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queen-haq · 1 year

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Fic: Grudgingly Yours (Part 1)

Summary: You are a general surgeon, working in a hospital that’s slowly sucking the life out of you when one day you’re given the offer of a lifetime.

A.K.A - An arranged marriage fic :)

Pairing: Billy Russo x You

Rating: R

Masterlist (contains links to my other stories and this one)

Part 1

You stared at your husband, noting the tightening of his jaw, the way his beautiful face glared back at you with utter disdain. His dark eyes brimmed with hate and condescension, ready to eviscerate you at any moment. He was dressed in jeans, an olive knit top and a leather jacket - not a tux or suit - because this may have been his wedding day but that certainly didn’t mean he was going to put in any fucking effort. Of course his casual outfit didn’t deter from his good looks. Dark hair slicked back, darker eyes, and a chiseled face that made him look like devil himself. He was one of the richest bachelors in the country and the eldest son of a prominent New York family, so he could have had anybody – but it was you who was marrying him and he wasn’t happy about it. No, he was fucking pissed and everyone attending the ceremony saw it. But you didn’t care. What he felt didn’t matter, because he was your ticket out.

“Do you, William Russo, take Y/N to be your wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until parted by death?”

Billy didn’t respond, and a stunned silence fell across the room. With every second that passed, the tension in the room grew. It seemed to you like everyone was holding their breath, waiting for him to say no and make his escape. You kept your face blank, but cast his grandfather a quick glance. The old man may have looked deceptively frail sitting in his wheelchair, but you saw his steely gaze, mirroring the man across from you, and knew instinctively there was no way anyone would defy the head of the family. To do so would mean losing all of the wealth and privilege afforded by the Russo name and your soon-to-be-husband was much too smart to give it all up.

“Sure.”

Not ‘yes’, not ‘I do’, but ‘sure’. A lazy, insolent drawl of a response. So very much like him. And it would’ve made you snicker if you weren’t required to put on an act for everyone.

The officiant turned to you, and repeated the same question.

It was your turn to pause. For a moment sheer panic surged through you. What the fuck were you doing? Is this really what you wanted? To tie yourself down to the kind of guy you absolutely loathed?

“Why me?” You asked, wondering once again.

Alistair Russo, Billy’s grandfather, had made the offer a week ago with a deadline of today to get back to him. True to his word, the man was now sitting in your office after waiting several hours for you to get out of a surgery you’d been performing.

“You saved my life. And this is how I repay that debt.”

You quirked your eyebrow. “Saving you was my job. I would’ve done that for anybody.”

“But I’m not just anybody, and I don’t like being in people’s debt.”

You exhaled a long breath, leaning back in your chair. You’d been in surgery for more than 7 hours. You were tired and desperately needed some sleep. All you wanted was to crawl into bed but you couldn’t because you still had several hours left on your shift. And now here was this rich, old fuck back to tempt you with an insane plan that had already kept you awake for too many days. “Fine. Pay off my student debt and we’ll call it even.”

The old man gave you a condescending smile. “That’s not how this works.”

You smiled back. “So it’s not really about being grateful, is it? There’s a reason you want me to marry your grandson so why don’t you just spill it.”

Alistair cocked his eyebrow, his expression cold. “This marriage is meant to be a consequence of his actions.”

“In other words, punishment.”

“Something like that. My grandson has a brilliant mind but he’s too busy cavorting with leeches to make something of himself. He was given many chances in the past to rectify his behaviour but now we’ve reached the stage where this can no longer continue. He needs to take responsibility for his actions.”

“So why not marry him off to one of your society people? I’m sure there are plenty of women who would love to get with him.”

“Billy is a charmer, Ms. Y/N. He’s also a master manipulator. I need someone brilliant who won’t fall for his charms.”

Ah, false praise. it was obvious where Billy learned his tactics from. “You still haven’t answered my question, Mr. Russo. You could get anyone to help you with this plan, but you came to me specifically. Why?”

There was a short pause, as if Alistair was contemplating his words carefully. “As I said, this marriage is meant to be a punishment, not a reward. You are not the kind of woman he’s normally seen with.”

You smirked. There it was. “I’m not his type. And this marriage is intended to embarrass him.”

Alistair cleared his throat, seemingly uncomfortable with your abrasive assessment. “This is not meant to be a lifelong commitment. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain. All you have to do is stay married to him for a period of three years, and after that you’ll both be granted a divorce. I will pay off all of your debt, and after the termination of the marriage you will receive a lump sum of $5 Million.”

“10 Million,” you countered.

Alistair quirked his eyebrow. “That is a lot of money, especially considering the benefits you would already be receiving You would be married to someone handsome and wealthy, with no need to work.”

You learned forward, balancing your elbows on your desk. “Maybe not in the hospital anymore, but I would still be working. Your Billy sounds like a massive pain in the ass and I’m guessing it’s not going to be easy to keep him in check. Because that’s essentially why you’re hiring me, isn’t it? To control him and make him the man you want him to be.”

“I have no such expectations from you, Ms. Y/N. You will never wield that much power over my grandson.” Alistair’s voice was filled with cold disdain. “You have over $500,000 in debt. While you make a decent income, it’ll take you years to pay it off. I gather your plan is to stay in this hospital so you can benefit from the loan forgiveness program but that will take ten years and from what I can see, this is not an environment you enjoy working in.”

Bastard. He had honed in on your exact weakness. What you really wanted was to work in poor communities like the one you had grown up in where there was a desperate need for good care, but your debt prevented you from being able to pursue what made you happy. Instead you were stuck working in a hospital with a toxic work environment where leadership only cared about revenue, and it was sucking the soul out of you.

“While I won’t offer you $10 Million, I will do something else. I understand your brother’s business is failing. If you agree to this offer, I will ensure there is an influx of cash into his business. That should keep him out of trouble for the next little while.”

You took a deep breath. “He can’t know the money is connected to me. He won’t accept it.”

“And my grandson can not know this marriage comes with an expiry date.”

You ran your fingers through his hair. “Understood.”

Alistair Russo finally smiled, and it was not a pleasant one. A cold shiver ran through you, like you’d just made a deal with the devil. “And just in case you start dreaming about a lifelong marriage with Billy and tying yourself to my family permanently, please remember I will destroy your career, any chances of you ever working anywhere in this continent, and I will end you and your brother. Are we clear?”

“We’re clear.”

It was Billy’s tight squeeze of your hand that brought you out of your reverie. You took a quick glace around the room. There was only Billy’s immediate family and three of your friends in attendance. No one wanted this marriage, not even you, but you had to play the part.

“Should I ask again?” the officiant asked.

“I do,” you replied in a loud voice, sounding much more confident than you felt.

Billy shot you a look of disgust before returning his attention back to the officiant. While the rest of the ceremony passed in a whirl, you kept your mind on what mattered the most. You. You were doing this for yourself and for your future, fuck everyone else.

***

You made your escape to the honeymoon suite while the party was on full swing in the reception area. Today had been a long day after a series of long weeks and all you wanted was to sleep. Working the crazy hours you did meant no time to unwind or disconnect, it was always go, go, go and just for a little while you wanted to sit and breathe and not think about the choices you made and what it meant for everyone. You just wanted to breathe.

Today was your wedding day, something most women dreamed of, but to you it meant nothing. It was simply a means to an end. And you didn’t even have a choice about the date, it was what Alistair picked after you and him had come to an agreement and signed the proper documents. Hell, you didn’t even know how he’d conned Billy into the marriage. You met the man twice before today, and both times he’d looked at you like you were nothing. He had a taste for tall, slim, beautiful women, like most of the world, but you were the farthest thing from that. You were short, curvy, more cute than pretty, and you were fine with that. But seeing the look on Billy’s face today when you walked down the aisle in the last-minute white dress you purchased, it was clear he wasn’t.

Whatever. That was his problem. You just had to suck it up for three years and then you were free.

You strode over to where the champagne bottle was stored and poured yourself a glass. You closed your eyes, enjoying the taste as the liquid washed down your throat. It was fucking heaven. Probably the best champagne you ever tasted.

“You made the biggest mistake of your life tonight.”

You whirled around at the sound of a stranger’s voice, only to see that it was Billy standing a few feet away. His leather jacket was now gone, bringing attention to the way the knit jersey moulded over the lean muscles of his arms. He was tall, too tall, not at all your regular type.

Sighing, you took a sip from your flute. “Have I?”

“You think you can fuck up my life and get out of it unscathed?” The threat on his voice was palpable, his dark eyes growing more wild as he approached you.

For the first time you felt dread in his presence, a tight ball of fear slowly unfurling in your stomach with every step he took towards you. But you were a fighter, always had been, and you knew showing fear was inviting death. Jutting out your chin defiantly, you glared back at him. “This is a marriage, not a prison sentence.”

“It’ll feel much worse than prison by the time I’m done with you.”

“Don’t know why you’re pissed at me. Your grandfather wanted this, Billy,” you reminded him.

“You didn’t have to say yes.”

“And turn down my chance at marrying the William Russo?” Taking on a melodramatic tone, you pressed your other hand to your chest. “Impossible.”

He closed in on you, removing every inch of personal space as his hand wrapped around your throat. Panic surged through you but you reminded yourself to stay calm. You still had the champagne flute in your hand. If he made a move, you wouldn’t hesitate to smash it on his head. “I’ll make you regret every fucking minute you spend with me.” His voice was a hoarse growl, dangerous, meant to frighten you. And it did. He frightened you, even more so when he applied pressure to your throat.

Growing up the way you did, being attacked wasn’t new. The neighbourhoods were rough, there were always gang wars going on and while you tried your best to stay out of it, inevitably the wrong people would be pissed off and there would be fights. Which meant you had learned to control your fear a long time ago.

In an instant you shattered the flute against the table behind you and held the remaining jagged figure to the corner of his neck. A piece cut into his skin but you maintained careful control not to dig it in too much. “Two can play at this game, Russo. Hurt me, and I’ll destroy your pretty face.”

He didn’t back off, but the pressure around your throat loosened. For the longest time he simply stared down at you, as if burning your face into his mind. You wondered what he was thinking, planning, but his expression was blank and completely impossible to decipher.

The same hand that was clutching your throat now moved up your neck, and you swallowed an audible breath when his thumb roughly wiped the red lipstick off your lips. “A pig in makeup is still a pig.”

His words were meant to hurt you and destroy your confidence. Except you found yourself breaking into sudden laughter. You couldn’t help it. It was hilarious. He backed off right away, staring at you with a curious expression as you giggled and struggled to catch your breath.

The audacity of men, they were all the same. Threaten them and they always went after women’s looks, as if being insulted for your looks was the worst thing imaginable.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you high on something?” Billy asked, his forehead furrowed with concern.

Placing the half-broken flute on the table, you shrugged your shoulders. “No, Billy. I’m not.” You tipped your head to the side, staring up at him with a smile on your face. “You think insulting me is going to hurt me? I’ll go running because you called me a pig? That’s not how this works, Billy. You and me, we’re married.” It was your turn to close the gap between you two. “Committed to each other. Legally. Because that’s what your grandfather wanted. And that means I’m here to stay.” You’re not sure what possessed you to do it, but you stood on your tip-toes and reached up to grasp his face, pulling him down so his lips were merely an inch away from yours. Your same lips he bruised pressed against his while you kept your eyes firmly on him, making sure to stain his face with the lipstick the way he did you. “Our fates are tied now, husband. There’s no getting out.”

Billy watched you intently, his eyes fixed on you with an unwavering gaze designed to intimidate you. “If I go down, so will you. And you’re the one who has everything to lose in this fight.”

A slow smile spread across your lips, and you noticed how his eyes followed that smile, the way he smoldered at you even as he tried to figure you out. “Bring it on, husband,” you murmured, loosening your grip on him.

He stood still, his gaze piercing through you, not moving away. And then suddenly he jerked back, as if finally realizing there was nothing physically connecting the two of you and he really was free to walk away. Turning his back to you, he stormed out of the suite and slammed the door behind him.

Chuckling, you started cleaning up the broken pieces of glass.

To be continued...

Um, yeah, so thoughts?

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #ben barnes #the punisher #my fics #grudgingly yours

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octuscle · 7 months

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Please help me, support. All my mates are in the football team but I missed out because apparently I’m too skinny and nerdy. I need to show them all. I’ll give anything, take my smarts, my hair, whatever - just make me a jock beast they’ll all envy.

I love getting a free ride. I can do anything with you? Fear you!

Consuela has just said goodbye. Until your parents come home, you'll have the beach house in Easthampton all to yourself. And that could be tomorrow morning too, if your father is too busy at the office and your mother at the surgery. You like the weekends before the official start of the season on Long Island. It's quiet, the sea is wild… Perfect for sitting in your study, watching the seagulls and working on your Bachelor's thesis. It's starting to get dark outside. You turn on the light. Your reflection in the window pane. A beanstalk with a 180-dollar haircut. Football player? What an absurd idea!

Almost as absurd as reading the latest issue of Gridiron Magazine at your desk. You throw yourself on your bed and flip through the pages. From outside on the street, you can hear the noise of the trucks rolling past. Supplies for the sawmill. Your father is one of the guys who take the logs from the harvesters in the mountains and then drive them down to the river. When he can, he takes a break at your mother's diner. She makes the best pancakes in the county. Shit, if your father knew you were lying here on the bed jerking off to the pictures of the quarterbacks, he'd beat the shit out of you. Although… You mean you once caught him in the cab of his truck with a coworker. Your dad said that they were just listening to a football game on the radio together. But you never understood why your father had dropped his pants.

Your smartphone answers. Time for the protein shake. You go down to the kitchen and take one of the large canisters of powder from the shelf. You consume a lot of protein here in the house. Your dad used to be a legend at his high school. And he's still a beast of a man. You flex your biceps and look at yourself in the kitchen window. Poor old man. By now he's getting the short end of the stick. No idea when your parents will be home. It's almost 9pm. The stream of trucks in front of the house continues. You go for another round of bench presses in the garage. And then you go to bed. Tomorrow starts early again.

You had an early shift at the sawmill. That's what you like best. Out of bed at 04:00, a run, eight hours of hard work. And then training with the boys at 15:00. Of course you could have finished high school. But what good would that have done you? You have your own trailer, your own Dodge. And you're the star of the football team here in the village. You couldn't have asked for more in life.

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #chronivac #inked man #ai image #redneck tf

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lenkharos · 1 month

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Almyr began working at the FASI (Federal Agency of Security and Investigation) at the age of 25, after finishing a bachelor's in criminal justice, a master's in computer science, and a 30 week course to qualify for the IID (Infiltration and Intelligence Division) program. They started gymnastics at the age of twelve and martial arts at the age of 14, which helped them qualify for the program.

After decades of being a FASI agent they pursued a medical profession specialising in multi-species care- first becoming a soft tissue surgeon before deciding to pursue neurosurgery. After becoming a neurosurgeon they still performed soft tissue surgeries due to demand. Nearing burnout they decided to go back to medical school to become a physiatrist, focusing on pain management. They opened the Milja Medical Centre and partnered with the nearest hospital.

#oc art #original character #character design #tactical gear #digital art #fantasy oc #oc #scifi oc #artist on tumblr #lenkharosoc #lenkharosoc almyr

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storiesofsvu · 1 year

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Solace in Solitude Ch 5

Emily Prentiss x reader enemies to lovers warnings: language, medical talk (some of which is not accurate, don't at me), minor hurt/anxiety, y'all know the drill already. My deepest apologies for how long this update took. Life really took over, ya know? I hope it won't be that long before the next one! Don't wanna miss an update? Sign up for the taglist here! Like what you read? Interact, Tip your writer!🩵

Emily wasn’t sure if it was anxiety or excitement coursing through her veins but she was practically buzzing from the moment the first nurse of the day left her room. The reason for the buzzing of course, was that all that stood between her and getting discharged was your signature. One little scribble on the bottom of a piece of paper and she would be out of this godforsaken hospital room for good, back out in the real world with fresh air, proper food and she could only pray, an actual coffee. She felt a bit like a child on the very last day of school, where you were stuck watching the clock tick each second by while you stared out the window watching the sunny day go by, aching to be running through the field rather than trapped in class, even if all you were doing was watching a movie. She was ready to rip out her IV and wander through the streets of Paris and at least attempt to enjoy this forced vacation.

The issue being that you normally swung by earlier in the day, checking on her and making sure everything was good before you started your rounds on other patients, took in other traumas and dove into surgeries. Emily reluctantly sat through a morning of near silence, no one coming or going from her room while she played scrabble on her tablet before lunch was served. She made sure to eat every ounce of it, on the off chance this was some kind of test, before she spent the afternoon switching between napping and catching up on the most recent season of The Bachelor that seemed to have her enamoured. She swore the sun was almost setting in the skyline by the time you finally rounded the corner into her room, this time you were in cozy clothes instead of scrubs, a small smile on your face.

“Sorry. Things got a little crazy today, how are you?” You asked, sweeping through the room to glance through her chart.

“Aching to get out of here.” She replied with a soft sigh and you chuckled.

“Well… everything looks good.” You flicked the chart closed, moving to the table, “I’ll sign off on these, file them, take your IV out and we can finally be on our way.”

“Are you serious?” Her face lit up and you were pretty sure it was the first time you’d actually seen her smile, “like, you’re not fucking with me?”

“Why would I fuck with you?” You barked a laugh, “I know this is what you’ve been waiting for, I wouldn’t dare tease.”

“No last minute tests or scans?”

“Nope.” You smiled, “everything yesterday checked out perfectly. You’re doing good in PT, incisions all healed, ribs back to normal and in the places they should be. You,” you picked up one of the newer clipboards from the base of the bed, scrawling your name across a handful of dotted lines, “are free to go.” You pulled off the pages of discharge papers that were her copies, handing them to her, “there’s some after care instructions and a few other things in there you’ll need to read over.” Moving through the room you gloved up, swiftly taking out her IV, un-attaching her from the rest of the machines, “alright. I’m gonna go file these and punch out, give you time to make sure you’ve got everything.”

“Thanks.” Emily flashed you a bright smile as you collected all the paperwork you needed and disappeared from the room.

She let out a huge breath of relief, shifting from the bed as her eyes carefully glanced around the room to make sure she hadn’t missed packing anything up, not that she had much to begin with but she still wanted to double check. She had just tucked her phone charger into her bag when you popped back through the doorway, your bag tossed over your shoulder this time.

“Ready?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.” She replied, cautiously picking up the small duffle, only wincing slightly when she got it over her shoulder.

“It’s not far.” You commented, digging through your bag until you found the spare metro card, passing it off to her, “that’s for the rest of the month.” You seamlessly switched to French as you exited the hospital doors in an attempt to blend in “have you been to Paris before?”

“Yeah.” She replied, pausing for a moment as you nodded toward your right in the direction of the metro, “lived here for a bit growing up.”

“Well, at least you won’t be utterly lost then.”

Conversation fell quieter as you ducked into the station, not only could Emily tell that you’d had a long day she was catching the vibe that you’d had a long week and were very much looking forward to getting home after you’d finished chaperoning her. On top of that, this was her first time out in civilization in months, she was a little on edge, a little rusty in her profiler ways as she discreetly listened to conversations around the two of you, eyes carefully darting around making sure your surroundings were safe and Ian wasn’t magically on the same train platform. You seemed to sense this, discreetly giving her wrist a gentle pinch when your train showed up so it wouldn’t look like you were fully giving her directions, guiding her to a seat at the back of the car where her back could be to the wall and she could keep an eye on things. You still weren’t sure on specifics but you knew she’d been a little freaked out about leaving the safety of the hospital, that this could be overwhelming for anyone getting discharged after that length of time much less someone who was living a fake life currently in order to survive.

A few stops later, you gently nudged at her good side and she followed you out of the car, taking note of what station it was and which exit you took that was closest to your destination. You nodded toward a little market, asking if she wanted to grab a couple of things on her way home and she agreed, silently slipping through the aisles until she’d found enough to last through a couple of days and met back with you at the counter. She felt awkward when you passed off cash to the shop owner, realizing she didn’t have any and you muttered an apology to her as you left the shop, saying you’d left her bank and credit cards in the apartment with her passports and stuff, not wanting to lose them. You took the bag from her so she wasn’t carrying too heavy of a load as you walked up another block and a half and you directed her to an apartment building, using the fob to get through the front door and into the elevator where you scanned it again to make it move.

“Extra security is nice.” Emily mumbled, letting out a breath as she relaxed into the back wall, “and I appreciate the escort, but you really didn’t need to come up with me.”

“I didn’t want you to struggle with two bags.” You retorted and she let out a little laugh, interrupting when you tried to continue your stream of thought.

“Am I not trusted with the key?”

“No, you’ve got your own.” You dug through your bag again, pulling the second chain from it to pass over to her.

“My… own?” She stalled slightly as the elevator doors slid open, glancing between the key in your hand and the one in hers. She watched as you stepped a few feet down the hallway and slid your key into the lock, “do you have a key to my apartment?”

“Seriously?” You raised a brow to her, pushing the door open before silencing the alarm as she scurried out of the elevator and to your side, “they spent seventeen thousand on your funeral, another six hundred and forty two thousand on your medical bills and that doesn’t even cover your ongoing PT. You’re lucky they gave us a two bedroom.”

“What.” Her voice hardened slightly as she stepped into the doorway of the apartment, her lips forming into a tight frown.

“Between their allocated budget and your level of ongoing care it was the best option.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

She stepped into the space, letting the door swing shut behind her and after a brief second thought, she turned to quickly make sure it was locked. The apartment wasn’t small, but it wasn’t giant either, a small entry space filled with a rug, coat and shoe racks and a small table that you tossed your keys and work bag down onto as you kicked off your shoes. A foot or so down on the left was a small kitchen, enough space for most standard appliances and counterspace that curved into a breakfast bar opening up into the living room. The space was tidy, clean, dishes sitting in the drying rack that she could only assume were from that morning, a few blankets tossed over the back of the couch and one of the larger chairs, a few books, some of which looked like medical text books on the coffee table along with a vase of flowers. Off to the right were three doors, each open and it was safe to assume two were bedrooms and the one in between was a bathroom.

“Laundry’s in the basement.” You commented, pulling her out of her trance as you crossed to the kitchen to put the food away in the appropriate places, “the card for it’s with your bank and ID’s on the bedside table.” You gestured towards the room closer to the door and she was safe to assume that meant it was hers, “some extra clothes and things in the closet. Make yourself at home.”

“Yeah.” Her tone was terse, letting out a huff as she kicked her shoes off and disappeared into her room to dump her bag on the bed, looking around the space.

“I’m gonna run down to the gym, you have my number if you want me to pick anything up on the way back.” You called to her as you wandered into your room, pulling your hair up into a ponytail as you grabbed a couple of things.

“Yeah, whatever.”

Her reply was barely audible through the apartment though the slamming of her bedroom door certainly was. It caught you off guard, jumping slightly at the sound before you glanced in the direction of her room through the wall. You hadn’t really thought sharing a space would piss her off like that, hell, after the way she’d been acting through the week you were back at the point that you thought the two of you might actually end up being friends. Rolling your eyes you let out a small sigh, scooping up your keys and grabbing a water bottle from the fridge before you stepped through the door, making sure it was locked behind you.

In her room Emily dropped down on the edge of the bed, her head burying in her hands as she let out a heavy breath. She’d been in such high sprits all day that she was finally going to be free, that she was going to be able to live her life again, be herself again. She’d nearly forgotten why she was in Paris in the first place, that just because step two was done and she was out of the hospital did not mean that things were going back to normal. She still wasn’t able to go home, wasn’t able to call any of her old friends and still had to be alert whenever she was out. Because she wasn’t herself, she was Valerie. And Valerie deserved a fighting change at surviving this mess, even if Emily didn’t.

You came back a couple of hours later to a dark and quiet apartment. Considering Emily’s reaction to the shared space you figured you’d give her a little bit longer to adjust to the new environment, giving her a chance to explore the space without you in it while you were out. Instead it looked like she had stayed shut away in her room, not a single thing out of place when you returned.

Flicking on a few lights you changed into pyjamas first, tossing your gym clothes into the laundry hamper, you’d opted to shower at the gym already so at least that was checked off your nightly list. Wandering back to the kitchen you pulled a few things from the fridge to whip together an easy chipotle chicken pasta, pouring yourself a hefty glass of wine to go along with it. Crossing through the apartment you set your dinner up on the balcony, wanting to enjoy the spring evening and fresh air outside of the hospital while you ate. On your trip back into the apartment you picked up one of the novels on the coffee table to indulge yourself with, before you glanced up to the closed bedroom door and let out a small sigh. You took a brief break to quickly plate up the second portion of pasta, topping it with fresh parmesan, wrapping it tightly in tinfoil before tossing the pot into the sink to be cleaned later. On your way back to the balcony you gently knocked on the closed door,

“There’s a plate of food on the counter, I know you didn’t eat dinner.” Was all you said before you slipped back to the balcony, sliding the glass door shut behind you. You figured if she had some privacy and her own space she was more likely to come out to at least get the food if not eat it.

You weren’t sure how long you were outside, but the sun was fully set, a chill in the air pulling shivers from you as you finished another chapter. Figuring that was the signal to head back inside you picked up your things, book going back to the coffee table while the dishes came with you into the kitchen. The extra plate of food still sitting exactly where you’d left it. You sighed softly, sliding it to the side so you could do your dishes, putting away the ones from that morning in the cupboard. You glanced toward her room, huffing softly before you picked up the plate and stashed it in the fridge, if she wasn’t going to touch it you at least wanted it edible tomorrow so you could eat leftovers.

Emily had fallen asleep not long after you’d knocked on her door, truthfully, she was pretty exhausted. If the sheer annoyance and frustration hadn’t kept her riled up when you were at the gym she knew she would’ve fallen asleep then. She was still recovering after all and even a short journey through the city was more than enough to wipe her out. She’d drifted in and out through the silence and the sound of you doing dishes, listening as you putzed around the apartment a bit before your bedroom door finally clicked shut. She could feel the pit in her stomach beginning to ache and knew she would need to eat something before attempting to get some sleep but she didn’t dare leave her room until long after she’d heard you flick your bedroom light off and get into bed.

Only once the apartment was in complete silence did she finally, silently, slip from under the covers of her bed, pulling JJ’s sweater tighter around her as she snuck around the apartment. With you off in dreamland she finally let herself look around the space properly, it was decorated nicely, although she was sure some of that wasn’t you. This was likely some federal apartment, and Interpol one, maybe even a Doctors without Borders one, that was even more likely knowing her trail had to be covered. But there were still touches she knew had to be you, more personal items that you would’ve picked up over the last couple of months, the blanket over the back of the couch looked particular inviting, fuzzy but not in the overstimulating itchy way, dotted with constellations and she was sure that was yours. She liked the flowers on the table, the idea that you liked to fill your space with something alive, colourful and considering the shape of them you changed them out every couple of weeks, she’d noticed an array of flowers at the market you’d stopped at earlier. Above the tv there were some photo frames scattered on the wall, a few of you with a girl a few years younger who looked an awful lot like you, considering they all looked like travel pictures she figured that was your sister. Another frame looked like a family photo, an older brother from what she could tell from resemblance, who had a couple of kids, your sister and your parents. The third was from a graduation, judging by your age she figured when you finished medical school, the same friends copying over into a couple of other photos, one where it looked like you were a bridesmaid. Little pieces of home you’d brought with you in an attempt to ground yourself and not forget who you were, things that she didn’t have on this particular journey.

Her stomach growled and she let out a sigh, thankful it had distracted her before she could spiral down the hole of not having any pieces of her old life here. She quietly wandered back to the kitchen, not even daring to flick the light on, using the fridge and stove lamp as her resources as she found the plate of food wrapped in the fridge. Her hand rested on the counter as she pulled it out, hitting a patch of condensation where it must have been sitting warm, waiting for her earlier and her head tilted in realization. Directly beside the spot was a three quarter full bottle of wine, an empty, clean wine glass, as if you’d left that out for her along with the food originally. Her eyes darted to the drying rack, a water spotted glass sat there, you’d clearly already had yours. Popping the plate into the microwave she thought for a moment, the only meds she was still on were the sleeping ones and anxiety ones, both you’d mentioned no heavy drinking on, but she was sure one glass wouldn’t hurt. Hell, it would probably knock her the fuck out with the meds and that truly was what she needed if she was gonna get any sleep in a new environment.

She managed to catch the microwave before it beeped, glancing up toward your room and listening for a moment before she pulled open a drawer in search of cutlery. Unbeknownst to her, she actually copied your routine, taking the food and wine out to the balcony to enjoy. She couldn’t help but want to feel the breeze on her face, breathe the fresh air, the coolness of it helping calm her racing heart, help ease her anxiety while she ate. She felt bad leaving the glass and plate in the sink but by the time she was finished her wine her eyelids were drooping so heavily she knew she wasn’t going to make it much longer, enough energy to make sure all the doors and windows were locked before collapsing into her bed.

Emily tugged the blankets tighter around her, letting out a little shiver as she curled around herself. She inhaled heavily, frowning when the scent of detergent was overpowering, only a flicker of JJ’s perfume remained on the sweater. It had stood out so strongly against the chemical smells in the hospital it had been her go to calming mechanism, a memory of home lulling her to sleep. Now so much time had passed it was nearly gone and she knew she would need to wash the thing soon, then it would be gone forever. Her body sunk heavily into the bed, at least this one was more comfortable than her last, letting out a breath a tear rolled over her cheek as she nestled deeper into the pillows. It was only a moment later she was asleep, hoping that her dreams would distract her, that maybe she’d wake up in a different situation, that maybe all of this had been a nightmare of its own.

_______________

@mickey-gomez @momlifebehard @daddy-heather-dunbar @maybe-a-humanbean @rustyzebra @leftoverenvy @kades95 @dextur @supercriminalbean @daffodil-heart @its-soph-xx xx @just-a-torn-up-masterpiece @hopelesslyfallenninlove @peanutbutterprincess @emilyprentisssluvr @lex13cm @zizzlekwum @emobabeyy @riveramorylunar @s1ut4nat @scorpsik @prentiss-theorem @strongsassysexysloane @happenstnces @sapphicprentiss @geekyandgay98 @pagetboobstarcomments @onmykneesformarvel @inlovewithemilyprentiss @desperate-gay @amypoehlfey @overtrred28 @theclassicgaycousin @regalmilfs4me @kalixxh @ara-a-bird @five-bi-five-mind @niyizh @inlovewithmiddleagewomen @tommyriddleobsessed @hotchs-bitch @ollysmulti @kmc1989 @irishavengersassemble @romanoffsho @honeyycat @ratsnestinmyhair @assgardangod @originalbrunettecharacter @elz-artzzz

#emily prentiss #criminal minds #emily prentiss x reader #enemies to lovers #solace in solitude #emily prentiss fanfic

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a-star-that-burns-brightly · 1 year

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Arturo's talent confuses me a lot

Okay so on this fine 12:30 PM I was thinking about the newest QnA, and how DRDTDev said this in it

And it was always something that intrigued me a lot because I really could not figure out what it meant or why the exact ages of the cast were kept hidden. That is, until I started thinking about everyone's favorite(...?) Ultimate Plastic Surgeon, Arturo Giles. Specifically, his talent in question. Because to put it bluntly: How in the everliving FUCK is Arturo a Plastic Surgeon at his age Now you might wonder just what I mean by that, and as such let me run you down the requirements to be a plastic surgeon in the US from what I have researched:

Now obviously these are only three sources, and this is mainly referring to the US because that is where DRDT takes place, but the point still stands. For Arturo to become a licensed plastic surgeon, he would have to go through a six year program/residency for plastic surgery, obtain a bachelor's degree (or I guess whatever Hope's Peak's version of a bachelors degree is) which is canonically a four-year university in the DRDTverse, as WELL as an extra four years in medical school.

(Now fair warning, I am not the best when it comes to reading comprehension, so there might be some things in the screenshots I linked that I ultimately missed. And if so, you're allowed to (politely) point it out to me !) Even if there are a few things I misread, it still brings into question how Arturo obtained his talent when you look at his possible age Now obviously, as I mentioned before, the DT cast's actual age is a spoiler. But that doesn't mean we can't speculate based on the information we do have from the series

(A challenger has approached: Min Jeung /j) This line from the first bonus episode is the closest thing we get to a clear-cut age for the DT cast, where Unnamed Classmate / Mai says that Min is 18. Unfortunate jinxing aside, this also brings back up the fact that Hope's Peak in the DTverse is a four-year university course akin to US college (I'll actually include a screenshot this time)

So it can be assumed that this bonus episode (and I assume Xander's), takes place during their first year at Hope's Peak, and assuming that the rest of the cast is the same age they were all 18-19 during their first year. But that isn't all ! As remember, these guys have their HPA memories snatched from them, so let's cover that as well

Now, we don't know how long "a few years" could be. It could be only one year like Rose said initially, it could be two, three, hell ten for all we know. However, Min (as posted before) and Xander don't seem to have aged that much in comparison to their current appearences. So I'm going to assume (keyword here, assume) that about three years at most have been taken from them. as that would put them largely around the end of HPA. So with all of this in mind, that would mean that Arturo is around 19-22 during the events of the death game, but even with that considered, that still means that Arturo was scouted and given the title of Ultimate Plastic Surgeon at 18. And that is where my confusion lies since that...is basically impossible DRDT-Dev has clearly thoroughly researched all of the talents of the cast and how they work in the DTverse and in general seems to be very intricate when it comes to their writing, so I highly doubt they would make an oversight like this. There has got to be a reasoning for this. And I can think of three possible ones 1. Arturo is some kind of prodigy in the medical and cosmetic surgery field which could've led to him becoming a plastic surgeon much earlier in life than one typically would 2. Arturo is just straightup lying about his ultimate talent for whatever reason, possibly fabricating the license on his coat. He's obviously not faking his medical knowledge as we've seen in the actual series, but him faking his ultimate isn't exactly ruled out 3. The DRDT cast are much older then we or they realize, and there is another reason why they still look to be in their early 20s (I swear to god if this turns out to be some virtual world shit I am actually going to go insane /lh)

...Or the 4th reason that being I AM looking too deep into this, but whatever it's fun to overanalyze this shit Please let me know what you think, I'd love to hear other people's opinions on this !

#{🍀It is an equal failing to trust everybody and to trust no one at all. and to trust no one at all.🌟}#~💫 a constellation!💫~#danganronpa despair time #drdt #fanganronpa #arturo giles #drdt arturo #I did not expect my first somewhat analysis post in months to be about Arturo of all characters but eh expect the unexpected

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saintsenara · 4 months

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May I ask what medication you take, if any, to manage your adhd? Do you think you could have functioned without medication? And if you’re comfortable sharing, what age were you when you began med school (eg right after undergrad or did you wait a few years after) do you think upper twenties would be too late to begin?

You and a few other women who have degrees are my role models of sorts, or maybe a less intense term would be inspirational. I like to see people thriving with adhd and am trying to plan out how I might also turn things around and thrive with my symptoms, after seeing evidence that it is possible. Thank you!

thank you very much for the ask, anon!

i take stimulant medication [lisdexamfetamine - the brand name is elvanse in the uk, vyvanse in the us], which is the standard treatment for adhd in adults. not everyone can tolerate stimulants - and there are alternatives - but this works for me.

so much so that i intend - at this point - to take it for the rest of my life. this isn't the only way to treat adhd - in the first instance, patients need to work out whether stimulants benefit them, since the side-effects can occasionally be pretty intense - but it's an effective and safe one. i can survive without medication - in the same way that someone who is very short-sighted can survive without their glasses - but only in a decidedly suboptimal state which impedes my ability to live my life easily or comfortably. taking medication is an accessibility tool, in the same way that wearing glasses or hearing aids, or using a cane or a wheelchair are accessibility tools - they allow people to live well, rather than just to live.

there's a lot of moral panic about stimulant medication - with "moral" being the operative word, even when it comes from doctors practising in an area other than psychiatry/neurology. the clinical evidence bears very little of this panic out - and if you are worried about any of it, then you should ask a specialist.

on the rest:

medical school in the uk [as is also the case in much of europe] works slightly differently to how it does in other jurisdictions, in that it's not required to do a separate degree in a pre-med subject prior to beginning medical training.

over here, medicine is an undergraduate/bachelors degree in its own right - which is why the letters we use after our names are an abbreviation of "bachelor of medicine, bachelor of surgery", the exact configuration of which varies based on which medical school you went to [bmbs, mbchb, bmbch, and so on], rather than "md".

i began my medical degree at eighteen, immediately after leaving school - and this is the case for the majority of medical students at british universities. uk medical courses usually last for either five or six years depending on the university [mine was for six], after which there are two further years of general on-the-job training [foundation training - the equivalent to being an intern in the american system], before specialisation.

but that's not the be-all and end-all. it's possible to retrain as a doctor at any time. there are numerous courses in the uk specifically for mature students and there are plenty of mature students who study alongside the "typical" undergraduate cohort, regardless of level of prior education [if you have an undergraduate degree or above, you might go into a four-year accelerated medical degree; if you have no formal qualifications, you can gain the skills to meet the admissions requirements for standard-length undergraduate medical courses via an access to medicine course]. i've met plenty of people who began their degrees in their mid-thirties, often while juggling responsibilities the average eighteen-year-old has little cause to imagine, and all i've ever thought about this is that it's impressive.

the same will apply anywhere else in the world. you won't be the only person in the room who is starting their degree at 28. you probably won't be the only person in the room starting at 35. hell, you might not even be the only person in the room starting at 50. and who gives a shit if you are? for as long as you have the desire and capacity to learn, you have the right to.

[and don't just take my word for it. the youtuber rebecca bradford started her medical degree at 37, having left school without a single qualification. she's having the time of her life. you can be the same.]

doctors who come into the profession later in life are a net good. working in medicine means dealing with the astonishing variance of human experience - not simply from the technical, clinical side of things [you will always have that one patient whose body doesn't behave in any of the ways the textbook says it should] but from the social side of things too. it's vital that clinical teams are made up of people who have different life experiences and different transferable skills - and accruing these by taking a circuitous route into medicine is only going to advantage you and benefit your patients.

and adhd is a life experience, let's be clear. a good friend of mine is a nurse specialising in autism and adhd in adults. she decided upon this career after being diagnosed with adhd in her forties. i have no doubt that the lived experience she brings to the table has a tangible impact on how her patients learn to manage and be confident in their condition. not least because, as you say, it shows that having adhd is not all doom and gloom.

nonetheless, my advice would be - even though this is a struggle for the dopamine-challenged - not to rush into things. you need to have found ways of dealing with your symptoms - especially those which are exacerbated by stress - prior to making a big life change. medical school is tough. medicine is tougher. trying to do it while you're also trying to work out how to teach yourself to remember when your bins go out isn't going to be fun for anyone involved.

and you also, if diagnosed as an adult, need a bit of time to grieve not being diagnosed earlier. one potential course for your life was scrubbed off the map when nobody noticed you were neurodivergent as a child, and it's important to come to terms with that.

but once you feel ready to tackle a new challenge, why not? she who dares wins and all that.

#asks answered #general chat #on medicine

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sgtuniversityggn · 1 year

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BAMS Course: A Comprehensive Guide to Ayurvedic Medicine and Surgery

The Bachelor of Ayurvedic Medicine and Surgery (BAMS) is a degree program that combines the study of traditional Ayurvedic systems with modern medicine. It is a comprehensive course that lasts for five and a half years, including four and a half years of academic instruction and one year of mandatory internship. Students who enroll in BAMS can gain extensive knowledge about Ayurvedic theory, as well as the basic principles of contemporary medical science.

One of the reasons to study BAMS is the power of Ayurveda, which has been around for thousands of years and is still relevant today. BAMS teaches students about Ayurveda in-depth, including herbs, natural remedies, massages, and more. By the end of the course, students will be able to help people using natural methods. BAMS also requires various skills such as Ayurvedic knowledge, anatomy and physiology expertise, diagnosis and treatment abilities, communication and interpersonal skills, and more.

There are several career opportunities available for BAMS graduates in the healthcare, life sciences, and pharmaceutical industries. BAMS graduates can become Ayurvedic doctors, medical representatives, counselors, sales managers, pharmacists, and more. Private practice is also an option, and BAMS graduates can pursue postgraduate and Ph.D. programs to become professors in Ayurveda colleges. Other roles for BAMS graduates include Ayurveda counselor, dietician, Panchkarma Practitioner, and research and development roles within the Ayurveda industry.

SGT University offers an affordable fee structure for BAMS courses and is considered the best Ayurveda college in Delhi NCR and Haryana due to its exceptional BAMS program, expert faculty, advanced facilities, and practical training. Candidates who have qualified for NEET are eligible for admission to the BAMS course at SGT University.

#Bachelor of Ayurvedic Medicine and Surgery #BAMS #BAMS Course #BAMS Program #BAMS Programme #best Ayurveda college in Delhi NCR #neet aspirants #admission open

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the-gay-disney-games · 9 months

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Round 1A: The Little Mermaid (1989) vs. The Great Mouse Detective (1986)

Propaganda:

The Little Mermaid:

“It's an allegory about transitioning under the Benjamin Standards actually.”

“Like. c'mon. the original fairytale its based on was literally written by a closeted gay man as a metaphor for how his love for another man was doomed. also ursula is a drag queen”

“She's trans-human, or something. The Queer experience of wanting to know what else is out there, if there are people like you, like you in your soul, put there. Of wanting to go to a place where you are safe to ask everything you want to ask and be whatever way you want to be.”

“any movie howard ashman writes lyrics for is gonna be pretty gay”

“The trans metaphor is right there, guys!! Plus Ursula being based on a Drag Queen. And most importantly: Howard Ashman.”

“The original story is about Hans Christian Andersen being in love with a man but knowing he could never be with him. And the movie itself is very queer. You could read queerness into Ariel’s fascination with the human world and wanting to be part of that world rather than the one she “belongs” in. Being willing to cut off contact and move far away from your family because you’ll never be accepted by them, especially after a parent violently rejects something important to or about you. Ursula.”

“a lot of ink has been spilled on why the little mermaid is a metaphor for internalised homophobia, with hans christian anderson's own thoughts regarding his bisexuality coming through in the character of the princess (ariel) who wans to be a real woman so she can be with the man she loves. this also lends itself ot trans readings in the mdoern day. of course, the 1989 film was written by howard ashman, himself a gay man, and it is possible to read the alternate, happier ending to this film adaptation as a hopeful retelling for gay people towards the end of the 20th century. its gay”

“Part of Your World??? Ariel literally transitioning from a mermaid to a human. bYE”

“Girl have you Seen or Heard the behind the scenes of Ursula”

“Ursula literally being based on the drag queen Divine”

“The whole plot is a trans allegory imo. Ariel feeling like she’s be happy with “just one day on land” screamsssss trans person wanting to be seen as their gender. Plus she literally got “bottom surgery” lmao. (Tl;dr: I’m trans and it’s my fav so I say so. /j)”

“hans christian anderson wrote the little mermaid as an allegory for being gay. therefore these films are literally gay. disney swept it under the rug but i will not. also that "i can't believe we're both goth and trans" post”

The Great Mouse Detective:

“The protagonist, Basil, and antagonist, Ratigain, are practically bitter exes. Basil literally has a giant photo of his “”””enemy”””” above his fireplace, come on!”

“Vincent Price as Ratigan is so obviously over the top queer coded, but this is one of the few Disney movies where the protagonist, Basil, is also queer coded. It’s more subtle, but all Sherlock Holmes type characters are queer coded. Also the movie ends with Basil asking Dawson, this movie’s Watson, to stay and live with him so yeah”

“As per usual, Basil (Holmes) is V queer. Confirmed bachelor, immediately ready to play happy homes with Watson, Ratigan is Basil's flamboyant ex.”

“i can't explain it but basil the mouse is gay and so is the vincent price rat”

“It’s based on Sherlock Holmes so right away the Basil/Dawson relationship is. Very queer. Also Ratigan is a queer-coded villain.”

#polls #queerest disney movie tournament #round 1a #disney #the little mermaid #the great mouse detective

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lexosaurus · 10 months

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Twelve Hours: Chapter 5

Part 5 of 5 of my fic for Ecto Implosion, the DP reverse mini-bang (artists go first, writers go second)

This chapter is accompanied by art from @tytach AND IT'S SO SO COOL literally screaming crying throwing up I love GIW art so much. Do yourself a solid and check it out!

read on: [ao3]

[see all chapters]

Characters: Danny Fenton, Harriet Chin, GIW Tags: Identity Reveal, Flashbacks, Runaway Danny Fenton, Angst Chapter WC: 4453 Summary: When the GIW revealed Danny to the world, the only thing he could do was run. Run and run and run until he escaped to Chicago, trying desperately to disappear. Too bad it didn’t work.

****

“The day of your arrest, you’d been on the run,” Harriet Chin stated.

“I had,” Danny responded. Even though it’d been years, talking about the actual captivity—or as they’d put it in legal terms, arrest—still made his heart stutter.

Well, most things still made his heart rate pick up.

“They found you in Chicago,” Harriet continued. “And they arrested you at approximately two in the morning in Albany Park. Reports say you’d been in the city all day. First, I just need to ask, why? Why go to Chicago of all places?”

Danny steeled himself. He’d been expecting this. “I thought I could blend in there. I figured there were so many people in the city that everyone would look past another homeless kid. Obviously, that didn’t work. People recognized me.”

“What happened during the arrest? I think most people would have expected you to turn invisible and fly away, but that didn’t happen.”

“It’s not that easy with the Ghost Investigation Ward. Their glasses can see through invisibility, and they had me surrounded.” Danny pressed his lips together, fighting the imagery of him diving into his only chance of escape. It hadn’t worked. “It was futile, anyway.”

Harriet leaned back, a slight awe seeping into her tone as she said, “Three years, huh? That’s a long time.”

It had been. Oh god, it had been an agonizing time. And it probably would have gone on longer if not for Vlad’s incredible legal team.

Of course, that didn’t make Vlad suddenly his best friend. The asshole only really did it to try to make Maddie fall in love with him, that bastard. Well, that and the underlying terror of the government figuring out how to create a halfa, which would have been disastrous.

Thankfully, Danny managed to avoid both potential outcomes there. He’d gotten out, spent a year in and out of surgery, rehab, and PT, and then tried his best to restart his life. He got his GED, signed up for some community college courses, attained an associate degree, then transferred and finished his bachelor's.

It hadn’t been easy or smooth. In between associate and undergraduate degrees, he’d suffered a breakdown and had to take a gap year…or two. Then, after he finished his undergraduate, the soul-crushing reality that he was Danny Phantom and also job hunting so he could move out and really start his life hit him again, and he faltered.

But somehow, he made it. He was still figuring it out, but he was here. Alive.

“I survived,” he decided, setting his jaw.

****

01:00:00

Danny had no idea where he was anymore. He’d run till he found a train stop, then he took that further into the city and switched once. He’d gotten off and walked around—invisibly—his heart pounding in his chest the whole time because even a meager amount of invisibility was enough to ping any agent nearby of his ectosignature. Thankfully, there were no GIW sirens, no white fans, no tall men in white suits ambushing him from the street corners or jumping at him from the alleyways.

Still, just to be extra safe, he got back on the train and rode it for another hour till he’d reached a residential neighborhood, peering out the window before he got off the train to check and double-check for any sign that the Guys in White were waiting for him.

But there was nothing. He was safe. At least, for now, though he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched. But when he glanced over his shoulder again and again, he saw no one behind him.

It seemed like the three thugs hadn’t followed the instructions from those horrific billboard signs watching block, they hadn’t dialed 449 to contact the emergency ghost-sighting number, they hadn’t tattled that Danny Fenton Phantom himself was in front of their home, that they’d nearly kicked the shit out of him.

Which, ouch. He touched his cheek, hissing as it whined in return. It was likely thanks to his frayed nerves, growling stomach, and lack of sleep that allowed the bruises to blossom on his skin instead of dwindling to nothing like they typically would with his advanced healing.

By morning, they would probably be gone. So long as he survived the night first, that was.

“If you don’t leave, I’m calling the cops,” a voice behind him growled.

Danny whipped around, his heart suddenly racing in his chest. He nearly forgot to double-check that his hood was tugged safely over his head.

Peering out of a house window was a pudgy, balding man in a wifebeater. His raised eyebrows created rivets in his shiny scalp. He looked to Danny not with recognition, but aggravation, as if Danny were a cockroach trying to sneak into his pantry.

Some strange, queasy filling filled Danny’s stomach. He almost preferred the fear people gave him when they recognized his ghost form to whatever this was.

A raindrop hit his eye, and he cursed, reeling back to wipe his face. “Sorry,” Danny said, glancing around. He was safe from the storm under this banister, but outside it was pouring. “I’m just trying to figure out where to go.”

“You’ve been here for a half fucking hour. Either go home or find a fucking shelter.”

Danny’s silence must have spoken for him.

“Or, don’t,” the man huffed. “I don’t give a shit, just get the fuck off my fucking porch!”

Danny felt like he’d been punched in the face all over again, but he tried to let it go. He tried to not let his head hang so far down as he stepped into the cosmos of rain, which didn’t hesitate to cling onto his hoodie, seeping through the fibers until water kissed his skin.

If the rain’s gentle touch was supposed to be a comfort, it failed miserably. Instead, Danny’s throat tightened, and he failed to block out the gruff, “See? Was that so fucking hard?” from behind him as he made his way to the sidewalk.

Despite his cold core, he shivered. If he didn’t find shelter soon, he was going to be soaked to the bone, and then he would have to have to sleep like that.

“Goddamnit,” he muttered, wrapping his arms around his stomach as he pressed into the night. He had no idea what time it was, but it was late. Most of the city had long since gone to sleep, and yet here he was, still awake, shuffling down the road while water squelched into his converse.

Hairs prickled the back of his neck. He glanced behind him, but no one was there. Not even the man in the window.

He was just being paranoid. That was all.

He walked down the road and passed a half-decrepit brick wall with the GIW logo spray painted on in green. Under it was the DP logo, which someone else embellished with red devil horns.

Don’t look, don’t look…

His bangs were sticking to his forehead now. He could just turn intangible, but if anyone saw him turn transparent, then they’d definitely report him for being a ghost, if not the Phantom.

He would just have to be wet until the air decided he could begin to dry, however long that took.

That ever-present lump in his throat grew like a tumor as he tried to ward away thoughts of his family who were probably home, maybe sleeping, maybe huddled in the living room with bleary eyes glued to the television as they waited to see any news about him.

But he’d made it this far, hadn’t he? Soon he’ll have survived the streets overnight on his own, soon he’ll become adept at blending into the city, and soon no one will give him a second glance. Especially not some busy-body white-suited government employee.

And then maybe his family could go to sleep.

The rain continued, unrelenting, but with his newfound determination, Danny refused to let it weigh him down. Even though his paranoia was telling him to panic, and nausea was at his throat, he wouldn’t turn around, wouldn’t back down.

He would survive.

The houses blurred into each other, and every light out of the corner of his eye seemed to glow green. Every siren in the distance was the unmistakable chirp of the Guys in White vans, and every pattering on the pavement was a clicky black shoe. It was a hell loop that expanded with each step, burning into his eyes, ears, fingers, and core. But it was just his anxiety at play. It was nothing, Danny, it was nothing.

He was fine, of course. Soaked down to his intestines, but fine. And now, he stood below a street lamp facing a tan townhouse with an iron fence outlining its entrance. To its left was a larger, sleeping blue townhouse, and to its right was a short, red-bricked apartment with the anti-ecto billboard hovering over it.

Seriously, how much fucking money had the US Government wasted on advertising their stupid new GIW emergency number?

He turned around, choosing to walk across the street where another row of brick townhouses and apartments stood at his wake.

“Fuck you too,” he hissed, failing to resist tossing a middle finger up to the sign behind him.

As predicted, the sign had little to say in return. Though, perhaps smugly, Danny just pretended it was because he’d won. He’d found an alley, a place to call home—for now. And unless the stupid Guys in White had followed him here—which they hadn’t—then they had lost him. Officially. And Danny would lay low here until the world abated, and then…who knew. He’d figure it out.

He settled onto the wet pavement, not caring that his soaked shoe was edging on a puddle. The rain probably wouldn’t let up for hours anyway. He was just glad Tucker had thought to add that emergency waterproof bag in his backpack for his phone and charger.

If he peered out of the alley, he could still see that odious sign trying its best to get under his skin. He could see the way the sign’s Phantom glared down at passersby with contorted, grisly eyes that promised nothing but agony for anyone who happened to cross his path.

“That’s not true,” Danny whispered to himself, or the sign. “You’ll see. Someday.”

He dropped his head to his knees, fatigue hitting him like a cannonball. Someday…perhaps. But not today.

It was still raining.

****

Harriet leaned forward, the soft glow of the lights against her skin now matching her tone as she asked, “And the people who protested against your release? What would you say to them if they were here?”

“I don’t have anything to say to them. Not anymore,” Danny said truthfully.

“Why is that?” she pressed.

“Because,” he started, cocking his head. Then, his eyes flickered to hers, and he wondered if maybe the outer rings of his pupils were hinting at a green glow. “I don’t have anything to say to a person who thinks that because of who I am, what I am, I should be destined to a life as a science experiment, torn apart and put back together over and over, beaten to the point of collapse and punished for not standing back up. Someone who thinks that when my hands were bound behind my back and I was forced to eat off the floor, or when I was locked for days or weeks in a dark cell, chained to the wall with no one to talk to except myself, that I deserved all this just because some of my blood cells were replaced with ectoplasm. And if that sounds blunt, I don’t care. Anyone who thinks a teenager they’d never met should live that sort of life isn’t a person I wish to try to reason with.”

****

00:00:00

Whomp, whomp, whomp.

Something was beating overhead. A large…bird? Maybe?

Whatever it was, it wasn’t important.

Lethargy wrapped his consciousness back in its warm blanket again, shielding him from the pouring rain that had soaked through every molecule of his body, and his mind…went…

Whomp, whomp, whomp.

It was louder now. Closer. He peeked out from the mental box he’d locked himself into, cracking the lid just enough to notice that the whomp, whomp, whomp didn’t really sound like a bird. And wow, it was really close.

Was that…an issue? It was weird, wasn’t it?

He tried to separate what was normal from what wasn’t, but it was hard, and he was exhausted. Why was he so tired? And wait…why was he wet? Why wasn’t he home in his bed?

Maybe he’d just forgotten to change after patrol that night. Yeah, that had to be it.

But the—wow, that noise was pretty weird.

He craned his neck further out of the box, but his exhaustion protested. If he went much further, he’d never be able to go back to sleep. He was already beginning to notice the crick in his neck, the aching in his back, and the green tint of what was supposed to be only noir behind his eyelids…

Wait.

Green?

He mentally patted his core, but it was completely dormant.

Green…why was…

He wasn’t in his bedroom, was he?

No.

Green! His consciousness yelled, cleaving him from his little mental box. His core spiked, and he ripped his head from his arms to see green lights reflecting off every surface, strobing into the rainy night air.

Adrenaline impaled his pores and snapped him upright, his hands high and glowing before he even knew what to aim at.

The lights flashed more aggressively, and Danny’s heart plummeted. They had him surrounded. Whoever was here, they had him surrounded.

He could have screamed in frustration and sorrow for being so stupid as to get his hopes up that he wasn’t in the streets of Chicago, homeless because the government exposed him and was determined to hunt him down and turn him into their little plaything.

Fucking hell, fuck, it hurt so bad, so fucking bad. It was only a few moments where he believed with every fiber of his being that he was safe and home but he wasn’t and he might as well have let the GIW drive a pike through his heart.

“Freeze,” a deep voice said to his left.

He tried to look up, right, everywhere, everywhere. The helicopter lit a spotlight down on him, and he winced, shielding his sensitive eyes from the glaring supernova of bright, hot light spearing him.

He tried to step away, but the light followed him, and he realized with horror as he turned invisible that the light was still casting a shadow where he stood.

Fuck.

FUCK.

“Stand down!” the voice repeated, deep and throaty.

Operative O, Danny realized, and the shadow mimicked his movements as he backed away from the two prowling figures at the alley entrance.

Lights began flicking on in the surrounding houses, further lighting up the scene around him.

His invisibility flickered in and out. It was useless, either way. All the Operatives were wearing their sunglasses, and Danny knew the only reason they’d be wearing them at two in the morning was if they did more than just block the sunlight.

He turned, and more operatives with more glowing guns stood at the other end of the alley.

Above them, a glowing dome shot out of the helicopter, plunging into the pavement where Danny knew it connected.

Shit. He was trapped.

He dove into the building to his right, stumbling into a hallway with a woman in a bathrobe and a satin hair wrap frozen on the staircase before him. She screamed as if Danny had stabbed her, throwing her body into the wall. Her head hit a picture frame, and it fell, cracking against the wooden planks on the stairs.

“No, no!” Danny raised his arms in a plea, but they were still glowing, and the woman screamed further.

A man appeared at the top of the staircase, a gun in his hand. He didn’t hesitate, shooting Danny at once.

Although human bullets had little effect on an intangible body, he still cried out, “Stop!”

Bullets whizzed through his chest, shoulder, and stomach, and he flinched as holes indented the wall behind him. “I don’t want to hurt you!”

“Oh god, oh god!” the woman wailed. “HELP! HELP, GERALD!”

“GET OUT!” The man, presumably Gerald, bellowed, shooting Danny square in the face. “LEAVE MY WIFE ALONE!”

Danny’s vision blurred, and he stumbled as though he’d actually been shot, “Please, stop! I’m–they’re—”

“Danny Fenton Phantom, we have you surrounded. Please come outside with your hands in the air.”

The woman sank to the floor. “Don’t hurt me. Oh god, don’t hurt me.”

The man was out of bullets now, but he wasn’t finished. He tossed his gun to the side and rolled up his sleeves. Storming down the stairs with fists clenched, he hollered, “You don’t fucking touch my family, you zombie freak!”

Danny stumbled into their kitchen, and green lights flashed into their windows. He tried to put his hands down to steady himself, but his intangibility nearly sent his body careening through a stack of magazines sitting on the table. His hands were shaking—badly—and lightheadedness was encompassing all of his senses and skin with a relentlessness that would surely drive the strongest man insane.

This is it, he thought. Behind him, Gerald’s footsteps had reached the bottom of the stairs.

“Please, stop,” Danny croaked. Though, he had no idea who he was talking to. His hands flew up to his scalp, and he tried to right his head as his throat narrowed into a coffee straw. Before him, green light blinded his vision, pulsing off the beige wallpaper and setting fire to Danny’s entire life.

He felt the man’s fist sail through his head and hit the wall, and he heard the slew of curse words that followed.

“Face me like a man!” Gerald snapped.

“I can’t,” Danny whispered. “I can’t do it. I can’t win.”

“Come out with your hands in the air,” the voice outside repeated.

Danny walked through the man and faced the woman crumbled on the staircase, clutching the picture frame to her heart and weeping gut-wrenching sobs that stabbed through all the layers of panic and adrenaline until he too was crouching down in the hall with Gerald still hovering over him, his intangible hands gripping intangible strands of his hair as he fought the urge to throw up bile all over their weathered wooden hallway.

“Oh god, oh god!” the woman howled.

“I can’t win,” Danny repeated. If he dove underground, the helicopter would just pull him up. If he stayed here, the GIW agents and SWAT would just capture him. But if he went outside, he would be walking straight into the lion’s den.

There was no winning. No way of escape. They knew he was Phantom—they must have been following him—and Danny didn’t have to test it to know that the shield was keyed to his ectosignature, able to affect him no matter which form he took. He could feel it more clearly than any shield-static he’d experienced as a ghost.

He’d been so fucking arrogant before to think he’d escaped them. This was the government, and he was just a kid. Just a goddamn kid from Amity Park with two weird parents and a nerdy sister and oh god, he’d never see them again, and he never got to say goodbye.

Gerald’s footsteps disappeared in front of Danny, and he almost breathed relief before he blinked, realizing what the man was doing.

“No!” Danny yelled, jumping up and tripping over his feet. His intangibility slipped from his skin, and he crashed into a side table, knocking an urn to the floor. It shattered, permeating the floor in gray powder, and Danny reeled, colliding into the bullet-ridden drywall.

“Oh my god,” he gasped, stricken, then turned to face them but it was too late. Gerald was yanking his wife into the foyer and reaching for the door.

“NO!” Danny shot forward, his hand brushing the door handle simultaneously with Gerald. Danny turned them both intangible, and the woman slipped through her husband’s grip with a shriek.

“June!” Gerald cried out, reaching for an arm that was no longer there.

Danny let go, stepping back. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”

Gerald turned to him once more, his face setting in fierce determination. “June, get out! I’ll hold him off!”

“No, Gerald!” June scrambled upright.

“GO!” Gerald commanded.

Danny looked into June’s grief and terror-stricken eyes as she pleaded, “Please don’t hurt him, don’t hurt him, please.” And for the first time in his life, Danny felt like every bit the grotesque monster whose eyes bore down from the GIW billboards across every city in America.

He took a step back, and nausea crept further up his throat. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

The green light pulsed brighter, faster. The helicopter’s whomp, whomp, whomp swelled to a deafening pressure. The orchestra of dozens of boots arranging themselves in position, sirens wailing in the distance, commanding voices from the street, and the click of the megaphone that Danny could no longer understand blended together until he was sure he couldn’t discern reality from the madness of his mind anymore.

“Please don’t open the door. I’ll die.” Danny’s voice crackled. With dawning horror, he realized this was his final attempt at survival.

“Go, June,” Gerald said, ignoring him.

“I’ll die. They’ll kill me.”

June sobbed, reaching for her husband instead.

He batted her hand away. “I said, go!”

“Please,” Danny begged, his voice weak, but it was useless. This random couple wasn’t listening to him.

They didn’t think he was human enough to deserve a voice in the first place.

June hesitated, her amber eyes crashing into Danny’s one last time before she finally reached for the door.

Danny didn’t stop her.

She slipped out as Gerald made one last valiant attempt at charging Danny, his voice hollering a war cry that echoed down the block.

But Danny stood still, only barely caring enough to turn his body intangible for the man to pass through him before returning to his solid form.

There was the sound of a door opening and closing behind him, and Danny vaguely registered that they must have had a backdoor entrance in their kitchen, but he didn’t move. He could have, probably. He could have stopped Gerald from unlocking the deadbolt and dragged him back into the foyer to use his body like a shield against the GIW agents.

But he could see the billboard taunting him through the open door high above the white vans, green sirens, and teams of men and women dressed in GIW white, SWAT black, and police blue. That damn billboard with those damn eyes that ridiculed him with the warbling, “Is this what you really are?”

A second later, men poured into the foyer to slam Danny to the ground. They turned him over and cuffed his hands behind him. Another set of hands snapped an inhibitor around his neck, there was a shout, and then all touch left his body just before his world was overtaken by electricity. Hot, blazing lightning traveled through his skin, arteries, into the tendrils that connected his core from his body, severing each thread one by one.

It was the portal all over again. Blinding, catastrophic, screaming in his mind before some part of Danny realized it was his voice, it was his screams of pain and torment ripping his lungs from his body and spilling them onto the aged floor.

Then, it stopped, and the only thing left was the smell of burnt hair and his wavering vision.

“Clear!” a man shouted, and hands grabbed him again, this time hauling him up and dragging him across the floor.

“No,” Danny wheezed, but no one heard him. They lugged him down the front steps where dozens of guns were waiting to welcome him.

Suddenly, a hand gripped his scalp, and Danny cried out as his head was forced upright. He blinked, and once his eyes focused, he wished they hadn’t because before him was a lording, square-shouldered figure clothed in white.

“Daniel Fenon Phantom,” Operative O began. “You are in violation of Article 1, Section 1, Sub-section A of the federal Anti-Ecto Control Act and are hereby under arrest. As you are not considered human by federal law, you are not protected under the Fifth Amendment. You do not have Miranda Rights, nor do you have the right to due process. Do I make myself clear?”

Danny didn’t respond, but it didn’t seem to matter. He wasn’t human, so the GIW didn’t need something as silly as his confirmation before they began towing him to a white van that seemed to glow brighter by the second.

“Don’t worry,” Operative O continued, his voice a hiss. “After the last few years of terror you’ve put this country under, I’m going to make sure our time together is special. And you, you, you…”

Operative O threw Danny onto the cushioned GIW van. A click of a button later, and the walls of the car and cage separating the back of the van from the front were lined in an excruciating green light. It sizzled, lapping at Danny’s skin and hair. He squirmed, and it seemed to chortle in response, whispering to not even try, there’s no escape, Danny, no escape at all.

Not that he had the energy to try. His limbs felt like lead, and his head pounded in his ears.

Operative O’s hands were back on him, forcing him upright while another operative strapped his body and legs into the seat.

This was it. He was going to die. Painfully, and slowly, but he was going to die. He would never see his family again. He would never hear Sam and Tucker bicker about food, he’d never laugh at Mr. Lancer trying his hand at teen slang, and he’d never feel the warm, and sometimes crushing embrace of his parents wrapping him in a hug.

He was going to die.

“Let’s see if your nervous system is really as human-like as the reports say. And if it is? Well.” Operative O chuckled, propping an arm over the door. “Well, you’ll be in for a world of pain.”

He shut the door, the bang rattling Danny’s skull. Outside of the van, inaudible chatter of the officers filled the neighborhood, but inside, only the static whispers of the ghost shield spoke to him.

It’s over, they reminded him. You lost.

The end.

****

Thanks for reading!

[read more of my stuff here]

#danny phantom #ectoimplosion2023 #my writing #twelve hours #dp fanfic #angst #cw violence

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