#Showing up at the bar dress like a wolf taking no feedback about my life choices

[majorbullmoose]

This St. Patty's Day, give your friends and relations the gift of knowing that St. Patrick turned the King of Wales into a Werewolf

[justreadingfics]

His Girl (Revamped Version)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: You’re perfect. Anyone who could read his thoughts would say he’s cheesy, but he genuinely can’t find a single flaw in you. Well, maybe the only problem is the man by your side.

Warnings: Angst, Cheating, Love Triangle, Pining, Smut, Revamped version of first fic written by the author, 18+.

Word Count: 4k.

A/N: Hi!! I’m sorry to say but this isn’t something entirely new. I’ve been thinking about revamping the first fic I’ve ever wrote for a while now. I love the story, but every time I read the original, it made me cringe for several reasons. I like this version better, but I haven’t sent this to a beta and you all know English isn’t my first nor my everyday language, so you may still find a significant number of cringy stuff, lol. If you read it and like it, don’t hold back on the feedback 😊 I’m tagging my permanent list.

Masterlist link on description.

He pays no mind to the loud beating of the music thundering into his ears, nor to the sea of dancing bodies and cheerful laughs around him as he makes a beeline for the bar. Another one of Tony’s big shindigs, one he can barely remember the reason for, if there ever has been one to start with…

He has lost count of how many he had to attend since he had joined the team. He hates it, of course he does. Everybody knows it… Bucky Barnes hates parties. He hates so many eyes which cross path with his, some condescending, some pitiful, others gleaming with fear… or hatred. He hates them all, but he knows he still deserves them all.  

It has been a slow process after he came back from Wakanda, where Shuri has finally found a treatment for the trigger words and other horrors Hydra had seen fit to grace his mind with. He still struggles… with social events, with talking to people, with letting them in, showing himself… What could they see if they really look?

He hates parties, yeah… but he goes to all of them. For one and only reason. He takes a seat by the bar and, while he waits for the whisky he just ordered, his gaze roams and search through the crowd, looking for the reason he’s there after all…

You.

It’s been like this from the moment he laid his eyes on you. His gaze always searching, seeking you, longing that the sight of you can ease the ache in his chest that comes with the absence of your touch. To be honest, Bucky can’t understand why you have this effect on him,  you two have barely exchanged more than two words and, even if his gaze is always sneakily on you, he shies away whenever you draw near. He rather keep his distance… he needs to.

But he’s completely and utterly infatuated by you. Not like he remembers much of his life, but he’s damn certain he has ever felt this way about anyone. Ever. He can’t stop thinking about how you held his left hand with no sign of hesitance when you two were introduced.  He was so entranced by you that he’s sure he has held on to your touch longer than socially acceptable, and yet you didn’t make a move to let go before he did. He’s obsessed by the way your hips swing from side to side when you walk,  by how you always looks straight into the eyes of whomever you’re talking to, the way your nose crinkles when you laugh and a small and adorable snort comes out of you… yeah, your laugh! The most amazing sound Bucky has ever heard. And there’s always a smile on your lips, for everyone.

Except for him.

Why, after that first time you two met, wouldn't you speak to him again?  Fear… That’s the only possible explanation in Bucky’s mind. Of course you would be frightened by him…The Winter Soldier, the Fist of Hydra, the Assassin… He may be called the White Wolf now, but it doesn’t erase what came before…  

With the whiskey now in his hands, his lips barely touch the glass when he finally spots you.

There you are, his reason, across the room, laughing while Sam says something. At that moment and every other moment, Bucky wishes he could be the lucky bastard who’s able to make you laugh like that. He takes a minute to take in the sight of the woman who he keeps up all night thinking about. You have your hair styled on that way you always have at parties. Bucky knows you choose that style because it’s easier and then you can do your hair yourself, oblivious to the fact that it drives him crazy with want to dive his fingers through your locks and tilt your head so he can ravish your neck with kisses and intake the sweet scent of you…

He gulps as his gaze falls down your body and he notices what you’re wearing that night. A long black dress. The side slit goes high enough to make Bucky’s heart speed up as he takes in the exposed skin of your thigh. The deep V neckline isn’t doing any good to his mental state either…

God, you’re perfect. Anyone who could read his thoughts would say he’s cheesy, but he genuinely can’t find a single flaw in you.

Well, maybe the only problem is the man by your side. Holding your hand the way Bucky only can in his dreams. The lump is thick on his throat at the reality.  

Steve Rogers. Captain America.

His Stevie. Bucky’s best friend and brother, the punk who started a fucking war with the rest of the World to defend him. The one who introduced you to Bucky.

You…

His girl.  

And that’s the reason why, besides the fact he damn sure scares the shit out of you, Bucky would never get to touch you, feel your skin on his. Breathe you in… Taste you…. The reason why he avoids any kind of close contact and is happy to worship your image from a distance. He can’t , by any means, give in to his feelings or get closer to you. He can’t take that chance.

He’s been fighting… against himself. He’s been dating around, trying hard to get you out of his head out of his very soul if he’s going to be honest.  But all he accomplished is to compare every single woman he’s seen with you, and wonder how it would feel if you were the one he was holding, kissing, making love to.

“Jesus, you’re so screwed.”

Drowned in his thoughts Bucky has missed the redhead approaching, martini in her hand, sitting on a stool next to him with a smirk on her lips.

“What are you talking about, Romanoff?” He tries to play the ignorance card, knowing damn well that it would be pointless. The stunning spy is able to read his mind like no other, Steve included. Maybe it’s their shared past, the one they never speak of, but lingers in the air. The ex-assassins simply understand each other.

“Please Barnes, you’re wounding me.”  Natasha rolls her eyes and brings the drink to her lips.  

Bucky bites on his lips before letting out a humorless chuckle, “That obvious, huh?” He says, defeat in his voice and a hint of worry that his secret may not be as hidden as he thought.

“To me, yes”.  She shrugs before spending a moment observing him, while he goes back to watching you across the room, hand in hand with his best friend.  With a sigh, Natasha kindly places her empty hand on the soldier’s shoulder. “Just be careful, Bucky. Neither of you have been much discreet lately. Everyone else is a bit dumb, but I don’t know…”

Bucky snaps his head back to her, as his eyebrows knit close together, spotting the rare sympathetic smile on her tightened lips.

“What do you mean? In what way she’s not being discreet?”  

The empathy on Natasha’s face falls and is swiftly turned into a familiar glare. Letting out a huff, she stands up and turns her back to him, leaving Bucky behind, mumbling words that his enhanced hearing catches as “Stupid Super Soldiers. No Serum in the brains, for sure”.

He’s left confused as he watches Natasha joining the rest of the gang who is now sitting by a round table close to the dance floor. As usual, she takes the chair next to Clint and orders for another drink. Bucky moves his eyes to Steve, who has his back to him, sitting across the Widow, leaning forward to say something to her. She responds by pointing to the bar where Bucky stands.

Steve turns his head to his best friend and whey their gazes meet, the blonde grins and waves, calling Bucky towards the gathered group.

Finding no way to decline the offer, Bucky sighs before he nods and heads to the table that is also accommodating Sam, Wanda and Maria Hill. Getting close, his heart rushes to his throat when notices that the only empty seat is the one next to you, who have your back turned to him.

“Hey Buck, come here and take a seat, the food is amazing,” Steve says with a mouthful, pointing with the fork to the mountain of food in his plate.

The fact that his fellow Super Soldier is the only one eating – the exorbitant amount of food- makes him think of the skinny kid from Brooklyn who could barely finish a whole glass of milk. The memory brings a warm smile to Bucky’s face, which fades as soon as he spots your stiffened shoulders as you glance nervously at the empty seat beside you, still avoiding to look at him.

“Ahm, I don’t know pal, I’m not really that hungry” Bucky replies, brushing the back of his neck. The last thing he wants is to make you uncomfortable by imposing his closeness.

“Oh, come on Tin Can, grace us with your broodiness… It’s not like you have somewhere else to go. Or do you already have a broad waiting?” Sam asks, emphasizing the outdated slang in an attempt to tease his centenary friend.

Missing how you take a long sip from your own whiskey, Bucky pretends to be amused by the conversation and makes a face to Sam. He can’t find it in him to prolong the subject or to say no the puppy eyes Steve always wear to break him and never fails, so he pulls out a chair and takes his seat. Right beside you.

Steve goes back to his food and the group goes back to chatting. The words are far from the focus of his attention as it’s so damn easy for him to feel the heat irradiating from your body, so close to him all he has to do is... Bucky’s glad for Sam and his never stopping mouth as no one seems to notice how his whole body flinches when his right thigh ever so lightly brushes against yours under the table. He quickly pulls his leg away, but not before goosebumps spring unbidden across his skin at the brief yet burning touch.

He’s expecting you to move the chair closer to Steve, to prevent any kind of contact with him to happen, but… but instead, she leans back on his touch, seeking the overwhelming sensation again, brushing her leg against his and leaving it there.

All the sound around him fades away, replaced simply by the thundering sound of his beating heart.

Every single inch of him is completely stiffened when he rests his hand on his leg and by the corner of his eyes he sees you furtively doing the same thing. Feeling a rush of boldness and a lack of better judgment, he moves it closer to yours until your pinkies link between your laps. He feels dizzy when you softly caress his finger with yours and all of a sudden, like it’s the most natural thing to do, he has all of his fingers tightly interlocked with yours.

His holding hands with you under the table cloth and it’s so damn hard to breathe now. Bucky’s mind runs in full speed, matching his heart, but yet, for that moment, time seems to freeze and everything’s slow motion as a forbidden, yet beautiful promise takes over his senses.

No… It wasn’t fear the reason why she kept his distance from him… She’s touching him, he has her soft hands on his. And it feels so right…

“Are you ok, Barnes? You’re as pale as a ghost.”

Bucky’s stupor is swiftly interrupted by a familiar voice in the far distance. It’s Natasha, of fucking course.

The unwanted attention makes you quickly remove your hand and back away your leg.

Bucky feels empty.

“Ahm, Yeah I..I guess I need another drink, I’ll be right back” Bucky’s chair screeches against the floor as he stands up and leaves the table, choosing to ignore Natasha’s suspicious look. To his relief the rest of their friends are apparently unfazed and oblivious to anything.

In need of a place to calm his restless state, he heads to the rooftop. Getting out of the elevator, he takes in the fresh air, relishing into the breeze of the night and, watching the city lights, the puzzled events of the last couple of minutes keep running over in his mind.  You touched him… he can still feel the burning where your skin met and he knows that you were as much affected by it as him… What the hell’s happening?

The quietness of the rooftop is broken by the elevator ding behind him. His heart jumps when he turns his head and spots the person coming out of it. He can’t. He can’t hold back a second longer anymore, and without even thinking, he takes two quick steps, closing the distance between you and him to press his lips against yours. As he pulls you to him, you immediately kiss him back, one hand tangling in his lose locks, while the other snakes up his chest.

Without breaking the sloppy and needy kiss, Bucky pins you against the nearest wall. He’s so drunk in your taste, he doesn’t want to let you go…Not again. Not now. He feels the whiskey you’ve been drinking mixed with your Chapstick and something sweet, that he knows it’s all you and he thought he would never get to taste.

Finally…

Both of your arms circle his neck while one hand still holds the back of his hair in a grip. You gasp for air and Bucky takes the chance to ravish your collarbone with a trail of hot kisses, reaching your pulse point to lightly bite on it. You let out a moan and while you tighten  the hold on his locks, Bucky realizes he has never listened to anything as beautiful.

“I need you… Please.” You’re breathless when you whisper the words to his ear, reaching down between your bodies to palm the bulge straining his pants.

If Bucky had a tiny bit of control until then, it is completely lost now with the husky plea coming from your lips.  He captures your mouth once again, and moving quickly, he travels his hand up your exposed leg through the dress slit, burying his fingers under the band of your underwear to find the velvet skin already damp. He lightly brushes the little nub there and the sensation pulls a primal groan from him and a deep sigh from you through the kiss.  

Tangling his tongue into yours, he pulls the black lace material down and when it falls to your knees, you wiggle your legs to let it drop to the floor before you step out of it. Without breaking his lips from yours, Bucky quickly goes to his belt, as you pull the skirt of your dress by the side slid up to your waist. When his erection springs free, Bucky holds your leg up to open you for him and just can’t waste anymore time as he guides his impossibly hard cock to your wet entrance.

It’s almost too much… the sensation of being inside you, so damn close, the velvet heat tightening around him…a kind of intimacy he only dreamed about. You cling to him as he slowly pushes himself further and the air leaves him a sharp exhale when he bottoms out. Only then, your lips detach from his as your breaths come out short.  

Keeping your leg locked around his waist, he uses his metal hand to support himself on the wall, while you maintain a firm grip on his shoulders.  You two exchange gazes for what feels like the first time and for a moment you just stay like that, staring to each other, studying every little inch of each other’s faces… Getting acquainted… Body and soul, Bucky suspects, as something entirely new and powerful grows inside him. A sense of calm, of peace, of belonging…

When he starts to move, he goes slow at first, allowing you two to adjust to the overwhelming sensation. You fell so damn good around him, better than any day and night dream he ever had, he realizes, as his flesh hand leave your leg, secured around his waist, to pull down the shoulder straps of your dress. One, then the other, dropping down your arms and exposing your breasts to him.

Beautiful, so damn beautiful, it makes him breathless…

He watches as your eyes close and your lips part a little, whimpering in sheer ecstasy, when he grabs one of your breasts into his hand, never stopping the slow and deep move of his hips. He gently massages the soft flesh, and can’t take his eyes off your face as the slight shift of expressions in synch with his actions shows how much pleasure he’s giving to you.

“Oh, Bucky…”

Hearing the whisper of his name in your mouth, especially in such a sinful way, makes his heart melt and his cock twitch inside of you.  His thrusts grow faster and the two of you become a mess of heavy breaths and moans. Bodies glued together, your skin is hot against his and your breathe tingles over his neck. It’s perfect. And it feels so right, so damn right, when your pussy clenches around him…

He needs to feel it again and the frenzy you both share boosts when Bucky’s flesh fingers meet your clit.  He circles the nub in fast, harsh circles as you tighten your leg around him for support.  A slight change in the angle and the extra stimulation makes you let out a scream of pure ecstasy. He feels it coming as your cunt grips his cock in the most delicious way.

Your whole body shakes against him as you let out a wanton moan, signaling your climax. As you fall apart, Bucky’s fingers leave your heat to hold you tightly by your waist. He  knows he isn't going to last much longer, he just can’t, even if he wants to have you like this forever, breathless in the pleasure he’s provided you with while he can feel your heart thunders against your chest and your tongue brushing over the skin of his neck.

“I need to taste you,” you breathe and it startles him for a second when you push at his chest, forcing him to pull out of your pulsing heat.

His mind goes blank when you sink to your knees and grip the base of his cock, coated in your arousal, and your mouth wraps around the throbbing tip. He watches down in awe, supporting himself with both arms on the wall. Your soft lips around his cock makes him lose his fucking senses and a few bobs of your head is already too much for him to handle.

“I.. I’m … gonna…. ”, Bucky tries to warn you, only making you grab his ass and clutch his hips still, not letting him pull away from you.

He groans loudly and can’t hold back anymore before you take everything he has to offer, not missing a single drop of the most powerful orgasm he ever had.

Struggling to breathe and gather his thoughts again, Bucky offers his hand to help you get on your feet and pulls you in a tight embrace as his forehead leans against yours, sharing the blissful state.

He loves you.

If he didn’t know that before, it’s pretty damn clear now. He loves you and this love will ruin him. Of that he’s sure, while he holds your half naked body to his.

When breathing  isnt’t so hard anymore, you’re the first one to speak.

“I love Steve… I really do.”

Bucky’s eyes close and he sighs at the mention of his friend’s name.

“Yeah, I know, I love that punk too,” he responds matter-of-factly in a sad smile.

“You must think I´m a-” A sob breaks through your lips before you have the chance to continue.

“Shhh,” He whispers as he cups your face and uses his thumb to caress your cheek and wipe the tears falling down. “Never,” he assures you, shaking his head, “I would never think anything like that of you.”

“I’ve never done anything like this before,” you add, pleading for him to believe, and Bucky hates to hear the sorrow in your beautiful voice.

“I know sweetheart, I know…” He tries to sooth you, even if his own heart is breaking at how ashamed you seem to be of what just happened, prompting his own guilt to tighten his throat.

“I don't want to hurt him,” You add. “But you…” The whisper is low as you lean your face against the touch of his hand, shutting your eyes.  “God, I can’t take you of my mind ever since I first saw you, not matter how hard I tried. I’ve been going crazy,” You breathe hard as your eyes open and you look up at him, gripping hard the back of his suit with your hands.

Bucky’s heart beats harshly against his ribcage at your confession. “I know the feeling,” he says in the steadiest voice he can manage, keeping the brush of his thumb on your cheeks. “All I think about is you, all the time.” He almost can’t believe he’s actually telling you this, “I-I´m in-”

You don’t let him finish when you abruptly part from him, ceasing any kind of touch. The pained expression in your face is nothing but a plea, one that begs him: “please don’t say it”.

He doesn’t. He sulks in a breath and doesn’t say he’s completely and desperately in love with you and it feels so right even if he knows how damn wrong it is.

You bite on your lips and a heavy silence falls upon you as you fix your dress and hair, allowing him to put himself together, too. Your head drops, before you lean down and take your underwear from the floor.  

“This can’t … won’t happen again,” You manage to make your words convincing, standing up in front of him as your jaw clenches, holding the small piece of black lace tightly in your hand.

Bucky shuts his eyes and nods. He knew this was coming, but the fact does nothing to ease the pain of hearing those words.

When he feels your grip on his chin, his eye pop open. You two stare at each other for a long moment, sharing the words, the ones forbidden to be said out loud, before you lock your lips together again.  

As he pulls you to him, he focuses on every move, every touch, every sensation. Your tongue brushing against his, how he can feel himself and you through the sweet taste of your mouth, your skin, the shallow breaths and small whimpers, your hand into his hair… He clings to all of it. Memorizing how you feel, holding the sensations into his mind… his heart.

Bucky feels your hand slipping inside a pocket on his pants before you break the kiss and, without looking at him again, you run past him towards the elevator.

He sighs, bringing his fingers to his lips, as if this way he would make the phantom of your touch last longer… His gaze turns to the city lights when he hears the elevator going down and he places his hands inside his pockets.

His lips turn up in a longing smile, already missing the touch of yours, while his fingers play absent-mindedly with the piece of lace he finds inside his pocket.

He knows it would all come eventually, the sorrow, the guilt, the heartache. The pain. But at that moment, all he feels is you…

You….

His girl.

~~~~~~

The end. 

[firefly-in-darkness]

Christmas in New York - Part One

Characters: Thor & Y/N, Loki

Summary: Y/N is clouded by her love for her boss, Brock Rumlow, but is that about to change?

Prompt:  The Holiday

Word Count: 3k

Beta: @princessmisery666​​ - thank you lovely! (All mistakes are my own though).

A/N: This is a part of @lostinaseaoffictionalbliss​​ challenge - I don’t know how this turned into a mini series but here we are... Hope you enjoy! Feedback is golden, tags are open!

Christmas in New York Series List

Previously...

Y/N’s thumb hovered over the email for a second then opened it; she was greeted to a beautiful view of woodlands and a lake, the images moved to show a log cabin that needed a little love then back to more breathtaking views. She scanned the email, making sure to read the small print, then clicked to enter.

What an escape that would be…

Two Months Later…

Y/N slumped against her couch, her neatly pressed attire now creased and crumpled, as she sunk lower into the cushions, after a long day . Twenty applications, three interviews and one rejection later, she had sent herself into a spiral of self-deprecation and worry. 

On occasion, the thought of approaching Brock flickered across her mind but she immediately straightened herself out. With a heavy sigh, Y/N lifted her phone to check for any email updates on her recent applications. Nothing. 

She dropped her phone beside her, rolled her eyes and let her head fall back to the cushions. Why did I quit before finding another job?! You idiot, she chastised herself before she pushed away from the cushions and stood up with a stretch of her limbs.

Ping, ping!

Y/N grabbed her phone and headed towards the kitchen when an excitable scream ripped through the apartment as she read the notification.

Win a Holiday: Congratulations Y/N! New York Awaits!

She spun around, did a little wiggle of her hips and shoulders and then fist pumped the air. Finally some good news. Adrenaline pumped through her veins as she thought of all the possibilities of where this could take her. A couple of jumps up and down later, she sat at the kitchen island and began to read through the email thoroughly, again and again to make sure it wasn’t a hoax.

Y/N immediately text Wanda to meet for dinner at the weekend.

The lights strung around the posts twinkled against the darkened sky, the smell of spices wafted through the cool air and the hushed chatter accompanied by soft melodies brought the small tapas bar to life. Y/N and Wanda sat in the courtyard, they nibbled at their plates of food and sipped wine in between their conversation.

Wanda’s red locks glowed against the fairy lights and a devilish smirk appeared, she placed her glass down and gripped onto your arm, “So what’s this exciting news you’ve got for me? Another interview? A new job? Did you have sex? You’ve met someone?” 

Y/N shook her head, her grin grew with each guess as Wanda’s eyebrows furrowed in failure and thoughts flickered across her eyes. The last two months hadn’t been easy, Wanda had been Y/N’s shoulder to cry on when interviews resulted in rejections, applications went unanswered and her unemployment continued. Wanda had been the one to talk Y/N out of calling Brock and asking for her job back. It was nice to see Wanda excited that she finally had some good news to share. 

She leant forward to whisper, “Are you pregnant?!”

With wide eyes, Y/N choked on her bite, “No! God, no!”

Y/N passed her phone and showed her the congratulatory email detailing the prize she had won,  a Trip to New York. She watched Wanda read, her brow twitched and then her lips bloomed into a smile.

“This is amazing! Where will you be staying?”

Y/N scrolled to the bottom of the email and tapped the screen, “In a cabin, in the countryside.”

“A cabin!”

The other patrons all turned to stare at the outburst from Wanda, they both apologised and carried on with their meal and discussion. Y/N had decided long before meeting with Wanda that she would be going, regardless of where she was going to be staying. 

New York was an incredible distance away from LA but it gave her the opportunity to escape and possibly find other jobs in a different place. Y/N would be out of the reach of Brock, the failure of her job hunting and be able to move on with her life. If she wanted too, and that was good enough for her to be ready to leave.

“For how long?”

“A month, the place is fully stocked with food for at least two weeks. I’ve already handed in my notice on the apartment, a new tenant has already snapped it up.”

“What if you don’t come back…Will I see you again?” Wanda’s eyes brimmed with tears as she pulled Y/N into a hug.

“Of course! How dare you think our lunch dates are over just because we are a few hours apart. Regardless of the way things are going, I fully expect you to come and visit me after Christmas if I find a job. And that’s only a month away.”

The farewell gift from Wanda was perfect; a matching set of gloves and scarf. The change in weather was to be expected but Y/N didn’t expect how drastic. Her breath misted and swirled into the sky as she lugged her suitcase up the wooden staircase and onto the porch of the cabin. Hat, fluffy socks… She made a mental note and thought of how she doubted she would ever get used to the nearly freezing temperatures, especially at nine in the morning.

Y/N finally took in her surroundings; the cabin was surrounded by woodland, the trees were almost bare, apart from the spruces, covered in a slight frost. And they must be near a lake from what Y/N could see from the coach ride to the small town and the boat shed peeking from the back corner of the cabin.

Silence. The weight of LA drifted off of Y/N’s shoulders and into the New York countryside. 

The tiredness she’d felt from the flight and the days of packing and organizing leading up to her departure dissipated and excitement filled her bones. She spun around and opened the front door, dragged her suitcase behind her and was welcomed to a quaint living room of leather and fur, a large fireplace with a few logs stacked beside. The stone of the chimney loomed upwards, a prominent and majestic feature, flanked by windows out into the wild.

The wood panels echoed with warmth and guided Y/N’s line of sight to the stairs leading up to an open planned bedroom. Her stomach grumbled and she sought the kitchen. It was bigger than she had expected, with a space for dining and a reading nook by the window, opposite the french doors onto a decked area. Y/N’s stomach grumbled again, she opened the cupboards to find tins of soup and bread. Perfect, she smiled to herself.

With her hunger sated, Y/N grabbed her suitcase, ready to unpack and explore the upper floor of the cabin. The stairs creaked faintly under her foot as she ascended, and when she reached the top a gasp escaped her lips. The large bed was dressed with cushions stacked against the pillows, a blanket draped across one of the corners but what had made her gasp was the view that her bed faced. Floor to ceiling windows within an iron grid showed the wild beauty of the forest. Y/N was enraptured of the neverending view of the bare and snowy trees, the birds that scattered the skyline and the warm glow of the sun as it hung low above the lake in the distance.

With the sky clear, not a cloud insight, Y/N freshened up in the en-suite bathroom that was connected through a door beside the bed. She immediately felt the warmth on the soles of her feet from the tiles. Underfloor heating?!, Y/N all but squealed in excitement. The waterfall style shower was too perfect, and when she wrapped the fluffy white towel around her body, it was like heaven.

Y/N scrambled into her clothes; jeans, a t-shirt and hoodie then pushed her feet into the knee high boots. With a roll of her shoulders, she grabbed her jacket, scarf and gloves as she headed out the door for a three mile walk to the lake. She glanced at her watch, Two pm, a few hours before sundown. 

Forty-five minutes, the tourist guide for Pinnacle Trail in a kitchen drawer had said. An hour and a half later and she still hadn’t reached the lake. As the sun began to set, the trees started to turn from a snowy fairytale to something of a nightmare as the branches weaved into the sky and blocked some of the light.

Everything is fine, Y/N repeated to herself as she glanced around the forest, the trees seemed to close in on her and the sky darkened with clouds and the nearly faded sun. Panic slowly seeped into her as snow flurried around her, her breath formed in the air as she panted and scurried between the trees to get back to the cabin.

Y/N saw a small dark shadow to her left, fear grew and she dived behind a tree. She peered round to see the shadow in the form of a wolf. Y/N clamped her hand over her mouth and watched, eyes wide, as the shadow grew and bounded through the trees towards her. Y/N held her breath as the shadow reached the final tree line before the small amount of light showed a dog.

She exhaled in relief and the dog’s ears pricked up at the sound. Their eyes locked and they slowly edged towards one another. The dog’s nose twitched and sniffed out towards Y/N, who extended her hand in return. She remained still as allowing the dog to sniff her  fingertips, her patience was rewarded with a with a tentative lick of her palm, the dog’s tail wagged in response and his brown eyes sparkled.. A laugh burst out of her as she stroked the dog’s back and scratched his ears.

“Loki!” Thor’s voice echoed through the trees. “Loki, come here boy!”

The small amount of settled snow crunched under his boots, his eyes strained in the darkening sky and the flurries that surrounded him. After a few more calls, Thor spotted Loki trotting alongside a woman, a beautiful woman. Thor’s smile grew as his dog bounded towards him and lifted back onto his hind legs in excitement, his tongue hung outside his mouth as he leapt around him.

Thor encircled his large arms around the dog’s neck, “Loki, you’ve got to stop running off and-” He spotted the woman that stood awkwardly in the tree line, “Thank you so much. He didn’t hurt you? He’s friendly but a little mischievous, doesn’t know his own strength.”

He looked expectantly at Y/N who seemed distracted by his presence, he flashed her a small smile and nod before he outstretched his hand.

“Sorry, I wasn’t expecting, well um-yeah, no that’s okay,” Y/N stammered her way through the sentence and reached her hand out to his, “I’m Y/N, and no, he gave me a little fright but he was a good companion.”

Thor chuckled and then noticed her attire; light jacket and suede boots, “You’re not from around here are you?”

Y/N giggled in response, “No, I’m not, what gave it away? The poor choice in shoes?” she lifted her boots that were soaked through from the snow, “or that I am completely lost?”

“Well yes, but I was going to say that you’re posture is very rigid like most city dwellers.” Thor berated himself internally as soon as his words came out. He watched her eyes widened at his comment and the immediate shift in her demeanor. If she wasn’t rigid before, she is now.

“Do you know where you’re going?” Thor raised his eyebrow at her, in the hope that she saw that it was with sincerity rather than mocking.

“I’m staying at a cabin near the Huddle Brook river, just before the Bolton conservation area?”

Thor nodded and gave her a half smile, “May I ask, where were you trying to go in the dark?”

“I was going to walk the Pinnacle Trail and then to the lake. I think I took a wrong turn, but then I met this guy.” Y/N patted Loki’s head.

“You’re way off! Let me take you back, I know where you’re staying.” Thor gestured towards the path.

Thor noticed the way Y/N’s breath hitched at his words and he realised that he must have sounded like a stalker but then she beamed at him and he never wanted her to look any other way.

“Thank you, I’d really appreciate that.”

Loki weaved between them as they strolled down the path. Thor glanced down to Y/N and watched her thoughts scatter across her face. He stifled a laugh and as she was about to speak Thor opened the door to a red pick up truck. Loki jumped into the cab, and then Thor held out his gloved hand for Y/N to help her climb into the seat. 

Y/N glanced up at him, her eyes were framed in sparkles as the snow melted on her lashes. Thor wanted to move closer, to kiss those lips that smiled at him. He withdrew his hand quickly but immediately regretted it as she flinched away from the sudden movement.

Idiot, now you’ve gone and scared her, Thor scolded himself and jogged to the other side of the truck.

Y/N was able to get a better view of her saviour now that he was beside her and his concentration on the road. If she hadn’t been paying attention to the man driving, she would have noticed the sky swiftly fade to darkness and the sparkle of stars but she studied the man’s face. She was captivated by the lines that framed his eyes as he smiled when his dog nuzzled against his arm and how his beard was neat yet gave him a rugged look.

“Oh my, I don’t even know your name!” She gasped, the dog now alert from the sound.

A hearty laugh burst through the silence, “I’m Thor, nice to meet you Y/N.”

“What like the viking God?” The words tumbled from her lips without a thought.

Thor’s face dropped and Y/N noticed his jaw tense and his brow furrowed.

“I’m sorry that was rude of me,” Y/N focused on the hem of her jacket and fiddled with a loose thread.

A loud noise echoed through the cab and she looked up at the man in shock, he slapped the steering wheel once more before he chuckled, “You’re not the first to ask me that. My mum was very interested in Norse mythology. Hence, Loki here too.”

Thor patted the head of the dog in the middle seat, Y/N followed his hand as he stroked the dog. His large hands that were so gentle against the animal. Imagine what those hands could do to you… Her thoughts sent a rush of blood to her cheeks, she bit her lip as she redirected her thoughts to the trees that passed as they drove along the winding road.

“Here we are,” Thor announced as he turned down the drive to the cabin.

A click of the buckle and Y/N scrambled out of the cab with a jump from the seat to the ground. Loki followed and sprinted up the porch, he sat and waited by the door with his head cocked.

“Sorry buddy, you have to go back to-” Y/N turned around to point to Thor’s truck when she collided with his chest.

Thor gripped her arms and steadied her balance, their eyes locked onto one another. Loki barked and Thor dropped his hands. She already missed the warmth of them but took a step back.

“Thank you for driving me home.” Y/N tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and scuffed her boot on the porch.

“Not a problem. And now you know to get some decent footwear and maybe a map?”

A blush crept up her face and she glanced up to see Thor’s wide smile. I’d love to stroke that face, that beard would feel good against… Y/N coughed and turned to Loki and stroked his head, “Goodnight boy, and you, Thor.”

Thor nodded, and with a wave, he descended the porch steps, “See you around, Y/N.”

The cold air hit Y/N, her body shivered from her feet in the snow-drenched boots to the tip of her icy nose. She flicked on the lights, pulled off her gloves and sprinted towards the stone chimney. She looked at the logs, the matches and then the fireplace.

What do I do?! She realised that she had never lit a fire in her entire life.

Y/N ran back to the front door and onto the porch to see Thor hadn’t left yet, relief washed over her as he stepped out of the truck, concern etched on his face.

“Thor, wait! I don’t know how to get the fire started, can you-”

“Of course.” He grinned and ushered Loki to follow.

Thor and Loki entered the cabin, the dog immediately bounded in and onto the armchair. He curled up and rested his head on the arm. Y/N chuckled and handed over the firestarters to Thor as they walked around the couch.

“You should take your clothes off.” Thor commented as he placed logs and some paper into the fireplace. At Y/N’s lack of response, he turned to find her wide eyed. “You’re soaked, you need to change if you ever want to get warm.”

“Oh right, yes that makes sense.” She ascended the staircase behind them, you idiot, of course he didn’t mean for him.

Y/N returned to the living room in a set of pajamas and as she approached a warmth bloomed across her skin from the flames, and in her chest as joined Thor and Loki on the rug at the hearth.

Continue 

[omoghouls]

*goes through and sees “Mary would love to corrupt a virgin* (slams hands down) Religious girl walks into one of their concerts and catches his eye Because she looks so out of place. She’s got a white dressy shirt and a on her dark skirt. Just being at a concert is her form of “rebellion.” She watches Mary on stage and almost gets hypnotized. His movements, the lights. They make brief eye contact and she smiles, it’s a smile obviously too innocent for someone who often comes to casually jam out.

*lays on table* anon I love you o m g???

You know she lied to her friends or parents, telling them that she was going to that pastor's organization/talk- and to a technically, she waaaas! But, then, the taxi dropped her kilometers away from the center, at first she's miffed, making her way down the silent streets. Silent until she turns the corner, she sees the buzzing neon lights of the establishment, people whooping with laughter and talking excitedly as they walk in- she stands there for a moment, looking across the street to where the center is, then back to the bar. And she walks into the bar- a bit of rebellion wouldn't hurt.

From what she gathered from the others around her, a band is playing tonight and the name catches her off guard 'Repugnant'- a word her father used towards the very crowd she was amongst tonight. And in a way that makes her grin to herself.

She walks a bit closer to the stage when she hears the microphone's feedback mingling with the voices. Others soon join around; that's when she starts to feel a bit out of place, glancing to the combat boots/platforms and comparing them to her mary jane's.

Her mind is torn from that when a voice comes over the mic system, she looks up and her eyes widen. He looked exactly like the boys daddy told her to never be-friend. His styled yet unkempt hair, torn skinny jeans and what fascinates her the most is the blood that's rolling down his temple and resting beneath his jaw. 

When the music starts her breath is quite literally taken away, she stands there in pure awestruck. She had hears a couple cassette tapes of music similar to this from the students at the smoker's lot, but, hearing it in the flesh hits differently. 

Mary is singing his heart out, as he usually does he looks around the crowd, spotting the regulars but then he looks over to his left and spots her- she's like a fish out of water in her pure white dress shirt and maroon coloured skirt, he catches her eye and she smiles- far too sweet, too innocent for anyone else here to give. He gives her a small nod and grin before going back to the music.

When the show is over, Mary is able to gain her attention once more, signaling her to come back with him. Ofc her heart leaps into her throat as her feet carry her to the lanky singer.

"Ain't the usual crowd we see," he says when she is within hearing distance. 

She smooths her skirt, wanting to keep her cool composure, "Was not my original destination but," she shrugs a small bit, "Sometimes life takes you other places."

Mary chuckles as he walks closer to her, "Got a bit of a rebel here don't we? Wouldn't want daddy dearest finding out you went here huh?"

She smiles that soft smile once more, this time a snarky remark coming from behind it, "Is the big bad wolf going to snitch on me?" 

"Only if Little Red doesn't stay," he says, boney finger twirling around her perfectly ringletted curls.

Her face reddens, she didn't expect to get this far, but, doesn't mean she isn't enjoying this playful banter-

After a small while, bit of a talk over some drinks, the two have wounded backstage in the small set up room. Somewhere inbetween she ended up on Mary's lap ("gives more space" is probably the argument ) his fingers trailing up and down her arm as she giggles, her arm wrapped around his waist like some mangled puzzle of limbs. 

It's not even really a thought, more so like auto pilot when she plants a soft kiss on his cheek. Mary of course laughs a bit, paying back the favour as he leans in, kissing at her lower jaw/neck.

He looks up when he feels her breath hitching. She looks down to him, her eyes gleaming with a type of giddiness she had never felt before, a spark igniting in her as she waves off Mary's pausing, a nonverbal message for him to continue.

Mary hums, "Don't get that many good girls wandering 'round here," he paused, letting his teeth gently rake over her delicate skin, "And ain't one to complain about that." 

Maybe it goes futher👀 but either way- the two stumble out of the room a small while after.

"Same time next Saturday?" Mary ask, jokingly but also maybe a bit of a serious inquiry-

[allonsy-yesiwill]

It will be okay - Chapter 8

Pairing: Charlie x Reader, Dean x Reader, Sam, Jess, Michael

Summary: Your life is far from perfect or easy but you do the best with the family that you have constructed around you.  

Word Count:2900 ish

Warnings: stalking, drunken picture shame, protective Charlie, and Dean

A/N: This story takes place in an AU where hunting isn’t a thing and the read grew up with the boys and their family. I am still super new to writing so I would love your feedback, thank you for taking the time out of your day to read this :)

Get caught up here - Master list

Getting back into your normal groove was harder than even returning to Colorado. You found most of your days spent wrapped up in ideas of Sam and Jess’s wedding. The final date of 12/28, a month later than originally planned this also meant that there was going to be a new dress issue. But you reassured Jess that you would handle it and if people didn’t like it they could just not be in the wedding.

“Hey Y/N,” Charlie called out coming in and taking all of your attention,” Do you have that report done yet?”

“Son of a bitch, no let me get it for you right now.”

“Too busy dreaming about your new boyfriend?”

“No I was actually looking at this dress, what do you think Charlie?”

“I think you would look hot in the dress with Dean suited up next to you.”

“Yeah, you're funny and is the best man so we will have to be next to each other. He’s not actually my date.” You had shared some of your feelings with Charlie but not all of them, you still didn’t really know what was happening and honestly you kind overwhelmed with the wedding, work and Michael’s new habit of texting you.

“Oh, just wait...actually wait do I get to be your date to this wedding?”

“Sure I would love to have your help and you get to meet all of my old friends.”

“I can’t wait to meet Dean,” she said with a devilish smile.

“Get out before I change my mind, your report is on the printer,” you said with a smile.

“Alright, hey did you want to stay over tonight. I know that with everything going on with Michael if there is ever anything thing I can do to help just let me know.”

You thanked Charlie and let her know you would love to watch chick flicks and drink all of the wine tonight. Charlie was the first call you made after getting multiple assumably drunken texts from Michael last night. Charlie came over first thing in the morning and set up your phone to block his calls and make sure that special profiles didn’t have your location and were locked down for people who were not your friends. Because of the harassing nature of the messages that came in, she also begged you to ask Dean if he was still in Kansas. Of course, you didn’t want to bother him so you didn’t, for this, this was just Michael being a dick you didn’t really think he was going to come out here.

Before you know it it’s time to head home. You head back to your apartment to pack a bag for the night and while your door was locked and your apartment was quiet you still had that feeling that something wasn’t quite right. Walking around your apartment you pick up your phone and call Jess, knowing that she would not overreact to the reason for your call.

“Hey Y/N, yeah I loved the dress you sent me today...let’s do that one,” Jess answered the phone.

“Great!!! How are you?”

“Just relaxing for the night, how are you doing?”

“I am okay, just  little paranoid. Michael text me last night and everything just feels weird now. I am headed over to Charlie’s tonight but I just wish I was able to move out of the apartment that we shared.”

“Oh sweetie, I know. If it makes you feel better I think Sam said he had to kick him out of the bar like 2 days ago. I am sure Dean would be more than happy to make the drive as well to make sure he’s not hiding under your bed,” Jess shares with a small laugh.

“You’re funny, yeah let’s not do that just yet. I don’t want to be the girl that cries wolf.” You and Jess continue to talk as you finish packing your bag. Jess stays on the phone with you talking about wedding details till you make it to Charlie’s front door.

The night was full of wine, laughter and Charlie making sure to give you a hard time about Dean every moment possible. You even confused that you had felt something the night of the engagement party to Charlie, sure you would regret it later, however, the wine had you being more open about your feelings than usual.

As the morning rolls around, you smell the coffee reminding you that you aren’t in your bed. The two of you take your time getting ready, you didn’t have set hours and since Charlie was your employee she had a free pass as well. Before heading into the office you both do some work in your PJ’s when you hear your phone ring.

“This is Y/N,” you answered.

“Hey, this is Cindy, your neighbor. Y/N is everything okay I noticed your front door was open this morning.”

“Oh my gosh Cindy, thank you so much for letting me know that. I guess I didn’t such it last night when I took off.”

“Well um it was shut last night sweetie, I took the pup out at like 10 pm and I remember you leaving with a bag so I checked the door when I came back up.”

“Really,” you start to panic.

“Y/N if you are okay I was going to call and report it.I won’t tell them we walked will just call and say I am worried about you. That way the police can be here when you get here.”

Cindy was a sweet older lady and even though she was more in your business than you wanted to, right now her worry was welcome, “Yes that should great, I am just down the street so I will be there in a few with my friend.”

You let out a sigh and tell Charlie about everything that happened. She agrees to go with you to your place after you let her know that today we might be working remotely all day. Your phone rings again, “Good morning Dean.”

“Hey, so um Y/N are you okay?”

You are taken back by his question, there is no way he could have known what just happened. Really you don’t even know what happened. “Yeah I think so, why do you ask Dean?”

“Well I am not sure how to or what to say, have you been on Facebook yet?”

“No,” you say looking over at Charlie as her eyes go big with a look of worry.

“Y/N...what's your facebook password, NOW,” Charlie yells. You give it to her trusting Charlie completely but still wondering what’s going on.

“Is that Charlie I hear, can I talk with her?”

“Um no Dean I need to know what’s going on, first I get a call from my neighbor saying my place was probably robbed last night and now you guys are freaking about Facebook…” you stop talking as Charlie stands up grabbing the phone and walking into the other room.

You move over to Charlie’s screen and see your facebook profile everything looks okay but then you notice the screen capture that is minimized. You click on it to see what the big deal is about and once you see the picture you can’t hold back the tears. You know this picture, it was taken 1 year ago when you and Michael were on vacation in Mexico. You had drunk way more than you should and Michael had continued to feed you drinks, as he was trying to get you to go skinny dipping in the ocean. The last thing you remember from that night was saying no but clearly, from this picture you eventually did as he asked. All of your bits and pieces were covered in the picture however it was clear that you were naked and wasted. Your eyes were glazed over and your face was expressionless, you looked like a zombie.

“Fuck,” Charlie says walking back into the room, seeing that you are crying sitting in front of her computer. “Y/N, honey. I took it down so no one else can see it. It’s gone and I made sure to change your password and put in a few other things so he can’t do it again. Sweetie, Dean’s still here and he wants to talk to you.”

Unable to talk you make eye contact and nod as she hands you back the phone.

“Y/N, sweetheart it’s going to be okay. I promise we will get this all taken care of. Jess is talking to Sam right now to see what they can do about it,” Dean said softly.

“They saw the picture too,” you let out with a whimper.

“Hey Y/N, we love you. No one cares about the picture if anything it just shows how much a dick Michael is and how much he took advantage of you.”

You don’t have any words, while Charlie has removed the picture and the comments that followed it from your view they are etched into your mind's eye.

“Y/N, baby girl, please just say something so I know you are there,” Dean begged of you.

“Ah yeah, something I don’t know I have to go, Dean,” you let out not even wanting to speak to him, feeling embarrassed and ashamed about what everyone had seen in those pictures.

“Hey Y/N….,” you heard Dean call out before you hung up the phone.

You were in shock, you didn’t know what to do or how to move. Really would be very happy crawling into a hole and dying. Charlie doesn't let this happen, she helps you get ready and walks over to your place with you.

“Y/N, can you stay here I am just going to look around a bit,” Charlie says as she pushes you away from the door knowing that there is probably something you shouldn’t see in there. Charlie also pulls out her cell phone pushing open the door with her shirt. You didn’t know this at the time but Dean gave Charlie detailed instructions based on the call you got this morning. He also provided her with his contact info and Sam’s so that you could send the video the moment you were done. Both Charlie and Dean agreed that you would also not be going home that night or any night soon.

Before Charlie came back out you were greeted by Cindy and a police officer by her side. Cindy could see that you were shaken so she did all of the talking. Telling the officer that you just got out of a not so great relationship and that is was her interesting point of view that this was his work. The officer asked you some basic questions that you were able to answer when Charlie came back out. Charlie took over the conversation giving the officer all of the info that he requested even passing on Sam’s info. You can hear them talking about you, if you are okay and to be honest you’re not sure. You can hear Charlie say you don’t need to go in but you feel like you have to and before she can stop you, you step inside.

As your eyes travel over everything, everything was destroyed. TV on the floor. Picture frames were broken and pictures with your face scraped off. There is spray paint on the walls and carpet, with some of Michaels favorite pet names for you. You don’t breathe till Charlie grabs your shoulders pulling you back outside, asking Cindy to watch you.

Charlie and the officer enter the apartment one more time. This time Charlie is packing up everything that you will need that’s not ruined.

“Y/N, let’s go back to my place the police are going to finish up here and they will be sending everything over to Sam after that.”

You don’t have words again but Charlie wraps her arms around you and starts walking down the hall. When you get back to Charlie’s place she sets you down on the sofa and brings you two glasses one with water and one with whiskey, “ I am not sure either of these will help but it’s the least I can do. I am going to call Mr. Colvin and let him know what happened and to also make sure that Michael isn’t allowed on the property at work. I will also make sure to take care of anything that you needed to today. Don’t worry about anything okay, just breathe.” You make eye contact with Charlie and give her a soft smile, to say thank you. As she walks away from you, you down the glass of whiskey and crawl into a ball on her soft as you cry yourself to sleep.

It had been about 7 hours since you saw your apartment this morning. Charlie had been able to get you to talk and eat, but you still felt less than human. You were so lost, you didn’t understand why this was happening now. Honestly you had expected him to go a bit crazy after things fell apart but that didn’t happen so you thought you were in the clear. You weren’t really too sure how to deal with any of this and you didn’t want to talk with anyone that saw the picture. All day you had been ignoring text messages from Dean, Sam, Jess and even Bobby. It must have been around 3 pm when Charlie took your phone from you and let them all know that you were okay and thanking them for their support.

As the evening settles in your heart crawls into your chest when you hear a familiar voice, panic rushes over our body and you want to crawl away but can’t move, so instead of curl yourself back up into a call on the sofa listening to them talk.

“Thank you, Charlie for everything you did for Y/N today,” Dean said.

“No problem, I think she’s awake now if you want to say hi.”

You see Dean walk around the corner and you can’t stop the tears. Dean moves next to you on the sofa and wraps you in his arms, “Hi beautiful.” You cry more. “Hey, it’s okay sweetheart.” Dean knows you better than you would like to admit, that’s one of the reasons he drove over 7 hours to be with you. He knew that picture that Michael had put up would make you want to run away from the shame. Once your tears had softened Dean pulled away, placing his hand under your chin and making you look up at him.

“I want you to know Y/N, you are so smart, kind, lovely and an amazing person. I am so thankful that you have allowed me to be part of your life. You are so beautiful, too beautiful for all of these tears. How can I make it better?”

“Do you have a TARDIS?”

“Nope fresh out, but I brought whiskey….maybe after drinking a little too much you can video tape me streaking the quad.”

You softly smile as you replied, “ Whatever Frank the tank.”

“That’s my girl.”

As the night continues on Dean offer to make dinner for everyone and he also shares the information about Sam filing the paperwork for the restraining order.  Dean also let you know that while Sam didn’t have any contacts in Colorado, Jody did and she was going to see what she could to do make sure Michael is prosecuted at the fullest level for what happened at your apartment. After dinner you feel more human again, still not sure where to go from here but when Sam and Jess facetime Dean you are now more than okay with talking to them. You let them know that you will only be working part-time this week and that your unofficial bodyguard will be making sure that you make it to and from work without any issue. After wishing them a good night Dean begs you to also call Boby and just let him know that you are okay, you agree and place the call. Bobby was less than thrilled with everything that had happened, sure he was not on facebook but he got enough information to know that if he saw Michael he would probably kill him.

Charlie wishes you both a good night making sure Dean has everything he needs to sleep on the sofa.

“I am not really tired yet, are you up for a movie?”

“Hmm let me guess The Princess Bride?”

“I don’t care as long as it’s funny, I would be okay with a Sandler movie too,” you sheepishly say knowing all too well that Dean didn’t want to watch your favorite movie.

“Sure, since it is late why don’t you get into your pj’s since I am sure you will be out in the first 30 mins,” Dean let out with a laugh.

“Fine, bossy,” you walked away knowing that he was probably right.

When you return to the living room Dean has the movie paused on a black screen, as you curl up next to him wrapping yourself in the blanket Charlie left for Dean to use, Dean presses play. You eyes will with tears, this time from happiness as you hear the sound of the 80’s video-game sound and see the pixelated game come on screen.

You look up at Dean, “Thank you.”

“Anything for my princess,“ he said placing a soft kiss on your forehead. “Oh wait I did that wrong, it’s supposed to be As You Wish...right.”

[chelseawolfemusic]

Chelsea Wolfe: In Search of Brutal Honesty // REVOLVER

photograph by TRAVIS SHINN

The intensely private musician shines a light on her personal life and family history to create her most real and raw work yet

Article by STEVE APPLEFORD via REVOLVER

This isn't how Chelsea Wolfe remembers things at all. We're in a corner bar in downtown Los Angeles, a noirish watering hole with a throbbing trip-hop soundtrack that she used to frequent during seven years of living and making music in the naked city. She's returned for an afternoon visit dressed in elegant layers of vampire black; a three-legged raven tattoo is apparent on her left forearm as she hovers over a purplish mixed drink. But everything is askew as a big-screen TV blasts a sporting event and sunlight shines brightly through the long windows around her.

"I'm a little thrown. This bar used to be my favorite," she says, having her first drink here since she moved back to the woods of Northern California a year ago. The shadows are Wolfe's preferred comfort zone, where she makes music in smoky shades of black and gray, with intense flashes of melody and distortion that reflect what the singer-guitarist calls "the brutish side of myself."

Her interior life has also been largely kept in the shadows. She's revealed little of her own story in song lyrics and media interviews, begging off questions that cut too close to the personal.

"I never talk about this stuff," Wolfe says. "My extended family — there is just a lot of darkness there. I don't know how to get into it without being emo."

On her fifth album, Hiss Spun, she finally turns the light on herself, reaching backward to old feelings and memories of self-destruction and the pain of watching a lover fade in a cloud of addiction. The result is her most complete and dynamic offering to date, the definitive achievement thus far of an artist who has won a diverse and devoted fan base by being hard to define, daringly spanning the worlds of goth rock, neo-folk, electronic music and metal. On Hiss Spun, Wolfe whispers and wails to sounds that are characteristically wide-ranging, shifting from noisy to ethe- real, gloomy to cinematic, but the lyrics cut deeper than ever before. On the creeping "The Culling," she hints at some grim family history: "I'll never tell the secrets of my family/Bled out/A cult of anonymity ..." On "Scrape," she rages of "a young nymph defiled."

It comes up more than once, reflecting an old secret that she explains has shattered the peace among her extended family, a subject she isn't ready to fully talk about. "It's too big of a bomb to drop," she says of the secret revealed to her at 19 by her maternal grandmother. "My family is all very estranged because of something that someone did to everyone in my family."

She looks up from her drink and adds casually, "My family is pretty fucked up. The way that I came out is not like a big surprise."

At age seven, Chelsea Wolfe wrote her first poem, already overloaded with atmosphere and observation: a rainy day, dogs barking, a siren rushing past and thoughts about where that siren might be heading. "I would space out sometimes," she recalls. "My family was like, ‘What's wrong with you?' I was thinking about the whole world around me, and all these sounds and sadness and happiness that were happening at the same time."

She grew up in Sacramento, California, splitting time between her mother, her grandmother, and her father and stepmother. One house overlooked a graveyard, with daily funerals of diverse denominations. Her father is a country musician who handed down one of his guitars to Wolfe and taught her how to record in his home studio. (They once sang together at a tribute to Dolly Parton.) When she turned 18, her father drove young Chelsea to get her first tattoo: a Celtic cross on her back.

"I grew up pretty fast. I had older sisters. By the time I was 11, I was drinking 40s and getting fucked up and getting in trouble and smoking weed," she remembers. By high school, she was bored enough with drink and drugs to stop, then started experimenting with it again in her twenties.

Her early musical forays included a grungy trio called the Red Host, named after a 1911 erotic expressionist painting by Egon Schiele. Also in the group was her close friend Jess Gowrie, who plays drums in her current backing band. The songs were raw and brooding, hinting at the Wolfe music to come, but after a couple of years of playing around town, she chose a solo path. There was a falling out with Gowrie, and they were mostly out of touch for several years.

"I knew that I had to follow my own vision. I was young and still very curious about what I could do musically on my own and with other people," Wolfe says now. "I knew that it was going to be a very painful thing. So a lot of getting over that was her forgiving me for leaving this project, and me forgiving myself for hurting a good friend."

Her reunion with Gowrie began when Wolfe was again spending time in Sacramento after years away. Gowrie took her out regularly for karaoke, and Wolfe made Black Sabbath's teary "Changes" and other Ozzy standards her specialty. The drummer turned her on to some Nineties music (Nine Inch Nails, Marilyn Manson, etc.) Wolfe missed the first time around. They also began experimenting with their own music again, a collaboration that evolved into a new album under the Wolfe name: Hiss Spun.

"Some of my favorite moments on the record are when she is really going wild," Wolfe says of Gowrie, whose influence on the singer goes back a decade. "She really helped me become the frontperson that I am because I was always really shy," Wolfe says. "She was always really encouraging and pushing me to play lead guitar parts and sing and do as much as I could. When we reunited, it was almost like a triumph: We're friends again, we're making music together again. I really wanted her to shine on this record."

Another key player on several Hiss Spun tracks is guitarist Troy Van Leeuwen of Queens of the Stone Age. Wolfe met the sharp-dressed guitarist while she was opening a short run of shows with Queens in 2014. Van Leeuwen introduced himself by mixing drinks for Wolfe and her band backstage. Also on that tour, Wolfe got an essential piece of advice and encouragement from Queens leader Josh Homme.

During her shows, Wolfe often spits onstage, but was careful on that tour not to hit any Queens gear. Homme told her not to worry. "I didn't want to fuck up their stage," she says now. "Josh was like, ‘No, do your show fully. Be you and go for it.' Having the backing of a band you look up to so much was really great for my confidence as a live performer. I feel like I've grown a lot since that tour."

During the Hiss Spun sessions late last year, Van Leeuwen traveled out to Salem, Massachusetts, for a few days to join Wolfe at recording engineer (and Converge guitarist) Kurt Ballou's GodCity Studios. "Instantly, it was great," she recalls. "I was begging Kurt: ‘Please, let's start recording and get all this shit and figure out the right direction to go.' Troy would hit these notes that were gut-wrenching."

It's a descriptor that applies to Wolfe's music in general. At their core, her songs are still inspired by the "real and raw and fucked-up" examples of Hank Williams and Townes Van Zandt, American songwriters who shared a gift for authenticity and despair. "It's the honesty of it," she explains. "I always wanted to know there are two sides to every story. I want some brutal honesty."

On Hiss Spun, Wolfe's brand of brutal honesty begins with a wild screech of feedback, launching the emotional swirl of "Spun," as electric guitars slice across a foundation of distortion and Wolfe sings, soft and soaring: "You leave me reckless, you leave me sick/I destroy myself and want it again."

The sound is meticulously layered, shifting from delicate to grinding on "Spun," which Ballou called "a big sloppy rock song." The album's first single, "16 Psyche," follows a similar trajectory, unfolding from a brooding riff and menacingly tumbling beats. Then comes "Vex," colliding death-metal angst with Gothic gloom, erupting with a guttural roar from guest vocalist Aaron Turner of Isis, Old Man Gloom and Sumac. "I get chills every time he comes in," says Wolfe.

An emotional peak on the new album is "Twin Fawn," equal parts romance and tragedy, beauty and loss. "It hurts to stay, but it hurts to stop," Wolfe sings to an achingly gentle guitar that soon explodes with thundering wrath, as she cries: "You cut me open/You lived inside."

"Part of that is about being in love with someone who's addicted to drugs," she explains. "I've experienced that before — trying to help that person, and at the same time the frustration when someone doesn't want to be helped. There are a lot of love songs out there. I hope that I can write a good love song someday, but for now I tend to write songs about the more practical sides of love — when you're actually putting work in, spending time with someone, trying to help them through something, or they're trying to help you through something, the give and take.

"There's definitely some anger on this album," she continues. "There's anger about the election and what's to come from that. There's anger that's directly expressed from the viewpoint of a woman, and thinking about what my foremothers had to go through, and what I had to go through sometimes."

On the cover of Hiss Spun, Wolfe depicts herself as a cornered animal, photographed on her knees and backed against a white wall in a black dress made of hair, head bent downward, a single eye peering dangerously forward. "I knew that I wanted to represent some kind of messiness and just being fucked up," she says of the feral image. "I do feel like there is a lot of pressure on women artists to be like, ‘I have my shit together' — and it's not always like that. I'm a messy person. I'm self-destructive a lot of time. I wanted to represent that."

A week after her visit to the bar in Los Angeles, Wolfe is on the phone, between rehearsals back home with her band. A fall tour of the U.S. is still many weeks away. Her family secret comes up, and she considers the possibility that revealing too little could lead to wild imaginings.

She hesitates to say more. "I really don't want to hurt anyone in my family, because a lot of them were more affected by it than I was," she says. After a moment, she explains, "Basically, my great-grandfather was a pedophile and fucked up every woman in my family. I don't always feel that it's my story to tell, because it was an older generation of women who had the worst of it."

It's a story that mostly unfolded years before her birth, but Wolfe remembers him. "I was around him when I was a little kid. So there is some blurriness there that I won't get into."

Bringing the story into the light, and dealing with her family history, has been part of a larger process for Wolfe. It's not just a personal journey, but also one meant to connect with listeners dealing with their own lives and anxiety. She makes a point of talking to fans after her shows.

"I've never gone to therapy. This is my version of that," she says of making art that explores life's hidden places. "At the same time, I'm trying to write from the human experience or write about being this mess of a person who's trying to come to terms with things, and finding strength through that. Even though there are some really dark moments on this record, all of my music is about overcoming that and pushing forward and surviving another day."

[lunacatriona]

Holby City Fanfic Contest 2.0 - Voting!

Okay, so, we have eleven wonderful entries.

1. To vote, please reblog and add the number of your favourite.

2. Please only vote once.

3. If you have entered, you may vote.

4. If you have entered. you may vote for your own entry, but please refrain from telling anyone you did so.

5. If you want to leave feedback on any of the stories, please include that in your reblog.

6. Please keep feedback respectful. It is one thing to have an opinion, but entirely another to express that opinion in a rude or venomous manner.

7. Voting closes at 11pm on Monday, February 13th. It will take a while to read through the entries so just take your time.

8. Have fun reading!

Please note that the word limit kind of went out the window, so you’d be as well just ignoring that part while judging.

1. Title: Frosted Ponds and Beating Hearts Prompt: image of snow

Serena drives slowly on the icy streets as a fresh cloud-full of snow gently falls to the ground. She vaguely knows where she is, somewhere on the other side of Holby and close to Bernie’s flat. She reaches over to pick up the map on the passenger seat: spies a few street signs and confirms she is where she is supposed to be.   

She starts looking around the streets, craning her neck in search of a familiar figure. She indicates and turns a corner; sees a rather tall and coat clad woman leaning against a brick wall with an umbrella dangling from her hand. Serena pulls up into a free parking spot, put on her fur hat, and gets out of the car. 

Bernie looks up at the sound of a car. Smiles and pushes off the wall when she sees Serena pop up above the roof of her car and takes a few steps forward. Stops in the middle of the pavement and smiles: face extra bright and underlined by black wool. 

“I was beginning to worry you’d gotten lost,” Bernie jokes as Serena stops in front of her and pulls her in for a hug.

“Well, you’re directions got me here in the end,” Serena quips back as she lets go. “Though, they were very a bit jumbled. I can’t believe you don’t know where you live.”   

“I know where I live, I just don’t know what any of the streets are called!” Bernie response, slightly defensive.

Serena pins her with a stare and Bernie grins ruefully. Gestures toward her left, bowing her head slightly as she points Serena in the direction they should be walking. Serena smiles and fall into step beside Bernie and the trudge towards the end of the block: thick boots keeping grip on the sludge.   

“Why did you bother bring that?” Serena asks as they walk, pointing towards the now tattered umbrella hanging limply from Bernie’s finger.   

“Well, it wasn’t that windy when I left the house!” Bernie replies, tone indignant. “But there was this one gust on the way here and it just sort of happened.”   

Serena laughs and Bernie huffs. Throws the umbrella in a nearby bin as they walk towards the park.   

“But why did you bring it at all?” Serena presses.   

“I didn’t want us to get too badly snowed on,” Bernie mumbles, knowing it is a moot point now that the barely falling snow of the day has stopped completely.  

“Oh, that’s very sweet. But if you didn’t want to get me snowed on you shouldn’t have invited me out into the snow,” Serena quips, and laughs as Bernie’s makes a face at her infallible logic.   

They turn the corner, cross the road, and walk into an expanse of snow covered park: grass blanketed in white, trees iced with flakes, a frozen pond in middle and slightly off to the left. Serena notices a couple playing fetch with a dog in the far right corner but otherwise the park is empty: not even footprints in the snow, save their own as they slowly trudge towards the pond.   

They are both a bit breathless by the time they stand on the wood planks of the bridge curved over the frozen water. The stop at the highest point of the arch — Bernie leans forward and rests her weight on the railings; Serena’s gloved fingers grip the bar leaving fingermarks in the ice —they look out over the park.

“I see why you wanted to show me,” Serena says, breath misting in the cold air. She turns her face towards Bernie who looks back with big eyes. “This is lovely, thank you for sharing it with me.”   

Bernie smiles: small and bright and a touch embarrassed. Looks as if she wants to say something but nibbles on her lip to bite back her words. Serena turns her attention back the view, knowing patience is usually the best course of action with Bernie. Bernie follows suit, looking over at the couple still playing with their dog.

They stand in silence for several minutes. A few flakes of snow start to fall again. Then stop.

“You know, I missed the snow so much during my deployment. The rain too, and the cold,” Bernie says, looking out over the park. “Not that I hated the heat, you got used to it eventually, but it was constant and it made me miss the weather back home. Even though I’d grumble about never seeing the sun whenever I was homeside I’d still love it when it was cold.”   

“It was strange, being in the Ukraine,” Bernie continues and Serena manages not to tense at the mention. “Being away from home but not sweltering. I was so used to sweating whenever I was abroad. But Kiev, it was cold. Except it wasn’t a comfort. It was cold like home but it wasn’t. Home, that it.”   

“But now that I’m back here…” Bernie trails off: she might not have said “with you” but Serena hears it all the same. “The snow and the cold — it’s beautiful.”  

“It is,” Serena agrees, looking at Bernie’s profile. The corners of Bernie mouth curls into a smile: she turns and Serena sees that wide thin smile that always reminds her of a puppy. Serena smiles back before turning to stare out over the view. Scuffs the toe of her shoe on the wood of the bridge before speaking.  

“I’ve always loved the snow,” Serena says, still feeling Bernie gaze directed at her. “When I was a child I loved snowball fights and making angels and huffing in the air and pretending I was smoking.” Serena mimes inhaling; puffs out mist and giggles. “I love the brusque coldness and the excuse to wear layers of thick wool.” Serena pauses, looks up at the fluff on her head. “And any excuse to wear the hat, obviously.”   

Serena beams under her fur fringe: her face kitten that ate the cream smug. Bernie turns and lets out a bark. Leans over and bumps Serena shoulder with her own. Shuffles closer to bring their sides together, leaning on the railing again. Serena leans down too, keeping the crook of Bernie’s elbow pressed again her own.   

They look down at their hands, itching to tangle together. Serena looks up through long lashes and Bernie shivers. Serena notices and raises an eyebrow.   

“Sorry, seems I’m a bit cold,” Bernie says, tone playful and loaded. “Perhaps you’d like to warm me up?”   

“I think I can manage that,” Serena teases and turns to wrap her arms around Bernie’s waist. She pulls their bodies together and tilts her face; looks up to see Bernie looking down. Serena raises her chin as Bernie drops hers: their lips meet, slightly chapped but still soft and warm. Serena tightens the hug and feels Bernie melt against her.   

Bernie’s fingers brush against Serena’s neck and up to dip under the band of her hat. She curls her fingers in Serena’s hair; knocking it onto the ground. Neither notice it rock back and forth on the wood planks before coming to a standstill as the snow starts to fall again.

2. Prompt: “How much do you have to drink to not feel anything?” - Grace Hanson, Grace and Frankie

How much do you have to drink to not feel anything? You ask yourself, maybe you would like to say it out loud while you dive into your glass of whiskey and take a slow sip.

You are in Serena’s house and everything in her house is screaming her name. Her smell is everywhere, it stuns you and you curse the moment you accepted her invitation. 

«How much do you have to drink to not feel anything?» This time you say it out loud, and she doesn’t even seem to have heard you, as she holds a glass of delicious Shiraz in her hands. She looks like the kind of person who has the answer to your question. 

You feel stupid next to her, on her couch. You feel your heart racing while her head rests on your shoulder and she sighs while swallowing her wine. 

You’re a coward now and you always were, trying to drown your feelings for Serena inside a half empty glass. 

Pointless, you think to yourself. 

Your feelings are always there. 

You both had a tough day: the many losses in the operating room, your divorce, her problems with Jason. It all gets to you as a wave of nausea and you lose all your courage once again. 

You look at her leaning against you. She is your Goddess dressed with leopard print shirts and a smile as bright as a thousand sunrises. It is the thing that you love most about her. 

You are sad, like twilight, solitary and some would say cold as ice, she is exactly everything that you are not. She holds the sun within herself and, as the sun does with the moon, she lights up your life, she makes you feel alive again. 

You love her – yes, this is love, even if it was damn hard to admit it- like you’ve never loved anyone before her. 

«It’s all relative.» Her voice slow because of the alcohol reaches you, and you ask yourself how much time has passed since you posed the question. How long have you been in your head Ms. Wolfe? A minute? An hour? A whole day? Has the earth exploded and has everything started over until you reached this point in time again? 

You do not know. 

You think back to her words. You both already knew the answer, but it’s nice to have an excuse to hear her voice. This alcohol is not strong enough for you and it is having almost no effect. You grew up in the army and in those environments you learned to hold much more than a few glasses. 

Her eyes close, tired, while holding a glass of wine in her delicate fingers. You gulp down the rest of your whiskey before the ice turns it into dirty water. 

You search for the courage to kiss her while, with eyes closed, she is unaware that your faces are just a few inches away. 

You can always blame the alcohol if it were to upset Serena. 

You stop and you can feel her hot breath on your lips.

You move away from her.

How much do you have to drink to not feel love anymore? 

There will never be enough glasses of whiskey or Shiraz on the whole damn planet that will complete a task that impossible. 

The softness of her breasts against your side leaves you short of breath. You want to groan out loud but do not dare. 

What would you do to see those breasts, take them in your hands, kiss them, love them, love every part of her for the rest of your existence. But Wolfe, you’ll never be brave enough to confess your feelings and you know that. Maybe all you have left to do is to run away and forget about it, forget about how you came back to life thanks to her. 

Maybe one day you’ll do that when she will fall in love with the next idiot who will sooner or later steal her heart. Serena Campbell is too attractive not to catch man’s eyes. How long will it be before your heart will fall apart to see her in the arms of another? 

She is not your woman. 

You keep saying that, but it is pointless. Jealousy starts to crawl like a treacherous snake inside your mind. 

You picture her with him, in his bed, and you become furious. You squeeze the glass in your hand so hard you think that it will shatter. 

«Bernie.» Her voice awakens you from your slumber and you look in those worried eyes. You smile pretending that everything is fine and she seems satisfied with it. If only she knew, she would not take your hand in hers as she is doing now, she would not lean so much on your body, would not invite you to her house, even though at times you think she knows exactly the reaction she is causing in you. 

Serena Campbell is definitely not stupid. 

She occasionally flirts with you. You both do that with the other. But it is only camaraderie, isnt it. It is something that has to do with spending the whole day in the same department, the same shared office. Is that something that makes everyone think of you two as the self-appointed mothers of AAU. 

Yes, you could really be the mother of most of the boys there. You feel old and you think back to your children who don’t speak to you anymore. How would they react to knowing that their mother - more than fifty years old - is in love like a teenager with her best friend? 

God, you feel ridiculous. 

You feel Serena soft snoring against you and a sweet smile blossoms on your lips, thinking how beautiful she is without even having to try. 

How much do you have to drink to not feel remorse? 

You grab the whiskey bottle and drink straight from it, who cares if you eventually will die of liver disease. Your time on this earth sucks. An eternal purgatory that reminds you of your past mistakes, cruelly lists them every day before your eyes, and only looking at Serena seems to ease the pain for a few hours. 

Berenice, you think, the name of a beautiful proud woman, who sacrifices the thing she holds most sacred for love. You vaguely remember the legend, your mind clouded by alcohol. No name could be more wrong for you than this except well, maybe Griselda. Once Serena told you that it meant “Old Heroine”. You smile full of contempt. On second thought maybe, old but never a hero. 

You have another drink. 

Your thoughts become clouded and your limbs are screaming with exhaustion. The position is uncomfortable with Serena’s weight against you, but you do not want to move even one inch from there. Tomorrow you’ll deal with the back pain. Tonight you simply don’t care.

How much do you have to drink to not feel anything? 

Perhaps you know that, after all, this is where the punishment is. You’ll never lose your self-awareness and you will continue to mull over your feelings as you drown and fall asleep, perhaps for the first time in months, with Serena to warm you body and soul.

4. Title: Surprises often get unrequited Prompt: “How much do you have to drink to not feel anything?” - Grace Hanson, Grace and Frankie

Holby is always busy after the holidays, AAU being no exception. Serena’s been nonstop the entire day. The entire week to be exact, she thinks to herself, chuckling softly to no one in particular.

‘What’s brought that on then?’ Raf says, approaching her.

‘Just thinking how Holby holds no surprises,’ she replies. Raf gives her a questioning look. ‘Each case that comes through here seems to be a repeat of the last one, altered just a smidge so that you don’t feel like knocking yourself about just to change things up.’

‘You don’t have to remind me about that. I just had three very intoxicated boys, all more or less blaming it on food poisoning,’ he says with a grin of his own, before walking off.

The next day will bring relief to Serena as she has the day off, along with a certain someone who she spots walking across the ward. Somehow she always knows where Bernie is on the ward before looking, a new feeling that came after Bernie returned from Kiev. But just as soon as she sees her Bernie’s gone again and Serena starts to glower.

Their relationship is moving as it should be, they spend their days working together, and spend their evenings enjoying each other’s company. Tomorrow will be the first day that they’ll both have off together where the other hasn’t already arranged to do something else, and Serena plans to spend every minute of it with Bernie.

She just has to get through the last of her shift before they can head off to the restaurant Serena has made reservations for, which she had booked a month in advance. A point she will tell anyone who tries to get in-between her and Bernie’s night.

She makes her rounds, seeming to never run into Bernie despite her want to do just that. One look from Bernie makes any stressful situation just a little better, and to get one now would mean getting through these last couple hours a bit easier. Though despite her hopes she never bumps into Bernie and her mood dampers just noticeably. But it’s enough for Raf to notice.

‘I can see your earlier giddiness is gone, any reason for that?’ he raises an eyebrow. ‘Not seeing enough of Bernie maybe?’

Of course he means it as a joke, but it just makes Serena more miserable. ‘What does it take to run into someone here? This ward isn’t that big, and she can’t be in theatre at all hours can she?’

She doesn’t get an answer, merely a sad smile from him.

‘I better see her at the end of shift or else I’m sending you on a man hunt. Without pay,’ she points at Raf and he throws his hands up in surrender. She resumes her rounds before he can say anything.

Overlooking the rest of her patients and one surgery later Serena breathes a sigh of relief. She removes her bloody theatre gown after a particularly messy abdomen repair. Luckily she put on her scrubs before going into theatre in case of this situation.

It’s the end of her shift so she decides to put on her evening attire, a simple white shirt with her favourite blue blouse over it, and black dress pants to pull it all together. She looks at herself in the tall mirror in the corner and smiles, her mood finally lightening after a long day.

She walks onto the ward, everything has quieted down and she sees Raf give her pointed look and he shifts his gaze towards her office. She follows his stare and spots the very person that’s been on her mind the whole day, she gives Raf a wink before donning a sly grin on her face.

She hasn’t told Bernie what they’re doing for the evening, she only told her to keep her evening clear, which she already knows she will since they spend most evenings together already. Serena thought she may as well start the evening with a surprise, starting with a surprise hug.

Bernie is facing the two joined desks in their office, hunched over and looking down at something in her hands, her phone? A file? Serena can’t tell. She stops just outside the office to look over Bernie, she’s gotten used to openly admiring her. At first she was self-conscious of staring at Bernie, because she was a woman, but now Serena enjoys what she gets to look at when Bernie is not aware of it.

At the moment though Bernie’s body looks tense, a slight tremor to her shoulders, but Serena just rules it out as exhaustion after a hard day.

Serena looks around the ward and sees that no one is paying attention to her or the office before stepping inside. She doesn’t bother closing the door so as not to stir Bernie. Serena walks until she is behind Bernie and tries to keep her breathing under control. She leans forward and pushes up on her toes.

‘Hi,’ Serena says, trying to make it sound as husky as possible, into Bernie’s ear whilst beginning to wrap her arms around Bernie’s body. Before she can fully wrap her arms around her Bernie suddenly jolts upright, turns, and all Serena sees before she blacks out is a fist.

Serena wakes up in one of the vacant beds. She looks up with blurry vision, two sets of eyes looking down at her.

‘Welcome back,’ Raf says with a cheeky smile.

‘Oh Serena, I am really sorry,’ Bernie brushes her fingers against Serena’s arm. ‘I..I was just, distracted by something.’

Serena reaches up and feels her face. Her fingers delicately going over her swollen nose and cheeks, wincing at the tenderness. ‘I could only imagine what that could be.’ Serena groans out the last word.

‘Right, well. We’ll have to get you in for a CT, I’m afraid you have a minor concussion. So I’d like to keep you in overnight.’ Raf gently feels her nose and the surrounding area. ‘Good news is that I don’t think Ms. Wolfe broke anything.’ Serena groans again.

‘Rightly so,’ Serena mummers as she squints at Bernie’s sad smile.

‘For the most part I think you were very lucky. From the way Ms. Wolfe yelled for help we all thought something far worse had happened,’ Raf looks down at his watch. ‘Okay, I’m off. Someone will be around every couple hours to check on you.’ Raf heads to the nursing station to finish the night’s paperwork leaving Serena and Bernie alone.

‘I guess, urgh,’ Serena pushes herself up more on the bed. ‘This isn’t the romantic, wine-filled night I had planned.’ She looks at Bernie’s quizzical look, takes hold of her hand to reassure her, but notices the bruising around her knuckles. ‘Does it hurt?’

‘Not so much. I’m more pained from actually hitting you. Really Serena, I am sorry, for this, and for the evening I’ve just ruined.’

‘You can make up for it by being my nurse for the night. First order of business I would like a glass of water with your best straw. I hear hydration can cure all.’ Serena manages to smile despite her swollen cheeks. ‘How much do you reckon I’d have to drink to not look like Rudolph anymore?’

At that question all of the tension in Bernie fades and she laughs heartedly. She gives Serena’s hand a squeeze before getting up to be the dutiful nurse.

When Bernie returns with all the necessities – water, an extra blanket, a pack of cards – the two begin an evening of familiarity. Bernie gives a not-so-clear reason as to why she was distracted, which Serena puts to the back of her mind as she asks Bernie how she got from the office to the bed.

‘When I realized it was you, I caught you before you fell and hurt your head more,’ Bernie says with a small smile. ‘And then I picked you up and carried you to this bed.’ She pats the bed in front of her. Serena’s face lightens at that fact.

‘I think that bit of information just took you off the hot seat Ms. Wolfe.’ They grin at each other, holding each other’s gazes. ‘But you are taking me shopping for a new blouse.’ She feigns a pout. ‘It was my favourite.’

‘Anything you want Fräulein,’ Bernie says before taking up Serena’s hand with both of hers and lays a kiss on it. ‘Anything.’

5. Prompt: Image of snow

They are walking, hand in hand, through the snow-covered streets. A freezing cold wind bites at their faces.  

“What do you think of Italy?” Bernie says. “I mean – you never got – “

“Perfect.” Serena says.   And that’s that. Honeymoon sorted.   

-   

Strolling, hand in hand again with Serena, along the sun-drenched Amalfi coastline, Bernie thinks life can’t get any better. A shimmering azure sea stretches out on one side. On the other dozens of white-washed villas rise over the cliffs. The scent of lemon tinges the air. There is only one thing that could improve her morning. Ice-cream. Soft, cold and delicious. And when she spots a place that sells it, she rushes ahead. Pulls Serena with her.   

“Steady on, soldier,” Serena says. Pulls back. Follows Bernie’s gaze. Realises what she has set her sights on. Quirks an eyebrow. “It’s half nine in the morning, Bernie.”   

“We’re on holiday.”   

And besides, Bernie thinks, there’s never a wrong time for ice-cream. So, making sure Serena definitely doesn’t want one – “We’ve just had breakfast.” – Bernie, very much like an excited child Serena thinks, dashes over to the little stall and buys herself an ice-cream.   

All of two minutes later, they have walked south down the road and Bernie pauses to check street signs for directions (only having taken one tiny lick of the ice-cream). All of two minutes later, after Serena vehemently said she did not want ice-cream, Bernie takes her eyes off it for one second and, of course, some of it goes missing.    

“Oi,” she says, even as she holds the cone out so Serena’s tongue can swipe the rim of the cone, “you said you didn’t want one.”   

“It was melting,” Serena protests. “It was practically dripping onto the pavement.”   

Bernie’s can’t help but smile, when Serena lifts her head and Bernie sees that’s ice-cream spots her nose. Serena utters her trademark “what?” and Bernie’s smile stretches into a grin. “What?”   

“You’ve got –” Some part of her is tempted to lean forward and lick the ice-cream off her wife’s face. The other part of her, that remembers the other tourists around them, passes Serena a tissue from her pocket. Which Serena uses, and then promptly, forgetting the other tourists around them, kisses Bernie on the lips.   

“Was that an apology?” Bernie asks, when they part.   

“No,” Serena says, and really is it any wonder what happens next, when her voice dips gloriously low and wicked so that only Bernie can hear, and really is it even Bernie’s fault what happens next, when Serena kisses her again, harder and deeper, slipping her tongue into Bernie’s mouth, and really did Bernie care in that moment when the ice cream somehow falls from her grip and into a mess on the floor, seconds after Serena admits it wasn’t an apology, it was her thinking of far more fun and inventive ways to enjoy ice cream. To steal it off people.   

Quite literally.   

-   

Needless to say, Bernie wasn’t really thinking of the wasted ice-cream earlier. But now they’re back at the villa, she decides – Serena Campbell, ice-cream thief extraordinaire –needs to pay. Serena, conscience obviously untroubled by such theft, is relaxing by the poolside, the sun lounger on which she lies on a bit too close to the water. Oh well, Bernie thinks. Serena has rested her straw sun hat over her face to shield her eyes from the sun. Soaking up the sun, she lies there perfectly content. Perfectly unsuspecting as a swim-suit clad Bernie creeps up towards the pool.   

Bernie turns back to take a long, appreciative look at the contrast between the deep blue of Serena’s halter-neck bathing costume (as well as its plunging neckline) and the creamy whiteness of the skin on display. She’s told Bernie she doesn’t tan, just burns much to her irritation when she was younger, and now she just slathers herself with sunscreen and enjoys the sun regardless. It’s a lot less risker, anyway.     

The sun has brought out dazzling constellations of freckles over Serena’s arms and upper chest and Bernie has to drag her eyes away. At least her last sight is a very beautiful one, before all hell sets loose via the incitation of Serena Campbell’s wrath.   

Bernie remembers Serena’s teasing question one day when she had snuck up behind the woman, quite unintentionally. Can you wear louder shoes, please? Bernie’s bare feet pad quietly to the edge of the pool. Stand right at the ledge. The nearest part to Serena. When Serena doesn’t stir, Bernie takes a deep breath and jumps into the water, curling her body up for maximum impact.   Maximum splashing.   

“Berenice bloody Wolfe,” Serena shouts, jumping up from the sun lounger. Bernie surfaces from under the water and twists around in the pool to admire her handiwork. Serena stands, sun-hat clutched in hand, not quite as dripping wet as Bernie had wanted. But her skin is glistening and there are darker patches on her swimsuit from the water and her face is, Bernie inwardly congratulates herself, a picture. Bernie can’t help but break into laughter.   

Her smugness will be short-lived. Bernie has declared war and, whilst she is laughing, guards down, Serena is swiftly going in for attack. Creeping up the edge of the pool herself. She dives in, forceful and graceful. Swims up to Bernie. Bernie is just about to tease “show off” before a wave of water hits her. Then another. Yes, Bernie Wolfe has declared all-out war. It takes a several seconds for Bernie to move back in the water, away from the incoming waves, and splash back. Gain the upper hand. Which she quickly loses.   

“Please,” she says, out of breath, holding her hands up in defeat. “You win.”   Serena mercifully accepts her surrender and moves close to Bernie, to where the pool is shallow enough so that they can both stand up, the water lapping just below their shoulders. They are almost stood chest to chest. Serena’s eyes are gleaming. Her smile is triumphant.   

“Was that an apology?”   

“No,” Bernie says, lifting Serena up in the pool so that her legs wrap around Bernie’s waist, “It was me thinking that –” Bernie grasps Serena’s backside, “surely”, Bernie lowers her head to press her lips against Serena’s collarbone, “there are far more fun”, she trails her lips upwards and Serena happily tilts her head back, granting her more access, “and inventive things to do in a swimming pool.”

6. Prompt: “How much do you have to drink to not feel anything?” - Grace Hanson, Grace and Frankie

Bernie hadn’t realised how much she had wanted, how much she had needed to get back to the daily grind of surgery. Blood on her fingers, organs in her hands. That familiar rhythm of slicing and suturing. Except the rhythm’s is off – she’s alone in theatre, without anyone opposite her – and it’s like a heart with only one beat. The other absent. Lost. The remaining one, stuttering on.   

She arrives at Serena’s with aching bones. Jason is out tonight, around Alan’s. It’ll be good for him to get out of the house. The air inside is heavy with grief and, some days, it’s like trying to move through mud the silence is so thick. Full of unsaid things. Full of questions, unuttered, because there are no answers. What now? How do they even get through this?   

What is she, Bernie, meant to do? What can she do? These past weeks, she feels like she’s done nothing but stand by and watch the beautiful and bright spark in Serena’s eyes swallowed by complete blackness. Done nothing but stand by as the woman she loves suffers an agony there’s no anaesthetic for.   And there’s no organ to remove. No bone to set straight. No bleed to find and stop. No open skin to stitch shut. There’s nothing Bernie can do.   

Bernie turns into the living room and sees that the surfaces are empty. Serena must have binned the flowers, rounded up the cards and stashed them away. Out of sight. There’s petals strewn across the rug. A few scattered on the coffee table. A photo-frame on the dresser tilted the wrong way, an ornament knocked on its side. Bernie spots the note Jason has left her, before she a chance to notice the missing vase that usually stands in the centre of the windowsill.   

Jason keeps a watchful eye on Serena. Bernie hadn’t asked him to, but he knows she appreciates it. That she finds it reassuring, most days. The note tells her that Serena was still in room when he went out at three. Had been in the most of the day. She didn’t eat lunch like yesterday. And she’s been drinking.   Bernie calls out Serena’s name as she moves into the kitchen. Red wine stains the countertop.   

How much do you have to drink to not feel anything?   

Serena. Last night. Drinking after dinner. Sat next to Bernie on the sofa. Bernie telling her that perhaps she shouldn’t have another glass. Serena saying that Bernie never minded before. Neither of them mentioning what the before is. Serena pouring herself another glass. A smile creeping across her lips, strange and terrible.   

“How much do you have to drink to not feel anything?”   

Bernie reaching for the glass before it can reach Serena’s lips. Holding it tight.   “Serena,” Bernie, voice soft as the snowfall, before taking the glass from Serena, “it won’t help anything.” Bernie putting the glass on one side and turning back and pulling Serena closer to her. Serena leaning in to her and sobbing into Bernie’s shirt.   

How much do you have to drink to not feel anything?   

Serena not seeing Bernie’s eyes, flitting all around the room. Not finding anywhere to land. Bernie not knowing what to say. Not knowing what to do. Bernie hugging Serena tighter and tighter.   

After dinner. Last night. Serena. How much do you have to drink to not feel anything?   

The red wine stain on the kitchen countertop. The bottles she knows are missing from the fridge.   

Bernie runs. Turns out the kitchen and up the stairs. Shouts Serena’s name. Gets no answer. Her hands shake. Struggle to turn the handle of the bedroom door. Open it on the third try. Her heart hammers against her ribs. Blood rushes in her ears. She sprints past the empty wine bottles on the floor. Pushes opens the bathroom door. Finds the shower door open and Serena slumped on the shower floor, knees to her chest, eyes closed.   

Bernie yells her name. Crouches down next her. Puts her hands on her shoulders. Gentle, but firm. Says her name. Gentle, but firm.   

“Bernie.” Serena’s eyes open.   

Gasping from the run, terror still running in her veins, Bernie’s eyes dart over Serena’s body. Her hands follow suit, patting her down. Checking that’s she okay. That’s she safe.   

“I broke the vase,” Serena says, dull and flat. “That’s all.”   

She shows Bernie her hand. The cut that the shower has washed clean from blood.   

Bernie checks over Serena again. “Have you taken anything?”

“What?”   

“Have you taken anything? Medicine, pills. Serena.”   

When Serena doesn’t respond, Bernie lets her fear get the better of her. Raises her voice.   

“Serena. If I check the – “   

“I haven’t taken anything,” Serena snaps. Bernie has never been more relieved to hear her anger.   

“How much have you drank?”   

“Can’t remember,” her voice is faint. Barely a whisper. Tears form in her eyes.   “The water’s burning hot.” Bernie finally registers it pounding on her skin. She is on her knees, leaning forward into the shower. Her hair is drenched. Water runs down her back, soaking through her shirt just as it has Serena’s clothes. She’s half-dressed. Barefoot, in trousers and a bra. The water’s scorching and her eyes stare past Bernie, unfocused, uncaring.   

“Serena,” Bernie says, she cups Serena’s face with her hands, “let’s get you out of here.”   

“I wanted …” She chokes out a sob. “I wanted …”   

“I know,” Bernie says when Serena can’t get the words out. “I know.”   

How much do you have to drink to not feel anything?   Serena finally looks at her, properly. Eyes red-rimmed and shadowed by grey. Bernie almost wants to look away. She can’t stand the emptiness she sees in Serena’s pupils.   

Bernie eases Serena up and to her feet. She steps in the shower and turns off the water. Serena clutches at her and Bernie clutches back. For a moment, they stand together, shivering in the shower, clothes dripping. For a moment, they hold each other and Bernie whispers into Serena’s wet hair. I’m here now. I’ve got you. I love you.   

-   

The cut on Serena’s hand is not as worse as she thought. Bernie treats it with the supplies from the first kit in Serena’s bathroom. Doesn’t want to leave Serena even to just go down to the kitchen so fetches her a glass of water from there too. In the bedroom, Bernie unpeels Serena’s sodden clothes from her skin. Strips her own. Fetches towels and bathrobes.   

Serena pushes Bernie’s hands away when she goes to tie the terrycloth around her.   

“No, I want – “ She kisses Bernie, short and chaste. “I don’t want to get changed … I … “   

“Serena, I don’t think you’re – “   

“No. I just want you to … I just want to feel you … against me.”   And Bernie knows, again, what she wants.   

They crawl under the covers of the bed, exhausted, and Bernie pulls Serena close. Until there is no space between them. Until they are pressed as tightly together as the pages of a book. Skin to skin. Serena’s back against her front. Bernie presses feather-light kisses to Serena’s shoulder. She doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know what else to do. She knows, tomorrow, something must change.   

Her arm settles around Serena’s waist, her hand clasps Serena’s. Bernie listens to Serena’s steady breathes fill the room and presses her fingers over Serena’s wrist. Feels the pulse beneath.   

Wrapped within Bernie’s body, Serena falls asleep. Bernie never does.

7. Prompt: Image of a lost shoe

“I can’t believe it,” Bernie gasped, “I’m living with a camping snob.”   

“I’m … I’m not a camping snob. I just –”   

“Prove it. Come on a camping trip with me.”   

Why, Serena thinks now, did she agree? Why could she never resist a challenge? It was because of Bernie – I’ve practically slept on desert floors – Wolfe’s eager smile. Excitement Serena vowed she would mirror.    Even when Bernie booked a pitch without an electric hook-up.   

“What if Jason needs me? What if there’s an Emergency?” Serena protested.   “It’s only three days. We’ll take portable chargers. For emergency, only, though. And I know you’ll want to ring Jason every day, so I checked. There’s a telephone box down the street from the site.”   

And, despite such sacrifices that the whole ‘getting back to nature’ business meant, Serena got excited. Looked forward to spending time alone with Bernie, away from Holby, away from work, away from the pressures of daily life as a surgeon. Of daily life, full-stop.   

Whether it was a villa on the Amalfi coast or a campsite in Wales, Serena knew location didn’t really matter. It was a holiday, with Bernie. Their first as a couple.   

She couldn’t help her laughter when Bernie packed Scrabble – (“Sure you’re ready for that sort of competition, Miss Wolfe?) – and a packet of cards and poker chips – (“Sure you’re ready, Miss Campbell?”)   

She still harboured a certain level of trepidation about the trip, knowing she’d have to exchange 600 hundred thread count sheets for a lumpy sleeping bag, a memory foam mattress for one prone to deflate 30 seconds after you inflated it. But Serena stayed positive. Bernie wanted this trip, was an ‘outdoorsy person’, who enjoyed these things (much to Serena’s disbelief). As they set off for the weekend, Serena was determined that she wasn’t going to bring Bernie’s good mood down.   

And she doesn’t grumble once, not when the weather report announces expected blustery October showers and dropping temperatures, not when she remembers that she forgot her toothbrush – “it may be another country, but I’m pretty sure they have shops in Wales, Serena” – or when they journeyed into the countryside and the roads got very twister and narrower and if-a-car-comes-in-the-other-direction-this-is-going-to-be-very-interesting-indeed thinner and “Berenice Griselda Wolfe, if you don’t slow down this car right now, I will throw you off the cliff myself.”   

She doesn’t frown, either, when their journey stops abruptly. They wait as a seemingly endless line of sheep cross the road. “Did you see a farmer?”   

“No?”   

“Are you sure?”   

“Where on earth then – “   

Bernie just gives a shrug of her shoulder. Mutters something that sounds like Wales under her breath.   

The interruption means they don’t arrive at the campsite as dusk is settling. Campsite is a very loose word. It is more of a muddy field in the middle of nowhere. But no, Serena isn’t going to complain. Or she wasn’t until they pull up at their pitch – just another square of slightly less muddy grass – and it starts raining, thick and fast.     

“Maybe, we should just … wait it out.”   

“I don’t think this is the type of rain you wait out.” It looks like it’s staying for the weekend, is what Bernie means. “And, besides,” Bernie says, with a smile on her face that Serena feels is rapidly fading from hers, “we should get the tent up before night falls.”   

“Can’t we just kip the night in here and put it up tomorrow?”   

Bernie laughs before getting out the car. She thinks Serena is joking. Serena is, but only a bit.

Serena stays within the warmth of the car, but, when she sees Bernie unfurling the tent by herself in the now torrential downpour, she feels a stab of guilt. She promised herself. Think positive. And here she is, sulking like a petulant child. Wanting to write the camping trip before it has even begun. All because of a bit of rain.   

She steps out the car, and does so with a bit too much positivity that she doesn’t look what she’s stepping into. “Serena, watch the –"   It’s too late. Mud swallows her feet. When she tries to yank them out, one by one, her right shoe doesn’t come up. It remains wedged in mud. She is left, one foot on ground, one, shoeless, hovering in the air, imitating a flamingo. Very badly. She should have concentrated more in that mindfulness yoga class, she thinks, before she loses her balance. Bernie rushes over, but not in time.   

When she helps Serena up, all thoughts of positivity fly out of Serena’s head at an astonishing rate.   

“For Christ’s sake,” she says.   

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?”   

“I’m fine, I just – “ She scowls, looking down at her muddied clothes and hands.

“It’s alright. I’ve got wipes in the –“   

“What?”   

“I’m kidding. This campsite has another across the road. There are shower and toilet facilities just over there. Let’s get you a fresh pair of clothes, hmm?”  Bernie says.   

Serena takes a deep breath. Positivity, she thinks. 

-   

After a long, surprisingly hot, shower and change of clothes, Serena is feeling decidedly more upbeat than before. She walks back, very carefully, in the wellingtons she had mercifully not forgotten, and sees that she had forgotten that Bernie occasionally did like to turn into Super Woman, and not just in theatre, when she sees that what was just sheets of fabric and pegs on the ground is now a, thankfully very sturdy looking, tent.   

Serena kisses Bernie on the cheek. “Thank you.”   

“Your very welcome.”   

-   

“Large portion of chips, vinegar. No salt,” Bernie says as she steps into the tent, grateful to get out the bad weather, “and just what the Doctor ordered.” She holds up a bottle of shiraz, trophy-like.   

Serena looks up from where she is nestled up in a very thick sleeping bag (and a couple of blankets on top for good measure). “Where did you get that from?”

Bernie just taps her nose. Zips up the tent behind her. “I was worried for a moment. I mean we’re got plastic cups we can use, but I didn’t bring a corkscrew. And then I remembered you’re Serena Campbell.”   

“I don’t know whether that’s meant to be a compliment or not.”   

“Depends on if you have a corkscrew.”   

“You know I do.”   

Bernie grins. She fetched tea while Serena set up the things in the inside of the tent and a couple of lanterns – battery operated – cloak the space in a warm glow.   

“Very homely,” Bernie says, crouching down to her knees.   “A girl does her best.”   

“Loving the hat by the way, Cinderella.” She nods to the fluffy monstrosity on Serena’s head.   

“My ears are cold. Heck, my everything’s cold. And will you stop calling me that.”   

Bernie pouts.   

Serena rolls her eyes. “Just because you fancy yourself as a Prince Charming, doesn’t mean – “   

“But I did retrieve your shoe.”   

“I didn’t lose it.”   

“Sorry, yes,” Bernie holds her hands up, “you simply misplaced it.”   

“Oh, come over here and sit down properly,” Serena huffs in mock-annoyance, “you’re making the place look untidy.”   

Bernie settles down onto the air bed. “Certainly, your majesty.”   

Serena swats Bernie with a pillow. Mumbles something about Bernie bringing in the cold with her.   

“By the way,” Bernie smirks, “I think you look very snug, but if you do need some … warming up later, I’d be happy to help. Purely in the interest of you not catching pneumonia, of course.”   

“I thought you’d never ask.”

-

Bernie is doing just that, sharing her body warmth so to speak and raising Serena’s own, when Serena hears something outside. All but yelps.   

“What was that?”   

Bernie is far too absorbed with other things to reply with anything other than a “Mmm” against Serena’s neck. Her lips suck at the soft skin there.   

“There’s something outside,” Serena hisses.   

“Probably just a sheep,” Bernie mumbles, “that’s wandered away from the field.”   

“It did not sound like a –“   

The rest dies on Serena’s lips. Bernie’s hand has wandered somewhere else as well. And she is particularly good at the art of distraction. 

- 

Later, when Serena is feeling the most positive she has about the camping trip, body sated and boneless and still thrumming with heat under Bernie’s own, Bernie takes her chance.   

“Serena?”   

“Mmm.”   

“What do you think about caravanning?”   

Serena groans -  and not in a good way.

8. Prompt: “One word can sometimes be sharper than a thousand swords.” (Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry, by Mildred D Taylor) 

“Idiot!”

The hissed word cut through the haze of Jasmine’s embarrassment. The patient was glaring at her in utter disgust, and she dropped the IV needle onto the floor as sheer panic took over her system. Meeting Morven’s eye, she jerked her head towards the woman before turning on her heel and sprinting for the ward doors.

It would be one thing if Ms Campbell was still here, and she could turn into her office and seek advice. But even that door was closed to her now, now that she had gone on an extended leave. And Ms. Wolfe was not an option to speak with, either, seeing as how she had rightfully taken Ms. Campbell’s side.

Swiping away tears, she made for the lift and blindly stepped inside, pressing the button for the top floor and then trying to make herself as small as possible in the corner of the car. As the lift continued upwards, she tried to keep her sniffles quiet, not wanting to add grist to the hospital rumor mill. And then, a large, warm, hand was resting itself on her shoulder, and she was looking up into the entirely too kind eyes of Mister Hanssen.

“Doctor Burrows, are you on your way to the roof?” he asked lowly, and she gave a small nod before looking away from him. She had treated him badly before, and wasn’t certain how to act around him now. “Would you mind if I joined you?”

Jasmine darted her eyes back up to his face, trying to suss out if he was being serious. There was no trace of mockery or derision on his face, and so she felt free to shake her head. “I think I might like that,” she murmured lowly before pulling away from him slightly, trying to ignore the fact that tears were still rolling down her cheeks.

Ever the gentleman, he pulled out a handkerchief and handed it over. Jasmine hesitated before using it, gazing at the snow white linen square, seeing the faint HH stitched into one corner. Taking a closer look, she realized that the entire piece had been stitched by hand, the spacing between stitches almost inhumanely perfect. “They’re made to be used, Doctor Burrows.”

“This is too fine to ruin with my tears,” she whispered, worrying the soft fabric between her fingers. “I ruin everything, you know. It’s just who I am.”

The elevator doors slid open, and she let out a squeak of surprise when Mister Hanssen spread his hand out on her shoulder blade to guide her from the elevator and over to the stairwell to complete their journey to the roof. It was only when they were taking a seat on the ledge that he removed his hand and began to speak. “You give your demons entirely too much power over you when you believe those lies, Doctor Burrows.”

“What if it’s true, though? I didn’t use my best level of care with Elinor, and look what happened. I destroyed her.” She wasn’t really certain which her she was referring to, and it didn’t surprise her when she started crying once more. “I’m just an idiot girl who thought she could make her mother proud by being exactly like her golden child sister.” Delicately, she dabbed at her cheeks with the handkerchief, breathing in the comforting scent of his cologne.

“Words have the tendency to cut us much more sharply than a sword, Doctor Burrows.”

“Jasmine. I mean, we’re up here, where no one can hear us. It feels weird to have you address me that way.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t feel like a doctor. Not anymore.”

She watched from the corner of her eye as his hand reached out and hovered above her knee. Jasmine nodded a little, giving him a brief smile, and then his hand was resting on her knee almost respectfully. Which didn’t help things, it just made her cry all the harder. And then, and then, she was stupidly leaning against his chest, sobbing her heart out. “Jasmine,” he said softly as he awkwardly settled his arm around her, letting her huddle in close to him as she sobbed.

“She’s dead, and Ms Campbell hates me, and I’ve been making mistake after mistake. I almost destroyed your career, and Mister Griffin’s, and I’m so tired. Do you know how hard it is to paste on a fake cheery façade every day?”

“No, because I am allowed to be taciturn and severe.” She nodded as she went to rub her cheek against his suit coat, only to check herself at the last moment, not wanting to get makeup on the obviously expensive fabric. “And Ms Campbell is deep in grief, what you think she feels about you might not be the truest.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I try not to lie, Jasmine. Now, I know that you were kind to Jason once, and I have something that needs to be delivered to him at the house. Would you kindly do me the favour of dropping it by?”

“Why me?”

“Because sometimes, we need to face our fears and realise that the giants in our minds are mere figurines in reality. And because Jason needs someone else besides me checking in on him. I don’t want to order you to do this, but I will, if I must.”

Jasmine drew in a deep breath as she sat up to look into his eyes. “I suppose. I do owe you, after all.” He shook his head. “I do. And I always repay my debts.” He gave her a small nod before standing and extending his hand to her. She clasped it firmly, allowing him to lead her down to his office.

It was a silent journey, and then she was accepting the small stack of magazines from his hand. She went to give the handkerchief back, but he shook his head a little. “Keep it.”

She gave a sharp nod before heading out to the lift and waiting for it.

Thankfully, there was no one else waiting, and she was able to scoot down to AAU and get changed without having to speak to anyone. Then, she was out in the car park and climbing behind the wheel of her old vehicle, starting it up and heading out.

It was only when she was underway that she realized she had no idea where Ms Campbell lived. Once more, she was in luck, as Mister Hanssen had texted her the address at almost her exact moment of need. Tapping on it, she let her GPS guide her the fifteen miles. And listening to the directions also allowed her to not think about the confrontation certain to come.

It was only when she parked outside the veritable mansion that her supervisor called home that nerves started to flutter at her chest. However, she was certain Mister Hanssen would know she had decided to don a yellow feather, and so Jasmine took a deep breath and climbed out of her car, slowly walking to the door.

Still, it took her few moments to knock on the door and then she was left waiting. It was only when she heard the familiar cadence of Ms Campbell approaching her that she wondered what she would say when the door was open. And then, the door was opening, and a tear streaked face was staring at her, anger and grief warring for dominance. “What are you doing here?”

Jasmine was barely prepared for those words, and she held the magazines out as a peace offering. “I’ve come to see Jason. And apologise.” Ms Campbell’s face softened for a moment before she nodded and moved aside, letting Jasmine in and without thinking, she reached out for the woman’s hand, squeezing tightly as if she didn’t want to ever let go.

9. Prompt: “Don’t worry, you’re just as sane as I am.” -Luna Lovegood, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

Serena sat on her couch, relaxing, when Bernie’s keys were rattling in the door and she heard it swing open and her shouting “I’m home!” 

Serena smiled. She put the book, a travel guide of Cambodia, a country she had only ever heard her mother talk about, down on the coffee table, next to her glass of Shiraz. 

Bernie wore a nervous smile. When she tentatively walked further into the living room, Serena heard a weird clacking sound on their wooden floor that Bernie was not making. 

“I uhm,” Bernie stammered “I brought someone.” She let her hands fall to her sides, her gesturing having been useless. 

The clacking continued until… Serena could not believe her eyes. 

“Bernie, is this some kind of practical joke?” she asked, not taking her eyes off of what had walked forth. 

“I’m afraid not, love.” she answered, a bit of fear in her voice for her lover’s reaction. 

Serena stared. And stared some more. 

“Are you sure it’s real, Bernie?” she asked. 

The unicorn walked towards Serena on its own accord, its hooves clacking on the floor. It lifted the right front hoof and offered it to Serena, resembling a handshake. 

Not knowing the proper protocol, she took the hoof and shook it, deeply perplexed by the bizarre situation. 

The unicorn opened its mouth and began to speak. 

“You are Serena Campbell, if I’m not mistaken? Nice to meet you. I’m Dandelion Hooves, but you can call me Dan.” 

Serena mouth was open and saliva was threatening to fall out of it. 

“Bernie…” she stammered, looking to her for help. Bernie pointed to the unicorn with her head. 

Serena supposed it could be real so decided on the chance that it was real, that it was only fair to be a proper host. She closed her mouth and smiled. 

“Hello Dan, it’s nice to meet you too. Yes, I’m Serena. Would you like tea or some wine? We also have juice, I believe Jason, my nephew, hasn’t finished it yet.” She moved to get up. “And um… have a seat?” she didn’t think about the implication of sitting when you are not a human being, so Dan, awkwardly trying to be polite, sat on the floor next to a chair, not fitting into any chair and sitting in chairs was uncomfortable for Dan anyways. 

“If that would be ok, I would love a glass of water,” Dan said. 

Bernie jumped up, saying: “Why don’t I get drinks for all of us and you get to know each other a little?” and walked off towards their kitchen. 

“Well, I don’t want to be rude, but I’d like to know why you’re here?” Serena asked. 

“Well, your lovely partner brought me because my family threw me out and the hospital has no free beds and I am hurt.” It pulled apart the leather jacket it was wearing, a bandage appeared. 

Serena still wanted to understand, to question this, but in the face of a potentially real and sentient creature she didn’t want to insult it. It probably got enough of that shit anyways. So she treated it as if it was a human being. 

“Oh god I’m so sorry they threw you out. May I ask why?” Becoming a bit more comfortable with the situation and her current reality, she folded her legs beneath her. She was in her own home after all. 

“Yes, you may.” It pulled the flesh covering its teeth aside and Serena only realized too late that it had been smiling. “I came out to them as nonbinary. My mom threw a pot at me and told me to get out.” Its expression could be described as sad as far as Serena was capable of judging non-human facial expressions. 

“I’m so sorry. I hate to have to ask this, but… what is nonbinary?” 

 The unicorn sighed, then smiled sadly. 

 “Do you want the long explanation or the short explanation?” 

“Whatever it needs so that I’ll understand,” Serena replied. 

“Okay,” Dan said, then shifted into a more comfortable sitting position. “You know that there are two current recognised genders?” 

Serena nodded. 

“You have heard of trans individuals, being whose gender does not match the sex they were born in?” 

Serena nodded again, there had been a trans kid in Elinor’s class. 

“Well, there are people whose gender does not fit into the binary, into the categories of female and male. There are a lot of subcategories, but the generic term for all genders not part of the binary is nonbinary.” 

Serena nodded thoughtfully. “I do understand that.” 

“But Dan,” she began asking and Dan sighed. 

“I’m sorry. I do understand what nonbinary is supposed to be but… why do we need a term for that?” 

“I knew you’d ask something like that from your expression. At least you’re not as insensitive as some other people. Well look at me. I am not female and not male. That isn’t defined by my sex, neither by the way I dress but only by the way I feel. I do not feel female or male. I feel like something in between, sometimes like nothing at all and sometimes I feel a lean to some side, on a few days I even feel like I belong to one of the binary genders, but never for long. I am not male or female.” 

Serena took her glass of Shiraz and took a deep gulp. 

“I am getting more and more insensitive,” she began, but stopped because Bernie reappeared from the kitchen with a plate with three sandwiches, three glasses of water and a second wine glass for herself, setting all on the coffee table and letting herself fall onto the couch next to Serena, smiling brightly first at their guest and then at Serena. 

 Serena was looking at her. “Did you two get to know each other a little?” 

“Actually, we did,” Dandelion answered. “But I believe you unintentionally interrupted your partner, she wanted to ask me something?” It looked expectantly at Serena. 

“Um, yes I did. I um,” she blushed, “I just can’t quite believe you’re real. I don’t know, maybe you can pinch me or something? I’m sorry, I’m sure you get this a lot.” 

Bernie laughed. “My reaction was quite similar, Dom had to slap me before I was able to treat them properly.”

 “Them?” Serena inquired. 

“Oh um yes, Dan of course. Their preferred pronoun is “they”.” She smiled at Dan, proud to have remembered it, and they mouthed “thank you”, very happy about Bernie respecting their gender. 

“And besides, you’re just as sane as I am.” She winked. 

“Bernie, at this point this not really any consolidation.” Serena said, being half sarcastic. Bernie laughed and Serena joined in. 

Serena thought she had seen something move from the corner of her eye and turned her head. The reflection in an apple looked weird, but she thought nothing of it and said “Why don’t we eat? It’s been quite a day for all of us.” 

But then the apple began to shake and she put her sandwich back down to watch it properly. Bernie and Dan were too busy devouring their sandwiches to notice anything. The reflection in it… moved and now showed a female shape that was beginning to emerge. The female only draped in linen freed itself from the apple and grew quickly until it stood in all its gloriousness on their coffee table. Serena sighed, being beyond surprised. Bernie stared. Dan stared. 

“I am Aphrodite, hi. Can I have a sandwich too?” she asked. 

“Yes of course, help yourself,” Serena gestured, Bernie and Dan were still frozen. 

 She sat down cross-legged and grabbed a sandwich. Her drapes barely hid anything, her obviously female and male attributes were very visible. Bernie gulped. 

“And you are?” Between two bites, she threw her long locks over her shoulder and said snappily “Aphrodite, Aphroditus, Hermaphroditus, Cytherea, Cypris, call me whatever your want. Goddess of love, beauty and sexuality, to your service.” 

“Wow,” Dan whispered. Unimpressed, she continued eating.

“Why are you here?” Serena asked. 

Unhurriedly, she ate the last few bites, licked her fingers, then looked at them. “I am Aphrodite, goddess of love, beauty and sexuality. You did a good job. Well, not at looking good, but at the other two things.” 

They stared. She sighed. “Do I have to spell everything out for you?” 

“Yes please,” Serena asked. 

“You,” she looked pointedly at Dan “came out and I just wanted to show you my support. You’re not alone,” she vaguely gestured at her body. “And you,” she looked pointedly at Bernie and Serena “are doing a good job of keeping up the tradition of sappho. Also you welcomed them,” headpoint to Dan “into your house and treated them nicely. Keep being good people and good sapphic women.” 

“Um, thanks, I guess,” Serena said. “Is there a protocol for this?” “Nah not really,” Aphrodite said, “everybody acts and reacts quite differently. Thanks for the sandwich by the way.” 

“No problem,” Bernie refound her voice. 

“Are you real?” Dan weighed in, the excitement showing in their voice. 

“Wanna touch me?” she dared him and scooched closer in the table. Dan touched her arm. 

 “Wow,” they whispered. Aphrodite hugged them. 

 “Keep up your pride, lad. We really need people like you.” She smiled. Then looked into the round. “I‘m afraid I have to leave, things to do, places to go and all that jazz.” 

Bernie nodded, still not quite believing her eyes. 

“Thanks for your encouragement!” Serena said. 

 “Will I see you again?” Dan asked. 

“We’ll see,” she said and mysteriously vanished into the reflection until it was just the ceiling light again.

“What the hell,” Bernie stated.

10. Title: Words of Meaning Prompt: “One word can sometimes be sharper than a thousand swords.” (Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry, by Mildred D Taylor)

Pulses, at two o’clock in the morning, was a quiet affair, a few staff arriving for a caffeine and sugar fix to get them through the rest of the night. When Bernie Wolfe entered the hospital doors, a gust of cold wind blew through with her, causing her to shiver in her escape from winter’s hold. If there was one thing she hadn’t always missed when she was out on tour it was Britain’s winter weather. However, what she lost in the heat and constant presence of sand, she gained in being able to share that winter warming up with Serena - and that she wouldn’t trade for anything now. Even in their present situation with Bernie caring for Serena as she tries to process her grief, Bernie cannot fathom not wanting being here. She’s handled her own guilt - merited or not - for being able to save Jason and not Elinor. Though she might be the fantastic and fearless doctor that Serena had claimed she was, the bleeding damage done to Elinor’s brain was something she couldn’t fix. Serena had wanted to be alone tonight with Jason to fuss over as he continued his recovery, so Bernie had agreed to stay at her flat for the night. However, after three hours of tossing and turning, Bernie decided she’d head into work. It was technically a day off but at least she could get caught up on some administrative work that required her attention. Stopping at the counter, she ordered her coffee and a muffin. As she waited, she looked around to see if there were any staff she recognised. Sat in one corner, Zosia March huddled with Dominic Copeland. She smiled a greeting at them which Zosia acknowledged. She thought briefly about going over but a slight shake of Zosia’s head and a mouthed, ‘later’, Bernie nodded. She kept note to check later how they were doing. Paying for her order, she headed through the corridor to AAU and onto her ward. On a Thursday night, the ward was only a third full, and looking at the assignment board, she could see at a glance what was covered. Fletch was sitting at the nursing desk adding some notes to a chart. Upon seeing her though he startled slightly. “Ms. Wolfe. I wasn’t expecting you to be in tonight.” “Couldn’t sleep. How are things? Anything urgent?” Bernie inquired in case she had to go change into some scrubs. “No. There was just one procedure this evening which Raf took care of before he headed home at midnight. Jasmine is just checking on Mr. Donaldson now; appendectomy.” Bernie nodded in the direction of the consultant’s office. “I’ll be in there getting a dent in the paperwork. If you need me, don’t hesitate to holler.” Dropping her leather bag on one of the guest chairs in the office, she turned to hang her coat up before flicking on the small lamp on their desk. She sighed heavily as she dropped herself down into her chair. She wasn’t a religious person, but she uttered a prayer, or perhaps an oath to some higher power to take care of Serena and Jason in her absence. Pursing her lips, she reached over and grabbed the first handful of folders, opening the top one and read through the chart’s details. Typing the notes into the electronic charts, adding annotations to the surgical plan and outcomes, she moved from one chart to another to the next. It wasn’t until she heard a knock on the door, that she lifted her head to look at the clock on the wall. She rubbed a hand against the back of her neck and rolled it before looking at the door. “Come in,” Bernie called out. “Ms. Wolfe?” Zosia March stopped at the entrance, clearly hesitating and debating whether she should before glancing at Bernie. “What can I do for you, Doctor March?” Bernie asked kindly as she stood to move her things off the chair, and indicated for Zosia to take the seat offered. “I don’t… I’m not entirely sure why I’m here, but I thought you might be able to help.” “I take it this is more personal than work related?” Bernie inquired as she looked at the younger woman’s troubled expression. “Dom?” Zosia’s head whipped up, meeting Bernie’s gaze before remembering that Bernie had seen the two of them in the cafe earlier. “I hate talking out of turn, especially about good friends, but I’m worried about him. He’s lost. He’s lost that spark and interest he has about life, about medicine. I thought at first that it was just a delayed reaction to missing Arthur…” Zosia paused and sighed. “But now I think it’s much more than that. He’s lost his confidence. He’s a very good doctor and I’d hate to see him lose the ground that he’s gained.” Leaning back in her chair, Bernie took a deep breath. She’d missed talking with Dom lately, not surprisingly with everything she’s been trying to do with Serena, but she’d seen him hesitant and guarded when she was covering Keller recently. When he’d come to talk with her in the Keller’s consultant’s office, he seemed genuinely surprised and confused that the decision for the conference trip was solely Mr. Mayfield’s discretion and as far as Holby was concerned, Dom was the chosen assistant. “He is a good surgeon. He certainly has the makings of a very good one.” Bernie smiled, thinking his cockiness reminded her of some of the young medics that had worked in her units while on tour. Turning serious for a moment, though, she added, “What do you make of Isaac Mayfield?” “Honestly?” Zosia asked, and continued upon seeing Bernie’s nod. “I don’t trust him. Gut instinct is that he’s up to no good. In fact, I know he’s not. After, standing up for himself, turning down the trip, Dom came to stay with Ollie and I for that week. He didn’t say much at all, but I could hear him crying through the night. Yesterday he told me Isaac had a one night stand before leaving for Hawaii.” Bernie’s fist clenched around a piece of paper and she took a couple of deep breaths. Doctor March’s instincts were adding up to her own impressions of the registrar. While nothing to pinpoint specifically, and certainly nothing that she could at the moment call into professional practice concerns, she’d seen attitudes and arrogance like his in the military. Recognizing that Zosia was still there, she looked over to the young woman. “You’re a good friend to him, Doctor March. Keep hold of that. Look after him. I will do my best to do that as well. As for the rest, let me look into it further.” “Thank you, Ms. Wolfe.” Zosia stood and rubbed her hands against her legs, seemingly not knowing what to do next, then gathering herself and shaking her head and plastering a small smile on her face. “I best get going. Need to make sure Mr. Rossini is not flirting with all the patients again.” Breaking her usual habits of personal space and interactions with work colleagues, Bernie extended a hand to Zosia’s shoulder. “We’ll find a way through this for Dom, okay?” “Thanks.” Zosia nodded and then left the office, leaving Bernie with some things to consider. Knowing she’d not have the requisite access to request the personnel evaluations from Human Resources of someone not on her ward without legitimate clinical concerns, Bernie would have to speak with Sacha Levy and Ric Griffin and that would have to wait until the morning shift. She made note of things she wanted to check out before she forgot, then stood and stretched. Peering into her cup, she ditched the last dregs of coffee into the pale next to her desk. She smiled to herself for a moment. Unlike the last time she’d been left in control of the ward whilst Serena was on suspension, Bernie had kept their office tidy in Serena’s recent absence. She’d even at one point taken a picture to prove that, though she’d not sent it to Serena, and her partner had not even mentioned the tidiness when she’d returned. Heading out onto the ward, Bernie took a look around, noting where patients and staff were located, before finding Fletch checking the IV drip line of one of the patients. Waiting for him to finish and approach her, she checked her phone for any emails. Nothing urgent, so she opened her Messages app and typed in a small message to Serena, 'Thinking of you. Take care. Love, Bx.’ “Is everything okay, Ms. Wolfe?” Fletch asked, startling Bernie as she’d not seen him approach. “Sorry. You seemed miles away.” “It’s okay. I was just going to ask how things were going out here.” “Things are all right. No worries.” Feeling concerned, he turned his head towards the office. “Was there anything Dr. March needed?”. “Just a consult, Fletch,” Bernie responded, indicating that it was not up for discussion, and Fletch nodded. “I’m going to go stretch my legs a bit. Page me if you need me.” “Will do, boss.” Fletch winked and smiled then headed back to his duties. Bernie walked out the AAU doors, and headed up to Keller via the stairs. Entering the ward, she spotted Essie walking towards her, after checking on a patient. Smiling, Bernie held up a hand as she looked around the unit for Dom. “Hey, Ms. Wolfe, did you miss us?” Essie lightly inquired. It wasn’t often they had a consultant from another ward cover but since Sacha was still out recovering and Ric was still acting CEO, they’d had a couple of locum consultants. “Something like that. Have you seen Doctor Copeland around?” “He’s with Mr. Mayfield in surgery at the moment. They should be close to being done.” Bernie nodded. “What do you make of Mr. Mayfield?” “In what way?” Essie asked. “Professional, mentoring, interactions with junior staff.” “Well, he’s personable. He gets along with everyone as far as I’ve seen.” “And Dom?” Bernie asked. Essie thought for a moment before responding, “He’s seemed a bit down lately but he’ll come round.” Bernie nodded, partially expecting that answer. If Dom was hurting as Doctor March indicated, then he was likely putting up a front, a wall to protect himself, a trait she identified with all too much. “Thanks. Would you mind not mentioning this conversation, please?” “Sure. Not a problem,” Essie responded, but now she was curious about why Bernie would be asking about Isaac. “Did you want me to tell Dom you were looking for him?” “No, that’s fine. I’ll just reach him later.” Bernie turned to leave the ward and as she got out into the hallway, she heard raised voices coming from a side office. She couldn’t hear the content but could hear the tone and recognised the voices. While she disliked confrontation when it came to her own personal life, she was certainly prepared and trained to deal with confrontation when it applied to staff, and as she liked and respected Doctor Copeland, she entered the room and just waited for their reaction. “Doctors Copeland and Mayfield, what is the problem?” Turning to his senior colleague, Isaac responded after a brief moment of a glare at Dom. “Ah, Ms. Wolfe, Doctor Copeland and I were just having an argument about patient care.” “It was my fault,” Dom started quietly. “I missed seeing something on the scan that was more problematic once we opened the patient up. She nearly bled out but we were able to save her.” “Can I see the scan, please?” Bernie asked. She waited until Isaac handed over the iPad with the digital copy of the scan enlarged. “The lesions were completely adhered to the outside lining of the bowel and were starting to penetrate into the colon, causing partial blockage and restricting blood flow. I take it one of the mesenteric arteries ruptured?” “Yes.” Isaac responded, feeling glad that someone else spotted the problem. “And how is the patient now?” Bernie inquired, ignoring Isaac’s smug expression. “Stable. We were able to remove all the lesions, repair the artery and remove the perforated section of the bowel.” Isaac was feeling pretty confident in his abilities but as Bernie took a look at Dom, she was slightly taken aback by his silence. Isaac noted her appraisal of Dom before she guarded her expression and he was not pleased. “Everything will be fine, Ms. Wolfe. We’ll continue his obs as per routine. Won’t we, Doctor Copeland?” Recognising that she needed to be careful but precise with her wording so that Dom would not bear any lasting brunt of Isaac’s ire, she spoke with quiet but commanding presence. “Doctor Mayfield, if I could hear you arguing out in the hallway, so could other staff. Whatever Doctor Copeland or any other junior doctor, nurse or staff does or does not do, it does not merit a shouting match. I’ll arrange cover for Doctor Copeland with another doctor for the rest of the shift. Be aware that this incident will be noted on record.” Bernie was aware of the seething look he sent her before schooling his expression. “Take 15 minutes to go cool off before going back onto the ward. I’ll be checking in later.” Bernie handed back the iPad to Isaac and waited for him to exit the room before taking a deep breath herself, rubbing her temples as the onset of a headache threatened to begin. Dom shifted his position from the corner of the room. “You didn’t need to do that, Ms. Wolfe. It would have worked out.” Bernie raised an eyebrow. “I don’t believe it ever does in many aspects.” She sighed. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but this argument wasn’t just about patient care, there was more than an element of the personal involved.” “It’ll be fine.” Dom shrugged, not quite believing his own words. Bernie was wary. And she was worried seeing Dom’s cowed mannerisms. Zosia was certainly correct in her assessment of Dom and Bernie regretted not keeping a closer eye on Dominic. She liked the young man who had given her far more support than she could have expected after Alex and her being outed, especially as she’d initially erroneously blamed him for the rumours outing her. Gathering her thoughts, she guided the junior doctor out of the side office and down the corridor. “Come on. Drinks are on me,” Bernie smiled. “Uhm. Ms. Wolfe, it’s four am. Albie’s closed hours ago.” Dominic grinned at Bernie’s playful expression. “And we’re at work, so Pulses it is. I need a caffeine shot to get me through the rest of the night.” “Ms. Wolfe? You said you were covering me with another doctor on Keller. What about the rest of my shift?” Dominic asked suddenly. “You’re with me, on AAU.” Bernie grinned widely. “Time to learn some trauma skills, young Jedi.” They stopped by Pulses to pick up some coffee and sugary treats then headed down to AAU. Bernie stopped at the nurse’s station to speak with Fletch for a moment, then nodded her head in the direction of her office. “Give me about 15 minutes or so to arrange cover and I’ll be back out here.” As promised, Bernie had returned with a smile on her face. She’d arranged with another doctor to come in for the last few hours of Dominic’s shift - someone who owed her a favour and someone who would certainly not put up with any bullying of any sort. Another fifteen minutes later, a delivery of a couple of boxes of pizza and bottles of soda arrived on the ward, much to the delight of the staff, thanks to Bernie. Pizza consumed, Bernie let Fletch know where she was headed if there were any concerns and she directed Dom to the wet lab where she began instructing Dom on some trauma skills. Directing him in techniques and the principles behind them, she added in stories and commentary from her experiences. All along encouraging him, correcting when necessary and praising his skills as he acquired them successfully. She was pleased with the teaching session. As the rest of the early morning passed, she could see the light in Dom’s eyes beginning to return, and she made a personal vow to continue to mentor and teach him. She’d have to arrange that with Ric and Sacha but she didn’t see much of a problem arising there. “Ms. Wolfe, don’t get me wrong because I really appreciate this, but why?” Dominic asked as he sat back, looking at the work he’d completed. “Why teach you?” Bernie deliberately set aside the issue of Doctor Mayfield’s earlier behaviour. “You’re a very good doctor. This morning you showed an eagerness to learn and improve your skills.” However, Dom decided he needed to address the earlier issue. “No. I mean with Isaac. You didn’t have to come in when you did.” He sighed. Bernie echoed that sigh. “Dom, do you really think he would have stopped? Maybe, for a while, before he found something else to go off about.” Dom looked like he might interject, but Bernie continued. “One word can sometimes be sharper than a thousand swords. I’ve learned that the hard way in my lifetime. It’s not always about fists or physical violence. It can escalate that way, but not always. Words do hurt sometimes, especially when aimed at a particularly vulnerable part of ourselves we try to keep hidden.” Sensing more behind her words, Dom questioned her, “Ms. Wolfe, what happened, if you don’t mind me asking?” Bernie debated whether or not to delve into her personal history, but she felt it was worth the minor discomfort to make a point. “My early years in the military, there was a senior officer, he had a way about intimidating junior officers and apparently his family, which we learned about later. He’d find a way to go after the weakest point, which in some ways was good and we learned the proper reasoning from other senior officers, but this guy was just cruel for cruelty’s sake. He drove a few of my fellow soldiers, male and female alike, out of the military. Nearly drove me out. I stood up for myself and reported him to someone I trusted. He was dismissed, not just the actions towards the junior officers but also on other offences, of which we weren’t privy.” Bernie stopped and sighed. “Whether it’s a personal relationship or a professional relationship, don’t let anyone make you feel any less than who you are, don’t let them bully or intimidate you. And if it happens, let someone know. This doesn’t just happen on the school yards. We’ve got a respectful workplace policy for a reason, and that applies just the same at home as it does here, especially if the relationship is between staff members. Let me know. Text, call, whatever. Okay? Also, please do that for Zosia. She cares about you.” “Thank you.” Dom stood up and stretched his legs. Sighing, he debated something internally, and then surprisingly, he gave Bernie a hug. It wasn’t something he generally did with fellow staff, particularly senior staff. Excepting Isaac, his last such emotional connection was with Mr. Hanssen after Arthur’s death. Pulling back, he wiped his eyes, straightened his shoulders and took a deep breath. “Thanks, again. How is Ms. Campbell?” “Surviving. We’re taking it day by day.” Bernie smiled broadly and her face softened despite the sadness. “I love her. So much.” “I’m glad. Love looks good on you, Ms. Wolfe.” A blush formed over Bernie’s cheeks as she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Thanks.” “Come on, Jedi Master.” Dom grinned cheekily. “We must get back to the ward to see how Fletch and Jasmine have left things. Bernie laughed. "Onwards and upwards, Mr. Copeland.” The two of them headed to AAU, light jokes and comments belying an emotionally charged morning, but both glad of its outcome. Looking at her watch, she noted that it was already past eight o’clock, on a partial shift that she’d picked up. She wasn’t due back until seven that evening for her official shift, so she could go home and get some food and kip before coming back in. Turning onto the ward, she saw Serena entering their office. Bernie gave a glance to Dom, who gave her a nod and a mock salute before heading over to chat with Fletch and Jasmine at the desk. Bernie continued on to her office, closing the door behind her. She waited a moment, assessing the tired expression rolling off Serena, then she crossed the short distance and enveloped Serena in a hug. Not caring that the blinds were open, she pressed light kisses over Serena’s forehead, down her nose and finally a gentle kiss to her mouth before resting her head against Serena’s. “I love you.” “Bernie.” Serena sighed then she wrapped her arms tightly around Bernie’s waist, not wanting to ever let go. “I love you, too.” Her own 'relationships in the workplace’ rules be damned; she needed this.

11. Prompt: “Ships in the Night” - Mat Kearney

It had always been the case that they worked opposing shifts on Thursdays, Serena on earlies and Bernie on lates, and even once they were living together – especially because they were living together, Serena wouldn’t change it. She might frequently be caught gazing soppily across the ward at the trauma surgeon, but Serena Campbell MBA was not going to arrange the rota around her personal life, thank you very much.

Yet it was Serena who complained most about it, coming home tired and a little jaded just as Bernie was getting ready to go in. “We’re like ships in the night,” she called through the bathroom door, listening to Bernie towelling herself down. The door opened just wide enough for Bernie to poke her head out and kiss the end of her nose. “It’s once a week, Serena,” she chuckled. “Hardly the world’s busiest shipping lane, is it?” Strands of wet blonde hair clung to Serena’s cheek. “I still don’t like it,” Serena huffed, teasing them away and running her finger through Bernie’s fringe.

So that’s how it became a thing.

Now when Serena got home on a Thursday afternoon, instead of finding the radio on and Bernie singing tunelessly along to the final words of each lyric, she would head straight to the ensuite to find Bernie waiting in a hot bath amidst a mountain range of bubbles, candles lit on every available surface. The first time there had been a piano concerto playing quietly from an iPod in the corner, but Serena, one eyebrow raised in amusement, had switched it off. “Too much?” Bernie had asked, scrunching her nose up in that way that made Serena melt.

Climbing in to Bernie’s embrace was the perfect way to wash off her shift. She didn’t need to narrate the day’s events, to explain that the patient who’d seemed to be doing so well yesterday had taken a dramatic turn for the worse or to complain that the ward seemed to be full of middle-aged men with raging libidos and a minimal understanding of body language. She could just drop her head back onto Bernie’s shoulder, her skin swiftly reddening in the hot water, close her eyes and let it all go. They would lay in warm silence, tealights flickering at the edges of their vision, each feeling the other’s heart beat against their skin and recognising in it the rhythm of the universe.

Eventually, but only once they were really and truly pruney, Bernie would step out and turn to offer Serena her hand before wrapping her in a fluffy towelling gown identical to her own (Serena’s idea, and she’d delighted in using the phrase ‘hers and hers’ repeatedly at the till before Bernie had begged her to stop). Then she would steer Serena to the bed, lay her down and fetch the body lotion that smelled of pink grapefruit and jasmine. Serena had started getting home from the hospital earlier, and Bernie arriving there later, to make time for Bernie to rub the lotion into Serena’s weary limbs.

There was a frisson – of course there was a frisson; nothing could be inert when these two were in close proximity – but this wasn’t about sex, or foreplay. Serena would watch the little frown on Bernie’s brow as she carefully massaged each of her toes, the balls of her feet, her heels, and marvel at this act of care that was now bestowed upon her each week, no matter what, simply because she had grumbled about the rota. Knowing that Serena would sooner take up Morris dancing than ask a colleague to take the increasingly busy Thursday night shift from Bernie (it being the new Friday and all), Bernie had simply set about making the hour and a half they had together that day one of Serena’s favourite parts of the week.

Sometimes, most times, Bernie would start at Serena’s feet and work her way up her legs, her back, her arms, pressing the tension out of every muscle until she could rest her hands on Serena’s shoulders, whisper “OK?”, and kiss her before getting dressed. Sometimes she’d start with the shoulders and work her way down, finishing by making playful conversation with 10 “little piggies” before pulling on her clothes. But always, always, she left Serena with the same words: “I can’t control the wind, my darling, but I can adjust the sail.”