named William, it’ll be too soon.

Shitty/Lardo

everything I do, I do for you by ericaismeg(General) Words: 3,669

Lardo is stupid in love with Shitty, but how can she tell him that? She’s just one of the guys, and he’s her best friend in the whole world. Then he asks her to pretend to be his girlfriend for a weekend with his family. Things are about to get complicated, and she’s not sure how much longer she can hide her feelings.

Rainstorm, Reason to Try by @kent-parsons-cowlick (Teen) Words: 11,778

Shitty had always been Shitty and Lardo had always been Lardo even before they got to Samwell.

Others/None

Hide and Seek is a Dangerous Game by @nickbonino (Teen) Words: 3,269

Chowder suggests they play hide-and-seek. It has interesting consequences.

Twisted and Turned and Somehow Ended Up Here by@theonesyouthinkyoulove (Teen) Words: 8570

Hockey was never a thing for Alicia Zimmermann. She was a West-Coast girl from the United States – if there were any sport she would be interested in, it sure would not be hockey.

Russian Invasion by DisraeliGears (Teen) Words: 3,228

Jack comes for a visit, and has a surprise guest for Ransom.

Team Roach vs Team Attic Round Two: Battle of the Doughnuts by bellagerantalii (General) Words: 2,344

Dunkin’ Donuts may be dropping the “Donuts” from their name, and the New Englanders on SMH are shook. Obviously, this means a battle royale between Dunkin Donuts and Tim Hortons.

Diced Tomatoes by @randomoranges (General) Words: 2,406

She has always been task-driven. To-do lists are her friends. She’s always sworn by them. Always. And maybe, somewhere along the line, she’s convinced herself that if she gets every chore crossed off, Jack will get better.

A little loving in between by @welovewebseries (General) Words: 17,751

Oh, Derek, Baby, the day you were born you gave us every Valentine’s Day present we could ever ask for,“ Grandma had said. She’d reached out to touch his jaw, tilting his face up to look at hers. “Our sweet, lovely boy.”Derek had smiled, let her kiss his face and then resumed watching the people walk around with their gifts. He hoped their recipients felt as happy and loved as he did.[Derek’s birthdays through the years. My contribution to Nursey Week 2018].

Alma Mater by westernredcedar (General) Words: 1,394

No one expects Alicia Swanson to go to college. She chooses that herself.

Specific Authors

These ones are listed by author rather than ship because it was easier to rec them this way.

@geniusorinsanity

It Drops with the Gravity of Rain (Teen) Words: 16,906When Nursey calls, Dex almost doesn’t pick up the phone.

chiaroscuro (Teen) Words: 6,542“Nu, habibi,” Derek’s mother says to him gently, as they leave the registration table. “Are you sure about this? Hockey is a rough sport. It’s going to hurt, sometimes.”Derek, all of eight years old, squares his shoulders. “That’s okay, Ammi,” he says. “I’m not scared.”(They warn him that hockey hurts. They don’t warn him that depression hurts worse.)

above, beneath, betwixt, between (No Rating) Words: 6,574It doesn’t start on a dark and stormy night. Later, Dex will think: that’s what lured them into the false sense of security. It’s hard to imagine your new room being haunted when you move in on such a nice day.

heyfightme

The two that were here apparently no longer exist. Sorry folks!

heavy lightness (feather of lead) (Explicit) Words: 29,847The rivalry between the men’s hockey teams of Samwell and La Croix universities is long standing, thoroughly indoctrinated, and often bloody on and off the ice. With his future professional career at risk, La Croix captain Jack Zimmermann knows he needs to distance himself from the feud. Meeting Samwell’s undervalued winger Eric Bittle while crashing a party, definitely isn’t in his plans. Quicker than anticipated, though, it becomes clear that there’s more than just hockey on the line - for both of them.

The Road Leads Back to You (Mature) Words: 56,394Jack Zimmermann is an established hockey player. He’s three years in to his NHL career, has had the A for the Falconers for two and a half, and is ready to make winners out of the new group of rookies. He pulls one under his wing, affectionately nicknamed Poots, and it should all go as planned. But say Jack accidentally discovers that Poots has a boyfriend. And say that Poots wasn’t a very good boyfriend. And say, for arguments’ sake, Poots’ boyfriend definitely deserved better. Jack is maybe, possibly, totally fucked.

always, always, always on my mind (Mature) Words: 8,767The app is ubiquitous, a dating service that dictates the type and length of every relationship it finds for its users. For Jack Zimmermann, it hasn’t been a real problem - until he is Matched with Eric Bittle for a week-long fling, and is left feeling like he’s missing out on something bigger.

@justwritins

Mixing It Up (Mature) Words: 40,869Bakery AU!Eric Bittle, of Bitty’s Bakery, is very excited to have been chosen as a contestant for the Food Network Challenge. He’s even more excited to find out that he’s making a cake for the NHL new-Cup winners, the Falconers.

Self Reflection (Teen) Words: 29,218Bitty is in Annie’s, bent over his textbooks and wondering, not for the first time, why he decided to take French as a language (oh yes, it’s because so many old recipes are written in French, he’s going abroad there to study food history, can’t wait for the summer; half of fall and then winter semester until he goes, but that doesn’t help him now does it) , when he hears someone clear their throat.“Excuse me, is this seat taken?”Oh boy.Eric doesn’t even bother lifting up his head. “Sorry, not a girl and not interested.”

@petals42

Ethics of Journalism (Teen) Words: 9,564When Dan Erikson is assigned to write an article about Jack Zimmermann’s years in college, he thinks he knows what he’s getting into.

Shitty, Year 3 (Teen) Words: 7,786As Jack starts playing in the NHL, he hears from Shitty less and less. Which is wrong, of course. When Jack realizes, he sets about fixing it.

@porcupine-girl

Here Comes the Dreams (General) Words: 26,416Sometimes it seems like Jack can’t go anywhere in Providence without being hounded for autographs, so he’s relieved when the people who work at the coffee shop in his new neighborhood don’t seem to recognize him.

Braced Myself (Teen) Words: 24,984Jack knows better than most, how life’s biggest changes come at you hard, fast, and out of nowhere.

Sure Thing (General) Words: 10,733Five times that members of Samwell Men’s Hockey team were unusually perceptive and one time when they… weren’t.

Just Spit It Out (General) Words: 2,392Jack can’t believe he just heard the words on his soulmark from the mouth of the gorgeous new waiter at the diner he frequents. But now the pressure is on - what if he says the wrong thing back? Can you screw up meeting your soulmate?

Will Wonders Never Cease (Teen) Words: 56,840Eric has landed his dream job: social media manager for the Providence Falconers! Not only does he get paid to tweet, for an NHL team at that, but it’s a job where he’ll be able to make good use of his magic - when nobody’s looking, of course. Everyone on the Falconers is a joy to work with… with the notable exception of Jack Zimmermann. Eric understands that Jack doesn’t like social media, but he could certainly be a little more polite about it. Luckily, Eric has support from his Samwell buddies, as well as his best friend - a man whose face he’s never seen, and whose name he doesn’t know. They met on an online forum where witches can gather anonymously, since it isn’t safe for them to advertise their existence in a world where magic isn’t trusted. They’ve been friends for years now, but Eric is only just starting to realize that he might have deeper feelings for someone he can never meet face-to-face.

@tdkeh

Chicken Soup for the Bud (General) Words: 3,577Bad Bob shows up in Providence to nurse his son back to health when he hears that Jack has the flu.

The Heist (Teen) Words: 4,868Bitty uncovers the details of an elaborate (and successful) heist while searching for the missing key to the Haus basement.

badcaseofcasey

How Come Aquaman Can Control Whales? (Teen) Words: 14,035AKA a dystopian The Martian AU that literally no one asked for but I am, for some reason, committed to writing.

That Thorns Have Roses (General) Words: 5,358Jack buys Bitty a rose from one of the clubs on campus. It isn’t until later that he realizes what that might mean. So of course, he tries to cover it up by buying roses for the rest of the Samwell Men’s Hockey team.

Unknown Author

Here I am, Baby (General) Words: 35,562You’ve Got Mail- AUEric Bittle is devastated when the massive corporate bakery, Zimmermann’s, opens around the corner from his small pie and coffee shop. He vents his frustrations to the anonymous IG user he’s been talking to, and falling for, all the while waging war against Jack Zimmermann’s corporate take-over. Little does he know the face behind the anonymous IG account, and little does he know what will happen in the future.

Over Heels (General) Words: 2,552Jack’s fingers brush through Bitty’s hair and they’re quiet for a while until Jack says, “I really do wanna marry you some day, Bits.”Bitty blinks, his eyes feeling a little hot and a little wet because at no point in his life—not when he was younger, not when he left Georgia, not when he met Captain Jack Zimmermann—did he ever think he’d get something like this. “When you ask, I’m going to say yes.”

Quand On Est Tous Les Deux (Mature) Words: 16,161When he wakes up in a strange country, surrounded by a language he doesn’t speak, and no memory of the last several years, Eric Bittle isn’t sure how he’s ever going to get back to Georgia. But at the hands of the village baker, Eric finds hope in the most dreary time of his life.

A Wall Around Me (Mature) Words: 59,630When Eric Bittle’s scholarship is threatened, he doesn’t know what he’s going to do. He can’t go home, and he can’t afford Samwell on his own. Then help is offered from the most unexpected place–Hockey Legend, Bad Bob Zimmermann. Bitty knows things like this don’t come for free, he just never expected he’d have to “look after” Bob’s equally famous son, Falconers’ captain, Jack Zimmermann.

Then There Was You (Mature) Words: 56,549Thirty minutes after being traded to Pittsburgh, Jack Zimmermann’s entire life changes at the front-end of a car running a stop sign. As he recovers from his injury, and grief which is far more complicated than he wants to admit, he meets the exuberant bookshop/bakery owner, Eric Bittle. As their friendship grows, and as he waits for the go-ahead to get back to hockey, Jack is forced to evaluate his future, and what he wants from it.

#owl-librarian #omg cp #omg check please #omgcheckplease #omgcp #check please #Mine #Thanks for the ask!#anon #Fanfiction

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human-redesigned-rp · 5 years

Photo

In From the Cold

Deanna / Cleo

Desperate for help, Cleo wanders into a clinic near the docks.

“Cleo.”

Her name cut through the warm haze of paracetamol and exhaustion and the low, monotonous hum of the half-empty vending machine. The tiny break room was empty save for herself and the bespectacled floor supervisor, who was staring down at her with a tight arch in his brow, arms folded.

Cleo blinked upwards and tried not to look too surprised to see him standing over her. “Is everything alright, Cam? Do you need me back out?”

Cameron regarded her for a moment, lips pursed, before heaving a sigh and sitting down on the threadbare sofa next to her. “Cleo,” he said again, more gently this time. “Maybe you’d better go home.”

She took a deep, painful breath, her jaw clenched. She noticed that Cameron had left a clear foot between them on the sofa. “No, no,” she replied, in a tone that she hoped sounded brisk and dismissive. “Not at all. I’m just… self-inflicted, really… I was out last night - too much cheap vodka, you know - I wasn’t going to tell you but I really shouldn’t get to go home early just because of my own-”

“Cut the bullshit, Cleo. You can hardly catch your breath. You’re sick.”

Cleo shook her head, panic rising in her chest as she scrambled for excuses. “N-no, honestly, Cam. I wouldn’t leave you short-staffed. There’s no way you’re going to talk anyone else into covering over Christmas week. I’ll go straight to bed after my shift, alright? I’ll be fine by tomorrow…”

Cameron shook his head. “No.”

The firmness in his voice took her by surprise, disarming her. “N-no?”

“No. Cleo, um…” He sighed again, shuffling in his seat and folding his arms more tightly around himself as he glanced back at the door. “...Listen. It’s just… Cleo, some of the customers have been complaining.” Cleo’s heart sank. “Nothing terrible or that - you’re a good girl, yeah? It’s just that you’re serving food and you look, well…” Cleo's gaze dropped, avoiding Cameron’s eyes.

“Gross. You look gross, Cleo,” Cameron finished decisively. “You’re practically grey, your eyes are bloodshot and you sound like you gargle with gravel. And that cough... Sorry, kid, but I need you to get out of here. You shouldn't be working around with food right now. And, um… don’t come back in until you’re better, okay? I don’t want to have this conversation with you again.”

Cleo blinked back tears as shame and anxiety in equal measures bubbled up inside her. Without another word, she nodded and gathered up her tatty purse and coat. Even as she checked she had all of her things, her mind raced as she wondered whether the hours she’d already worked this week would be enough to cover everything she needed. She had been planning to pick up a few groceries from the Express on her way home tonight, but that would surely have to wait.

“I’ll call you tomorrow to check in on you,” Cameron called feebly after her as she fled the room. She’d barely made a thing this week busking, either. As Cameron had pointed out, she sounded hideous, not to mention she couldn’t seem to get a deep breath to even sing much of anything in the first place. She knew she probably needed penicillin if she wanted to get back to work any time in the next few days. That would be much more easily solved, of course, were it not ten o’clock on a Friday night.

Blurry headlights streaked past her watering eyes as she contemplated a trip to the out-of-hours doctor. But her last Friday evening at the out-of-hours unit, which had consisted of an eight-hour wait surrounded by drunks and sobbing women and one screeching lady high on who-only-knew-what, was still fresh in her memory. Her father hadn’t been seen until four in the morning, and he’d been ill from the effects of his chemotherapy. She’d probably wait even longer with a piddly little cough. They’d probably laugh at her for even turning up. After all, it could easily wait until Monday. If, of course, she weren’t living hand-to-mouth and relying on every hour of work she could scrape together just to keep a roof over her head.

She sat down on the kerb outside the café, the chill of the pavement immediately permeating her jeans. She tried to blink her tears back again, but this time only succeeded in causing them to spill down her cheeks.

Cleo did not sleep that night. She couldn’t. Every time she coughed, the stabbing pain in her chest shot her back into full wakefulness, until finally, both shivering and sweating at the same time, she trailed her blanket off the bed at five o’clock and dragged it to the threadbare armchair to read.

Her phone rang at nine o’clock. Blinking away the haze of exhaustion, Cleo shoved herself off the chair and dug out her old mobile phone from where it had fallen underneath. Cam’s name blinked cheerfully up at her. Frowning, she hit the Answer key. “Hello?”

“Cleo, hi. God, you sound terrible. How are you?”

“O-oh. Actually, much better,” she replied eagerly. "It sounds much worse than it is, I'm sure I'll be-"

“I bet. Listen…” A pause, and then Cameron continued. “Listen, I know I was harsh yesterday. But I needed you to go home. Customers have been complaining, and what if there was a mystery shopper and you served them looking like-”

“I get it,” Cleo said, with a dryness that surprised even her. “Gross.”

She heard Cameron sigh, but he didn't backtrack. “Can you get an appointment?”

“I think I’m going to have to wait until Monday. I doubt I’ll get seen out of hours with a cough.”

“You know you have more than a bloody cough, don’t you?” Cam’s voice was more stern now. “Cleo, you’re really not well. I’m being serious. Is anyone with you?”

Cleo almost asked Cam who on earth would be with her, but she didn’t. That wasn’t fair. He didn’t know and it wasn’t his fault. “Um, no, but I’m just reading-”

“Cleo!”

“Fine, I’ll ring out-of-hours.”

Another short silence, this one more pensive than uncomfortable. “Isn’t there a little independent clinic on Cringle Street? It’s in the paper all the time, going on about opening evenings and weekends…”

“What?” Cleo’s ears practically pricked up. “Cringle Street?” “At Battersea, yeah. Near the power station. There’s a little picture in the ad. Loads of plants around it, sticks out from the rest of the street like a sore thumb. Ring a taxi and give them a go, Cleo. You’re going to be a mess if you wait til Monday.”

Cleo nodded, though she knew nobody could see her. She was already trying to work out whether her underground ticket would cover the right zones. “Y-yeah, thanks, Cam.”

“Alright. Let me know how you get on.”

“Yeah,” she replied absently, knowing full well that her phone had no credit and she wouldn’t be able to phone him. “Thank you, Cam.”

“No sweat. See ya.”

---

The hot breath of the building's central heating system hit Cleo’s cold face and made her skin prickle, her eyes still stinging from the icy wind outside and blinded by the cyan walls. Her lungs screamed in agony as she caught her breath and glanced around the pristine reception.

There was nobody there. In the center of the room stood a small table, surrounded by chairs. Not sure what else to do, she took a seat and observed with vague interest the strange looking little cactus in the middle of the table. She hadn't seen one like it before. She was so taken in by it, in fact, that it was a couple of minutes before she became aware of what looked like a small, lively aviary in the corner of the room, ablaze with beautiful, exotic-looking - expensive-looking - birds. A chill rising up inside her, she realised that this was definitely not an NHS clinic, and began to wonder how much treatment was likely to cost her. She already regretted coming here.

Even seated, the joints in her legs ached and her ears rang, and she longed for her bed and a cup of hot tea. Right at this moment, it would have been easy to convince herself that it wasn’t worth coming all the way out here just to be told that she couldn’t afford a flimsy packet of antibiotics, but she was already here and the thought of going home empty-handed brought tears to her eyes yet again. Either wait two more days for medicine, miss more work, miss her rent, and get evicted… or pay out the nose here, still have no money for rent after paying the bill, and get evicted anyway. She was going to have to face the out-of-hours. With a heavy, painful sigh, she rubbed her face with her hands to remove the clamminess and stray tears, and tried to psyche herself up to go back outside again.

*~*~*

Deanna probably wasn't meant for customer service, but luckily for her being the receptionist for some shady free clinic with weird plants and birds didn't require much skill. Most days, she just sat behind the pristine desk and handed the patients a tablet to fill out their information. Sometimes, she wondered if she should warn them about all the strange shit hidden behind Dr. Vega's doors, but she couldn't even begin to explain what was going on in the clinic, and she didn't care enough to try. It didn't take much to put two and two together and figure out that her strange new ability came from the clinic, and it wasn't like she was complaining. There were a lot of perks that came with being able to manipulate water. Plus, she got an easy, well paying job out of it, where she could wear whatever she wanted and not force a smile when she really couldn't care less. Sterling always told her she looked like she was swallowing nails when she tried.

It was quiet in the clinic that morning and Dean was suffering from a nasty hangover, so she disappeared into the youth hostel to sneak coffee from the kitchen, nearly chugging an entire mug of it before going for a refill. When she returned to the desk, there was a pretty miserable looking girl sitting by the strange plant. Another hint that something was weird about Dr. Vega, like she didn't have any clue that maybe she should invest in some cheap magazines, rather than choose a plant as a source of entertainment. Sighing, Dean took another sip of coffee before going for the tablet behind the desk. Most people were surprised to realize she worked there, considering, she didn't look that much better than the patients most days. Her long hair was tucked away in a messy bun, and her outfits usually consisted of some sort of flannel and jeans combo. Today she didn't even bother with makeup, her dark post-hangover under eye circles on full display. Without making eye contact, she passed the tablet to the girl, careful not to let their fingers brush, because she didn't want the germs.

"Just fill out your information. Dr. Vega will be with you soon."

*~*~*

Cleo didn't even noticed that anyone had come into the room until a brightly-lit tablet appeared on the table in front of her. She squinted down at the glaring screen, before looking up at the girl who'd appeared next to her. "Um," she began intelligently, glancing back at the tablet and then back at the girl.

The girl, whom Cleo assumed must be an employee of the clinic, couldn't possibly have looked any more out of place in her pristine surroundings. Had she been in any state to imagine, she would have expected someone in a crisp tunic and dark trousers, maybe short hair or a sleek ponytail, and perhaps flawless makeup. Instead, she was met with jeans and a checked shirt, the girl's hair in one of those I-woke-up-like-this buns that white girls could do with so little effort. She looked like she might fit in at a mechanic's or a record shop more quickly that the spotless, breathtakingly modern clinic reception.

When Cleo finally spoke, her words were halting, as though she'd momentarily forgotten how to speak English. "I, um, I think I've made a mistake," she said. She wasn't sure if it was sickness or embarrassment that was causing her face to boil. "This is a private clinic, isn't it?"

~*~*~*~

"It's a free clinic," Deanna shrugged. She wouldn't pretend she understood a whole lot about English healthcare. Clinics in America weren't free, and she typically avoided going unless she was on the brink of death, so she wasn't sure what was the norm or not. Though, she was pretty sure nothing about this place could be considered normal. When Dean was the one sitting in the lobby, staring at the weird plant, she also considered forgetting about the whole thing, but she had been sick for weeks with no end in sight, so she didn't really have any choice other than to just go with it. After seeing Dr. Vega, she recovered quickly--probably too quickly for someone with Mono, and even walked out with a few...advancements. Well, she didn't know for sure that the clinic was the cause of it, but she was pretty sure that sketchy doner kebab wasn't the reason she could manipulate water. "It's up to you. She'll be able to see you as soon as you check in, and you look like you're about to fall over, so," She trailed off with another shrug. It wasn't like she got paid per patient, so she didn't really care whether she went back there or not.

~*~*~*~

At the receptionist's response, Cleo felt her heart lift in relief, with such disbelief in her stroke of luck that she honestly could have cried at that moment. A free clinic. Seen immediately. Amazing. Maybe it made its money doing medical trials on the side or something, or maybe it claimed back its expenses from the government. Maybe it just happened to be a really nice, shiny new NHS clinic that hadn't yet fallen victim to the trademark careworn shabbiness that came with years of heavy footfall. At this point, she honestly didn't care.

She smiled in acknowledgement at the girl's advice and looked down at the tablet. The form didn't seem to demand too much information. She popped in her name, address, and National Insurance Number, before pausing at the next line.

Emergency Contact:

Her head tilted in thought for a moment, trying to keep her expression unreadable.

N/A

Quickly, she moved on, skipping past the small print (honestly she'd have given this place her tongue if it would get her back to work more quickly), and ticking the consent button before hitting "Submit" and handing it back to the receptionist.

"Thank you," she said, more hoarsely than she'd been expecting. "Sorry. I know I sound horrid."

~*~*~*~

Deanna awkwardly hovered as the other girl filled out the form, gaze shifting to the windows. It always looked gloomy in this part of the city, even on a sunny day. Sitting behind the desk always made her miss her first home in Massachusetts, even if she barely remembered it at this point. London was nice and all, better than most places she lived, but she would give her foot if she could live on a beach...especially now. She flinched when the girl spoke up, not realizing she completely zoned out. Silently, Dean took the tablet and returned it to her desk, pausing to take a long sip of the coffee she abandoned when she realized there was a patient waiting.

"It's fine," She waved a hand before collapsing into her seat, her temples still pounding from the hangover. "Better than the dude who projectile vomited all over the place yesterday." It definitely wasn't Dean's dream to work in a clinic, sick people were gross, but it paid for her textbooks. Her Aunt offered to pay, but accepting money went against Dean's nature, and it was better than the other ways she would scrounge up enough money to feed Sterling back in the day. "Dr. Vega will come get you soon," She added.

~*~*~*~

Cleo smiled gratefully at the girl's willingness to withhold judgement on her - at least, to not judge her openly - and folded her arms on the table. The silence that followed was, in Cleo's mind, comfortable enough. It seemed like the receptionist was no more of a conversationalist than she herself was, and honestly talking hurt anyway. In an attempt to distract herself from the hot flush that had begun to creep up her neck again, she became occupied in examining the strange, forbidden little spiky plant in the middle of the table. Apart from being prickly, it actually looked quite cute - like a hedgehog rolled in a ball with its tiny spines extended. She didn't think it was a cactus - at least, not a kind of cactus that she'd ever seen before. You certainly wouldn't find one like it in the foyer of Aldi next to the hanging baskets.

"Do you know what it is?" she asked the girl at her desk with a gesture towards the little plant, speaking before she could stop herself as curiosity got the better of her.

*~*~*~*

Dean reached for her phone to check her missed texts. There were a few leftover from the night before asking where she disappeared to. Her newest was from a girl in her class who asked if she wanted to go out for drinks tonight with some of their classmates. Hell no. No more drinking for the rest of her life. She was about to text her just that when the girl in the lobby spoke up again. Dean nearly forgot she was even there.

Frowning in confusion, she looked up to see what she was asking about before letting out a short laugh. "Who knows?" Dean shrugged before turning her attention back to her phone. "I always figured it's from the Amazon or something. I think Dr. Vega travels a lot." It was hard to say what exactly the doctor did, but Dean had a few guesses based on what she saw around the clinic.

~*~*~*~

A small crease appeared between Cleo's eyebrows in response to the receptionist's answer, before she looked back at the prickly little plant, her head still swimming from her spiking temperature. The sign next to it, she was sorry to admit, only made her want to touch the strange thing all the more, if only to see what would happen. She was fairly sure that she couldn't get all that much sicker, at any rate. Well, she could, obviously. She could get poisoned and die. Then some poor person at the hospital would have to arrange a public health funeral for her when they probably had more than enough paperwork to deal with that day. Best to leave it alone.

She pulled a book out of her backpack - The Magician's Nephew, an old childhood favourite - and opened it at a random page before attempting to read. Her efforts to distract herself didn't go very far. The words danced on the page, swaying this way and that and crossing over each other and blurring until she shut the book again hurriedly and shut her eyes, grasping for some return of equilibrium. She supposed she'd be better sitting still until she was called.

~*~*~*~

Dean didn't know for sure how long Dr. Vega would take. Even when she didn't have another patient, she seemed to always busy herself with something. She watched the girl pull out a book, still looking pretty miserable. As much as she hates it, the nurturing side of her kicks in. It comes from practically raising her little brother. When Sterling was sick, she used to coddle him at his bedside, bringing him tea and soup. She should probably at least offer her something. Clearing her throat awkwardly, she gave the girl a pointed look. "Do you want some tea or something? There's a hostel upstairs and I raid the kitchen sometimes. I can grab you some."

~*~*~*~

Cleo glanced up from her mournful staring contest with the book's front cover when the receptionist spoke again, taking a minute to process what she'd been asked. Apparently, she'd spent so much time alone in recent years that the question of whether or not she'd like a cup of tea had somehow become alien to her. Sure, she made countless cups for customers every day, but it wasn't like she lived with housemates or family that would stick the kettle on for each other. She usually just made her own when she was on breaks in work.

She tried to resist a small, grim smile at how ridiculous it was that she'd gotten to that level of isolation. "That," she said, clasping the book with both hands and lowering it to her lap. "Would actually be really lovely. Thank you." She hesitated, a question on the tip of her tongue, before she put the book back in her bag. "My name's Cleo, by the way. I don't think I got yours?"

~*~*~*~

Dean tried not to sigh as she pushed herself up from her seat. She asked for it by offering, but the thought of climbing the stairs to the hostel again was daunting. She would definitely be taking a nap when she got home. "I'm Dean," She gave Cleo a little half smile. It was a little hard to tell behind the sick pallor, but the girl was pretty cute. She had a head of gorgeous curls and warm almond-shaped eyes. If she wasn't dying of some disease, Dean might say something, but instead she left the room to find Cleo some tea.

It took about five minutes for her to make the walk back to the hostel kitchen, and heat the tea. She may have cheated a little, and used her own abilities to speed up the process, but if she was going to be some freak, she might as well take advantage of it.

"Here," Dean announced when she returned, handing Cleo the mug. Just as she stepped away, Dr. Vega finally poked her head in. "That's your cue," She raised a brow before disappearing behind her desk.

~*~*~*~

Dean. Cleo smiled back and nodded. Usually that was a boy's name, but she wondered if maybe it was short for something. She seemed nice. Or maybe Cleo just didn't talk to enough people outside of work. Either way she wasn't having a complicated latte order mumbled at her from behind an iPhone, so... had Cleo not been the height of grossness, this would have counted as an overall positive interaction. Dean came back with a cup of tea, and Cleo accepted it gratefully. "Thank you," she sighed. She had barely had time to enjoy the hot steam against her cheeks, though, when Dean directed her towards one of the doors at the end of the room. She got to her feet, the mug still cupped in her hands. "Thanks," she said to Dean with a little nod, before making her way into the doctor's office.

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annebrontesrequiem · 7 years

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Hey, i've been wandering in your blog for sometime now, do you have masterlist? And i really like your writing, you're amazing! Can i have a HC where MC able to see ghost? Like she can suddenly walk into a corner and talk to the wall but actually she talk to the ghost there or she suddenly squeaked because she almost ran into a ghost?? How will the RFA+V+Saeran reacted to it??

Yes I do have a masterlist, though I haven’t put it in my bio yet I’m so silly. Tomorrow I will. It’s hard over Easter weekend, especially because there’s no break afterwards TT. But anyway sorry for being gone and hope you like!

Zen-It was a normal enough day for you when it happened, honestly looking back it should’ve been more dramatic. It just….wasn’t. One day you were normal, the next you knew you were running into a ghost!-Zen heard you shriek when you did, and for a minute thought you were seriously injured, or attacked.-He saw you pointing at, a wall?-“Jagi, you okay?” He asked, a bit confused, no, INCREDIBLY, confused. But you just kept staring at the wall, shaking slightly.-“Zen! There’s a ghost!” He would’ve laughed, assumed it was a joke, but your face said it was anything but.-“Jagi are you sure?” He asked once more, and when you nodded he hugged you tight.-“Well, if you weren’t already the most special person I’ve ever met, now you are.” He said, and, to his relief, you let out a laugh, snuggling closer into him.-After that you’d sometimes be talking to thin air-Zen wasn’t sure if he was supposed to do anything about it, he just kept thinking how lucky he has it.-He sometimes asks you about what they say, and you brighten up a bit when he asks-You like that he trusts and believes you-And that makes him happy too-(Not to mention huge bragging rights lolol just sayin’

Yoosung-Poor baby was super scared when you moved in and started talking to nothing.-“MC are you okaaay?”-Practically crying by the time he asks you-But you laugh and pull him aside-When you tell him you can talk to ghosts his first reaction is to faint-Second reaction is to be amazed. Constantly talking about how you can see and talk to ghosts-He doesn’t bring it up to anyone really except you, because most don’t believe him, but it’s kinda nice-It’s like a secret you two share, and he’s happy to keep it that way

Jaehee-“MC are you okay? I think we need to talk.”-She had noticed you jumping about quite a lot, talking to the walls, especially in the morning, and slamming the door to the bathroom after arguing at the front of the door-“Oh, yeah, about that….”-She doesn’t believe you at first-Jaehee is a woman of logic! She can solve anything with science and math!-This is apparently the one thing she can’t-After you manage to convince her not to call a doctor she calls down-Now she asks you about it, and she always, always asks if the bathroom is clear before she takes a shower-Yeah, fuck you fatty-Donald!

Jumin-His house is practically, ghost-free. You expect it when you see it for the first time-But there’s always someone…. Mrs. Porter-She’s cranky, and always on the couch-You have to chase Elly off multiple times, and she always yells at you-Jumin didn’t notice for the longest time, after all you usually only talked to her when he was gone, but it was bound to happen eventually-He was coming from a long day-“Hello darling.” He said, and you smiled, hugging him softly; you told him to sit down and you’d get him some wine-He walked over to plop down on the couch, right as you scream: “JUMIN NO, MRS. PORTER!”-He jumps up, looking around. When there’s no one there he stares at you, and you go to make your escape-“MC? Are you okay?” You kept avoiding his eyes, and eventually he sat you down on his lap in a lazy boy, and you told him-His eyes popped out of his head when you told him, and he buried his hands in his face; when he looked up he could see you looking sad, face expectant with him telling you to leave.-But instead he patted your head-“Okay MC, I trust you.”-You looked at him, happiness spreading on your face-“Just promise me one thing?”-“Yeah?”-“Tell me who the heck Mrs. Porter is.”

Saeyoung-He kinda suspected it when you avoided certain spots randomly, and shrieked at random points-But when you told him after a few weeks his mouth still hit the floor-“MAY THE POWER OF CHRIST COMPEL YOU!!!”-You facepalmed-But after he joked that he knew God sent you an angel, because only someone who could see the souls around him and teach him could come from God-“I thank you everyday my angel. Thank you for being here.”

V-He couldn’t see, so he would walk through at least five ghosts a day-He always wondered who you apologizing to behind him-Eventually he asked you and you bashfully told him-He was starstruck-“You can look into souls of the passed?”-Once he made the mistake about Rika and you halfheartedly told him-But when he heard you gloomily talking to an “Olenka” he realized how stupid that was-Now he never talks about her again-But sometimes when he’s feeling sad and he asks you why you put up with him you’ll smile gently and hug him-“Because I can see your beautiful shining soul, so pure and full of hope. Never think you are a bad person, because I can see you’re wrong.”

Hoped you like, and happy to be back to once a day, most time off omce every other day. Happy Easter!

Send me requests! Requests are open.

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angelergic · 7 years

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Manhunt - Chapter 8

~MASTERLIST~

Words: 3376

A/N: New chapter alert, my dear readers!

I know, it was once again a long time you had to wait for this chapter. It took me almost a week to finish this chapter, and I can honestly say, I'm proud of the rollercoaster of emotions that you're going to read in here!

I also wanted to tell you, that my surgery went well and that I'm doing fine. Also, they let me home on Tuesday.

I hope you enjoy this chapter and as always, I'm happy to read your feedbacks!

Tagging: @celebranehelyanwe, @ladystar0710, @annamreed, @humorcomchantilly @thefivebaddestbidders (if you don’t want to be tagged just tell me.)

CHAPTER 8:

I stumble back when the realization hits me that I still have a piece of family living out here, somewhere.

"Well, actually she's your half-sister you two only have the same father but different mothers." Eisuke's gruff voice rips me out of my thoughts, all of a sudden, he's right at my side also looking at the computer screen.

I only click my tongue at his unnecessary correction and lean forward again, "Soryu, can you find out anything more about her?" he gives a simple nod and begins to type away on his laptop.

Suddenly, a lot of information pops up. I rapidly blink my eyes, not expecting to find so much. The one that is on full display looks like it's some kind of personal description, like the ones you can find when you want to know everything about a certain celebrity.

"All right, this is all the information I can find about her. She kind of looks like you when you were in your teens." Soryu whispered the second part, so only I could hear it. I smiled lovingly at the picture.

"She does, doesn't she?" I said dreamily. I guess it was a picture from around 3 years ago, she has puppy-like, grey-green eyes with a dark circle around her pupils, her nose is small just like mine too and she has cute, pouty lips. Her hair looks absolutely beautiful, it's espresso brown, shoulder-length, and looks thick and healthy.

I let my eyes drift downwards to all her personal information like her height, weight and also her address. My eyes widened in surprise when I read her address. St. Luke's International hospital, Tokyo.

I didn't know if I should feel joy or sadness. Joy; she lives in Tokyo. Sadness; she has lived in a hospital for 2 years now, with her mother.

"Soryu could you open her medical record, please?" I whispered to Soryu, who seemed to be just as confused and curious as I was, so he opened it immediately.

As her medical record popped up I looked at the numbers of pages it had. There were 3 pages. 3. Dear god.

Soryu stood up and motioned for me to sit down and take the laptop which I immediately did. I gave him a curt nod and mumbled; "Thanks." I went to reading right away and began to shut down the deep voices from the men that gathered around me.

The first thing I read about was a tonsillectomy, or also known as a tonsil removal, in 2008. Everything went well and she healed nicely, no complaints.

Skipping to 4 years ago, the year 2012. There was a big car crash on a highway in Tokyo. Tamara and her aunt were in the car, they just came back from camping for the weekend. When a drunk-driver was speeding against traffic with 120 mph and hit their car frontal, her aunt was instantly dead but by some miracle my sister survived after they put her in an artificial coma. She also lost the mobility in her legs.

I didn't realize it before something trickled down my hand I had on the keyboard, I was crying. God, why was I acting so stupidly emotional lately? I was always crying over something whether it was Eisuke pissing me off or reading the medical chart of my sister. Maybe I was already developing a strong and deep love towards a person I haven't even met.

I wiped the tears off my cheeks with the back of my hand and continued reading.

2 years ago, she was diagnosed with PTSD. Since the car crash she spaced out more than she normally would and always woke up screaming and sweating from horrible nightmares, constantly reliving the events prior to everything. She also kept avoiding highways and cars that were the same brand as her aunts.

From there on her life seemed to be going even more downhills than before her diagnosis.

Almost exactly 1 year ago, she went to the doctors because she had been experiencing severe nausea, fatigue, pain in her bones and rapid weight loss for unknown reasons. After a bone marrow and blood test the diagnosis was clear.

Stage 4 leukemia.

She is currently undergoing chemotherapy even though the doctors told her that they could only extend her life span for a while.

I cover my mouth and try to stifle a sob, but it escapes anyway as tears once again begin to cascade down my cheeks. I hunch over and put the laptop in front of me on the table and bury my face in my hands, crying to myself.

I feel three hands touching my shoulders and my back, each of them rubbing soothing circles into my skin. I open my eyes a bit and look absentmindedly through my hands when I notice someone moving in front of me, kneeling so he is face to face with me and taking my tear soaked hands in his calloused ones.

Kneeling in front of me was Soryu with a soothing and reassuring smile on his face. "Hey, you're going to see your sister. We're going to visit her and then you can talk about everything you missed out in each others life’s." Apparently, he misunderstood my reaction thinking that I thought I was not going to see her or worrying that she's not going to accept me.

I shook my head and a frown made its way on his face. I mumbled hoarsely; "No, you don't understand. She has stage 4 leukemia and the doctors, they told her they don't know for how much longer she will live. They couldn't even give her a number on how much longer she's going to live."

I felt the four hands that were touching me begin to tighten at the things I just revealed. Soryu looked at me with sad eyes but he was stunned to silence, comforting someone was never his strength. I saw somebody move beside me and get into the same position as Soryu was currently in.

“Princess, I can only imagine what you’re going through right now but you need to be strong for us. For Tamara.” Baba comforted while kneading the flesh on my upper arm.

I looked over at him and could see his eyebrows form a sad, worried frown. “Please, we need you to stay here with us. Don’t shut us out.”

Soryu also began to press my knee with his hand which made me turn my attention towards him. I stared into his eyes for a few moments, his eyes were filled with determination and reassurance, he gave me a light nod and a faint smile.

I wiped my tears off my face and took a deep breath, “Okay let’s get back to it, we have a case to solve.” My voice was still a little weak and shaky, but filled with determination.

Soryu and Baba smiled at me, getting back on their feet and Mamoru said, “Alright y’all heard the kid, back to it!”

Before Sor could turn away from me, I put a hand on his shoulder which made him turn towards me once again with a questioning look on his face. I softly smiled up at him and whispered a soft, “Thank you.”

He smiled back at me and placed his hand on top of mine. I dropped my hand and turned back towards the computer on my lap.

---

After what could have been a few minutes or hours, I'm not exactly sure, Eisuke stepped out of his office and called me up to look at something.

As I jogged up the stairs, I could not help but get lost in my thoughts. I kept thinking about Tamara, I would love to go to the hospital she's at to visit her and also, to get to know her better. On the other hand, I didn't want to confuse or scare her away from me if she rejected me or didn't want to have anything to do with me, her life has already been hard enough.

"Pick up the pace!" I heard Eisuke growl from the top of the stairs. I almost fell down the stairs because he startled me so bad. When I reached the top, I shot him a killing look and cursed under my breath.

When we got to his office, Eisuke closed the door and walked to his desk with his laptop on it. He sat down, pulled a second chair next to him and patted it as a sign for me to sit down. I hesitantly obliged and questioned while doing so; "What did you find, Eisuke?"

He had his triumphant smirk on his face and turned to his laptop, typing away. "So, I searched for murders that are similar to your fathers in the past 15 years. And I found a few, 6 to be exact."

As I listened to Eisuke I began to focus my eyes on the laptop screen and scanned over the names of the victims. I absentmindedly began to mumble to myself and Eisuke stopped talking while he shoved the laptop in front of me.

I noticed that the victims were from both genders, which meant that he did not have a strong hate towards one gender. But they were all in the same age group, late 20's to mid-30's.

They were also all killed in Japan and were just as successful as my father was, from being in a grand business to working as a head chef in the biggest restaurants in Japan. My mind couldn't really grasp all the information that was suddenly thrown at me and this stupid nightmare just kept creeping back into my mind. Without thinking, I began to write down the crime scene of Ota I have seen in my dream. The first name that popped up was John Wayne Gacy, the psychotic killer-clown from Chicago. Then I narrowed it down to just the Japan area, no specific name popped up just another unsolved case that was opened 15 years ago. Only now there was a list of 21 people on this list.

I sit back in the chair and let out a tired sigh while rolling my head to get some of the built-up tension out of my shoulders. "If this is all the doing of one person, he would have multiple personality disorder. That means he has about 5 or 6 personalities, damnit!" I begin to mumble to myself but the last part was a little louder than intended which made Eisuke turn towards me.

"What are you mumbling about? Found something?" he asked annoyed while crossing his arms.

"No. I mean, yes. Kind of?" I shrug and shake my head to gather my thoughts, this was all just too much of an emotional rollercoaster. "I had a nightmare about the 5 of you being murdered in 5 completely different ways. So, I looked up one of those scenes and found the exact same time-span, with the exact same descriptions of the killer. I think our murderer might have a multiple personality disorder." I began to explain with a clearer head, by just concentrating on the matter at hand.

I could see that Eisuke's attention was transfixed on the words that were escaping me. When I was finished with talking he scratched his chin while thinking about my words and probably puzzling the pieces together.

---

Our little study round was interrupted by Baba bursting through the doors of the giant office. "Princess!" he chirped in a tone that I already found overly suspicious, "Come with me, I have a surprise for you!" he held out his hand and did a gentlemanly bow.

Eisuke and I shared a side look and the both of us shaking our heads while I began to giggle at Eisuke's funny, grumpy face he had. I turned back towards Baba's outstretched hand and took it with little hesitation, I didn't like his tone before but I know that Baba has something up his sleeve I will find enjoyment in.

He led me out of the lounge and charged towards his room. "Baba, what exactly do you have in mind?" I asked, knowing I will only get a half-assed response but hey, asking doesn't cost anything, right?

"Didn't I say that it would be a surprise?" he asked back while coming to a halt in front of his own penthouse room.

"Well, yes you did. But I'm an Interpol agent, you should know I don't like surprises that much, especially when they are coming from a criminal." With a smug smile, I decided to tease Baba back.

He unlocked the door and looked back at me pretending to be hurt by my words. "Now that right there was just cruel! I'm not a criminal, I'm a thief!" I looked at Baba dumbfounded with big eyes and my mouth slightly agape. Then I burst out laughing so hard I had to hold my stomach. When I turned my gaze back towards Baba he had a sincere smile on his lips.

"Alright so what is this big surprise you're playing up right now?" I walked past Baba into the living room and turned back towards him.

"Go take a shower, wash all those tears away. When you're finished go into my bedroom and put on what's lying on the bed. I'll be waiting here." He slumped down on the couch, still wearing that honest smile.

I nod and head towards his bathroom, where a long overdue shower is waiting for me.

---

To say that the shower was much needed is probably an understatement, it was most likely one of the most satisfying showers I've ever had in my entire life. With the towel tightly wrapped around my body I walked into the bedroom, that was connected to the bathroom, while drying my hair.

When I reached the bed, I couldn't believe my eyes and thought Baba was messing around with me. There was a beautiful, fluffy cocktail dress lying on the bed. I gasped loudly as I took the royal blue, silky, dress by the hanger and pressing it to my body while looking in the mirror.

I put the dress on and had one of the biggest, most idiotic smiles of eternity on my face. It was a perfect fit and the perfect length, it almost reached my knees. How did Baba even know my dress size?

When I turned back around to see if the zipper was all the way up, and maybe to see if my butt looked good, my gaze fell back towards the bed where I noticed a pair of simple, black high heels. I picked them up and held onto Baba's armoire while putting them on. Like the dress, they were exactly my size, how does he do that?

As I looked at my body in the mirror, stepped closer to it and got a closer look at my face. I had faint dark rings, my lips and my skin looked dehydrated. I wondered if by some miracle, Baba had some makeup. Suddenly I heard some shuffling behind the door and saw Baba opening it.

"Wow." Was the only thing he could muster, while his eyes danced up and down my body. "Princess, you just made me lose my words, and it takes a lot to do that to a man who really likes to talk." I laughed a little at his remark and turned fully towards him.

"Makeup's in the bathroom mirror." He crossed his arms triumphantly. "You really think I would forget one the most important things? I have everything perfectly mapped out." I grinned up at him and made my way into the bathroom, to do my makeup and hair.

After about 30 minutes I walked out and found Baba sitting on the bed with his phone in hand. "I'm ready." I said in a soft voice.

He lifted his head away from the phone screen and his eyes grew wider than before as he took in my finished look. I blushed and placed a piece of hair behind my ear while smiling shyly.

He walked towards me as he extended his arm out towards me and I took it without hesitation. "Alright, my lady. Let's go." And so, began an evening I wouldn't forget in a while.

---

Dinner was absolutely fantastic. We went to a little restaurant, a secret favorite gem of Baba's so he told me, that was in a vintage style with huge chandeliers decorating and lighting up the room. The company I had with me wasn't so bad either, it made me feel a little nostalgic only that the both of us matured, some more, some less, and conversation flowed easily with the occasional flirting in-between.

After we were finished with our food and left the restaurant, Baba asked me to come with him for one last adventure before we withdraw to our respective rooms. I gladly accepted since I didn't want this evening to end.

He led me to the rooftop of the Tres Spades. I let out a silent gasp when I discovered that Baba had even more up his sleeve. There was a bottle of champagne, two glasses and a candle placed on a low table with two cushions on the floor.

I walked towards said scene with Baba following after me. When I stood there, I didn't know what exactly to do now. Baba probably noticed my hesitation and gestured me to sit down, which I gladly did.

He poured us some of the bubbly goodness, as we clinked our glasses Baba raised his glass a little and said; "To our reunion, our successful careers and this wonderful evening I got to spend with the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on."

I rolled my eyes at his last remark and took a sip. Immediately, when the liquid hit my tongue, I could tell it was something overly expensive. It still tasted so good, the sweetness and the slight bitterness made it almost prefect.

I set my glass down on the table and moved to stand up to gaze out to the view we had of Tokyo. I closed my eyes and breathed in the chilly, but still pleasant, night air while a gust of wind blew by, which made me shiver slightly. Baba noticed and shrugged off his burgundy blazer and placed it on my shoulders.

I turned my head in his direction and met his gaze; "Thank you." I whispered, "I mean not only for the jacket, but for the whole night. I truly don't know when the last time was that I let this loose and didn't constantly have to worry."

Baba gave a small smile and put his hand in front of his mouth. If I didn't know it better, I could've sworn that I made the womanizing thief blush, but it was hard to see in the dim city lights.

"The pleasure was all mine, princess. I enjoyed myself just as much as you did, if not more. I'm very proud of who you've become, (Y/N)." He looked at me with nothing but honesty and love in his eyes. I smiled up at him and felt my eyes become a little hot.

"Thank you, nobody ever said that to me so it means a lot, especially coming from you." He looked shocked for a second but recovered fast and put his warm hand on my face to gently rub the apple of my cheek.

I felt myself become almost hypnotized by his eyes as I stared deeply into them and he did the same. I gingerly placed my hand on his chest right over his heart that was beating at an incredibly fast rate.

We inched closer and closer to each other, like magnets. Then, we stopped just a few inches apart. I saw his eyes flicker down to my lips and back to my eyes, his eyes were asking for permission which I granted him by putting my other hand in his soft hair and pulling him closer so that our lips touched.

Little did we know that this soft and loving kiss, would turn our whole world upside-down.

#kbtbb #kbtbb fanfic #kbtbb fanfiction #eisuke ichinomiya #kbtbb eisuke #Soryu Oh #kbtbb soryu #Mitsunari Baba #kbtbb baba #Ota Kisaki #kbtbb ota #mamoru kishi #kbtbb mamoru #voltage inc #voltage fanfic #voltage inc fanfiction #kissed by the baddest bidder

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darcyfarrow2005 · 7 years

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A Couples’ Retreat, Chapter 1: The Communication Exercise

“May I have your attention?” Archie clasped his hands together in a gesture that was both humble and peace-inspiring, and all six of the guests set down their coffee, tea or cocoa to look up and listen. “I think we’re ready to get started. If you’ll follow me into the parlor?”

On a little get-away. That was what the couples had told their friends and co-workers: just a little weekend get-away to relax after the hellacious year they’d had. And everyone agreed, from the dwarfs who agreed to take on deputy duty to Ariel and Eric, who volunteered to assist Henry in babysitting Neal, to Regina, who for the next two days would tend the circulation desk (and gods help anyone who dared return a book late).

Nobody had volunteered to keep the pawnshop open, Nobody had given it a thought.

In actually, this was an experiment, as Archie readily admitted. He’d borrowed the concept from a LWM (as the Storybrookers had come to refer to the Land Without Magic) professional journal. He’d studied the literature, took an online crash course, and he felt ready to lead a weekend that, he believed, could help a few of his clients who’d been attending both individual and couples therapy with him. “A couples weekend,” he called it. “A chance to learn from one another. And to see that, as different as each of us is, in matters of the heart, we have so much more in common.”

And so, after some hemming and hawing from Emma and Rumple, who thought relationship issues should be a private matter, not food for group chatter, they came out to the Sorcerer’s Mansion, nestled in a spacious, private lot outside of town and on the edge of Mills Lake. The fresh air and greenery, along with catering by Granny’s and maid service, complete with mints on the pillows of the turned-down four-poster beds, put everyone at ease. Almost everyone. Relatively at ease.

They followed the good doctor into the grand parlor, where a cheery fire crackled in the fireplace and plush couches and chairs waited to provide physical comfort so that the guests could concentrate on their emotional discomforts. Archie had even scattered cushions on the floor near the fireplace, should his clients prefer to stretch out. In fact, if things went as he hoped, he planned to suggest they all relax on those cushions, this evening after supper, with the fireplace and candles offering the only light. Sitting on the floor, he’d found, could be a great equalizer.

For now, though, they made use of the furniture, the order of their seating a mirror of the way by which they’d driven to the mansion: Snow and David on the couch, within arm’s reach of each other, just as they’d ridden here in David’s F150; Hook and Emma on the love seat, their thighs pressed together and his arm draped casually (possessively? Archie wondered) across the back of the seat, almost touching her but granting her a little bit of personal space, much as they’d come here in Emma’s cramped Bug. And the Golds (Archie still thought of them that way, had hopes that eventually Belle would take back her married name and her wedding ring; Rumplestiltskin had never taken his off) sat across from one another in wingback chairs, with a coffee table between them and the love seat and the couch on either side.

Archie stood in the middle. “Thank you for coming, for agreeing to take a chance on this experiment. I’m going to ask you to do some hard work this weekend, but I promise you, if you participate fully and honestly, you’ll find the results are worth the effort. I have just two ground rules: everything that is said or done here, stays here.”

Heads nodded and Hook murmured, “Of course.” while David echoed, “Goes without saying.”

“The second rule is: tell the truth. You have the right to decline answering any of the questions you feel are too intrusive or harmful, even if they come from me, and if you refuse, no one will challenge you on it. But if you answer, you will answer honestly, not just telling the truth, but answering completely. You have the right to refuse to participate in any of the exercises, no pressure. When you do participate, you’ll do so honestly and completely. Do we all agree?” He scanned their faces one by one, seeking a nod or a reply, and when everyone had agreed to his terms, he released a pent-up breath and pulled up a desk chair and seated himself on its edge, clasping his hands on his knees. “Good. Each couple here is at a different stage in their relationship and faces a different set of challenges: rekindling a long-term relationship”--he nodded at the Nolans--”deciding whether to move forward into marriage”--he nodded at Hook and Emma--”or deciding whether to continue the marriage at all.” His smile vanished as he glanced to his left, at Belle, and to his right, at Gold. “But I’ve found that all relationships can benefit from adding new communication tools to their tool belt.

“So let’s begin. This is a simple exercise, a warm-up, really; sort of a quick check of communication skills. I want you to stand.” He demonstrated. “Face your spouse—or significant other, as the case may be. Yes, that’s all right.” He walked among them, touching their arms lightly in reassurance. David grabbed both of Snow’s hands and winked at her. Emma stuffed her hands into her jeans and cocked her head as Hook bit back a chuckle. “Go on, I dare you,” she muttered. As they eyed each other, she blinked first and burst out laughing. Hook reached out to squeeze her elbow and she gave in, linking her fingers through his.

“It’s okay to laugh,” Archie nodded at them. “I know it feels kind of silly at first, just standing there, looking at each other, so laugh if it makes you comfortable. Touch, if you feel like it.” He crossed the room to stand between the Golds, who were neither smiling nor touching; from their body language an outsider would brand them as the couple most likely to fail, but Archie knew them better than that. From the longing in Gold’s eyes and the softness in Belle’s, he knew they were touching just as much as the Nolans were, just not with their hands. Archie gave them some space, returning to the center of the room.

“All right. I asked some of you to bring a certain something with you, something that has special meaning to you. Would you show those items now, please.”

Though she looked a little puzzled, Emma dug her car key from her jeans pocket and dangled it from one finger. Snow brought out a tiara from her shoulder bag and held it in her open palm for all to see. Rumple reached into his suit jacket and produced his dagger, which he held up, but close to his chest, in a tight grip. Knowing its recent history, no one in the room would blame him for being possessive of the knife, though Hook and Emma winced slightly. They visibly relaxed when Gold tilted the knife and they could read his name—not their own—engraved in the blade.

“Did you wonder why I asked you three to bring an object, but I didn’t ask your spouses?” Archie continued.

“Because they have magic?” Hook guessed.

“Except for Snow,” David corrected.

“You’re close. Because of their magic,” Archie gestured to Emma and Gold, then to Snow, “or in Snow’s case, because she was the queen, they’re perceived as the dominant partner--”

“Oh, wait now,” Snow protested. “Ours is a marriage of equals. Even in the Enchanted Forest, we ruled together.”

“Not exactly,” David debated, softening his tone to avoid an argument. “You were the queen; by law and by birth, the final decisions were yours. As they should have been. You knew a whole lot more about governing than I did. I was just a pretender until you married me.”

“However it might have actually been between you, you’re perceived by the public as, well, just a little bit more powerful than your spouse. Queen, Savior, Dark One.” Archie paced between them. “And you have with you an object that sort of reflects your power.”

Emma said dryly, “You told me to bring the key to my Bug.”

“Because that car is identifiably you,” Snow suggested.

“And because it’s your ride out of here.” There was bitterness in Hook’s voice. “You can hop in that car any time you want and take off. Unlike the rest of us. Leave this freak show behind. Leave me.”

“Oh.” Emma studied the key. “I guess I never thought of it that way.” Then she sucked in a breath. “No, that’s not true. I have thought about leaving, lots of times. Just not recently. Now that I’ve got all of you.”

Hook kissed her cheek and Archie congratulated her. “Thank you, Emma, for telling the complete truth. Now, those of you who have an object, I want you to hold it up, hold it tight in your grip. And the rest of you, your task is to take that object.”

They blinked at him a moment, trying to work out his instructions. He just smiled and looked at his pocket watch. “You have five minutes. Begin.”

Hook rubbed his hand on his trousers, his eyes fixed on the prize. “Okay then. Come on, Emma, let’s win this thing.”

“I don’t think it’s a contest, Killian,” Snow objected.

“Sure it is. Everything in life is.” He seized Emma’s wrist. “Don’t mean to hurt you, love, but I want that key.” He pulled her arm toward him, but without a second hand, he couldn’t hold her still and pry her fingers open at the same time.

Emma saw the frustration and embarrassment rise in his eyes, and she solved the problem for both of them. “Hey. Over here.” She yanked on her captured arm, dragging him a few steps toward the coffee table. “Wrestle you for it.” She dropped to the floor on one side of the table. “On your knees, Captain.”

“I like how that sounds, love.” He knelt on the other side and reached across the table to seize her unoccupied hand. “In fact, tonight when everyone’s asleep, I’m going to hold you to it.”

For a few minutes, they watched their daughter the princess arm-wrestle a one-armed pirate, then Snow nudged her husband. “Let’s not fall behind. Go ahead, Charming, make me give you my tiara.”

Uncertain, David cleared his throat. “All right, I, ah. . . .Snow. . . Mary Margaret. . . wife. . . beautiful mother of my child, would you please give me your tiara?”

She folded her arms. “You’ve got to do a lot better than that.”

He proceeded to flattery, cajoling, then outright begging, but her arms remained folded and her face grew bored as his reddened. Finally, he threw his hands in the air. “Aw, come on, Snow! We’re supposed to be a team! What happened to togetherness? Cooperation? Sharing?”

She giggled. “You’d look silly in my tiara, David.”

“Give it to me!” He thrust his hands on his hips.

“No! It’s mine!”

“Snow!”

“No! It’s all I have of my mother.”

His eyes lit up at the clue. “Ah ha! Well, may I remind you, Your Majesty, that that ring your wearing is all I have left of my mother, yet I gave it to you because that’s how much I love you.”

Her face softened. “Well. . . .” She unfolded her arms and examined her wedding ring. “I guess it’s only fair. . . .”

“I won’t keep it, I promise. Just until the end of the exercise. Then I’ll give it right back.”

“Well. . . .” With a last long look at the tiara, she huffed a little, then presented him with the tiara. Grinning, he held it up for all to see, though actually only Archie was watching; the other couples were busy with their own tasks. David did a little jig around the room with the tiara riding at a tilt on his head.

“David Thomas Nolan!” Snow snapped, bringing his jig to an abrupt halt.

“Sorry, honey,” he shrugged, carefully removing the tiara. He held it reverently. “I got carried away because we won.”

“Did you?” Archie asked.

“We beat them,” Snow pointed at her daughter and the pirate, who were now rolling around on the floor, their arm-wrestling having degenerated into something less organized.

“And them,” David pointed at the Golds.

“Did you?” Archie repeated.

“Look at them, just standing there, staring at each other. They haven’t even said a word.”

“Yes, they have,” Archie argued. “You just couldn’t hear it.”

The Nolans and Archie turned to watch the silent negotiation unfolding before them. As Gold stroked her cheek with his knuckles, Belle’s lips parted, and when with a slight touch of a fingertip he brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear, she sighed, so softly no one could hear it; they only realized she’d sighed by the rise and fall of her chest. When he brushed a thumb over her lower lip, her hands rose reflexively to grasp his biceps through his D & G jacket. When he pressed his unfettered hand against the side of her face, she stood on tiptoe to whisper something in his ear. Archie could almost make out his answer to her: “Yes, sweetheart, for all time, still.”

Gold slipped his closed hand between their bodies, then opened it, letting the dagger lay loose in his palm. “As I promised then, I promise now. Whatever happens in our marriage, I am and always will be yours.”

She closed his hand around the dagger hilt. “That dagger belongs to you. I was wrong when I took it from you. So wrong when I used it to control you. I won’t do it again, not even in a game.”

“I used it against you too, and I’m sorry.” He pressed his lips to her forehead. “So many things I’ve done wrong. . . .”

“Even if we can’t stay together, I want you to know, I love you.” Their joined hands held the dagger between their bodies.

“Whatever happens, I love you too.”

She moved their joined hands down and back, until the dagger slipped of its own accord into his outer pocket. They released it together, then her arms flew up around his neck and his slid around her waist and they drew each other in. When they kissed, Snow sighed and David murmured, “She threw him out of town. She started dating other guys. He had a fling with the Evil Queen. And yet, here they are. . . . making out like newlyweds. I don’t get them.”

“You don’t have to,” Archie reminded them. “As long as they do.”

Panting, Emma suddenly appeared at Snow’s side. “I won!” she grinned. “I still have the key.” She gestured to the Golds. “What’s going on here?”

Smoothing down his ruffled hair, Hook came up on David’s side. “They seem to have forgot the assignment. They lose.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” David replied. “Looks to me like they beat the game.”

“Now if they can just conquer themselves,” Snow said thoughtfully.

Archie smiled as the Golds’ kiss continued. “It’s a start. It’s a very good start.”

#amonthlyrumbelling

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sincerelyfromtheheart · 5 years

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When I think of self-care, I think of hot bubble baths, lighting candles, and watching rom-coms with friends. Then there’s the more luxurious self-care gifts like taking a vacation or getting out of town to someplace more peaceful where you can clear your mind. Living in the city makes me extremely antsy to get out of town and take a weekend trip to the countryside.

I enjoy all of the things listed above, but I wonder if all the self-help and self-care books, articles, and cartoons have brought a deeper issue to light that our self-care ideas can’t solve. Because of the growth and rise of the discussion around how to take care of ourselves today, I think we can say that built-up stress and over-working ourselves has also increased and is not always addressed until our health starts taking a turn downhill. I’m no doctor, but I think our life’s stressors cannot be easily fixed by choosing to self-medicate with self-care regimes that only put a band-aid on a problem that come from issues below the surface.

I am definitely guilty of indulging in these types of articles because honestly, taking care of yourself is not a bad thing. Self-care articles make self-care sound like a good excuse to indulge in some nice pampering/ girls night fun! Also, if they help my mental health at the same time then why not? I think there are a lot of benefits to those articles that list ways to care for yourself, but sometimes I know that I struggle with things that, sadly, a manicure can’t fix.

Self-care, in the way we’re viewing it, seems to be more of a band-aid to our issues that lasts for a short time. Sometimes I think it’s easy to idolize the idea of self-care rather than doing the hard and painful work of digger deeper and getting to the heart of the issue rather than covering it up. Trust me, I know it’s easier to push it down. But I’ve learned that the best way to care for myself has been when I self-reflect through talking openly with friends, journaling, meditating, and praying.

Whenever I get my tangled thoughts and overwhelming feelings out on paper, I feel this sense of release in my mind and chest. It’s like the thoughts are literally unwound and pieced together more coherently onto the page. All the built up anxiety that weighs on my chest and in my head flows onto the pages as I mentally regurgitate all the emotions, feelings, and thoughts I had strangled while trying to make sense of them. The outcome is not always pretty and mostly looks like a child who didn’t know that the lines on the page were there to create borders for the words, but it’s how I process and strangely releases some of the lingering anxiety.

Another thought about self-care came to me when I saw this post on Instagram the other day. It said…

Sometimes I wonder if the rise of “self-care” is a byproduct of the breakdown of community.

Would we need to work so hard at caring for ourselves if we were better at taking care of each other?

I know it’s easy for me to want to be more independent, but to the point that I forget that I need community for support. We weren’t made to live alone, that’s why living in isolation can lead to many problems. We have been given the gifts of encouragement, giving, teaching, counseling, writing and many others, to serve and build one another up.

If I sat alone at my desk and wrote all these blog posts but never shared them with anyone, what good would that do for others and even myself. (I do write a decent number of posts that I haven’t published, but I’m working on that 😉 )

I think the idea of people encouraging one another is underrated. If we saw into the mind of the person we encouraged the moment we encouraged them, I think we would choose to encourage people a lot more often. Even years after someone received even a word of encouragement from someone can bring them up on rainy days and motivate them on bright ones. I know we’re not all externally motivated and can internally motivate ourselves, but I think we all can say that a kind word from someone is always appreciated.

Writing this post reminded me of the sermon at my Church this past Sunday. The topic was on relationships and how it can be uncomfortable to be open and vulnerable when developing relationships. But the speaker also said how necessary it is in order to create true unity with people. When I say true unity, I mean the type of unity that challenges and helps you grow as a person. It’s so easy to stick to the familiarity and “sameness” as the speaker described it, because it where we feel comfortable. But that’s not where real growth and stretching occurs. Sometimes we need to step outside our comfort zone to fully experience life.

One of my favorite Bible verses is John 10:10 because it talks about living fully.

“The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.”

-John 10:10

To me, living fully means being vulnerable, stepping outside my comfort zone, pursuing my passions, and never letting things like anxiety, fear, or worry hold me back from doing something that will stretch me. If you know me at all, you know these are not easy for me to do, but I also know how rewarding they are, so I pray that these are not just empty words that I keep in my head.

Last thought is something I learned from a camp I went to in high school, it goes like this:

Your talk talks and your walk walks, but your walk talks louder than your talk talks.

It’s kind of a bizarre way of basically saying that actions speak louder than words, so show someone you care about them and remember that it doesn’t hurt to tell them too. 😉

Sincerely,

Sabrina

The Age of Self-Care When I think of self-care, I think of hot bubble baths, lighting candles, and watching rom-coms with friends.

#faith #health #life #personal #selfcare

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feistymichelletrashywriter-blog · 6 years

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Born Twice

Meanwhile, at night, when you lie in bed, concentrate on the areas that bother you (your sinuses) let your mind sort of float through your sinuses. Then feel that the spirit of the lord is flowing there, soothing & healing - drying up your sinuses (you can even try it at work when you are troubled). You can ask Him to remove the pain. Just say, "Please, Jesus, take away my suffering." Just try it. --Kathy

I've puked in some surprising places. That's because I love to travel. I've puked in Ireland, France, Spain, The Czech Republic. But not Budapest. I didn't eat enough there to need to puke. I did, however, write a great article about what you should eat if you are in a train station in Budapest.

Portugal, Mexico, Germany, England, Scotland. New York. Restaurant bathrooms, friends' bathrooms, even a porto-potty at Burning Man. Bathrooms in other countries are tiny and not soundproof, so you need to plan for that. Puke smells. You've puked in tiny restaurants in tiny countries. You've puked in a toilet stall only a few feet away from the chef. You always carry your Hanae Mori perfume stick so you can override the stench of vomit on your hands. You have your floral stick. People tell you you smell good. You smile and thank them.

The relevance was always the same: food makes you fat and fat is ugly. You like aesthetics. You also like food. You've chucked up plenty of pretty meals.

Every day I was married, I puked. "It smells weird in the bathroom," my husband would say. "Did you puke?"

"Nope."

It's a method of problem solving. It's a process of a set of rules. It's Wikipedia. They trick you. They teach you your times tables, and that X=0 but they never call it a language or reveal that zero actually means nothing other than it's a number reflecting more money than you have in your pocket.

December 23rd, 1990 I ate a lot but I can't puke cause mom will hear. She caught me last night. She caught me last night. I just wish I wasn't so fat!

After my mom died I lived in a trailer with my boyfriend. It's hard puking in a trailer, little water flow. I puked up my wedding rehearsal dinner. I puked up a lot of birthday cakes. When I'd lose weight I got compliments. "Have you been exercising a lot? You're tiny!"

Tiny. I wanted to be tiny. I wanted to climb flower branches and hide in pockets.

Bulimia Nervosa and alcohol are friends. For bulimics, everything is done in a binge, and that certainly includes drinking. Unlike drinking, bulimia is a hard thing to judge. Judgement often comes when people feel helpless. So does addiction.

It's like when I would wait to take calls, like from the guy in Santa Clara who got raped when he was thirteen. While riding home from school, he got pulled off his bike. That man paid me $1.99 a minute to listen to the story and I was never given an algorithm for that. He raped himself every day, having unprotected sex with strangers, and then paid me to hear the stories. I could not fix him.

There is a kind of light that is transcendent an infinite amount of times because it is unique to the interpretation of every individual. A glowing light, the light of waking up outside, thirty minutes after dawn. Fluorescent lights over a cubicle or a grocery store aisle--all the lights become so indefinite they are impossible to explain. There is a moment where the light is transcendent because we know it's part of us. I think that is why we question the stars.

I've been here before. Some of the staff know me. I don't know them. I don't know myself. A few months ago, in April, (it is now October) I had surgery. That surgery took place in this hospital. They took out my gall bladder. I don't miss it. What I do miss is my memory, which also was removed during that surgery. I remember being in my thirties, kinda. I am now forty-three.

It's okay to be judgmental. However, it only is acceptable to be judgmental toward people who are deemed to have problems with things like drinking, and other habits that people give up on Mondays and January First. Like eating.

*1990 Dear Diary: Hi! Well lots have happened & I haven't written in a long time. So here I am. I don't think I told you, but mom and I took a trip to Eureka a few months back. We saw the center & Trinidad, all lf our old houses & a bunch of other stuff. I love it there. I want to go back.

Danny & I went to my junior prom. It was pretty fun. We were really wired & stoned. I rented an ultra stretch limo & it was so fun. Danny wore a Harley Bandana around his head. We've been doing a lot of crank, so I'm down to 114 now!*

I've told people I've got an eating disorder. For decades, I throw up every day. When I mention this to anyone, which I rarely do, my words are meant with a look of confusion, a change of subject, and is never, ever brought up again. People don't have this reaction when you say you drink every day. Alcoholism is an acceptable subject for judging. Bulimia is not.

You can judge a drinker. It's easy because everyone's been shitfaced. So you know. You understand. You are very aware of the ins and outs of drinking or using drugs. But you're stronger because all you retained were a few hangovers. When it comes to surreptitiousness, judgement, and, most of all, help, eating disorders are still hidden. Justified. Pitied. Ignored. Everybody eats.

"Hello?" The soft voice comes through the brown door, with the thudded sound of knuckles tapping wood, three times. The silver industrial handle has no lock and the handle rests a tad too much to the right. In Saint Mary's Hospital, everything is crooked.

When I hear the knocks, I'm reading Facebook. People have such pretty lives.

It is the voice of a doctor. The doctors have different voices than nurses, and the doctors always open the door as they say my name. Nurses knock, then walk in, softly.

Dallas is a warm and dreary place. I'm stuck up in a bedroom on the fifth floor of a giant apartment complex. From my window I can see the other four story buildings, and all of the balconies. The balconies are too small to use, and some have gigantic satellite dishes cupping the air with three feet of brown metal.

1990 Dear Diary, Dad's in the hospital with knee surgery. He was totally out of it. He kept pushing this button that fed him pain killer. I can understand though. They put steel things in there. Mom's got a new boyfriend. He's a biker. He's cool. He's kinda taking over our household, but I guess someone needs to. There's so many things I've been stressing on. I couldn't eat for a week. I would throw everything up. I thought I was pregnant, but I'm not (thank god!). This summer has gone by so fast I can't believe it. School sucks so bad. Sometimes I just want to get on a harley & ride away. Oh well. I want to get out of this valley so bad it's unbelievable. I bought 2 parakeets. They're cute. Michelle P.S. We are on meth, and I'm looking really great. I'd gotten down to 114 pounds, I hadn't been at that weight since I was like fourteen years old. That was two years ago.

"Michelle?" The door opens. I am on day eight in Saint Mary's. I know this hospital is called St. Mary's because when I look through my window, down four floors and to the right, I see the neon LED sign that spans the entrance to the emergency room. Saint Mary's, in a bright, glowing red. I am in room 407. That's me. 407.

I know I'm a writer but all I can read is music. And now I sing. I sing a lot and I write music. When I hear myself sing, I remember that my voice is horrible.

My current stay is based on a seizure, the concluded result of alcohol withdrawls. I know this is can only partly be true. I had had a couple of shots of vodka less than twelve hours prior to the violent seizure that led me here. The seizure that took place while I was attending an AA meeting. I only went the the meeting so I could honestly say I did to people who have no fucking clue what the fuck their judging about. I know AA very well. My father and two of his brothers preached about it for decades, until they died from overusing alcohol and heroin.

I've heard the nurse explain 407 to other nurses. This happens when a new nurse takes a night or morning shift. I hear these conversations, as they take place, usually, a few feet from where I'm staring at the ceiling from my hospital bed. At St. Mary's. What has struck me as interesting, repeatedly, is that I swear all of these conversations have taken place in Spanish. They haven't. But they have. I don't speak Spanish. Nobody talks about bulimia, hep C, or hemochromatosis.

January 8, 1990 Dear Diary, HEY WHAT'S UP? Not much here. Sorry I haven't written. I've been busy with Danny. I told you I'd get him! I've been wired all weekend. I haven't eaten. Last night me & Danny saw Scrooged. He's so nice. He's got a Camaro! My favorite. I'm usually very picky. I just can't stand his bell bottoms that he wears all the time. He's *almost the perfect boyfriend. He's got drugs most of the time. He's always got pot. I got my Ozzy ticket. I'm so stoked!!

Dear Maga:

Thought I’d type you a letter so you knew I didn’t hock the typewriter. I just moved a table in the bedroom next to my side of the bed and put the typewriter and sewing machine on it. At night we close the bedroom off because we have an electric heater in the here; it puts of just enough heat to warm the bedroom. This way we don’t have to keep putting wood in the fire on cold nights. It also saves on wood, but of course our PG&E is bigger.

After the load of wood that we have now is gone, we probably won’t buy any more wood until next fall. Anyway, what I started to say was, that when we let the fire die down about 8:00, chances of my going out into the dining room and sewing or typing is not very good, so I brought the typewriter and sewing machine in here. Besides, the TV is in here too. My typing is a little rusty. I’m going to try and get some jobs next quarter at Humboldt State.

Bob is out playing his guitar downtown and Michelle and Jason are asleep -- peace at last. They really keep me going. Michelle follows me around all day and askss (I’m to lazy to erase) questions and wants me to do this or that. She’s so curious -- extremely intelligent and I wouldn’t be surprised if she has a photographic memory.

Chapter One Fictional Books Are The Devil's Prayers

And then I got cancer. It’s not a definite kind of cancer because nobody believes you unless you have a diagnosis from a doctor, on a piece of paper. It’s like your papers. It’s like you’re a dog because nobody believes their purebred friend has bad blood unless you have a pedigree, issued by a doctor. Unfortunately, without health insurance, it’s expensive to get papers. Maybe a referral to a special doctor. But that won’t pay for the new doctor. So, while your brain actually still functions, kinda, you just think about the parts of your life that were good. Or, you just make up some good parts. For me, my brain makes up the good parts when I sleep. I wake up and I'm still in my dream. Today I'm in a Bed & Breakfast. In Ireland. Under moss. Fresh eggs. Wet grass. An Irish female voice, humming through damp air. Salty air. The always comforting scent of my husband. He reassures me. And that feeling makes me uncomfortable. I think about breakfast. I smell the scent of fresh bread. There will be cups of butter, and maybe some bacon. And muffins. The bathrooms here are tiny, but it'll be fine. I'll leave the breakfast table before him, bounce up the carpety soft, spiral staircase, enter our bedroom, enter the tiny bathroom, and puke. Of course, that was my mind gifting me a memory throug

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janeofcakes · 6 years

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Chapter 85

** Hello again, everyone! Now you know why I gave you a bonus chapter two weeks ago. I’m back from a long holiday and hope you all enjoy this long-awaited chapter. **

(Once the excitement of John speaking and the surprise of Mycroft and Molly’s announcement have settled a bit, Greg finds it incumbent upon himself to reintroduce the topic of just who shot John and Sherlock.)

G: Look, I’m sorry. Much as I’d like to celebrate, I need to get this bastard off the streets.

M: Yes, it’s been far too long already.

S: Yes, of course. It will be difficult to find her, especially with what, a four day lead?

G: Her?

(John speaks as loudly as he can to prevent Sherlock continuing. However, it’s still nowhere near his normal volume, so he clasps Greg’s wrist with one hand to make sure he has the man’s attention.)

J: It was Mary.

G: (in a ghostly tone) Mary?

J: Yes. Mary Morstan shot us both. I’m sorry, Greg.

(Greg’s face drains of color. Sherlock, looking more at Mycroft than John and Greg, begins deducing in his authoritative “I’m solving a case” voice.)

S: Mary Morstan lured us to the roof. John, because he was her assignment. Me, because I was getting too close to the truth. She is under the employ of a man called Charles Magnussen. (Mycroft closes his eyes slowly in resignation.) She killed Abigail Smart and is the assassin we have been looking for.

(He looks toward John and Greg and stops abruptly. Greg’s eyes are moist and he looks a touch sick. John, still holding his wrist, looks at the man with wide and sympathetic eyes.)

S: What’s wrong? John?

G: (blinking and quickly collecting himself) Nothing.

(His voice comes out all wrong and he clears his throat to restore a normal tone.)

G: Nothing at all. Just surprised is all. Look, I have to make some calls, but I’ll need the details. (Looking from John to Sherlock.) If you’re both up for it?

J: (gently) Sure. Greg…

G: (freeing himself from John’s grasp and heading for the door.) Great. I’ll be back in a few.

(Mycroft, staring intently at his mobile, moves toward the door.)

M: I also have business to attend to. My apologies. (He stops as he pushes open the door and offers a hand.) Molly, would you come with me?

MH: (still a bit shaken by the revelation) Yes, of course, love. I’ll be back to see both of you tomorrow.

(She takes Mycroft’s hand and they leave together, the door closing as they disappear through it. Sherlock’s eyes go immediately from the door to John.)

S: You did not seem at all surprised by their announcement.

J: Molly told me they’d been seeing one another right before Jim kidnapped me the first time. Didn’t expect anything like this so soon though.

S: Indeed. Mycroft isn’t one to make snap decisions.

J: Oh, believe me, Sherlock. He thought about it all very carefully. (He looks at Sherlock’s pondering face and folds his fingers around the detective’s hand.) But a lot can happen in a year.

(Sherlock meets his eyes. The allusion to their own relationship not lost on him. He leans forward and kisses John. A sweet mingling of lips that culminates in Sherlock resting his own forehead against John’s.)

S: What am I missing with Greg?

J: (sighing) He and Mary are together. Have been for months.

S: (snapping his head back to look at his flatmate) Of course! That’s where she started spending nights and weekends. It wasn’t that you… (he stops abruptly)

J: That I what?

S: Nothing. (unable to hide his disappointment) It all makes sense now. All the signs were there. Why didn’t I see it?

J: You were investigating Magnussen, along with god knows how many other cases in the last six months. Besides that, you’ve never liked Mary. As long as she spent less time with me, you didn’t care what she was doing.

(Sherlock’s eyes shift from John’s face to their joined hands. He doesn’t want to see those eyes and what they might hold after that assertion. He feels like an idiot for, apparently, allowing his jealousy to be so obvious.)

S: Am I that transparent?

J: A bit, yeah.

(Sherlock sighs and looks away, completely annoyed with himself. A gentle hand under his chin swivels his face back to John’s. He’s smiling. Not what Sherlock expected to see.)

J: It annoyed me at first. Drove me mad on occasion.

S: I’m aware.

J: I knew you didn’t trust her and, even though we couldn’t see eye to eye on it, I appreciated your honesty. And your respect. (He meets John’s eyes curiously.) You never made demands or insulted her. I kept meeting with her and you accepted that she was my friend.

S: (still with curious eyes) Is that not what boyfriends do?

J: (a broad smile spreading across his face) Not all of them. And, for the record, I did make weekends off limits before she and Greg started spending them together.

(He giggles at the surprise on Sherlock’s face and kisses his lips softly.)

J: Don’t look so surprised, babe. You come before all others and I knew you were unhappy. You’re the other half of my heart. Without you, I’m…

S: (furrowing his brow) Did you just call me babe?

J: Uh… Yes. Yeah, I did. I guess it just slipped out.

(Sherlock’s arms are around John before he even realizes the man has moved. Their lips are pressed together hotly. Sherlock’s separate, drawing John’s apart with them. Tongues slide together, winding around one another in lazy circles. Sherlock licks John’s perfect lower lip as he pulls back to look at him.)

S: John, if I’d lost you…

J: (brushing fingers through his hair) You didn’t. (kissing him lightly) You won’t.

S: I intend to spend the rest of my life with you, John.

J: That’s the idea, isn’t it?

(The door opens without warning and Greg walks in. They release one another and settle for holding hands.)

G: Sorry. Am I interrupting?

S: No. It’s fine.

(They give him all the details and answer his questions. By the time they are finished, Greg looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks. He puts his notepad in his pocket and looks at his phone.)

G: Thanks. I have officers on both your doors in case she comes back.

S: (shaking his head) She won’t. She has had ample opportunity to gain access to us. With or without guards, no one knew she was the shooter until now.

J: Have you seen her at all since that night, Greg?

G: No. Haven’t seen her. Haven’t heard a word.

(His shoulders sag and he runs a hand through his hair. His mobile goes off.)

G: Aw, shit. I’ve gotta go. I’ll see you both tomorrow.

J: Greg. (He stops half way out the door to look back.) I’m sorry.

G: Yeah, thanks. G’night.

J: God, poor Greg. I barely know what to say to him. Hey! What are you doing?

(Sherlock is in the process of crawling onto the bed next to him. It clearly isn’t easy for him and John would prefer that he wasn’t doing it at all, but it’s too late to stop him, so he helps pull the detective onto the bed. Once Sherlock has settled next to him, John tries to turn on his side too, but quickly discovers that the bandage and pain prohibit it. To his chagrin, turning his head is also difficult. Sherlock props up on one arm so John can see him better, pressing his body against John’s for support.)

S: Is that better?

J: For me. You have a hole in your chest, Sherlock. You’re going to hurt yourself.

S: It’s worth it.

J: No it isn’t. I want you all in one piece. You’d never get away with this if I was your doctor.

S: Perhaps it’s good that you are not. (smiling) Just this once.

(He drapes his arm across John’s body, resting his hand on John’s hip and his head against his shoulder. Paying close attention to any sharp inhalation of breath or other signs of discomfort.)

S: Is this okay?

J: It’s perfect, if it doesn’t hurt you.

S: My chest is fine, John. The only danger to it was alleviated the moment I saw you.

J: (with a little laugh, stroking his curls) You are a hopeless romantic.

S: (smiling genuinely) I am, aren’t I? Never would’ve expected that.

(They share a quiet chuckle. Sherlock snuggles closer to John. He honestly never expected Sherlock would be such an avid snuggler. He smiles down at the living, breathing man resting beneath his chin. A frown creeps into his expression.)

J: Do you really believe Mary won’t come back to finish the job?

S: (lifting his head to look at John) Yes. Mary Morstan is no longer a threat to us.

J: (incredulous) But she’s an assassin! And we are very much alive.

S: She knows, John. She made sure of it.

(John blinks and looks at him, dumbfounded. Without thinking, he tries to push himself up for a better view of the detective, but pain shoots up from his neck into his head and down into his shoulder. He collapses onto his back, his eyes clamped shut. Sherlock pushes himself up to an oddly twisted posture.)

S: Are you all right? How can I help?

J: Lie down! You can’t twist around like that. (grasping the lapels of Sherlock’s pajamas gently, but insistently. Sherlock allows himself to be guided back down to rest on his elbow again. He locks eyes with John, still concerned.)

J: (in a frustrated tone) I’m fine. I’m fine. How do you know?

S: What?

J: That she meant not to kill us. How do you know?

S: You saw the way in which she killed Abigail Smart. She’s a crack shot, John. Second only to you and suddenly she’s off the mark not once, but twice from a few feet away and point blank. (He gives him his classic knowing look and a shake of his head.) Not a chance.

J: (still wincing) She came bloody close though.

S: Yes, and then she texted Greg with your phone and told him to get to the roof. Not to mention taking the shots on the roof of a hospital.

J: All right, so she wanted to make a good show of it.

S: Mm. For Magnussen.

J: You think it worked?

S: No. Greg hasn’t seen or heard from her. She’s made herself vanish.

J: Magnussen knows and he’s sent someone for her. (He pauses and gives Sherlock an uneasy look.) Will he send someone else for us?

S: (considering) Probably, but he hasn’t yet. He must want something from us first.

J: (frowning thoughtfully) Makes sense. But what?

(Sherlock relaxes back on John’s shoulder, his arm stretching across his body again.)

S: I’m quite sure he’ll let us know.

(John wraps his arm around Sherlock’s shoulders and kisses the top of his head. The detective smiles and leans in closer. They spend the next few minutes in comfortable silence, listening to one another breathe. John’s become deep and even in no time, and Sherlock knows he is asleep. He smiles and traces his fingers along the contours of John’s muscled torso. When his fingertips drift down to John’s ticklish belly, his flatmate’s body jerks and he giggles in his sleep. Sherlock’s smile grows. That is, without a doubt, the most adorable thing he has ever seen. Not that he’ll share that with John.

He props up again for a moment to brush his lips over John’s. On par for the course, John’s tongue darts out to lick his own lips, catching Sherlock’s as well just from proximity. Sherlock lets out a shuddering sigh, his eyes dark with arousal. He snuggles down on John’s shoulder again. The both of them need to sleep, so he’ll wait. This time.)

S: (whispering) Good night, husband.

** I know, I know. It doesn’t make any sense that no one would ask Sherlock who shot him and John in the time his breathing tube came out and he finally visits John. My apologies. I wanted them to be together when Greg was told about Mary and should have fiddled with the timeline. Please allow me this one flaw and I promise I’ll fix it when I post on AO3. Cheers! **

#Sherlock #sherlockholmes #sherlock loves john #John loves Sherlock #johnwatson #johnlock

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thepersonablewit · 6 years

Text

I lost my father

On October 7. Almost three months ago. I lost my father.

This statement sounds absurd. Robert Joseph Wortel was somewhat un-losable. A stout and barrel-chested 5′ 8.5″, with close cropped white hair and a perpetually red face, a handsome but crooked smile, a button-nose, and the build of a diver and gymnast gone to seed--it was not hard to find him in a crowd. He was a great looking man for most of his life. He had the most beautiful wife. He had swagger.

He was a man with a brash, cynical sense of humor, which swung between the best poles of the absurd filth of John K’s Ren and Stimpy, and the worst poles of some white men that could be cringingly politically incorrect. His humor favored the ridiculous, with a dash of the obscene; if it wasn’t good banter, he wasn’t buying.

His brown eyes, perched behind wire-framed glasses, glittered with intelligence, and the fear of a camouflaged forest animal, terrified of being caught unawares. He was a shy man in the world, but a voluble man when entertaining his brothers and friends in his home, installed in the corner of his kitchen, doling out pizza and Soulful Stew and rosemary chicken and booze to the people who loved him and knew all the movies and SNL sketches he quoted.

The library of quotations was procured from Hunt for the Red October, Billy Crystal’s Fernando Lamas, Miracle on 34th Street, When Harry Met Sally, Blazing Saddles, the Original Star Trek, JJ Abrams Star Trek, City Slickers, Monty Python, Scrooged, Caddy Shack, National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying, The Music Man, and It’s a Wonderful Life. Among others, of course.

He had a tremendously gifted mathematical and analytical mind, with incredible spacial reasoning. As a trained electrical engineer, he succeeded consistently at estimating the cost for gathering the supplies and hiring the skilled labor to light and power enormous buildings like hospitals and university dorms and cell towers. He would’ve been a brilliant contestant on The Price is Right if he could stand to have the spotlight--which he loathed. He did not ever want to be put on the spot. He had devoted friends in the electricians and skilled men and women that carried these electrical plans from the blueprint into the large buildings of Central New York. His golf friends and coworkers came out in force to attend his calling hours in October, to the amazement of his wife and children.

If he was not communicating something mathematically-based or related to his career in electrical engineering, and he was speaking to anyone other than his wife, he either declined to speak or more often drew from this library of quotations. Fell back on humor. He often stated that “nobody gets me” and “I could write for SNL.”

I actually had a dream last night that I was riding through a studio lot with Colin Jost and Seth Meyers on a golf cart (as if they don’t both live in New York), and I told them about my dad and how he should’ve written for SNL. I digress...

If you held the Codex of his Quotations, you understood his meaning perfectly. You “got him.” At least while his thoughts were still clear.

He was a man who was shy and frightened for himself and for his family and contained the violent contradiction of intense pride and confidence in his intelligence and incredible self-disrespect. He hated that not everyone’s cognition matched the pathways of his own. He didn’t have a great deal of patience with diverse habits of mind. When someone didn’t get how to arrive at a conclusion he’d surmised, or how to solve a problem he’d navigated readily, he was disappointed and bewildered.

I believe, if he had put more store in the ability of other people--beyond himself and his own wife--to provide perspectives to him about the world and about his role in it, he could’ve been a more hopeful man. A less angry man. If he could have listened, during his life, to the ways that his brothers and golf friends and family friends and coworkers spoke about him during his calling hours, I speculate he would’ve liked himself a lot more. We liked him and loved him so much, and we didn’t want to lose him.

But then the preposterous thing happened. And I lost my father. I started to lose him to alcohol shortly after his own father died, when I was 10 and he was 36. (Not much older than I am now.)

The spiral of “nobody gets me” and sense of injustice around the loss of his dad and the self-disrespect, combined in a deadly way with an utter refusal to trust other options for coping mechanisms or the opinions of the medical field. He was notoriously stubborn. He once maintained a seriously painful case of gout-induced “Popeye-elbow” because he didn’t want to take medicine or eat less red meat and shrimp.

Over the course of 23 years, alcohol took more and more of my father away from me. At times I think he was very aware of what was happening. Discipline and scoldings slowly gave way to violence and verbal abuse. (These things are always on a continuum anyway.) He would wake up in the morning and not remember what had happened the night before and would need to be told what he had to apologize for. He was a smart man, so it is difficult for me to imagine that he was unaware that alcohol was causing him to black out and lash out. When he had to rescue his own mother from alcohol abuse that she cultivated alone in her Florida condo, to whisk her away into his home and the homes of his brothers, he had to have seen the ghost of the future. When he lost his wife’s young brother to an addiction to opioid pain killers and alcohol, he had to have seen some writing on the wall. When he told me he’d like me to become acquainted with the family finances so mom didn’t have to sort it out all alone, I pleaded with him about the promise of the future. About my upcoming wedding (at the time) and about the children Dan and I were excited about having soon. About the adventures he could still be having with his beautiful wife.

I tried to give him the George Bailey-from-It’s a Wonderful Life “life is worth living” speech. It could be that he always felt that he was too far gone for help, even if he tried a program or a doctor. It could be that he honestly never believed he had a problem with alcohol. It could be that when he lost his business that he partly owned four years ago, because his business partners couldn’t bear the liability of a partner who came to work every morning with alcohol emanating from his pores, he lost the thing he felt made him worthwhile to his family. All of these possibilities break my heart to consider.

And I’ll never know if any of these factors were a part of his truth, because he never told me. He had a wife and children who loved him so much and appreciated him for all the intelligence and tenderness and quirkiness that he had, before they slowly disappeared in the alcohol-infused mist of anger, fear, and disappointment. We deeply appreciated him for the lives that he helped us to build through his hard work and generosity. But he must’ve felt so lonely. He allowed himself to share a bit of his burden with his beautiful wife, but he levied the harshest tax of loneliness on himself.

For my wedding last summer, my father did an incredible job. He helped my father-in-law drape a tallis around my husband and I during the ceremony. He and I then executed a secret plan: when the father-daughter dance that began with a saccharine “Daddy’s Little Girl” by Bublé cut suddenly to sunglasses for everyone and “Love Grows Where My Rosemary Grows” by Edison Lighthouse—which was his actual favorite song.

Such was his humor, even so close to the end of his life. He drank a heroically small amount of alcohol for the entirety of my wedding weekend, and bopped his head and did the Mick Jagger Chicken Walk with his sunglasses on and even got hoisted in a chair with his lovely wife during the Hora. That man gave me my most treasured wedding gift by staying mostly sober that whole weekend, which must have been paid for with a great deal of pain due to withdrawal symptoms.

One last time before he passed, my father made a heroic effort to reach back to me and to his wife and his son and his youngest girl. This May my mother’s friend lost her husband to a motor cycle accident. My father was shaken, according to my mother, and he emailed me a song by Dan Fogelberg that I had never heard before. “A Part of the Plan” was full of unobstructed love and wishes for a life of emotional honesty. It was a song written plainly, outside the codex of quotations that he relied upon. Listening to this song for the first time completely sank me. I had been praying for some authentic exchange with my father, as I was growing increasingly aware that his time was coming. Here is the song. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Og-FVtjSxi0

I called him immediately to thank him for the song and to tell him I loved him. I called to promise that Dan and I would be up from New York City this summer to finally visit after a long absence. The next day he called me to tell me that my brother had gotten him to come and help, since it sounded like a bird was stuck in the fireplace. When my dad and brother finally opened the fireplace to let the bird escape, a dove flew out of the ashes. He wanted me to remember the lyrics of the Fogelberg song, and let me know that “Some kind of message” came through for him. He was moved.

My mom said that my father cried for two weeks straight after her friend lost her husband. Suddenly he wanted to talk with her about all of the feelings he hadn’t acknowledged from the last couple of decades. He called me again the next day to let me know that he had walked across the street to give a gift to an elderly woman neighbor that he had never spoken to in the 27 years he had lived in his house. He wanted to give her a rose and just say hello. He said to me on the phone, “I just wanted to call to tell you that. What is happening to me? I don’t do that kind of thing.” I told him that maybe, he does do that kind of thing now. Maybe he’s that kind of nice guy.

My mother came to visit me the following week to watch me walk across the Stony Brook stage and receive my diploma for the last time in my Academic career. My dad had to stay home with his mother, my Nana, but he got on the phone with me immediately afterward to say how proud he was of me and how much he loved me.

Bob turned 59 in July and in August Dan and I finally made it up to visit for the weekend. He couldn’t get up off the sofa much, as he had edema in his legs and had taken on a lot of weight. I talked to him about the big project with a Fortune 50 engineering company that the non-profit where I work had just taken on. He talked about what went into installing this company’s fuel cells, engineering-wise. We talked shop. I talked about the upcoming trip I was going to be taking to China on behalf of my non-profit. I tried to get him to talk about the band, called “Clarity”, in which he was the lead singer during high school. He corrected me that it had been eighth grade, and when I pressed for more of a story, he told me to “learn to live with disappointment.” He deliberately drank very little during our visit. During this trip, he had a one-on-one talk with my husband in which he told Dan about his hopes, fears, and pride that he held for each of his children.

I thought I had more time. When I got back from China, I decided I would start to knit a lap blanket for my Dad, so he would be more comfortable during his long rests on the couch. Mom said that Dad wasn’t doing well.

Finally I got the call in early October that Dad was going into the hospital for the second time since my wedding. And then I got the followup call later that night that I should come right away. And so I did. And I got to speak to him again, and tell him good news about work, and sing “Love Grows” to him. He couldn’t speak and he couldn’t open his eyes. But he squeezed my hand, and I know he heard me. I think he waited for me. Which was another great gift he gave to me, paid for with an expense of tremendous pain. We were all together again. Bob, Jackie, Stephanie, Bobby and Meghan, one last time. Then I lost my father.

I hope he is ok, and the pain and fear and anger and sadness that sat heavily on him for so many years are gone from him now. I hope he is watching, amused and loving. We are all taking care of each other. But we miss him so much.

Love when you can. Cry when you have to. Be who you must. That’s a part of the plan.

#mourning father love

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