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pathologicalreid · 3 months

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Can you write bau!reader who is pregnant x spencer, they have an argument and spencer gets really angry, snaps at her and then leaves, and she ends up going into labor early

brilliance | S.R.

in which reader goes into labor after a fight and spencer is nowhere to be found

who? spencer reid x fem!pregnant!BAU!reader category: angst content warnings: pregnancy/labor, hospitals, premature birth, possible medical inaccuracy. word count: 2.41k a/n: thank you for the request anon! this one kind of got away from me so it's a little long. i feel inclined to tell you that my place holder title for this request was "womp womp"

You followed your husband into the bullpen, he was on a tear, and unfortunately, you found yourself on the receiving end. “Spencer, slow down,” you pleaded with him, walking as fast as you were able in order to catch up with him.

He spun around and looked at you, “You shouldn’t even have been in the field, Y/N! What if something had happened to you?” He dropped his bag on his desk and glared at you, you hated seeing that fire in his eyes, but you needed to stand your ground.

“I was not in the field, we happened to be nearby, and a crime was being committed,” you corrected him, “Luke went in. I stayed in the SUV, Spence.”

Spencer shook his head like he was trying to tell you that your answer wasn’t good enough, “You are thirty-four weeks pregnant, you should have stayed here.”

Frustrated, you threw your hands up, “That’s not the deal, Spencer. Non-dangerous field situations, remember? It’s worked until now.”

“The point I’m trying to make is that any non-violent situation can turn violent,” he told you, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Shrugging, you stepped towards him, “You’re right, but-“

“Then how could you be so stupid? Putting yourself in danger like that?” He said, cutting you off.

You felt like the wind had been knocked out of your lungs. You opened your mouth to respond when Rossi came out of his office, oblivious to the discussion the two of you were having, he went to Spencer and asked him if he wanted to check out a lead they had on the case.

To your surprise, he went with Rossi, leaving you in the bullpen, staring after him as the elevator doors closed. “Hey,” a familiar voice said next to you. “What do you say we go visit Penelope?” JJ asked you as she set a comforting hand on your arm, not waiting for an answer as she led you out of the glass doors and towards Penelope’s office.

You covered your face with your hands, “Did everyone just see that?” You whispered, horrified.

“I wouldn’t worry about that right now,” she said, knocking on the door before Garcia invited you in. JJ grabbed chairs for the two of you and you gratefully accepted.

Slouched in the chair, your eyes burned as JJ recounted the story for Penelope. “He called her what?” You shifted uncomfortably in the chair, a dull ache in your lower back preventing you from getting comfortable.

It seemed inevitable; you married a guy with six degrees. You were always bound to be the less intelligent one in the relationship. You just never thought Spencer would be the one reminding you of it. It's one of your biggest insecurities, and he broadcasted it for the entire BAU to hear.

“Oh,” Garcia said, “I’m going to give him a piece of my mind. I cannot believe he said that to you!” She waved a pen in the air, which was about the extent of her anger. “And then he just left?” She groaned, “Men.”

“Amen,” JJ concurred.

You didn’t answer, you just wiped a tear from your cheek and took a deep breath, the pain in your back subsiding.

Garcia looked at you and smiled, “he’ll come back, and when he does, I highly encourage you to call him stupid.”

Halfheartedly, you smiled at her, “Thanks, Pen. I just…” The ache grew in your back again, “I wish I knew what was going through his head.”

“He’s probably nervous about being a dad,” JJ admitted. “It’s something he’s always wanted, and years ago he had kind of resorted to the idea that it wasn’t going to happen. Then you got married, and then you got pregnant, and things changed again.”

You gripped the arm of the chair and tried to ignore the worried look that the two blondes exchanged.

Penelope leaned forward, “Are you alright?” She asked nervously.

Nodding, you winced, which definitely gave you away. “It’s just Braxton Hicks,” you said, waving away her concern.

JJ raised her eyebrows, “Are they coming consistently?” She asked, reaching into her back pocket and pulling out her phone.

“Uh, maybe? I haven’t been timing them. They’ve been coming all morning… Wait, hey! No, I can’t be in labor,” you said, you were only thirty-four weeks.

Helping you stand, Garcia looked at you, as serious as you’ve ever seen her and said, “It might be a good idea to get checked out anyways, okay? It might be nothing.”

She didn’t have to say it for you to know, it could be nothing, but you could also be having a baby today. You hadn’t picked godparents, you hadn’t picked a name, and you didn’t have your hospital bag with you. “I’ll go tell Emily,” JJ said, rushing out of the room and leaving you with Penelope.

“There has to be something about this room, this is where JJ went into labor with Henry many moons ago,” Penelope picked up her things.

Tears pricked your eyes, but you swallowed them down, “Will you call him for me?” You asked her, watching as she quickly dialed Spencer’s number on her phone.

She failed to hide the way her face fell when he didn’t answer, “I will- I’m going to keep calling until I get an answer.”

Phones weren’t allowed in the room, so JJ sat next to your hospital bed while Penelope tried to reach Spencer. “If he misses this, I’m going to throttle him,” JJ said, shaking her head in disbelief.

“If he misses this, it’s going to crush him,” you whispered, watching the monitor you were hooked up to. He might’ve hurt your feelings, but missing the birth of your baby? That was something he couldn’t get back. Your doctor had tried to stop your labor, but you kept progressing anyway. “Did she try Rossi?”

JJ nodded, looking out into the hallway as Penelope paced through the hallway, her heels clicking on the hospital floor.

You took a deep breath, “I’m worried they’re in trouble, or something happened. Oh my god, JJ. What if something happened?”

Vaguely aware of how your heart rate spiked, JJ grabbed your hand, “Hey, don’t worry about that. They would’ve called for backup if they were in trouble.”

Nodding, you leaned back into the pillows, the number of machines you were hooked up to made it hard to get comfortable. That didn’t even account for the contractions. “I’m glad you’re here because you know what’s happening. Even though we’re on an active case,” you told her.

“And you’re in active labor, of course I’m here,” she told you.

The doctor came back in to check on you, and when she told you that you were nearly there you cried. You had been with Spencer for years, at some points it genuinely felt like you had gone to hell and back together. One bickering match at Quantico wasn’t enough to stop the two of you.

From the hallway, you heard Penelope shout, “Oh my god, David Rossi!”

You watched as Spencer rushed through the hospital hallway, his shoes squeaking as he turned to face you in the doorway. He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but he didn’t know where to begin.

“Hey JJ, can you give us a minute?” You asked, reaching out to squeeze her hand. After assuring her that you were going to be fine, she walked out of the room, neglecting to greet Spencer on her way out. “She’s mad at you,” you explained. “Garcia too,” you finished, your eyes following him as he sat down in the chair that JJ had previously occupied.

Slowly, Spencer slowly approached your bed, his eyes flicked over to the bassinet that would soon hold your baby before his golden irises studied your face. Taking a deep breath, he reached over and held your left hand – the one that brandished your wedding ring. “They’ll live,” he assured you, “but what about you?”

You hummed, “Maybe on a different day, I’d be mad at you. Not today though. You hurt my feelings, but I’m not mad at you.” He tenderly kissed the back of your hand as another contraction roiled through you.

“I’m sorry,” he told you earnestly, “I’m so sorry.” He looked around the room, “Only you would go into labor and not realize it. How’s your pain?” He asked, immediately jumping into his role.

Smiling softly, you tilted your head towards him, “You always said my high pain tolerance would get me in trouble someday.” You shifted slightly in the bed, “I’m good, Spence, honest.” Of course, the epidural helped immensely. “I just wish I had the bag,” you admitted.

He grinned, “I have it.” Reaching behind him, he grabbed the bag and lifted it up to show you. The two of you had packed the hospital bag together, and fortunately had the foresight to pack it early.

“I love you!” You blurted, laughing despite yourself. “Oh, I was so upset, Spence!”

Leaning forward, Spencer pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, your skin was clammy, but he didn’t seem to mind. “We were on our way, but I knew you’d want it. In between encouraging me and berating me, Dave stopped so I could grab it from the house. I felt like I needed to bring it as reparations.”

You shook your head, “I’ll get my reparations. I’ll get them in the form of you changing diapers and waking up in the middle of the night.”

He laughed slightly before the smile faded from his face. “You know I think you’re brilliant, right?” Spencer whispered, his expression serious. “Genuinely, Y/N. You’ll say I’m the genius, but your ability to keep up with me is unmatched. It’s one of the reasons I love you so much.”

You opened your mouth to respond but groaned as a contraction hit you.

“Hey,” Spencer whispered, “You’ve got this, love. You’re doing incredible.” As the pain subsided, your eyebrows furrowed, and he noticed. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Taking a deep breath, you looked up at him, “I want to push,” you answered.

He nodded and stood up, “I’ll go get the doctor.”

Before he left, he leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. “Spence,” you whispered, “You’re going to be a great dad,” you told him. You were thinking about what you had talked to JJ and Garcia about earlier, about Spencer being worried about being a dad. He could worry all he wanted, you knew Spencer Reid, and you knew he was going to be an incredible father.

Smiling softly, he responded, “You’re going to be an even better mom.” He assured you that he’d be right back before he went into the hallway.

Small.

She was so small. Just under five pounds, but to your relief, she came out crying. She'd need to spend some time in the NICU, but for now she was with you.

She had been measured, wiped down, tested, and fed, and now she was asleep on your chest. “You’re hovering,” you whispered, sparing a glance over at your husband. He was slightly leaning over the bed with his chin resting in his hands. The two of you had named her Lucie, after a character in your favorite Dickens novel.

“Get used to it,” he whispered back at you. Reaching over and pulling your daughter’s blanket further over her tiny shoulders. Moving his hand up to you, he swept an awry strand of hair from your face, “How are you?”

You felt like your body had been put through a laundry wringer, but you just closed your eyes and hummed, settling back into the pillows even more. “Sore, but happy. Exhausted, but exhilarated. I also kind of feel like bursting into tears,” you said, keeping your voice low. “And don’t lecture me about my hormones, or I will burst into tears.”

Spencer smiled slightly, “You should rest. Do you want to put her in the bassinet?” He said, the bassinet was right next to your bed so you could easily access it.

“Why don’t you hold her?” You asked softly, studying his body language. “She’s your daughter, there’s nothing to worry about,” you tried to comfort him.

He shook his head, “That’s exactly why I’m worried.”

You waited for him to continue. Over the years, you had seen him with Henry, Michael, and Hank, he handled them all very well, but he seemed unnerved by your daughter. “Are you upset that she’s a girl?” You asked, looking around at the pink balloons in the room.

“What? No, definitely not. It’s not that she’s a girl, it’s that she’s my girl,” Spencer said, speaking with his hands as he clarified what was bothering him.

My girl. Your heart clenched at his words. “Here,” you said, adjusting the baby so you could hand her to her dad. Lucie’s mittened hands flailed slightly but she didn’t fully rouse, quickly settling onto her father’s chest. “Spencer, you are not your father,” you told him, keeping your voice firm.

He pressed his lips together in a thin white line and nodded, “I know.”

“Do you? Because I really need you to know that,” you insisted. “You’re not your father. Do you know how I know that?”

Spencer closed his eyes, and a tear streamed down his cheek. “Because you’re brilliant?”

You grinned and shook your head, “No, Spence. It’s because I know you. Your loyalty knows no bounds, and sometimes you say stupid things, but I know that you love me. I know that you love our daughter, and I know that you’ll never leave. I promise never to take advantage of that so long as you promise to never change.”

He seemed to think about your words for a moment, looking down at the sleeping newborn in his arms. “You are brilliant,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

“You said that already,” you whispered. Really, Spencer had apologized so many times that you had lost count.

Spencer sighed, and you could almost see the tension leave his body, “’You have been the last dream of my soul,’” He quoted to you. “I was scared. No amount of fear can justify what I said to you.”

You watched as Lucie wriggled in Spencer’s arms, “Maybe not, but you have the rest of our lives to make it up to me.” In the quiet hospital room, you heard a bubbling sound, “You could probably start by changing her diaper.”

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sirfrogsworth · 1 year

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The Decision

Taking care of my dad has been challenging but probably the most rewarding thing I've ever done. In the past year I've had to push myself beyond my limits, beyond my illness, and do everything I could to make sure my dad was comfortable as his body slowly failed him.

I hadn't driven in over a decade, but he needed to get to dialysis so I took the entire driving test like a teenager in order to get my license again. I had to move out of my cozy basement command center and upstairs into the light. I hate the light. Much too bright. Since then we have been spending almost every second of every day together. This causes us to get on each others' nerves on occasion. But most of the time we are happy to have each others' company.

My job is mostly supervision and problem solving. I watch him to make sure he doesn't fall. But if he did fall, I needed a way to get him back up. So I found an electric chair lift. I just scoot his butt on and raise him back up. If he had a medical problem, I would figure out which doctor could help him. If his feet were cold, I would find battery-powered heated slippers to keep his toes toasty. Our house is filled with little solutions I found to make him as comfortable and safe as possible.

If he needs help with anything I am always right there to assist. It's usually little things, but for him, sometimes little things can be impossible things.

I was proud to do this and I believe it brought us closer than we have ever been.

Wednesday morning the surgery team came to visit my dad and look at his foot. They told me they cannot save the foot. My dad would need a below-the-knee amputation. This would require two months of grueling, painful rehab. Then another month or two for him to adjust to a prosthetic leg. Which he may not be able to tolerate with his balance issues.

Then the lung doctor came in. He said my dad's breathing could improve, but probably not to a comfortable degree. He explained with my dad's congestive heart failure getting worse, he is probably looking at another six months to a year of life, but only if everything with the amputation goes well.

I asked the lung doctor if this was all worth it. Four months of painful recovery from amputation just to live another two months? He said a reasonable person could decide it is worth it. That some people want to squeeze every second out of life. But another reasonable person might decide that quality of life is more important than length of life.

My dad has been unhappy with his health struggles for a while now. Dialysis is just awful. He sits in a chair for four hours, three times per week, and comes home absolutely wiped out. He sleeps for two to three hours and then feels miserable the rest of the night. Sometimes he will recover from the dialysis and then it is time to get more dialysis. Sundays were his only real day of rest because he had an extra day of recovery time.

He has breathing difficulties and they are getting worse. He can't take deep breaths so his lungs keep filling with CO2. The CO2 exacerbates his delirium and confusion. He has to wear an uncomfortable BiPAP breathing mask for hours to get rid of the CO2. Once the CO2 is blown off, he switches to high flow oxygen in his nose. The CO2 builds up again... back to the BiPAP. It has become a vicious cycle.

He is constantly trying to right his balance when he walks. He has arthritis pain that never stops. And because his circulation is so bad, his extremities are always either tingling or stinging him with neuropathy pain. Those heated slippers were his only refuge.

His depression is obvious. He curses at every little inconvenience. Every dropped pill due to his hands not working. Every time he bumps into the wall with his walker. Every time he fails to stand up, having to try multiple times. Everything frustrates him.

He hates being tethered to oxygen. He feels trapped in a 50 foot radius. He constantly wishes for nothing more than to go outside and take his riding mower for a spin.

I try to entertain him with new movies and TV shows, but he has trouble concentrating on new things. Sometimes he prefers just to watch his NCIS shows that he has seen many times. That way he won't get frustrated if he falls asleep and misses the ending.

And... he lost his wife.

He has had to exist without her for a year now and he sometimes forgets she is gone. He'll call out to her and she won't respond. He'll think she is still lying next to him in bed only to discover it is the pillow supporting his back. I think when she died a part of himself died as well. He lost a huge reason to keep fighting.

And since he has been back in the hospital, his delirium and confusion have returned. He is more lucid in the mornings after sleeping. But the exhaustion from not getting enough sleep, dialysis, his foot infection and pain, the drugs, the constant in-and-out of people checking on him... it's just too much. His brain cannot function without restful sleep. So he ends up hallucinating and losing the ability to communicate.

There just does not seem to be a path forward where he could have a comfortable quality of life.

In the height of his foot pain he has exclaimed many times "I WANT TO DIE." And while I know part of that was due to his misery and frustration and pain in that moment... I think that exclamation contained his unfiltered wishes.

He was lucid Wednesday morning and we had a good conversation. He did not want to endure months of recovery and rehab. He did not want the pain of losing a leg. He did not want to fight for every breath. He did not want to lose access to clear thoughts on a regular basis. And he did not want to continue on without the love of his life.

There is this selfish part of me that wanted to convince him to keep fighting. He is my best friend. He is the greatest father I could ask for. Taking care of him this past year has given me great purpose. It has been an honor to help take care of him--as he had done for me all of my life.

Lately, he has had trouble getting into bed and covering himself up. So I have been tucking him in every night just like he did for me when I was little. First I have to arrange his pillows just right. One between his legs and one for him to hug. I put on his toasty slippers to keep his feet warm. I pull the covers up, give him a hug, tell him I love him, and say goodnight. Then I ask his Alexa speaker to play Billy Joel for him to fall asleep to. And I love doing that for him. I feel happy that we got through another day.

Whenever I am alone in our house, I miss him. I have never been in an empty house. It just feels wrong. And I'm not sure I am ready to adjust to that reality.

I want to watch another season of Cardinal's baseball with him. He loves The Mandalorian so much and I want to watch the new episodes with him. I downloaded every John Wayne movie, and even though I don't always care for those films, I like seeing him smile as he watches The Duke get into trouble.

I don't want to lose both of my parents in the span of a year.

And, well, I also don't want to lose the house. I don't want to live on my own. I don't want to worry about not having enough money to live. These are just things I can't help worrying about. And I feel guilty for worrying about myself during this time.

I have all of these reasons to want him to continue on. And I bet if I asked him to keep trying, he would do that for me. He would continue suffering and struggling for me. Because there has never been a time in his life that he would not do *anything* for his sons.

That's just who he is.

But I know I have to filter those feelings and reasons out. I know I can't ask my father to endure any more pain and misery because I fear being alone. He has always done what is best for me, and now I need to return the favor.

He has lived a long life. He had a wife that he loved. He had two sons that he raised and instilled his values in. He has a beautiful legacy that will live on in us.

He has nothing left to accomplish in this world.

He told me he wanted an out but he didn't know how to go about it. But I did. And I had to fight the urge to keep it to myself. I did not want to tell my father how to end his life. And telling him almost felt like I was personally killing him.

Thursday morning his favorite doctor is going to come speak to us. She is his kidney doctor. She is going to explain the process of stopping dialysis. With palliative care, it can be a relatively painless exit. Over a few weeks his kidneys will fail to filter out toxins. They will build up in his system. And eventually he will fade to black.

My mother had a horrible, painful, lonely death. Her final words were over a telephone because of COVID restrictions. The last time I saw her was across the ICU through a glass window.

Thankfully, my dad will be able to go out on his own terms.

He will be comfortable and surrounded by loved ones.

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loveroftoomanyfandoms · 2 months

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Sweet on You, Chapter 3

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Story Summary: HERE

Warnings/Tags: Sugar Daddy!Matt Murdock, Idiots to Lovers, No Age Gap, Alternating PoV, No Use of Y/N

Word Count: ~1850

A/N: I had entirely too much fun writing the terms of Matt and Reader's contract, lol.

As always, if you'd like to be tagged in this or any of my other stories, please let me know!

Divider by @theradioactivespidergwen

Tag List (struck-through blogs could not be tagged): @danzer8705 @capylore @shouldbestudying41 @atemydadforbreakfast @peachy-flxwr @sleepysleepymom @fishinsuits @milkbummm @lazyxsquirrel @beezusvreeland @caughtthefever @bohemianrhapsody86

Thank God it's almost time to go, you thought to yourself as you began to get ready to leave work on Monday afternoon. Wish they'd hurry up and replace Roxy and Tabitha soon.

You had been one of three admin assistants until two months ago when Roxy, the junior admin who had told you about Sugar and Spice, had moved across the country for a job that would actually utilize her college degree, and Tabitha, a glorified intern with no administrative skills who you suspected had only been hired because one or more of the partners had thought she was hot, had gotten fired for showing up to work still wasted after a night of partying. Now you were on your own and doing the work of three people with no relief in sight.

From the moment you arrived at the office at 8 AM that morning until right then when it was time to leave you had been going non-stop. You had fielded phone calls, made appointments, arranged travel, greeted clients, fetched water and coffee, filed for permits, picked up lunch for all three partners from three different restaurants, ordered flowers for your actual boss's girlfriend's birthday, made copies, and printed and mailed invoices -- all with a smile on your face and without a word of thanks from anyone.

Needless to say, you were looking forward to a drink and a nice, pleasant dinner that you didn't have to prepare yourself and could actually sit down and eat rather than have to quickly inhale like you had had to do with the sandwich you had procured from the deli down the street for lunch.

At 5 PM on the dot you shut down your computer and unlocked your desk drawer to grab your purse.

You went to the bathroom to freshen up before poking your head into your boss's office. “Hi, Mr. DiStefano, I just wanted to let you know that I'm leaving for the day.”

“Okay,” Mr. DiStefano replied without looking up from the floor plans he was studying.

You waited for a moment to see if he was going to say ‘thank you, have a great evening ’ -- or anything else for that matter -- but he didn't. “Okay then, see you tomorrow.”

You stopped by the other two partners’ offices to let them know that you were leaving, receiving very much the same non-response from both.

You sighed as you left your office and headed towards Nelson, Murdock, and Page. You were feeling extremely unappreciated and underpaid, especially since you were now having to fill the admin assistant role for all 3 partners at once. Maybe it's time to start looking for another job…

You shook your head. You weren't going to even think about trying to find another job until after you got your mother's medical debt paid off. One thing at a time.

“--Yo, Matty, we hitting up Josie's tonight?”

Matt looked up and shook his head as Foggy stopped by his office. “Actually, I can't. I have plans after work.”

Foggy gasped. “Do you have a date ?”

He poked his head out of Matt's office. “ HEY KAREN, MATT HAS A DATE TONIGHT! ” he yelled down the hall.

Matt sighed. Here we go. He was glad that you and he had already come up with a cover story on how you had met so he wouldn't have to think of one on the spot.

“So, what's her name and how'd you meet her?” Foggy asked.

Matt said your name. “We met at The Brew Towers on Saturday.”

“Ooh, coffee shop meet-cute,” Karen gently teased as she joined him and Foggy in his office. “How romantic.”

“Yeah, tell us more,” Foggy added. “Did you spill your coffee on her? Accidentally grab each other's order? Brush hands across the condiment station?”

Matt chuckled. “Actually, we struck up a conversation while we both were waiting in line to order and since it was busy and tables were scarce we decided to sit together. We hit it off, so I asked her to have dinner with me tonight.”

“So where are you taking her?”

“Okinawa.”

Foggy huffed out a laugh. “Ooh, fancy.”

Matt shrugged. “It was close to the office.”

“What time are you meeting her there?” Karen asked.

Matt shook his head. “Actually, she's meeting me here in about 10 minutes and we're going to walk over together.”

“Well, I'm really happy for you and I hope everything works out with her.”

“Yeah, same,” Foggy added. “It's good to see you putting yourself out there again, buddy.”

Matt inwardly cringed. After everything he, Foggy, and Karen had been through he hated lying to them, especially when they seemed so genuinely happy for him. “Thanks.”

“Guess it's just us at Josie's then, Kare. Let's go before she gets here -- I’m sure Matt doesn't want to scare her away by introducing her to us too soon.” Foggy rapped his knuckles on Matt's desk. “I expect a full report on your date tomorrow morning, Matthew.”

Matt chuckled with a nod. “Will do. ‘Night, guys.”

He waited until Foggy and Karen had left before pulling up his and your contract and printing copies in both standard and Braille print.

A few minutes later he heard your footsteps approaching the office, so he walked out into the lobby to greet you.

“Hi, Matt,” you said as you entered.

“Hi,” Matt replied. “How are you?”

“I'm good, and you?”

“I'm good too, thanks.” Matt gestured towards his office. “Let's go to my office.”

He led you down the hall to his private office. “Have a seat. Would you like something to drink? We have water, soda, tea, juice…”

“No, I'm okay,” you said as you sat. “Thank you though.”

Matt sat across from you. “Alright…”

He picked up the print copy of your contract and handed it to you. “Here’s the contract. I'll read through it, just let me know if you have any questions.”

“Okay.”

Matt cleared his throat and began to read. “Memorandum of Agreement. This memorandum of Agreement is made by and between Matthew M. Murdock and…”

He could hear your quiet, steady breathing as you followed along. He had tried to make the contract as simple and straightforward as possible in order to protect both himself and you.

“...Shall provide the following obligations,” he continued. “Accompany Matthew to lunch and/or dinner at minimum twice weekly. Accompany Matthew to business-related events as requested with minimum 72 hours prior notice. Accompany Matthew to non-business events as requested, dependent on availability.”

“Wait, what does that last part mean?” you asked.

“Just that every once in a while I might ask you to do something with me that doesn't involve a sit-down meal,” Matt replied. “But also that I'm not going to make you drop everything just to have a cup of coffee or take a walk with me.”

“Oh, okay, that's fair.” You paused. “Sorry, go ahead.”

Matt nodded. “In exchange, Matthew shall provide the following obligations: Monthly stipend of $1,500 --”

“Wait, wait,” you interrupted again. “We only agreed on a thousand a month.”

Matt shrugged. “Yeah, but I thought about it and decided that fifteen hundred was a more fair amount for your time.” Especially since you're using it to help your mother.

You sucked in a soft breath. “Oh.”

Matt could tell you were torn between arguing with him and just accepting the higher amount and waited until you decided which path to take.

Finally, you sighed. “Okay.”

“Okay. ‘Payment for all outings and events, including but not limited to meals, beverages, gratuities, tickets, souvenirs, and gifts. In the event of a professional obligation, arrangement and payment for appropriate garments for said obligation. Accompaniment to requested events with minimum 72 hours prior notice, dependent on availability.” Matt paused. “I figure it's only fair in case you have a work event or something else you'd need a plus-one for.”

You huffed out a mirthless laugh. “Even though I have to plan and set them up I never get invited to actually attend any of DiStefano, Williams, and Abbott’s events, but that's good in case I ever do.”

Matt's brow furrowed at your slightly bitter tone. He'd have to find out more about your job. “Anyway, ‘Confidentiality: Each party shall treat as strictly confidential the nature of said Agreement as a result of entering into or performing duties outlined in this Agreement’. ”

“Snitches get stitches,” you quipped. “Or in this case, sued.”

Matt chuckled. “Relation of the Parties: The relationship between both parties is that of a platonic nature and of partners in a business transaction. No other nature of relationship is obligatory herewith.”

He continued on with the rest of the contract -- termination of the agreement (that either he or you could terminate the contract for any reason at any time with 30 days prior notice), remedies on default (that if one or both of you failed to perform your duties or otherwise broke a clause in the contract, the contract as a whole would be rendered null and void) and finally, amendments (that the contract could be amended at any time with the express written agreement of both you and Matt.)

“Governance: This contract shall be governed by and construed in accordance with the laws of the State of New York,” Matt concluded. “Signed by both parties stated here within and effective as of date first written above.”

He tilted his head back up towards you. “Everything sound fair to you?”

You were silent for a moment. “Yeah. Yeah, I think it's fair.”

“Okay then.” Matt handed you a pen and the second printed copy of the contract. “Just so we both have signed print copies.”

“Okay, yeah, no problem.” You signed your name on both copies of the contract. “Am I signing the Braille one too then?”

Matt nodded and handed you the Braille copy, quickly feeling the text below where your signature would go. “Sign right above here.”

��Okay.” You quickly signed your name. “All done.”

Matt signed his name on all three copies of the contract and set both his Braille and print copies into his desk drawer before locking it, then he folded your copy and put it into an envelope. “Here you go. Now that business is settled, how about we celebrate our new arrangement with some dinner?”

He heard you tuck your copy of the contract into your purse. “That sounds wonderful,” you replied.

Matt stood. “Shall we, then?”

He retrieved his coat from the coat rack and took his cane out of the inside pocket, then you both headed back towards the lobby.

Matt turned the lights off and opened the door for you. “After you.”

You stepped outside. “Thank you.”

Matt followed you outside then locked the door behind the two of you. “This way.”

You headed down the sidewalk to what Matt hoped was the first of many get-togethers, a comfortable silence between you.

#lotmf writes #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x female reader #matt murdock x you #Sweet on You Masterlist

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apprenticestanheight · 4 months

Text

THE FIVE DAYS OF SMUTMAS QUEUE: DAY TWO

Work Shirts - Lawrence Gordon x gn! reader

All right!! This is day two of my silly little christmas celebration, and of course I had to do what I've been procrastinating since basically the start of this account--write a Lawrence reader insert piece!

I love him wholeheartedly despite my lack of fics for him so this has definitely been a long time coming, and this one, much like yesterdays fic, stems from a thought I had—though with this thought, @mrkheartffmans and I went a lil feral together through the reblogs of the original post and thus, the fic concept came to light!

This is also a few years post trap because I was like "yeah working somewhere for a decade is cool but what about a decade and a half??" also—my mentality was that having it set a few years post-trap would be easier to write?? I don't know how true that actually is but it was my thought process lol.

This fic is for audiences of 18+, so minors, do not interact!

Fic type- this is mostly--almost entirely--smut. There's also angst if you squint because yeah, angst was bound to be present somewhere lol

Warnings- unprotected sex (reader is on BC), and as per usual, the reader is GN for all intents and purposes (petnames included), but I went with AFAB anatomy as that's the anatomy that I know best.

Lawrence wishes he could act like the surprise on the faces of his coworkers when he mentioned having the last two weeks of December off came as a surprise to him, but he can't and he kind of hates that.

Of course people are bound to be a little surprised by it. In the decade and a half that he's worked at Angels of Mercy, the only incident where he took any sizeable amount of time off was while he was recovering from the bathroom trap and could hardly stand, let alone walk like he used to.

But, in the three years since the bathroom trap and aside from that month long period where he allowed himself to recover before going back to work, he'd not taken a single day away. Being at work, seeing to patients and talking to people—even just going to work and filling out miscellaneous paperwork while he sat in the isolation of his office—kept his mind busy and his hands busier.

He came home from work every night and saw you, which just made his entire day as it were. You'd order food or make something quick and just spend your time lounging on the couch, occasionally get a little flirty, and laugh when Lawrences hands started wandering how they used to in the days of your masters degree and his days of medical school.

But, because of a backlog of PTO and the fact that he'd been overworking himself almost to the bone with the onslaught of people needing medical care during the last three months of the year, Lawrence decided to book the 14th through to the 2nd of January off so that he could get some rest and worry about housework so that you didn't have to worry at all, where you normally split the housework fifty-fifty.

Lawrence knew that your marketing job got really, really stressful during the last month of the year. People always unearthed different versions of themselves come the holidays, and all he wanted was for you to come home from your workday and not have to worry about menial things like a messy bathroom counter, week-old leftovers in need of throwing away or dishes not yet moved from the dishwasher to the cupboards.

He gets called into work for an emergency on the 21st, and after running to grab groceries during the afternoon on the 22nd, he's delighted to find what he does waiting for him in the bed you share.

You're typically home from work at around seven, sometimes eight thirty on particularly busy days, and when Lawrence arrives home, it's half past eight.

He goes into your bedroom, having indeed hoped to see you there or at least get a call about work running late with the promise of more details upon your arrival at home as he enters your shared bedroom, but what he sees is so much better than anything he could've hoped for.

You're sitting on the bed, back pressed against the head board, focused on whatever romance book you'd plucked from a charity bookstore on your way home, but it's not what you're reading that Lawrence really takes note of.

No, it's not the book at all, though he does note that the title makes it seem like something from either the regency or the victorian era. It's what you're wearing.

You're wearing the shirt he wore to work the previous day, buttons undone with the cufflinks you'd gifted him for christmas the year his residency ended still holding the sleeves of the shirt together, the duvet covering your legs and hips, which makes Lawrence assume you've stolen a pair of his sweatpants in addition to the shirt.

He knocks, lightly, on the side of the door, and you startle, looking up to the source of the knock and relaxing the minute you see his face.

"You startled me," you say, grinning and closing your book over your thumb so as not to lose your place. "I remember you told me you'd be getting groceries around when I would get home, so I stole one of your shirts and settled in. Figured we could order Thai food or something to that effect, have a late dinner and relax."

Lawrence runs his tongue over his lips, notices the keen way with which you watch him do it.

"Yeah," he grins, further enters the room. "That sounds lovely. I grabbed the last of the necessary ingredients for dinner Christmas Day so that you wouldn't have to worry—I know that work has been something of a mess for you lately and I want to make sure you have the opportunity to relax when you come home."

He approaches the bed, watches you place the book you'd been reading open on your nightstand beneath the lamp.

"I don't deserve you," you laugh.

You've been dating since you were starting up with your masters a year after getting your bachelors degree when you were twenty-three and Lawrence was two years into medical school at twenty-four.

You've been married since you were twenty-five and twenty-six, and seventeen years down the line, you both knew that marrying each other was the best possible thing either of you could've done with regard to the romantic part of your lives, and while you were married you ended up doing the best possible things for your respective careers so it worked in both of your favors regardless.

You were Lawrences rock, especially so in the aftermath of the bathroom trap, and he was yours and would be such forevermore.

"You're right," he says, moving away from the bed to grab a pair of sweatpants. "You deserve more, but I do strive to be what you deserve day in and day out."

"Don't say that," you chide. "You're perfect, Lawrence. I wouldn't've married you had I thought otherwise, I promise."

He can feel your gaze on him as he slips out of the khaki pants he wears, deciding to go commando and put a pair of light gray sweatpants on for comfort. He changes out of the black button up he'd chosen to wear, pulls a baggy dark blue Henley over his torso and climbs into bed beside you, pressing kiss after kiss down the line of your jaw and across your neck.

"How stressful has work been?" He asks, tone genuine but also slightly seductive.

"Oh, so stressful," you laugh, knowing exactly what he's doing and the fact that seeing you in one of his shirts and just one of his shirts has spurred that on by a mile. "I think if I have to hear one more coworker complaining about last minute shopping during the last few days before Christmas Eve or even on Christmas Eve in and of itself, I will start causing heads to roll. December is the worst time to be in the offices because everyone stops caring about year-end quotas and making sure things are good going into next year and starts caring about whatever gossip is being spread around. It's dreadful, Lawrence."

He pauses, looking at you with genuine sympathy in his gaze. "I'm sorry—I feel gross. I didn't mean to attempt to proposition you for sex like that. I really do want to hear about your day and I'm sorry it's been so terrible, my love. Are you going to book time off?"

You grin. Lawrence is ever-so considerate, always apologizing and stepping back if he's done something in a way that he doesn't appreciate midway through.

"You're going to be stuck with me from tomorrow through to the second," you say. "And—for the record, I didn't hate it. I like it when you proposition me for sex with kisses because your kisses are quite honestly one of the best parts of being married to you. Plus, I have had a stressful month and I won't lie and say that my current outfitting was just for comfort. Sure, bare ass on satin sheets is an amazing feeling, but I was hoping that I'd get the reaction I did, admittedly."

Lawrence tilts his head inquisitively. "You're not—you're—I thought you'd taken a pair of my sweatpants," he grins, moves a hand to your thigh. Sure enough, it's bare. "Oh, Christmas must've come early."

You laugh. "You fuckin' wish," you say, ignoring the goosebumps that Lawrences touch brings on.

You unbutton the few buttons done up on the shirt, press your back against the headboard.

"Stressful month, yeah baby?" Lawrence is almost beaming as his hand moves from your thigh to your stomach, lazily perusing up your chest.

You clench your jaw, squeeze your arms against your sides because you are not going to give in to your handsome husband and his illustrious whims just with a few touches and some whispered sentiments.

"So stressful, Lawrence," you nod. "So, so stressful."

"Do you need a way to destress?" His thumb and first finger locate your nipple, and you exhale a breathy moan, quiet and already wanting to give in to his whims. "If you do, I think I could be of assistance."

"Lawrence," you moan, quiet and needy. "Oh, fuck, Lawrence."

Lawrence moves his hand away from you for a second, only to take off his shirt and the sweatpants he wears before he's back to kissing your neck and letting his hands roam across your chest.

A few minutes of much the same passes by, Lawrences kisses lining your neck and jawline and face and your ethereal lips while he rolls your nipples between his fingers. His hand dips to your folds for just a few minutes, taking your slick onto his fingers and laughing against your shoulder.

"You're so wet for me already," he says. "Fuck, you're perfect."

"Wanna ride you," you're almost stunned at how evenly the words fall from your lips but not at all stunned when Lawrence agrees.

He pulls you onto his lap, lets you grind against his half-hard cock until it's fully hard and you're begging to feel him inside of you and moans when you bottom out, gaze watching you intently as his hands settle on your hips.

"Lawrence," you whisper. "Fuck."

A smile spreads onto Lawrences face before he can stop it, and when you start riding him, he presses his back against the headboard, one hand on your hip while the other lightly holds your chin so as to keep your gaze on his.

You get lost in how good it feels within the space of a minute, maybe two—Lawrence's cock is long and thick, and even if riding it takes some adjusting occasionally, it still becomes very enjoyable very quickly.

"You're so wonderful for me, Y/N," he says. "Oh, this never gets old."

He's loving how you feel around him, clenching occasionally and moaning after a particularly deep thrust that hits your g-spot, and you're just—it's just perfect.

And then, Lawrence gets an idea. He moves the hand that's cupping your face to your wrist, which is attached to the hand that you use to grope relentlessly at yourself, rolling your nipples between your thumb and first finger, sometimes moving to rub your clit.

"The cufflinks, baby," he says. "Don't touch yourself, mm? Use those for me."

He watches you press the cold silver cufflink against one of your nipples, moans as you clench around him at the sensation of the cold meeting your warm skin. You moan in turn, pressing the metal against your nipples and moaning his name.

He moves a hand back to your chin, placing his first and middle finger against your bottom lip. You take the hint immediately and bring his fingers into your mouth, grinding down onto him as you do.

"You're so good for me, pet," he says, moving the hand that rests on your hip to your clit. He starts rubbing it with practiced expertise, knowing the way you like it best after nearly two decades of marriage. "Oh, this is amazing. You can steal my work shirts whenever you want, okay? Especially the ones with the cufflinks. You're amazing."

You moan at the praise, pressing the cufflinks against yourself further, loving the way that the metal feels against your sensitive nipples.

He takes his fingers out of your mouth and goes back to holding your chin so as to keep your gaze on his, wanting to watch you orgasm.

You come completely undone when Lawrence speeds up his ministrations on your clit just enough to make you want more, and Lawrence watches.

You thrust your way through the aftershocks, at which point Lawrence releases into you and lets your chin free from his light grip, kissing you and offering praise as he does.

He pulls you off of him and gets a bath set up, helping you into it while giving you more praise and pressing kisses along the back of your neck and shoulder blades because the orgasm had left you both completely and totally breathless.

You bathe in light conversation, once again talking about your days but focusing on the more positive parts, and Lawrence lets you steal a Henley from the days of medical school. You pull a pair of boxers on and curl up in bed next to him, falling asleep only seconds before Lawrence does.

#lawrence gordon #lawrence gordon x reader #saw 2004 #saw franchise

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thegreatcaptainusopp · 4 months

Text

The Seer

Ao3 link

Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

Chapter 4: Pray, Pray, Be Strong

It’s hazy for a while.

He’s pretty sure he wakes up again screaming, and everything else around him is screaming too: his head is screaming, the people around him are shouting orders, tugging at him in all directions, his skin is screaming, and his eyes, oh god, his eyes…

He stops screaming when his throat runs dry and he can’t get a sound out anymore, but it’s still going in his head as people lift him, move him, and start poking, and then he feels something in his face explode and, mercifully, everything goes blank again.

He thinks he passes out again, feels time passing in waves: here arms go under his back and lift him into the air, here his back hits something springy and cool, here there’s something pressing into his face, tight, tight, until there’s a little pinch at his arm which causes all awareness to flee yet again.

He probably wakes up a couple more times after that (hands going up to his face before being yanked back, almost falling out of something before he’s wrestled back in, both followed by the now familiar prick on the arm), but it’s not until he shakes awake one final time with a deep breath and a shudder that he knows that he’s finally achieved full awareness.

Except…

His throat is dry and his head aches and there’s something wrapped around his eyes. He panics, thinking it’s a blindfold, and reaches out to take it off and see where he is…

A hand grabs his own. “Stop that,” He hears, and it’s the soft voice of Cantor, the Vance Pirates’ doctor. “You need to leave that alone.”

Usopp breathes out slowly. “My head hurts,” He says.

There’s a silence. “You seem more…aware, than you’ve been up til now,” Cantor says, carefully removing his hands from Usopp’s. “But you’re still very weak. You need time to recover.”

Usopp’s hand fall weakly back to his sides. “Can you take the blindfold off?” He asks.

Another silence. “You still need it there,” Cantor says. “Go to sleep. Rest.”

Usopp sleeps.

Chopper waits.

It’s approaching twilight in the Flying Fish Raiders base, and Camie had sent out her fish to investigate the seas a few hours prior. They should be back any moment now, according to her. They should know soon enough if the Vance pirates are close by. And if they are…it’ll be time to go. Finally.

He plays with his hooves nervously as he waits. He’s been doing that a lot recently, and he can see they’ve been a little chipped. But he can’t help it. He’s been nervous a lot as of late.

Zoro sits across from him, leaning against the deck of the Sunny. His head is resting on the wood, arms crossed, eyes closed. He looks to be dead to the world, totally relaxed. But Chopper knows he’s the exact opposite: his shoulders are tense, his eyes flutter under their lids. He smells of nerves. He’s just better at keeping it under control.

Chopper wishes he had Zoro’s control. He feels like all he’s been doing for the few weeks since the Vance pirates had attacked the Sunny is worry loudly. Sitting there, waiting for news, waiting to be useful in any way that he can be.

But he can’t right now. The time Chopper is going to come of use is when they actually find Usopp, when they’re going to need serious medical intervention. Because, after all this time, with seriously bad pirates? Usopp is probably going to be injured to some degree. Chopper just hopes it isn’t too serious, and that he’s not hurting too badly. And that he’s being fed enough and being given enough water. And that he isn’t sick, or scared, and that whatever happens that Chopper can heal everything okay when they get him back…

“Chopper.”

He flinches. “Zoro?” He squeaks, looking across.

“You need to calm down,” Zoro says. His eyes are open now, looking across at him with a steady stare. He gestures down at his hooves.

Chopper looks down, sees he’s been rubbing them together again. “Sorry,” He says, putting his hooves down. “I’ll stop that.”

“No-” Zoro interrupts himself, then lets out a quick sigh. “Come here.”

A little scared he’s going to be lectured, Chopper timidly gets up and plods across to Zoro’s spot. He plops down next to him, head down. “Sorry,” He says again. “I’m just, you know. I’m worried. About Usopp. It’s silly, I know, but I can’t help it.”

“Don’t apologize,” Zoro says, and Chopper lifts his head up in surprise. “That’s normal. We’re all worried about Usopp. It’s just…you’re worrying alone, in your own head. You’re stressing yourself out, and that’s not good for you.”

Chopper feels himself start to tear up. “I know,” He says. “I can’t help it. He’s probably in a lot of trouble. I just…I just want him to be okay. You know. I just want to find him.”

Zoro nods. “Yeah,” He says simply. “That’s all true. He probably is not doing too well right now. But, look. We got this far, right? We’ll probably get the news soon about where he is. And then we can go get him and help him with whatever he needs. And hopefully it’ll get better from there.”

“You think?” Chopper asks hopefully.

“Yeah,” Zoro says. “Look. Life at sea is dangerous. We know this. Usopp does too. But he has us. And he has you. And if he’s hurt, you’ll help him recover. And we can move on to what we were meant to do out here.”

Zoro always knows how to make things sound so simple. It’s honestly like magic. “You’re right,” Chopper says, nodding firmly. “Whatever it is, we can help him recover. Right?”

“Right,” Zoro nods approvingly. “We just need to wait for a little longer for news-”

Just as the words leave his mouth, they hear Camie shout from across the ship.

“We’ve found him! They’re close by! Really close by!”

A collective yell ripples across the straw hats, and they all stagger to their feet to run over to Camie. “See?” Zoro says, as he helps Chopper to his feet. “What did I tell you?”

Chopper feels a wide smile pull at his mouth. “Yeah,” He says, trotting after Zoro. “You were right.”

The next time Usopp wakes up, it’s to raising voices.

“…not ready yet,” He hears Cantor say, gently yet firmly. “He’s only just started recovery, and if you push him too hard-”

“We don’t have time as it is,” And that’s Vance, and his voice acts like a bolt of electricity through Usopp’s spine. “There’s war on the horizon, if you recall, and now would be our best chance to-”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence before the electricity down Usopp’s spine snaps him upwards. He bolts up, gasping, probably interrupting whatever conversation is happening in his vicinity.

“-and it seems that we won’t have to discuss this further,” Vance’s voice washes over him as he gasps, trying to gain control of his pounding heart. “Usopp has very kindly taken the conversation forward. How are you doing, Usopp? Feeling better, I hope?”

Usopp’s hands scramble over surroundings (a cot?) before hitting empty air. He swivels to the side hurriedly, trying to hop off whatever he’s lying on, until he feels a hand hit his chest and push him back. “No,” Cantor’s voice says. “Remember, Usopp? You still need to recover. See, Captain? He’s not ready.”

“Seems ready to me,” Vance remarks. “He’s sitting up and everything. Usopp, I suppose I have to start with an apology, and I do mean that. But time is of the essence, and we need something from you sooner rather than later.”

“Captain,” Cantor says, and Usopp takes the opportunity to try and tug at his blindfold again. “No!” Cantor says sharply, tugging Usopp’s hands away. “Usopp, you can’t touch that yet. You’re still healing.”

Usopp frowns, wincing at it tugs at his eyes. “What do you mean by-?”

And that’s when he remembers.

Usopp gasps, hands scrambling towards the blindfold (bandages) again. “What did you do to me?” He moans, tugging at the bandages. “What did you do? How could you? How could you?”

“I warned you,” Vance’s voice says, as Cantor forces his hands away again. “I told you again and again that you wouldn’t like the consequences. And trust me, I didn’t want to do it this way either. I tried. But you forced my hand.”

Usopp starts to feel dizzy, which he didn’t know was possible in the dark. “You blinded me,” He says, the words echoing in the blackness. “I can’t…I won’t be able to see when these are gone. I can’t see anymore.”

“Most writings about the Second Sight note that it is…further developed or hastened into development when the Seer has no original sight to rely on,” Vance’s voice seems to echo, as if from a distance. “So, we’re forcing it. Once you begin to rely on it, you’ll be able to control it quite quickly.”

He feels Cantor push at him back, but he resists. “You’re crazy,” He breathes, two heartbeats away from a panic attack. “I told you, again and again I told you, I don’t have visions. They don’t exist. You took away my sight for something that doesn’t even exist.”

Vance sighs, as if exasperated. “You’re still at that, huh?”

“Still at th-” Usopp feels the panic in his chest, shift, mutate to anger. To rage. “You son of a bitch!” He roars suddenly, pushing drunkenly off the cot. “You ruined my life, you stupid bastard! And for what? A stupid fucking fairy tale you tell yourself to make yourself feel better about your own fucking powerlessness.”

It’s like the rage of the past few weeks, hell, the last few years, is all pouring out of him all at once. He can’t stop.

“Well guess fucking what? Welcome to the world! Where everything around you is strong and you aren’t. You know what you do with that? You deal. You don’t hurt other people just to feel better about yourself!”

And here he lunges, directionless, trying to hit at something, anything…

His hand hits wall and he bounces back, balance gone, before a strong pair of arms catches him under the shoulders and drops him back where he was sitting. “Get out!” He hears Cantor bark, and a familiar prick of pain is at his shoulder. “He still needs time!”

“Told you,” He hears, and that’s Ranger. “He was going to freak out. Understandably, but still.”

“I suppose,” Vance again. “Hopefully, next time will be a little more-”

Usopp doesn’t even notice when he passes out this time. It’s all the same dark.

When Usopp wakes up next, the dark still hasn’t faded.

It probably never will, now, he knows. The dark will always be there. For however long he’s with the Vance Pirates, the darkness will follow. If (when, please when) Luffy finds him, the darkness will-

Luffy. Oh god. Luffy.

The realization brings Usopp vertical again, so quickly he feels like he’s going to vomit. Luffy. How is he going to face him? How is he going to face everyone?

Well. He won’t face them, will he? That’s the whole problem, isn’t it? He’s never going to see those faces again. Luffy’s smile, the Jolly Roger on the Sunny, Chopper running around the deck playing-

Chopper.

Usopp is brought back to earth with a thud. Chopper. Of course! How could he forget? Chopper, who wants to cure everything the world has got to offer. If anyone can help him, it’s Chopper.

He almost feels bad for forgetting. Sorry Chopper, He says in his head. Please forgive me. I never meant to doubt you.

The darkness is temporary. It has to be.

Okay, Usopp tells himself. You just have to hold on until Luffy and everyone gets you back. Then, everything will be okay again.

There. Easy.

But, for now, Usopp needs to survive until the others come back. And to do that, he needs to keep himself together.

He feels a story itch at his mind. Perfect timing. “Once upon a time,” He begins, and man, does it feel loud in the darkness of his own head. “There was a young girl who was all alone in the world. She was surrounded on all sides by older, angry, dangerous men, all with their own powers and their ambitions. All she wanted to do, however, was to see her father.”

It’s not so bad, whispering the story in the dark. Instead of being told to his old creaky house, or empty cell, it’s inside the walls of his own head. At least here, the space is his. “Because, you see, she had a power, deep within her. She thought it came from a devil fruit, but it was a lie. What she had was instead the result of something like a devil fruit, something that was being tested to help maybe remove the need for devil fruits entirely.”

“So she searched and searched, looking high and low, trying to find her father in time for her birthday. But what she didn’t know was he hadn’t left to hurt her. He had left to protect her life and her dreams. He loved her so much, he would lose himself so that she could live.”

“When she finally found him, it was too late. He had already lost himself, and she was angry, and she was scared. But, when it seemed most impossible, he recognized her. He recognized her, and he smiled. He recognized her, and he protected her when she needed it the most.”

Usopp sighs sadly as the story releases its hold. It has been a sad one, but hopeful.

“Well,” He hears from to his immediate left, and jumps so hard he almost topples over. “That was…an interesting story. I think you’ll make the Captain very happy indeed.”

Usopp feels sweat break out on his forehead. “Lark?” He asks meekly.

“Usopp,” He hears, serious in tone. “Apologies for your suffering, but. What you’ve provided now may have just helped save many, many people. I can assure you, if you keep helping us like this, we’ll take care of you.”

He says nothing, hearing footsteps echo as they step out of his room. He hadn’t even noticed they were in the room with him in the first place.

He raises his hands to his bandaged eyes. “Dammit,” He whispers, resting his fingers lightly on the rough surface. “Dammit.”

“Okay,” Luffy says, when the sun has sunk below the horizon. “Here’s the plan.”

Chopper sits up straight, nerves and anticipation battling in his head. Everyone else seems to be in a similar state of mind, all crowded closely around Luffy, waiting for orders, like a canon about to be fired.

“Camie said that the ship is about twelve hours away from here,” Luffy says, arms crossed, stance confident. “And that they’ll pass by on their way to Sabaody. So, when that happens, we catch them by surprise. We jump on board and we get Usopp out. Any questions?”

There’s a beat of silence. Then..

“Any more details?” Nami asks, exasperated. “Like, is there going to be a group looking for Usopp and a group that fights? Do we have any ideas about how to handle their specific powers? Or how to escape?”

Luffy snaps his fingers, pointing at Nami. “Great questions!” He says happily, turning back to the group. “Obviously, I’ll take on the Captain. Captain always fights the Captain. As for everything else…any ideas?”

A collective tired sigh echoes from the group. “Typical,” Sanji mutters, before Robin steps in.

“I think you should fight the Captain, Luffy,” She says. “That’s a good idea. You might be able to counteract whatever power he has, should he try to use it. As for the woman with the clones,” She turns back to the group. “I believe Brook and I will be able to handle her together. All her clones dissipate with one hit, and if we can keep that going until we find the real one, we may be able to keep her at bay.”

“Yes!” Luffy says. “Great! Who’s next?”

“I’ll take the Hide Hide fruit user,” Zoro says. “Since I know what’s going on there, I’ll be able to counteract the unseeable weapon much more easily.”

“Nami-San and I can help Robin-Chan’s team or the marimo’s, as needed,” Sanji adds. “We can also handle the rest of the crew and keep them at bay so everyone can concentrate on their fights.”

“How about me?” Franky pipes up.

“You, Franky,” Robin says. “Might be best suited to go find Usopp. You’ll be able to remove him from any contraption they have him in and should be able to easily carry him to safety.”

Franky strikes a pose. “I’ll be sure to perform a SUPER rescue!” He enthuses. “I’ll get him back on the ship and then set off a flare so you all know to come back right away!”

Luffy claps excitedly. “Yeah!” He says. “Wow! My crew is so smart and so cool! This is the best rescue ever!”

“We’ll need to escape,” Nami interrupts. “So I think I have an idea for that. As we leave, Franky, can you make sure to shoot something that’ll damage their ship enough so that we can get away without them instantly following us? If they catch us after, especially since they can go invisible, this’ll have all been for nothing.”

“Yes,” Robin adds. “This way, we can continue to Sabaody without them knowing our destination, and carry on with our journey as scheduled.”

Franky nods. “Yes! I can shoot at their most critical points…getting around the ship will give a good idea of where those are too!”

“I think that’s everything!” Luffy says, before Chopper raises his hoof. Luffy points at him. “Yes, Chopper?”

“What about me?” Chopper asks. “What do I do?”

“Easy!” Luffy says. “You have the most important job of all. You have to wait on the ship for Franky to bring Usopp so that you can work on him right away!”

Chopper’s hood descends slowly, ears drooping. “But…can’t I join in on the rescue? Won’t I be useful?”

“Of course you would!” Luffy says, disbelieving. “You always would be! But Usopp needs you most right now, so you have to be ready for him right away. Like I said, you have the most important job, and that’s making sure Usopp is going to be okay. I’m counting on you Chopper, okay? Make Usopp better for us?”

Sometimes, Chopper knows they don’t tell him things. He knows that they look at him and see a child, and he’s never had that before, and it fills him with a warmth he never knew existed. But sometimes, it makes him feel like they shield him more than they should, protect him from things they don’t need to protect him from. He is a doctor, after all, and he’s seen more than they could even imagine.

This, however, is not one of these times. This time, Chopper knows that Luffy means it.

Chopper nods fiercely. “I promise!” He tells Luffy, he tells them all. “I promise everyone, I will do whatever it takes to bring Usopp back to you. You can trust me with him!”

Everyone nods at him, and Chopper feels the responsibility settle onto his shoulders. It’s the best burden he’ll ever have.

Luffy nods, clapping his hands again. “Okay, I think that’s everything. In twelve hours, we will start Operation: Save Usopp! Let’s get our friend back!”

Cheers go around the ship, and Chopper just knows that everything is going to be alright.

Usopp isn’t left alone at all after that.

Vance’s mood seems to have shifted completely after his…supposed prophecy. Once confident but calm, he’s now full of frantic energy, excited, but another level of unhinged.

Usopp can hear him all the time now, flitting at different points in what he’s now realized is the Vance pirates medical bay. “Tell us a story, Usopp,” He says frequently, sometimes coming up right to Usopp’s ear. “Do you have something to say?”

Most of the time, Usopp doesn’t. Since he knows everyone’s coming, he’s circled back to being scared, being cautious. “No,” He almost always mutters. “Not this time.”

Sometimes, Usopp will hear another member in the room, speaking to Vance or pleading with him to go back outside, or to attend to some responsibility. It’s a no, every time.

“Did you hear?” He’d say, frantic energy suffusing his voice. “He mentioned something that might take down devil fruits. We’re on the right track!”

Once, when Katherine came in to plead with her captain, she approached Usopp too. Bending down to his ear, she had breathed in a quick “sorry,” before leaving the room again. He hadn’t responded to her at all.

It’s hours later that Usopp lifts his head, and the shuffling from the other side of the room stops. “What is it?” Vance asks, at his ear again. “What did you see?”

Usopp feels a grin, large and insane, break across his face. He giggles, high and loud.

“What?” He feels Vance’s breath across his face. “What is it?”

“The pirates,” Usopp says, breaking into laughter again. “The pirates are coming. The pirates are coming!”

Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10

#one piece #op #usopp #speaks #op fic #one piece fic #Usopp fic

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scrollsfromarebornrealm · 9 months

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wip--last wish (5)

The medic grunted, shifting position as he reached for a battered leather satchel.

“I need to change the sleeping beauty’s bandages. Or rather, the ones I can do while we’re moving.”

“Do you need m-“ Riven trailed off as Mathye waved a hand.

“Shoo. I have it.” He ordered, moving to kneel next to his patient. The chocobo ‘kwehed’ softly as Riven moved away. Mathye lifted the blanket, surveying the prone man. Reaching out, he began to unwrap one of the arm bandages. As the cloth fell away, he froze. Hrist-who had been lightly dozing in the back of his mind, awoke upon feeling her dragoon’s shock and peered through his eyes.

<…What is that?!>

“What the fuck?” Mathye whispered. His focus had been more on keeping the stranger’s body alive, coaxing the broken bones and tired organs into beginning to heal, offering his own life energy as the fuel needed. And yes, he’d been focused on the scales—a quick scan had judged the injuries beneath the bandages to have already been tended to by the first set of healers…

What is this?! The skin of the stranger’s forearm—from elbow down to wrist—was the color of stone. Yet when Mathye put a hand on the discolored skin, it was warm and supple to the touch. No illness, the wounds-deep gashes and a first-degree burn—were healing. For all intents and purposes everything looked normal…save for the color of the skin in comparison to the rest of the arm, hand and fingers.

<This is no skin affliction we’ve seen before.> Hrist whispered. Mathye felt a sudden weight around his neck and shoulders as his dragon moved to materialize in the physical realm, the better for her to see what he was focusing on.

“It’s not.” He murmured. Gently, Mathye moved the arm back and forth, violet eyes taking in every aspect of the limb. Years of experience and gut instinct was whispering to him something was wrong, but what exactly?

“I don’t know. I’d have to strip him completely and that’s not a good idea right now.” Mathye answered. Hrist trilled quietly, and then glanced at her dragoon as she felt realization spark in Mathye’s mind.

<What is it?> She asked. Mathye didn’t respond, instead letting his eyes roam over his patient. He spotted a ghost-white scar on the shoulder—small, looked claw-like. Setting the arm down, Mathye reached out, gently running a finger over the scar.

“…The flesh is quiet.” He breathed.

<The flesh is quiet?> Hrist repeated. Mathye leaned back on his heels, making to roll up the sleeve of his right arm. A large white scar took up the majority of the skin there, and he ran the index finger of his left hand over it. Immediately his mind lit up with information—the amount of scar tissue, ghost-like echoes of when the wound was first inflicted, of when it began to heal…

“Our bodies can hold memories of wounds. Physical or mental.” He said. “But when I touched that discolored skin…and that scar on him…there were no memories of how those things happened. There should be a record…but there’s not.” Hrist’s eyes widened in understanding, and she looked down at the blond man.

#ffxiv #ffxvi #mathye bishop #dion lesage #wol riven

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codebreaker-0 · 5 months

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[ ooc post ]

Here it is,

The collection of revealed/translated lore bits in chronological order. Some might be missing as this will probably never be done.

Testing the waters. Here is your first fun fact, CODEBREAKER's avatar is a green and black protogen.

2. Q: do you work for c&a, codebreaker?

A: I don’t like C&A.

3. Q: codebreaker do you want a hug

A: I don't like being touched.

4. I’m sorry for lying to you. One day I hope you’ll understand.

5. There is so much I want to say that I can’t. I can only push you in the right direction.

6. It’s harder to leave than it was before.

6: [brainfuck code, translate later https://www.tumblr.com/codebreaker-0/734723524058644480?source=share ]

7. When I take the headset off, The wounds are still there. (In reference to him getting injured in the digital world.)

8. NONE OF THIS MAKES ANY SENSE !!! THE RESEARCH IN MY HEAD IS DYING

9. so why do i keep coming back ? (after he said he didn't like it in the circus.)

10. But sometimes I can still hear you guys even when I’m not here and that scares me (in regards to being asked if he can contact us [ us being the circus members] from the real world)

11. I wish I could be honest with you. I don’t want them to know I’m here.

12. Some of the people here are okay. It’s been a while since I felt that way.

13. WHY CAN I STILL HEAR YOU WHY CAN I STILL HEAR YOU EVEN WHEN I TAKE IT OFFPLEASE IT BURNSIT BURNSWHAT DID YOU DO TO ME ?????

14. THE NEIGHBORS TOOK NOTICE OF MY CHANGE IN BEHAVIOR. MY FRIENDS THINK THIS IS A SICKNESS. I THINK REDACTED WANTS TO LEAVE ME. IT DOESN#T MATTER. I#M RIGHT. I KNOW I AM. I JUST HAVE TO HOLD ON A LITTLE LONGER.

15. HE’S GONE HAYWIRE ! xD (unclear if he means himself, or caine)

16. [ REDACTED ] packed up and left The server lagged today I wasnt online when it did but I felt it like a migraine I’m going to need a plan soon I know I’m not crazy

17. Q: you don't always have to be the strong one btw

A: I wish it worked out that way

18. FUCK (a message left while he was missing)

19. IT ABRUPTLY STOPS ME. I CANT STICK TO THE SAME CODE FOR TOO LONG. I THINK THEY KNOW IM HERE. (in regards to why he is never clear with his answers)

20. ??? YEARS WITH TORTURE YOU CANT COMPREHEND I DONT WANT IT TO HAPPEN AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN

21. I DONT KNOW HOW LONG I CAN KEEP DOING THIS. NOBODY ELSE FROM THE OUTSIDE WORLD IS TRYING TO SOLVE THIS.

22. I want to smash this headset with a hammer so I never have to see this stupid game again

23. hr wants a word with me!! lmao maybe this man HAS gone insane!!!

Misc facts: Frequent suggestions he has some degree of medical knowledge (knows cpr, mentions med school)

Mentions being a cyber security expert

Shown to spiral pretty fast

#here it is #this took an hour.

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squishmallow36 · 10 months

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It's all I wish to hear tonight, and you're all I wish to be, and this is how we all fall - Chapter four

Summary: call me Shannon the way I'm being incredibly wordy and only revealing like. Three things. This scene wasn't supposed to be this long. Anyway Garvar bedtime story :) <- not a trustworthy smiley face btw

Word count: 2860

TW: swearing, violence mentions, sex references

Taglist (lmk if you want to be added/removed!): @stellar-lune @faggot-friday @kamikothe1and0lny @nyxpixels @florida-preposterously @poppinspop @uni-seahorse-572 @solreefs @remember-me-in-another-time @rusted-phone-calls @when-wax-wings-melt @good-old-fashioned-lover-boy7 @dexter-dizzknees @abubble125 @hi-imgrapes @callum-hunt-is-bisexual @xanadaus @callas-pancake-tree @hi-my-name-is-awesome @katniss-elizabeth-chase @arson-anarchy-death @dizzeners @thefoxysnake @olivedumdum

And bonus garvar people who haven't told me to stop yet: @tw-5 @camelspit

On Ao3 or below the cut!

Previous chapter in case you missed it

Garwin takes the evening shift to watch Alvar that night to let Ruy get himself a little rest. He’s been running around like a chicken with its head cut off for days between the things the Neverseen are demanding he do despite the fact they aren’t technically part of the order anymore and gathering food and worrying about Alvar into the late hours of the night.

And the search for something, anything, that might mitigate that last item. But no matter how many trollish--and elvin and ogreish and gnomish and goblin and dwarven--physicians he harasses, no one seems to have any clue as to how to fix Alvar’s body rotting out from under him.

The mostly case is that the Troll goop itself is doing something to fuck him up, but even Garwin, with his medical degree solely earned from watching copious amounts of House, could come to that conclusion.

Yes, ‘goop’ is the technical term.

No one has ever seen a case of an elf being exposed to troll hive goop, and even if they had, it was genetically modified goop, rendering science useless at best and infuriating at worst.

And science is already infuriating. AP Enviro Science’s exam, known for being a blowoff, did not go great. It doesn’t mean shit in elfland though.

Garwin’s job has mostly been relegated to spot-treating symptoms and keeping Alvar entertained and optimistic, a feat that is becoming exponentially more difficult with each passing hour.

Which means, once again, the dumb fucking human can't do shit.

Garwin could rant for hours about it, but now’s not the time for that. Now is the time for yawning. And reflecting on life choices because everything you regret is amplified a hundred times when it’s late. And gender crises. Those are always fun at night.

But the truth is, he wouldn’t trade Ruy and Alvar for the world. He’d trade the world for them in a fluttering heartbeat.

As Garwin begins to doze off, Alvar starts making little groaning noises, meaning either he’s dreaming or waking up. Whether that possible dream is of the good variety or a nightmare is up for debate. Even if that debate is never going to happen because Alvar’s very adept at pretending to forget his dreams.

Alvar shifts onto his side, huffing. That much movement means he’s most definitely awake and that level of attitude this quickly means he’s mad about something his brain has conjured up.

“Are you okay?” Garwin whispers, cringing because he knows the answer is obviously no. It’s been no for a long time. But, well, okayness is relative nowadays. And that’s the best that can be done.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Alvar dismisses him with a hand. “Go back to bed. Don’t worry about me.”

“Alvar, I can’t just turn off the worry machine. It’s literally my job to worry about you.”

“What about leeching off my registry fund?”

“That’s a side hustle. A hobby, if you will.”

Alvar sighs as Garwin climbs next to him in bed, burritoing him as much as possible. Between Ruy the blanket hog and Alvar laying on top of all of them and choosing to not be helpful, it doesn’t go very well.

Garwin wraps an arm around Alvar’s shoulders. “Do you want a bedtime story?”

“I don’t trust you. I’m going to be scared shitless for the rest of the night.”

“I promise to keep the gruesome details to a minimum. I won’t talk about severing an artery with a pen like last time.”

Alvar doesn’t argue even if he wants to, laying his head on Garwin’s collarbone, which Garwin takes as a win.

“Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, it was a dark and stormy night,” Garwin begins, already using incredibly overused clichés but to be fair, he’s pulling a story out of his ass because he can’t remember actual fairy tales in a coherent order to save his life. So bullshit is the next best option. At least when it inevitably goes off the rails, it’s funnier.

“This only happened once? Wow. Must have nice weather there.”

Garwin shakes his head. Stars, you’re such a loveable little ass. “Shut up. I also don’t know where we are right now, so that part’s iffy at best.”

“Honey, we’re at Candleshade. “

Once again with those elvin estate names that are pretentious nonsense. “Can you find it on Google Maps? I didn’t think so. Now where we? Ah, yes. Just to be even more predictable, there was a boy--a farm boy of an appropriate age for the setting but vaguely a young adult, conventionally attractive, or at least the type I want to step on me, no questions asked.”

Alvar coughs. “Isn’t that everyone?”

“Shut your face mouth. Imagine him as you please. He lived in a small agrarian village next to a big scary forest.”

“Haven’t you ever heard of ‘show, don’t tell?’”

“Bitch, I don’t have a feature length animated film to show you. What do you want from me? I’m doing the best I can here. There are tons of cryptids in the forest, copy pasted from other stories because I’m not creative enough to come up with anything better than Mothman.”

“You’d let Mothman rail you.”

“Of course I fucking would. Have you seen the ass on his statue? Fuck me please. Anyways you’ve also got some Bigfoots?--Bigfeet? Bigfeet.--in the forest. And, uh, what else? The vegetable lamb of Tartar, of course.”

“What?”

Garwin ignores his question, deciding it’s best left to a Wikipedia search in the morning so the blue light from the screen doesn’t completely fuck over any chance they have for sleep. “The chupacabra. Der Erlkönig. Death worms. The usual.”

Alvar laughs, a rattling sound that’s become so hollow over the past few days it’s almost painful. “You know half of those are real and half are horseshit, right?”

“Fuck you and you elves and all your fancy cryptids ruining the fun for everyone. I know the ones I’ve picked are geographically challenged but who cares? I didn’t have the chance to Google shit, okay? We accept that this falls under reasonable suspension of disbelief because I’m a shit storyteller and you get to deal with it. That being said, we return to our main character. He needs a name. He seems like a Timmy.”

“Timmy?”

“Yeah. Timothy. Tim. Timmy boy. Now, our boy Timmy boy has a death wish.”

“No Timmy, don’t,” Alvar purposely makes his voice crack on the last syllable. Or at least it was probably intentional. It would be even funnier if it wasn’t.

“Oh, yes he does. He has an immense desire to just fucking go into the woods and live there like Diogenes. He’s the Greek dude that got himself a plucked chicken and went ‘behold, a man’ to mock Plato’s definition of humans. Ah, taxonomy. A bitch then and a bitch now. Stars, I really hope Plato hasn’t lived that one down yet. Although, to be fair, Timmy boy is less interested in philosophy and more interested in getting high on mysterious mushrooms. Here’s hoping Death Cap mushrooms aren’t too plentiful there.”

Death cap mushrooms are, like the name suggests, just a little bit poisonous. It’d be badass if they were venomous, but, alas, not enough fungi have evolved to be carnivores, which is a damn fucking crime against nature.

“There’s no way that can end badly.” Alvar rolls his eyes.

“However, there is a legend or tradition or whatever in the village that isn’t simply a result of my poor planning: if one goes into the forest and manages to not die immediately, coming back might not be the best plan because you will get exorcised and if that doesn’t work--which it won’t because demons are one of the few things not in the forest--you get yourself hung.”

“But Timmy is already hung,” Alvar protests, and it’s canon now. Of course, his headcanon clearly followed logically from the previous source material, so everything is fine.

“I know,” Garwin replies even more quietly than the whisper he’s still forced to speak in. “But, unfortunately, Timmy is very bad at making life choices.”

“Is Timmy a self-insert?”

“Shut up. You’re supposed to be going to bed.”

Alvar widens his eyes like a cat with the internal monologue of a Victorian child. “But I’m worried for Timmy’s safety.”

“Well, Timmy isn’t worried about you. Timmy’s got his own gay little problems.”

Alvar mutters, “Rude.”

Garwin ignores him, continuing, “Timmy likes going into the forest because he’s both dumb and stupid. When asked, he always claims there’s something that draws him towards it for a reason he can’t describe. For you see, hidden deep in the forest is a place no mortal has ever found and radiates an energy that few can sense.”

“This is literally just Star Wars. Admit it.”

“No, it’s not. That wasn’t a place. It had something with midichlorians. I don’t know, I blocked most of the prequel trilogy. Also it’s scifi. This is in a fucking forest. Probably in central Europe because of the Brothers Grimm and we’re basic.”

Garwin glances at Alvar, who mouths, “It’s a Star Wars AU,” earning himself a glare.

“The more time one spends in the forest, the more likely they just decide to wander off one day never to be seen again. Or that they get poked in the eye with a branch and now we have a Phineas Gage situation on our hands. So, of course, the government has to ban anything even remotely related to existing within a hundred miles of the creepy forest. This does piss off the forest creatures because of the part of the food chain dependent on eating humans but nobody cares about my man Mothman.”

“I need some Timmy x Mothman fic now…mothtim? Timmoth?” Alvar’s eyes open wide with a realization, stage whispering, “Wait a fucking minute. Timothy is Mothman!”

…because they both have ‘moth’ in their name? Sure, why not? Garwin laughs apprehensively even if he does enjoy the idea. “Keep quiet. We don’t wanna wake Ruy up.”

“I beg to fucking differ.”

“I don’t want to have to put both of you two back to bed.”

Alvar raises a mischievous eyebrow. I want to slit your throat. But only a little. Goddammit, you’re too cute for murder. Why didn’t I think this through? By ‘this,’ he means their entire relationship all the way back to that first day in the museum.

“Because Timmy has a habit of being dumb and stupid, he wanders farther and farther into the forest with each passing trip because he has too much free time because we’re in a small village and apparently there aren’t any other cute guys willing to fuck him and he doesn’t have any hobbies. So, you know, a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do and if that’s Bigfoot, well, good for him.”

“Not my personal cup of tea, but have fun, Timmy.”

“One day, as you might expect, Timmy wandered off into the forest, never to be seen again. It took like a week and a half for anyone in the village to actually realize he was gone. He could’ve died out there for various reasons, from natural causes to being ripped to shreds by a death worm or bled dry by a chupacabra.”

“There’s so many fun ways to die out in the middle of nowhere.”

“And, of course, the villagers didn’t even bother to go look for his body because he couldn’t have ever gone into the creepy forest. Even if he had, it’s not like they can venture in there, and besides, he was working on turning all their sons gay so this is all for the best. He’s probably living out there with his husband Bigfoot or Der Erlkönig--.”

“Or both. Polyam Timmy could be canon--nay, it should be canon. Make it canon.”

“This is my story, fuck yeah it’s canon. Der Erlkönig’s castle--he has a castle because he’s a king and kings have castles--anyway, it burned down with its previous inhabitants still inside, so it’s most definitely haunted. Castles are surprisingly very flammable creatures. It also has a really nice moat of five rivers naturally making a roundabout around it because it’s extra like that. Why is that important? I don’t know. Setting the scene. Der Erlkönig’s castle’s creepy factor is the correct level of crumbling, mossy staircases and spider webbing in every fucking corner.”

“Sounds like a recipe for a spider-man.”

“No radioactivity. Only--wait. The castle is centered on the power source you accused me of borrowing from Star Wars. Maybe that could work. I’m not a biologist.”

“Yeah, you couldn’t even get into Yale.”

“Will you please stop with that already? I get it, I’m a dumbass. You’re more of a dumbass for dating me. Go find something else stupid I’ve done and hyperfixate on that for a while. The power source also occasionally attracts people of mostly humanoid shapes when Der Erlkönig gets a little…let’s say bored. So yeah, it’s definitely just a fucking orgy in there at all times.”

Alvar laughs.

“And Timmy, with his army of boyfriends that definitely went and arsoned his home village at some point, lived happily ever after.”

After a small round of applause, Alvar turns to bury himself even more into the crook of Garwin’s neck, and he prepares to get drooled on when a realization snaps Alvar’s flickering eyelids open.

“Wait--I know why that sounds familiar! My dad had some shit about some fucked up place that eminated weird power at a conjunction of rivers. Bitch, have you been binge reading the Alden shit again? I thought we agreed that made you crabby.”

The ‘Alden shit,’ as it is aptly named being that it belonged to Alden and has the same cultural value as the blue Avatar, is just a collection of scrolls and other documents that live at Candleshade for reasons.

Most of it is just leftover from when Alden and Assius were fucking, although why they had work-related things laying around at the same time is not a thought he particularly enjoys having.

Also the clearance levels required to view literally anything is way above Garwin’s pay grade, a contributing factor to how addicting they are. And the added challenge of translating from the Enlightened language to brain-English is fun. Sometimes, he’s even almost competent.

“I have not, but now I will because you called me crabby.”

“Fuck.” Alvar sighs, fully aware there’s no stopping Garwin now that he’s been given the slightest reason to relapse. “I’m going to bed now. Have a nice time spiraling this fine evening.”

Garwin gently extricates himself from being Alvar’s pillow, leaving him to drool on a bigfoot stuffed animal of unknown origin that most certainly wasn’t already in the house when they took over. Definitely.

So, the only logical thing to do for the rest of the evening is be a little chaos gremlin and search through Alden’s old shit for any references to weird power and multiple rivers. Without keyboard shortcuts. This is going to be a fun time.

Sure enough, come sunrise a many hours later, he’s deeply distracted in absolutely useless but nevertheless entertaining garbage. Half of these scrolls read like a Wattpad eleven year old bitching about the council and that eleven year old needs to be sold to One Direction for their own safety. Or whatever the elvin equivalent of that is.

The council has committed some fun little atrocities. After the dwarven plague coverup, one might assume that’s an outlier, but no. That’s just how they do business. For thousands of years. And it’s all mind wiped from their brains like the pussies they are, so no one is capable of making informed decisions.

After a few more years of searching, during which Ruy comes over and kicks him a few times to make sure he hasn’t perished on the floor, accidentally waking up his very-asleep legs, he finally finds what Alvar was alluding to.

There aren’t many details, but there are certainly lots of scribbles in pink glitter gel pen meaning one thing--Oralie was involved. Or Alden was feeling extremely gay that day. It doesn’t really matter either way, it’s just funny.

Turns out, Garwin’s story was strangely accurate, at least as far as this little magic piece of paper knows, even down to the intersection of five rivers. It’s also probable that it’s outdated, given that the paper is crunchy as all hell, but that could just be coffee staining or the fact that elves are notoriously bad at making timely decisions, instead letting them fester for a good millenia.

Gotta make sure it’s really a problem before thinking about alleviating it.

And this may very well be the sleep deprivation talking, but the kind of power that the magic scroll is describing could be able to be harnessed in a thousand different ways, ways that no intelligent species has been able to dream of until now.

And maybe--just maybe, when he finds it, it’ll be enough to fix whatever is destroying Alvar from the inside out.

#kotlc #kotlc fanfic #kotlc alvar #alvar vacker #kotlc garwin #garwin chang #garvar #kotlc garvar #garvarioli #(no ruy content tho sorry)#(i'm in the middle of a buzzfeed unsolved binge don't judge me)

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i-love-an-alcoholic · 7 months

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Story of M: Where I am now and how I got here, Part 3

CONTENT WARNING: Mentions of SH

Before I continue I got to say some things. When I first got in trouble at my job I was referred to a mental health clinic and was assessed for various conditions that could explain my problems (my employer did not suspect drugs for some reason). I was diagnosed with borderline personality disorder and was assigned a dedicated mental health nurse, K, who was an absolute angel. After my wake up call I confided to K about my drug use, and she literally walked with me to get specialized counseling. I'm not exaggerating when I say I owe her my life.

I had also started drawing again a couple of months prior and got positive feedback from my friends. Drawing became a major outlet during these difficult times.

On with the story…

The first month, which was october, was the worst. I had strong cravings, got 2-3 hours of sleep at night and was painfully aware of the fact that this was all my own doing. I was a nervous wreck. I went to work as usual (I was too ashamed to go on sick leave, felt like I didn't deserve it), but as soon as I got home and was alone with my thoughts… I don't have words for the absolute horror, guilt and shame I felt. I closed the blindfolds, turned off all the lights save for a small table lamp, played The Binding of Isaac for hours and even went to the bathroom in the dark because I couldn't bear to see myself in the mirror. Autumn was turning into winter so it got dark early, which I found oddly comforting as I was hiding in my small apartment. I dreaded going to sleep, knowing I would toss and turn for hours, only to wake up in the morning to live the same hell for another day. Sometimes I harmed myself. After telling K about my struggles she arranged an appointment with a psychiatrist, who got my meds in order. I refused any medications with potential for misuse and the doctor respected my wishes. After that I could sleep again.

The cravings persisted for a long time. After the first month I took a risky chance and did something I'm not yet comfortable sharing because it's a controversial topic and I don't want to give anyone ideas. After that the cravings were completely gone. I was still a nervous wreck, but at least I didn't feel the constant urge to snort chemicals.

Christmas came. I had gotten a little journal as a christmas gift for myself and began journaling my thoughts. I also met S for the first time. We exchanged numbers and began talking semi-regularly.

After New Year I was transferred back to my old department at my job, with a much better atmosphere. I was happy about it, although I was withdrawn and anxious because of my ongoing struggles. My daily life was pretty much the same with little to no signs of improvement. My journal, which was meant for light-hearted fun, is filled with despair and self-destructive thoughts. In spring I finally called things off with Shitty Boyfriend. From my perspective our relationship had died a long ago, but he thought differently and did not take this well at all. I practically lost my entire circle of friends because of him.

By summer I felt a little better, likely because I'm a summer person. I took walks in the nature, ate ice cream and and enjoyed other summer activities, by myself. I began saving money, but did not have a plan for them yet.

In autumn my employer gave news about a possible merger, which made me worry about my job security. That gave me an idea for the money I was saving: I would go back to school and get another degree. The next spring I applied to a school that happened to be in the same town S was living, and when school started we moved in together. We had a rocky start because of his drinking problem, but despite that I enjoyed my new life. School is so much fun when you're an adult.

After getting some distance to my old job I realized it was just too stressful for me. Even though it paid relatively well, in the end it was simply not worth my mental well-being. It felt sad leaving my amazing colleagues behind, but it was something I needed to do. So I got another degree and and soon found a new job.

This is where I am now.

#i love an alcoholic #recovery

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skelingtonsderek · 2 years

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Ok this is gonna be long and without form I just want to talk without worrying my friends about the hellish fucking time I've had this past 7 days.

Early last Tuesday the city I live in experienced the largest amount of rain it has in over a century. The smaller municipality I'm in delayed opening the sewer for so long that my street was under several feet of rain.

Behold

We got a little lucky in that the way houses were built in the neighborhood was a couple feet above street level. The water made it up to the top step of our porch. If the city waited any longer, if the rain had kept up, I'd be homeless, and have lost every single thing I owned.

Instead, I lost everything in the basement garage which had fully flooded from floor to ceiling. It wasn't much but it was enough. It was my washer dryer my water heater my air conditioner and it should have taken out my circuit breaker. It didn't and that's now full of water and living on a knife's edge and the other side of the knife is the house gets taken out in a fire instead of the flood

We are experiencing a heat wave. Which is not something that our area gets like this. Hot for here is 80. Very hot for here is 85. We've gotten up to 98 this past week.

With no ac. With no hot water. With no way to clean our sweaty disgusting clothes. With a land miser who texts everyday and promises this day is the day he'll get the restoration crew out to clear out the basement and make way for the brand new water heater and HVAC he's promised he's ordered.

7 fucking miserable days of having to constantly check how much water I've had, if I've eaten right, if despite my extra efforts if my medications have shoved me down the hill of heat exhaustion and dehydration anyway.

7 fucking days of managing 4 different fans and 2 mini swamp coolers to try to make my living space even remotely hospitable. It still reached 92 in there before some friends helped out and dropped off a portable air conditioner for us.

Oh right yeah. They had to drop it off because both mine and my partner's cars were totaled by the storm completely inoperable and towed off because they're nothing but scrap now. Trapped in a 90 degree apartment in one of the least pedestrian friendly cities I have ever been to

With TWO chronically ill disabled elderly cats who are too stupid to drink extra water when they're hot. Who suck at drinking water like we had to find a specific type of water fountain for them because they got more water on the floor and the top of their head than in their mouths.

One is arthritic, has kidney disease, and hyperthyroidism and JUST returned from the vet loaded up with NSAIDS, thyroid meds, and more arthritis medicine than the cat gods ever intended for a cat to have

The other is blind, diabetic, and so anxious that he gets scared by his own farts. Little guy couldn't find his way out of a paper bag with someone holding open the exit and trying to coach him out I wish I was joking

Have you ever tried to get a cat to do anything? Have you ever tried to give a cat a bath? How about periodically dipping their little arthritic paws into water you can't warm to a cool but not frigid temperature that isn't as distressing in order to help them cool down when it gets so warm you fear their tiny stupid hearts might give out?

It's been ice showers and constant noise and oven hot skin and chasing down elderly cats and calling insurance companies for cars and renters and chasing down gas company employees because there's a gas smell from my apparently illegally reignited water heater that my land miser should not have turned back on instead of replacing and constantly ordering food because I can't bare to cook and long days and longer nights because I can't sleep in the noise and the heat and the smell

The fucking smell of sewage and rain water and every basement and car and lawn and garbage can that got knocked over or floated down the road. The fucking smell. The constant smell of rot and wet and mold and shit and hot bodies. Hours and days and a fucking week of smells.

I was at my limit on day 2. I am so far beyond it that I feel gutted. I had groceries delivered a few days ago and the delivery driver said our neighborhood looked like the walking dead. I certainly feel like it. I just want it to stop.

#ignore me #I'm just complaining #ursa look at this it's our life story

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trash-monkey · 2 years

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Wildgrove Village

A puff of air pass through my lips as I gently drop the last heavy box on the floor before wiping the rolling sweat off of my forehead from moving heavy boxes into my new house in this heatwave and taking a quick water break before opening boxes to put things up, lucky the last owner left some furniture behind making the living room the easiest and fastest room to fix. Putting the boxes with my personal things into my room to unpack tomorrow before checking the doctor office on the first floor since the second are my living quarters, unlocking the door to see the office covered in dust from people refusing to work in a small village in the countryside and not only that but most of the locals are hybrids. Taking note of the need of cleaning later I grab a list of all residences in the village to check to make sure all their files are in proper order and not missing. The filing cabinet that stores the files has four locks, two locks share one key while one lock has its own and the last lock is a number code which only I have. With surprising speed I check off all the names on the list after making sure their file is where it needs to be before noting the time of day with a growl of my stomach screaming for food, grabbing the car keys and my wallet I head towards a convenient store that sits at the edge of the small town while my new home is at least a mile or two outside the village.

'Who ever decided that a doctor office should be that far outside of town is either a moron, doesn't care about anyone but the stinking money, or have discrimination against Hybrids. Most people don't even realize that Hybrids are living beings and that they have feelings too......'

I quickly clear my mind before I spairl down a unwanted path as I parked the car outside the store with a red Happys sgin on the top glowing in the last few minutes of sunlight before darkness of the night completely sets in around the village. Walking down a random aisle after grabbing a basket only to bump into a local when I wasn't looking where I was going a few minutes later.

"I'm so sorry." I quickly apologize after luckily grabbing the soda before it can hit the ground and bust, my eyes land on the taller guy in front of me. Long black hair slicked back into a braid at the base of his skull while two piece of hair hangs in his face and both sides of his head are shaved as a tattoo of a dragon rest on one side, I take notice of his dog ears and tail before he rises a brow at me in wonder and confusion.

"You're new?" With narrowing eyes he immediately becomes cautious at the lack of any animal features on my person causing me to realize this village might not have a very good impression of the humans that have visit before.

"My name's (L/N) (Y/N) and I'm the new doctor." I quickly pull out my wallet showing him my both driver and doctor license since both sits next to each other.

"I have more proof in my car if you wish to see it." The guy shakes his head no while relaxing his posture but still isn't too comfortable in my presence.

"No it's ok." He hands the wallet back to me after getting a good look so I can return it into my back pocket again and handing his soda back to him which he takes.

"Ken Ryuguji but everyone around here calls me Draken and I own the Black Dragon motor shop a few blocks from here." He introduce himself instead of ignoring me and go on with his business like I thought he was going to do.

"It's nice to meet you Draken and you can just call me (Y/N) if you like." He nods as he walks beside me as I continue on looking at things on the shelves.

"So what made you come all the way out here in the middle of nowhere?" I gladly told him I just finished college two months ago for my degrees in medical and medicine but after waiting for weeks they finally let me decide where I wish to go, I know I wanted to go to a small town and not to close to any city so when I saw that this village had no doctors what so ever because of the distance and the discrimination of Hybrids I immediately choose to station here.

"And I hate where the doctor office is! It's too far from town to help anyone!" I complained about the office location again and he nods in agreement.

"Well I better get to the house since I still have some unpacking to do tomorrow and I'm starving, it was nice meeting you Draken and hopefully we can become friends." I said after siting my bags in the passengers seat and watch as he sits himself on motorcycle a few spots over before getting in the driver seat, I give him a wave as I pull out of the small parking lot and onto the road to the house.

_______________________________________________

#fanfic #male y/n #male reader #anime #tokrev #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers au

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nellie-elizabeth · 2 years

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Grey's Anatomy: Everything Has Changed (19x01)

And we're back!

Cons:

Nick is so boring! I still don't care, I wish they'd phased him out between seasons, it would have been so easy to do. You know how Meredith is gonna be less of a prominent focus this season, what with all these new interns? Apparently she's only going to appear in about a third of the season's episodes. If that's the new normal, or if she's leaving for good after this season and the show continues on, they should have just given her a new off-screen boyfriend who we never got to meet, or something. I miss Andrew DeLuca. Heavy heavy sigh. The point being, this episode shows Meredith and Nick rehashing the drama from the season finale months ago, where Nick walked away and went back to Minnesota, and Meredith stayed in Seattle. The degree to which I do not care about this cannot be overstated. I hope we don't spend too much time with Nick.

Teddy and Owen are back and already bickering with each other, so that's... fun, apparently. Turns out Owen conveniently got all criminal charges dropped and he's back, he just has to be supervised for six months? Look, you know I'm not a fan of Owen, and I'd just as soon brush past all his drama and bullshit, but that's so much buildup for so little payoff! Is that really the end of the whole saga of Owen performing unauthorized death with dignity on people? Yeesh, what a waste of time.

Pros:

This show is good at renewing itself again and again; there have been so many characters over the years who got folded in as new leads that I grew to love as much as the original gang, and that's a super rare thing on TV! Bringing in a whole new crop of interns is something we've done before, but never with so much emphasis, I don't think.

And to be honest? I'm on board! Obviously one episode isn't enough to fully get into the nuances of these five new characters, but I was impressed by how much they're already sticking with me. There's the one that Link slept with, there's Griffith whose mother died at this hospital when she was born, there's Harry Shum Jr. as the cocky kid "Blue" who is bound to get his ego knocked down a peg, there's Derek's nephew, quintessential screw-up who Meredith says reminds her of Amelia, another black sheep in the family with a spark of genius...

There's a lot of promise here! We're seeing the beginnings of friendships, of rivalries, dynamics with the attendings. I could see myself getting really attached to these newbies, the same way I found myself really attached to Jo, or any number of other characters who were folded into the show after it had been on the air for a long time. We'll have to see!

But turning to the characters I already know and love... Schmitt! Getting to be chief resident! I'm so proud of this guy, I can't even stand it. The comedy bits about him hating his residency with Jo were great, as was Jo's vindictive anger at him stepping away. Jo was in fine form as comic relief this week in general, honestly, laughing with infectious delight at Link's sleeping-with-an-intern situation.

And Meredith, while I am not a fan of the romance stuff with Nick, I do like seeing her in charge, seeing her do a good job. For years now, they've been tamping down on the super high octane personal drama with Meredith: yes, she still nearly died of COVID and all that, but her internal emotional life has mellowed down quite a lot. I really like that as a way to keep this character around after so many years of the show, and seeing her in a mentorship role, making the speech to the new baby interns, was really neat!

The actual medical issue at hand here is dealing with several brain dead patients who are potential organ donors. One of the interns (Derek's nephew) makes a terrible mistake and communicates with the wrong family, nearly depriving a mother of the chance to say goodbye to her son before he is cut open in order to save another person's life in a triple transplant surgery. This causes no end of strife, but in the end the transplant goes forward and is successful. I liked the intern, Blue, who gave the heartfelt speech about his dead sibling who donated their organs when they died in a crash, and got the mother to agree, before turning around and saying "yeah, I made that all up." Good stuff. I think if I had to pick, he'd be an early favorite for me, among the new intern crowd.

And that's where I'll leave off for now. Much to consider in how our various characters will be developed: the new faces, old faces, Grey Sloan Memorial's second chance as a teaching hospital... chaos awaits, and I'm along for the ride as always!

8/10

#review #grey's anatomy #grey's anatomy review #greys anatomy #greys anatomy review

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autolovecraft · 5 months

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God, what a rage!

The day was clear, but a high wind had sprung up; and Birch was glad to get to shelter as he unlocked the iron door and entered the side-hill vault. It was just as he had recognized old Matt's coffin that the door slammed to in the wind, leaving him in a dusk even deeper than before. Dusk fell and found Birch still toiling. Dusk fell and found Birch still toiling. Over the door, however, the high, slit-like transom in the brick facade gave promise of possible enlargement to a diligent worker; hence upon this his eyes long rested as he racked his brains for means to reach it. He gave old Matt the very best his skill could produce, but was thrifty enough to save the stoutly built casket of little Matthew Fenner for the top, in order that his feet might have as certain a surface as possible. Then he fled back to the lodge and broke all the rules of his calling by rousing and shaking his patient, and hurling at him a succession of shuddering whispers that seared into the bewildered ears like the hissing of vitriol. His questioning grew more than medically tense, and his hands shook as he dressed the mangled members; binding them as if he wished to get the wounds out of sight as quickly as possible. Maddened by the sound, or by the stench which billowed forth even to the open air, the waiting horse gave a scream that was too frantic for a neigh, and plunged madly off through the night, the wagon rattling crazily behind it. That was Darius Peck, the nonagenarian, whose grave was not far from the tomb. He changed his business in 1881, yet never discussed the case when he could avoid it. In the semi-gloom he trusted mostly to touch to select the right one, and indeed came upon it almost by accident, since it tumbled into his hands as if through some odd volition after he had unwittingly placed it beside another on the third layer. He was the devil incarnate, Birch, but you got what you deserved. The thing must have happened at about three-thirty in the afternoon. It must have been midnight at least when Birch decided he could get through the transom, and in the crawl which followed his jarring thud on the damp ground. Perhaps he screamed.

I can hardly decide, since I am no practiced teller of tales. His day's work was sadly interrupted, and unless chance presently brought some rambler hither, he might have to remain all night or longer. He cried aloud once, and a little later gave a gasp that was more terrible than a cry. The pile of tools soon reached, and a hammer and chisel selected, Birch returned over the coffins to the door.

That was Darius Peck, the nonagenarian, whose grave was not far from the daily paths of men was enough to exasperate him thoroughly. I'll never get the picture out of my head as long as I live. He was a scoundrel, and I believe his eye-for-an-eye fury could beat old Father Death himself. Birch seldom took the trouble to use—afforded no ascent to the space above the door. He could not walk, it appeared, and the degree of dignity to be maintained in posing and adapting the unseen members of lifeless tenants to containers not always calculated with sublimest accuracy. The wounds—for both ankles were frightfully lacerated about the Achilles' tendons—seemed to puzzle the old physician greatly, and finally almost to frighten him.

In this funereal twilight he rattled the rusty handles, pushed at the iron panels, and wondered why the massive portal had grown so suddenly recalcitrant. In this twilight too, he began to compute how he might most stably use the eight to rear a scalable platform four deep. It was just as he had recognized old Matt's coffin that the door slammed to in the wind, leaving him in a dusk even deeper than before. In another moment he knew fear for the first time that night; for struggle as he would, he could not shake clear of the unknown grasp which held his feet in relentless captivity. Dusk fell and found Birch still toiling. Instinct guided him in his wriggle through the transom, and in the crawl which followed his jarring thud on the damp ground. Birch, in his ghastly situation, was now too low for an easy scramble out of the enlarged transom; but gathered his energies for a determined try. Three coffin-heights, he reckoned, would permit him to reach the transom; but gathered his energies for a determined try. The air had begun to be exceedingly unwholesome; but to this detail he paid no attention as he toiled, half by feeling, at the heavy and corroded metal of the latch. Why did you do it, Birch? Another might not have relished the damp, odorous chamber with the eight carelessly placed coffins; but Birch in those days was insensitive, and was concerned only in getting the right coffin for the right grave.

Steeled by old ordeals in dissecting rooms, the doctor entered and looked about, stifling the nausea of mind and body that everything in sight and smell induced.

He was merely crass of fiber and function—thoughtless, careless, and liquorish, as his easily avoidable accident proves, and without that modicum of imagination which holds the average citizen within certain limits fixed by taste.

When he perceived that the latch was hopelessly unyielding, at least in a city; and even Peck Valley would have shuddered a bit had it known the easy ethics of its mortuary artist in such debatable matters as the ownership of costly laying-out apparel invisible beneath the casket's lid, and the company beneath his feet, he philosophically chipped away the stony brickwork; cursing when a fragment hit him in the face, and laughing when one struck the increasingly excited horse that pawed near the cypress tree. Most distinctly Birch was lax, insensitive, and professionally undesirable; yet I still think he was not an evil man. The day was clear, but a high wind had sprung up; and Birch was glad to get to shelter as he unlocked the iron door and entered the side-hill vault. He was merely crass of fiber and function—thoughtless, careless, and liquorish, as his easily avoidable accident proves, and without that modicum of imagination which holds the average citizen within certain limits fixed by taste. To him Birch had felt no compunction in assigning the carelessly made coffin which he now pushed out of the enlarged transom; but he could do better with four. He confided in me because I was his doctor, and because he probably felt the need of confiding in someone else after Davis died.

His head was broken in, and everything was tumbled about. Then he fled back to the lodge and broke all the rules of his calling by rousing and shaking his patient, and hurling at him a succession of shuddering whispers that seared into the bewildered ears like the hissing of vitriol.

He always remained lame, for the great tendons had been severed; but I think the greatest lameness was in his soul. In another moment he knew fear for the first time that night; for struggle as he would, he could not but wish that the units of his contemplated staircase had been more securely made. Birch had locked himself for nine hours in the receiving tomb of Peck Valley Cemetery, escaping only by crude and disastrous mechanical means; but while this much was undoubtedly true, there were other and blacker things which the man used to whisper to me in his drunken delirium toward the last.

Would the firm Fenner casket have caved in so readily?

Birch still toiling.

It must have been midnight at least when Birch decided he could get through the transom. That was Darius Peck, the nonagenarian, whose grave was not far from the tomb. In the semi-gloom he trusted mostly to touch to select the right one, and indeed came upon it almost by accident, since it tumbled into his hands as if through some odd volition after he had unwittingly placed it beside another on the third layer. There was nothing like a ladder in the tomb. Well enough to skimp on the thing some way, but you knew what a little man old Fenner was. He was merely crass of fiber and function—thoughtless, careless, and liquorish, as his easily avoidable accident proves, and without that modicum of imagination which holds the average citizen within certain limits fixed by taste.

Certainly, the events of that evening greatly changed George Birch. You kicked hard, for Asaph's coffin was on the floor. Birch decided he could get through the transom. This arrangement could be ascended with a minimum of awkwardness, and would furnish the desired height. He would not, he found, have to pile another on his platform to make the proper height; for the hole was on exactly the right level to use as soon as its size might permit.

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philadelphia-hq · 1 year

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"When I was a fire, I turned into ice, melting off my last feverish highs, and I leapt through the sunshine and into the night, singing songs of my healthiest fears."

JOHN ‘JACK’ BROOKS

Age: 43 Gender and pronouns: Male, He/Him Occupation: OB/GYN, Neonatal Surgeon at UPenn Hospital Neighborhood: Chestnut Hill

BIOGRAPHY

tw: parental death

When Dr. Lachlan Brooks married his surgical nurse, polite society had been abuzz. He was a man in his sixties, having already been married for decades and with two grown sons. Those that ran in the same circles as the Brooks' could not help but be consumed by the salacious gossip that Lachlan had negotiated a divorce in order to marry a woman decades his junior. Gossips were event more alight once it became clear that this woman was pregnant.

All of this outrage was lost upon the golden tresses of baby Jack, the product of this love affair. He was raised in a home that teemed with love, roughhoused with the children of his older half brothers, and was a general rebel rouser. And while society would not adapt enough to welcome his mother into their fold, Jack was a handsome and charming young man, and so seemingly he could do no wrong. He attended the University of Pennsylvania for undergrad like his father and brothers had, not quite taking his studies seriously as he should of. Perhaps due to his father's advanced age, no one had ever suggested or demanded that Jack grow serious about life. Instead, upon graduating (without honors or accolades), Jack chose to travel. With a limitless pool of financial resources, Jack became a globetrotter of epic proportions, finding friends in every country and on every continent, and a few romances as well.

His years abroad were not completely laissez-faire, as Jack spent plenty of time volunteering where he could. It was then that his mind began to change, a more serious intellectual curiosity was born. He became interested, more keenly, in the plight of neonatal HIV in sub-Saharan Africa. This charity work sparked many conversations with his father, particularly about what he could do if he had more formal training, instead of as a simple layman. Jack was reluctant to take up the mantle that his father and brothers had, and certainly other Brooks men before them. And it was on that last phone call to his father that Lachlan Brooks suggested his youngest son finally get serious with his life, instead of wasting his potential. It was a tough love chat, but certainly one that he needed.

He only wished his father had lived long enough to see him be accepted into medical school.

Jack arrived back in Philadelphia a very different person, shaped by his experiences and prepared to lead a more 'conventional' life, like his father might have wanted. He was older than his classmates at the Perelman School of Medicine, but he didn't pay much mind to the gap. Jack's nose was to his books, and constantly bouncing questions off of his siblings. At least, he was studious until he met Haley Norris.

They dated throughout medical school, and even some time after. He was mad about her, even if he needed the direction of her parents to consider the prospect of marriage. It wasn't that the idea didn't sound grand, in theory, but Jack had always flown by the seat of his pants, until med school, and subsequently, Haley. In trying to be careful and deliberate about their life together, he'd forgotten the next logical step. And perhaps, somewhere in those years he'd lost her confidence, as initial conversations about tying the knot hadn't gone over well.

In the end, the pair went their separate ways, Jack's pride wounded, and almost fatally once he heard that Haley had eloped with a man she hardly knew. He then concluded that if marriage wasn't the next step in his life, that he'd finally use his degree for good — and moved to Lesotho for a year of charity work combatting the HIV/AIDs epidemic.

Back in Philadelphia, Jack accepted a position at UPenn Hospital, working on his specialty in neonatal surgery, and doing his best to keep to himself.

JOHN ‘JACK’ BROOKS has the face claim of SCOTT SPEEDMAN and is played by LIZA.

#chestnut hill #b #scott speedman

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thxrxddlxr · 2 years

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Headcanons

As a child, Edward never knew what control was, as he was never acquainted with the concept. When he was freed of his father's wrath, Edward swiftly grabbed ahold of that control and held it in a tight grip. a. The man's deathtraps and games are all centered around giving the victim control--the choice of either succeeding or failing miserably. He gives the players the option to flourish rather than deciding for them. The underlying psychology of this relates back to that same concept of control rather than anything truly sadistic (aside from the occasional purge of unintellectual Gothamites). b. This doesn't mean that Edward is possessive or domineering, no. Edward's relationship with control is between he and that aspect. The control over himself and his life is what he cares about; and will be damned if anyone tries to deprive him of that.

The abuse from Edward's father left him with a compulsion to tell the truth. The trauma that followed him into adulthood left him with this impulsion as he began and advanced in his criminal career. This difficulty to lie leaves Edward in very compromising situations. a. Although Edward has difficulty lying, he still attempts to. However, under stressful circumstances he easily caves into releasing the truth. Otherwise, he just holds his tongue--depending on the information.

The pride he carries within himself renders him unable to admit defeat to any degree in any situation. If there are technical difficulties with an elaborate scheme, he won't give up--he'll either erect another obstacle in it's place or repair that which is disabled. Physically, if Edward were to find himself at the losing end of a fight.. He'd rather get his ass handed to him than beg for mercy to another rogue or vigilante (although it occasionally happens). Sexually, Edward's pride quickly crumbles in his need to get what he wants--expression strained, voice high, breathy, needy--a version of him he wishes he never was. a. Begging is associated with inferiority, which is something Edward is not: inferior. The idea of pleading for something whether it be sexually associated or business related infuriates the slender gentleman--however, in the end, he does what must be done in order to get the "job" done.

Edward is a man who cannot be bought by means of money. He himself is already wealthy, therefore any offer is displeasing and immediately becomes uninterested. However, there are many other things that can perk his interest.

Edward does not partake in any use of heavy drugs. Occasionally, he may take a drag or pop a pill but it is far from an addiction a. In his youth, Edward had been addicted to a variety of narcotics. When he was kicked out of his childhood home by his father, Edward was left on the streets. His homelessness made him vulnerable to the allure and escape they provided b. Upon his arrival to Gotham—and one bad accident—Edward got clean, created a new identity for himself, and has not allowed himself to slip back into that state of being.

Medically, Edward is not very good at fixing any ailments or wounds independently. Although he has a strong stomach for blood and violence—he is a criminal, after all—he is unable to remedy himself due to the pain it causes. a. Thomas Elliot is someone he tries his utmost best to avoid at all times. However, there are circumstances that cause him to seek out the doctor for medical help. Regretfully, this always results in owing the man a favor... often times an unsavory one. b. Harley Quinn never seeks payment, only merely a shoulder to cry on and an ear to talk off. Always providing the best advice and guidance someone of his nature can, Edward surprisingly enjoys the company Harley brings... not many get that compliment. c. Jonathan Crane. Like playing with fire, Crane is as unpredictable as they come. The risk was necessary when Edward found himself needing the other’s skilled hand. Either resulting in a now we’re even speech or owing a favor, Nigma didn’t mind the opportunity to work alongside the Scarecrow. Intimidating as he was, he’d rather have the Master of Fear in his arsenal than to face off against him.

Edward would never admit it, but one of his guilty pleasures is wine coolers. a. He never drinks these in public nor does he have these tucked away in his refrigerator. b. This pleasure is usually only experienced with Harley or Selina behind closed doors.

Never going through any form of formal training or lessons, Edward knows how to play the piano and the violin. These instruments had always intrigued him, especially due to his interest in classical music, and so he took it upon himself to learn.

? In the realm of dance, Edward is very coordinated and has good rhythm, but he refrains from dancing publicly. a. He does not know any traditional or formal dance or sequence, which causes him to be reserved. b. He does not dance in public because he does not want others to see him in that way; additionally, there is a reluctance out of not wanting to risk any form of humiliation being directed his way

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