#but money does matter so he is studying to be surgeon

[umamaki]

ok so this did not age well

Hello asked out a boy in my writing class and he let me put my number into his phone so do not be surprised when my next fics get real fluffy all of a sudden...

[scalpsavior]

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[newty]

thinking abt (the great) war and disability and dion again.

was reading US surgeon-general/american red cross magazine called "carry on," which was published about and for the war disabled and esp ppl with new amputations. its view is p typical: a man doesnt need to be pitied or given money or he'll become wretched and depressed and a social parasite, so we're going to assure u that u can do all kinds of work, make ur own money, and do everything a normal man can do w some work arounds.

meanwhile hostels like st dunstan's for newly blind ppl chartered rehab programs thru donations by making stock appeals abt sacrifice, bravery, and the terror + misery of losing smth you thought was indelible to ur life once. and these two examples typify a lot of the attitudes that sassoon sums up in 'does it matter?' which, btw, im still pissed that the sass biopic didnt use at the end so that it could quote wilfred owen's 'disabled' instead??? in the end, both of their poetry still has a root in the fear of disability occuring to themselves that i think is more evident than in some fiction writers

jeno heltai's aviator w one arm had everything wrong w his head via hallucinations, alcoholism, distorted sense of time and value, that it was fairly easy to forget that karmel depicted a figure that was frightening to others bc of his amputation + not solely his mental condition. ernst weiss almost does the same thing in his short story abt the man who loses himself in rage and blame after he gets invalidated home bc his genitals got lobbed off in the war. the chara describes how he feels and looks feminized for a bit, and then it kind of gets lost in him ranting abt cows and rocks and killing his wife.

and like, if we take a step back from the stories, theyve created a character made more frightening by their physical disabilities, visible and not, which kind of makes them more and less of people at the same time. they escape the matyr figure and become psychological studies. i want to read more.

i think of how the US economy expected men to return capable of the same work they were doing before (or more), and how, like in larry barretto's writing, they didnt account for how many would be mentally and physically unable to do it. modeled after germany, disabled men were then shuffled through work programs modeled to give them independence through undervalued labor like on farms, which must have exacerbated all kinds of economic class things re: those who had to take care of themselves vs those who had family who could do it for them

anyway. i think back to this again bc i find that when i think of dion, i project this interest on him. ofc i have my right arm amputee dion, but i find myself thinking how any challenge to his relationship w his body, what parts he he has autonomy over, and so on make my brain brrrr. he has nothing of the societal vulnerability of the normal soldier, tho, but his temperament and the jist of the curse, bahamut, and his wider duty attract me to the idea

what if the boom after origin had damaged his hearing, or if he starts to betray symptoms of a concussion? how does he write when the curse stiffness his wrist, does the flying and jumping do anything to his lungs or balance, and do any of his medicines nauseate him? if his foot was twisted or his hip was weak, would he allow himself to walk less or until he couldnt? what narrative would he buy into abt his worth, purpose, and responsibility? i wanna see all kinds of dions

[pedropascalsx]

This Is Me Trying - Chapter 1.

Dave York x F! Reader (AU) Fanfiction.

Summary: By day Dave York is seemingly your regular, run of the mill guy. A popular surgeon specialising in trauma but when the white coat comes off; so does the façade. Contracted by a local mob, Dr. York provides his services to interrogate and induce fear and pain… but when a young woman ends up in the wrong place at the wrong time and witnesses a crime that puts her life in danger; could Dr York’s conscience make a sudden reappearance?

Pairing: Dr. Dave York x F! Reader {legal age difference early 20s + mid 40s}

Warnings:  References to medicine. Death. Reader witnesses a stabbing. Kidnapping. Some canon violence and threats. *please let me know if i haven’t added anything*

Rating: E *for eventual smut*

Word Count: 3059.

Chapters: 1 of TBD

A/N: Chapter one is here. This is my first ever AU and I hope you like it. This will be a weekly updated story, and their will be reference to sex and smut from chapter 2 onwards.

Shoutout to my lovely @whataperfectwasteoftime for having a read through and offering her expertise and thank you to both Penny and @honestly-shite for being so supportive and encouraging of this idea I had. 

And lastly to my beloved Lauren, @djarinispunkk - thank you for being my incredible beta as usual. i love you.

Mood board credit: my lovely @queenofthefaceless

He hated it. The way the noise seemed to bleed into him and make the usually smooth skin of his arms prickle up with goosebumps. A constant reminder that time was never on his side; no matter the circumstances, it seemed to be against him. His face studied the monitors, waiting for any signs that the heart of the young man he’d been shocking would spring back to life, and with each passing second, each blood-boiling tick of the clock behind him, it became less and less likely. He wanted to reach up and smash the damn thing on the ground, he wanted to rid the world of that annoying droning that followed him everywhere. Into every room of the hospital he worked in, into every public space he visited, the dark and dingy rooms he’d frequent multiple times a month at their command, at the promise of enough money to drown away more of his sorrows, and into the oversized home that he never felt at ease in. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Never escaping the sound he hated the most, seemingly being the punishment for the cruel terror he unleashed into an even crueller world. Dr. Dave York. Hot shot surgeon, and, seemingly to everyone around him, just an all-around great guy. Perpetual bachelor, extremely good looking, with an eye for pretty-albeit-bratty nurses. But, other than his very questionable choices in women, he appeared to be a regular man with a very successful career and flashy sports car to boot. “Still no change,” a voice calls up at him, and he responds with a firm nod. “Call it.” he orders the sheepish intern.“Have you ever called time of death before?” The young girl shakes her head, and her cheeks flush red. “Well, now is your chance. I have to speak to his family.” He takes a final glance at the man he couldn’t save and walks to the door, taking tentative steps to ensure he hears her obey his order, and when she finally speaks he picks up his speed and beelines it down the corridor. It’s there. Waiting for him. The room is almost entirely silent and, like a bullet between the eyes, it hits him. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. His eyes dart across the room and land directly on the clock; it’s hung a few feet above the head of the young woman who’s going to go from wife to widow in the span of a few sharp words. Dave feels his hand curl into a fist as he takes a seat next to the woman, whose eyes are still filled with an unwavering hope. He doesn’t dare look over and take in the faces of the two young children sleeping soundly across the room. Instead he focuses on the task at hand, he takes a deep breath before placing one of his hands on top of hers. “Your husband’s injuries were… catastrophic. We did all we could do, but ultimately, he was too far gone. I’m so sorry.” The incessant ticking of the clock gets louder and louder as he watches every ounce of hope drain from her eyes, being replaced with grief and anger and sadness. Three short squeezes of her hand. The most reassuring thing he can offer her in that moment, as she begins to grapple with the news. He has learned from the many years of his job that this is the best thing he can do in these circumstances. Offer her a small gesture that lets her know she’s not alone at this moment, without overwhelming her with unnecessary medical talk or information about what will happen next. He’ll give her ten minutes of silence, ten minutes to let the tears begin to fall, and then inevitably a nurse will come in and take over and he will go somewhere and wonder if today, he’ll be forced to do it all over again. Ten minutes of grief. Ten minutes of brief glances at the very young children, who’ll wake up to news that they’ll unlikely be able to understand. Ten minutes of nothing but the sound of light sobbing, and the clock ticking. Walking out of the room, he runs his hands through his hair, exhales deeply and dips his hands into his pockets to fish out the vibrating smartphone pulling him away from his current thoughts.     •     (1)   New Message. Target located. When you have finished work, go straight to the warehouse on 53rd. Find out what is known and we will carry out the disposal once we get your signal. He breathes out a large sigh before dropping the device back into his pocket. Two lives will end at his fingertips today, one by mistake, one by design. **THREE DAYS EARLIER.** You huff out a sigh as one of silken straps of the satin mini-dress you were adorning slips down your shoulder, before hastily pulling it back up. Your eyes drift over the clock on the mantelpiece beneath your TV and you let out a groan. 9:25. Almost one hour after your restaurant reservation had been booked for, and your on & off again boyfriend was nowhere to be seen. You had spoken to him around 7pm and he confirmed he’d pick you up at 8, but multiple unanswered texts and calls later you had heard nothing. It wasn’t unlike Benny to cancel last minute… but to not turn up at all? Something felt wrong. You had refused to let your mind run away or think of the worst possible scenarios until you couldn’t hold it back anymore. What had happened? Was he hurt? Did an emergency crop up? Reaching over to your phone, you type out one last message whilst sucking in your breath, tears from the scenes playing out in your head threatening to fall as you punch out each letter. Benny, are you okay? This isn’t like you. If I don’t hear anything from you in the next ten minutes - I'm phoning your Mom. I’m worried about you. The moment you pressed send, you allowed yourself a moment to exhale and like clockwork your phone sprung to life with a reply. SORRY BABY. Bumped into Josh and Mike and lost track of time… Make it up to you later? I can swing around after we’ve finished here and make it up to you in other ways… 😈 Yeah? Don’t bother. Glancing back at the clock, you decided that this night wasn’t going to be totally destroyed and whilst you didn’t feel up to going dancing or out with friends, you ignored the buzzing from the phone you’d now slipped into your purse and wrapped yourself up in your favourite coat. It wasn’t exactly the sit-down meal you’d been promised, but it was going to be the next best thing. Chow mein & sweet-n-sour chicken from your favourite takeout. You left your apartment and made your way to the takeout, making sure to side-step the cracks on the pavement and wishing on all the lucky pennies scattered about, focusing on pushing your moron boyfriend further to the back of your head with every step you took. The illuminating glow from the sign put an instant smile on your face as you entered the takeout, placing your order and smiling at the kind lady behind the desk who slipped you an extra fortune cookie to munch on as you waited for your food. Cracking the treat in half, you rather ungracefully shoved the cookie in your mouth before reading the fortune. A series of unexpected events will change the course of your life. The loud giggle you let out at the unexpectedly deep fortune in your hand grabs the attention of the diners and wait staff, and your cheeks flush an adorable shade of pink. The rest of your wait is spent by people waiting and catching various parts of random conversations. Your number is finally called and you bounce across to the counter, dropping a generous tip before skipping back out into the cold crisp air with your food. The habit you’ve had since a child of side-stepping every crack you see immediately kicks back in, and you make your way back to your shitty apartment with your food and the promise of a large glass of wine to wash it down with. You’re so caught up in your own head that you don’t see him, boxes stacked higher than his own head and it isn’t until he’s knocking into you and shoving you straight on to a massive crack that you realized he was there at all. “Fuck,” you murmur as you attempt to regain your footing, grateful that you somehow managed to stay upright and your dinner appears to still be in one piece. He begins to apologize profusely and you reassure him that it’s okay and accidents happen, before flashing him a kind smile and resuming your journey. “How many years of bad luck is stepping on pavement cracks? Is it years? Or days? Fuck.” you ask yourself as you round the corner to your apartment building. That’s when it happens. A flash of silver, illuminated by the streetlight to the side of the man holding it, plunging it into the chest of the man he’s holding by the throat. Your immediate reaction is to scream, but you open your mouth and nothing comes out. Instead, you stumble backwards, hoping you can escape unseen and dial 911 when you’re a safe enough distance away. But that's never your luck is it? Instead you keep stumbling backwards until you hit the metal rails of a fire escape and a loud unmistakable clanging rings out and gives away your location. Your subconscious is still lingering in that very spot, but somehow your body begins hurtling down the street, and you pray that you’re fast enough to escape and get home without being caught. You allow yourself a second to turn your head and see if you could see him behind you, breathing a quick sigh of relief when you see you’re alone. Your legs, however, still refuse to let up and you continue to speed you towards your apartment building. You hum a sigh of relief when the fob reader works for the first time in forever and you're able to enter the building without a useless fuss. You take each step two at a time before scrambling to open your door and locking it as quickly as you can once you’re inside. The lights are off. You switched them off as you left. You let your fingertips linger over the switch before deciding against it, the fear that the unknown man followed you bubbling up in your tummy, and the idea of giving away your location by switching on your lights makes you slump back against the wall. You let yourself slide down it unceremoniously, whilst attempting to come to terms with what you just saw. What you think you just saw? You're not sure how long you stayed there. Too afraid to move, time being measured by the thick heat radiating from the takeout boxes being replaced with a slight warmth and then in time no heat whatsoever, an uncomfortable almost silence being accompanied by the sound of a faint ticking from your mantelpiece clock. The morning after came quicker than you’d anticipated. You’d still refused to switch your lights on hours after you’d arrived home, only quickly shoving your uneaten takeout into the fridge before crawling into bed. Sleep didn’t come easy; you didn’t expect it to. You’d been fighting the urge to call 911 to report what you’d seen, but every time your fingers hovered above the green button, the urge to press down on it would disappear and be replaced with fear. You’d heard the stories. You knew the goings on in this shithole city you lived in, but up until this moment you had turned a blind eye. Refusing to believe the whisperings about people going missing, or bodies stacking up in the mortuaries without a single clue being left as to who’d put them there. And calling the police to report a crime that you’d convinced yourself at this point may not have actually happened but didn’t seem like something you should or could do. So instead you tried to ignore it, occasionally checking local news sites for recent stabbings or murders, breathing a sigh of relief when nothing was being reported on. No stabbings. No murders. No missing people. Maybe you had just imagined it all, your mind playing tricks on you and a completely innocent encounter looking sinister simply because night had fallen. He wasn’t yelling, he wasn’t begging for help… It was eerily silent in fact. Before you knew it, the day had passed. Monday morning was looming, and the unpleasant feeling inside of you had grown stronger and stronger. The idea of spending the day being stuck at work was too much to deal with, so instead you called in sick and spent the morning feeling sorry for yourself in bed, before getting up determined to put the whole thing behind you with a promise of starting fresh tomorrow. That’s all you wanted. A fresh start from dwelling on an event that was getting fuzzier and fuzzier as each second ticked by, and a fresh start from the now definite ex-boyfriend you had been ignoring for the past few days. You would spend the rest of the day clearing your apartment, doing laundry and finishing it off with a relaxing soak in the bath. If you had witnessed a stabbing or worse, it would have been reported on the news by now, you reassured yourself. * Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. “Has that clock always been this annoying?” you murmured to yourself, sitting upright and glancing over at the alarm clock on your bedside table. The ticking was coming from the clock in your living room, and the urge to get up and knock the batteries out became more and more overwhelming. Instead, you just threw yourself back down and into the pillows, groaning loudly as the other clock beside you taunted you with the time. 5:25am. It wasn’t early enough to get up, but it was too late to try and sleep, as you couldn’t afford another sick day. So you laid there, letting the ticking crawl under your skin, until it was finally replaced by the obnoxious ringing of your alarm clock. You forced yourself into the shower to try and wake yourself up a little; attempting to focus on no sleep was going to be difficult enough as it was, and a hot shower and copious amounts of coffee would have to be your saving grace. Your office allowed for smart casual, so you pinned a portion of your hair back and let some frame your face, before pulling on a smart sundress and cardigan and making your way to work. The air was crisp, and welcoming. Walking in the direction of the subway station, you start to rifle through your bag, searching for your earbuds to put in and close out the rest off the world. With your music app opened and earphones connected, you press play on a random playlist and start walking towards the station. The repetitive beats drowned out the sound of the van speeding towards you, the sound of the side door swinging open and the sound of a man jumping out and approaching you from behind. You didn’t notice a thing, until it was too late. A strong hand pressed against your mouth, stifling any attempt at screaming for help as you were thrown into the vehicle. Before you could fight back, before you could scream for help, everything went black. * His back ached, and his shoulders were heavy from the hours he’d spent in surgery at the end of his shift. This was the last thing he needed, but it wasn’t worth the hell he’d endure if he refused. Dave reached into the backseat and grabbed his doctors bag, filled with the tools he’d require to get the answers out of whoever was waiting in the building next to him. After stepping out of his car, he did his usual look around to make sure he was alone. No one tended to branch this far out of the city, the ‘abandoned’ warehouses had been left to rust until the day the mayor would finally agree to pay to have them torn down. He punched in the passcode into the lock, and was immediately struck by the sounds of your whimpering. The soft desperate sounds bounced off every wall and increased as his footsteps grew louder and louder. The first order of business was to always seek out the folder filled with information left for him; it included basic information such as your name, address and so on, but also a basic outline of what landed you in this mess. An indication of who you really are or what you did. An unfortunate. Someone who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Someone who innocently stumbled upon a crime that should have never been happening in such an open arena. He picked his bag back up and made his way over to you, eyes still scanning through the papers in his hands. And then, he looked at you. Fear etched onto every part of your face, your eyes louder than your mouth. He felt for you. He REALLY felt for you. Dave cleared his throat after finally being able to pull his eyes from yours, after what felt like an eternity. “You can scream as loudly as you want, no one but me will hear you. The ball is in your court, but if you do I'll have to gag you again,” he says, as he reaches to pull the stuffed up scarf from your mouth. Who were you? And why did he already feel so inclined to help you? * You want to scream. You should scream. But you can't. Your lungs don’t feel as though they’re getting enough air as it is, and the idea of screaming when your mouth is severely lacking in any moisture wasn’t a pleasant one. So you don’t. Instead, you bite down on your bottom lip as you stare across at the man in front of you. “Who are you?”

[whatspringdoestothecherrytrees]

as someone raised in the late 90s/early 2000s in Appalachia in a Quiverful-adjacent fundamentalist subsection of Alt-right Christianity . . . Everything you just said @inkskinned !

A medical school classmate was recently surprised, and derogatory, that I didn’t know in elementary school that I wanted to be a doctor.

But how could I have known? When I was told daily that it is wrong for girls to be doctors, that we are taking spots in medical school from men, that the standards were lowered to allows us in, that everyone knows we will just get pregnant and drop out at the slightest inconvenience, when we realize our true calling?

How could I have known I wanted to be a doctor? At 9 I built a child-scale model of a hospital for my brother’s birthday, complete with an exam table and a working stethoscope and a blood pressure cuff and a line of bears waiting for medical assistance. But I couldn’t have built the hospital for me, was only allowed, even in make-believe, to be an assistant to my brother, who would be the doctor. I could be a nurse, but only until I got married and had babies, and then must retire for my higher calling.

How could I have known I wanted to be a surgeon? No matter that I diagnosed my mildewed, river-soaked doll with gangrene and proceeded to ampute her infected limbs and replace them meticulously with limb prosthesis from an obliging donor doll. No matter that I wrote in my diary at age 6 that I wanted to study the optic nerve.

I asked my mother if God wastes things. She said No. So I asked her why God had made me so intellectually gifted and academically inclined if all that mattered about me was my uterus and reproductive viability?

I am a person of faith, still, which in itself is a miracle, after a childhood suffocated by misogyny, physical abuse, and being sexually preyed on by the goddamn pastor who still has a doe-eyed, obsessive following. I remember him saying from the pulpit on Sundays that “a man’s very biology is external…..which teaches us that men belong outside the home, and her very biology is internal, so clearly…even nature itself teaches us that women belong in the home.” Look, my man is a scientist now. . . He continued with quips about female judges “on their periods, giving us harsher sentences.”

Being born in that community was like being born anchored on the bottom of the sea, where your first 20 years are just trying to break your own ankles so you can swim out of the chains, clawing away your own flesh, until you can finally reach the surface, your lungs burning and your eyes blacking out. Only to see a crowd of young women loudly fantasizing about how they are so enlightened they are going to return to the bottom of the sea where they belong, in the chains that Nature itself teaches we belong in.

So I “ran away” from home, was homeless for a few months, clawed together odd jobs, earned up money, lived under the poverty line for 4 years, and finally could scrape together the money to go back to school, get my post-bacc, and apply to medical school.

“I was raised to be a tradwife.”

How the fuck do I explain that in a residency interview?

the tradwife movement is the same as it has always been - back in the kitchen, back to breeding - it just has better branding.

when i was younger, i hated pink. i was not like other girls. this is now something i'm embarrassed of - this was not me being a "girl's girl."

but it was expressing something many of us felt at the time: i literally wasn't what girlhood was supposed to be. this is a hard thing to explain, but you know when you're not performing girlhood correctly. it isn't as easy as "i liked x when girls liked y" - because there were other girls that liked x, too - but i never figured out exactly the correct way to like x, or to be interested in y.

now there is the divine feminine. this is the same rhetoric it has always been: women are biologically driven to like pink and ribbons and submitting to our husbands.

the problem is that the patriarchy found a better PR team. because yes, actually, i want every woman to have the choice to be a homemaker. i also want her taken seriously for her legitimate home-making labor. i want her to be recognized as also having a job, just unpaid. i want men to have this opportunity, too.

but it is no longer "i made this choice and I love it." instead it is a sixteen-paragraph rant about how selfish it is that my generation isn't having kids. instead it's long videos about how if you feed your children processed foods, you're going to kill them. instead it is "this is what womanhood is supposed to be. i feel bad for any other choices you're making."

the shame spiral is just prettier. it is large houses devoid of personality. it is the implication: if you don't have this, you aren't happy. the solid, everlasting assurance: women are actually supposed to be submitting. this is the default. this is the natural state of things. all other attempts inflict suffering.

but you can no longer say i'm not like other girls. you can no longer reject this image completely. you cannot find it revolting, even if you know that the underbelly is toxic and festering. sure, it is the same repackaged patriarchy. but the internet does not have shades of grey. you should support and reward other women! your disgust is actually internalized misogyny. not because you are seeing a vision of yourself the way they're trying to train you to be. not because you feel her ghost pass within an inch of your earlobe. not because your father will eventually ask you - why can't you be like her?

because they figured out how to make it beautiful: women will sell other women on this idea, and we will find the singular loophole in feminism. sure, she's shaming you in most of her videos. sure, she implies that a different life is obscene. but she just wants you to be happy! you'd be happier if you were listening!

and the whole time you're sitting there thinking: i'd actually just be happier if i had that kind of money.

[solaneceae]

amhrán na farraige

Henrik has a good life. He's a surgeon, and a damn good one at that; he's got a loving partner, a house, everything a man could possibly want.

But there's a huge chasm in his past. He can hear people sing, even when their mouth is closed. And the smell of sea salt and brine follows him no matter where he goes.

(cw: ego shipping, schneeplebro/docaverage)

Read on ao3

---------/

Henrik has a good life.

He’s a surgeon, a healer — he fixes people, and gets money and gratitude for it. 

Sometimes their heart stops and never beats again, right there on his operating table. He knows death is part of the job, that he always does the best he can. But he can’t stop himself from heaving and curling up on the hospital bathroom floor afterwards, because that was a life, that was a life he felt slip away between his fingers. Long, slender fingers, steady hands, yet bloodied.

(A life stops, a song stops. He always hears music, always, harmony and discord as people pass him by. Everyone always sings, even with their mouth closed, even as they sleep. Always.)

***

Henrik has a loving partner. Chase, sweet, amazing Chase, who pushed past his prickly exterior. Chase, who makes him laugh with his ridiculous jokes and antics. Chase, who trusted him with his heart, battered and bleeding, who let him hold him after he nearly drank himself into a coma and cried in the doctor’s arms, because he couldn’t see a way out of the darkness.

Chase, who had been so scared to love someone like that again. Yet one night, as their bodies sung in shared pleasure and their breaths mingled, beads of exertion glinting like dew on their skin, Chase had told Henrik he loved him. It hadn’t been clear, trapped between a moan and a sob, but he’d said it again and again as they both unraveled.

(Chase’s song is complex, melancholy and regret meeting cautious hope and naive sweetness. Henrik stays up to listen, gently cradling his boyfriend’s sleeping face and thumbing over each of his features. Henrik’s bedroom smells of him — chamomile and wheat and a musk that’s so distinctly Chase. It smells of him, of cooling lust, and the ever-present sea salt and foam in the doctor’s nostrils.)

***

Henrik has blemishes. Dots and patches of discolored skin, pale grey or white on his fair complexion. They’ve always been there, just like the silver and white strands scattered in his short brown hair. Left every dermatologist he’s ever seen stumped. But they don’t move, they don’t spread, and Henrik isn’t sick. They’re just another part of him.

(Chase likes to count them, to kiss each and every one of them as he worships Henrik’s body, so gentle and reverent and loving it makes the doctor want to cry. His tears taste like the ocean, salt and brine, always salt and brine.)

***

Henrik is a lot of things. A surgeon, a lover, an estranged husband and father.

And there’s a hole in his past. A chasm.

He remembers drowning. Pain and panic, the freezing, tight embrace of the water like a stillwomb. The salt burning his eyes and throat, water in his lungs. Darkness engulfing him as the ocean pulls at him, refusing to let him go.

Then he wakes in a hospital. He’s young, no older than twenty, maybe even less. He has nothing but his name, memories stolen by the water who tried to steal his life. Trauma-based memory loss, the doctors kept saying, although it didn’t mean much to Henrik.

A name and a blinding fear of the ocean — the ocean who clings to him no matter how far he moves away from it, the scent of it ever-present. That’s all Henrik starts his life with, years and years of it forever out of his reach. Spots on his skin and seafoam in his nose.

And a grey, white-speckled coat he locks into a chest and forgets about.

He knows something is missing, even as he busies himself building a life. As he throws himself into his studies, into short and meaningless flings, then into a marriage that makes him feel like he’s drowning all over again. There’s a hole in his memories, a hole in his very soul, and nothing ever fills it.

He tries alcohol first, but hates the person he becomes when under its influence. Weed has interesting results, but it dulls his senses and mind, and it scares him. Nicotine becomes his go-to for a while, before he meets Chase. Now, it’s caffeine, only caffeine. His hands, skilled and steady hands tremble when he has too much, and Chase kisses his knuckles soothingly as he pours the rest of the pot into the drain.

(It’s better with Chase, pretty, kind Chase. He’s doing better, they both are. The hole is still there, the longing for something Henrik can’t identify, just as great as it ever was. But he learns to ignore it better.)

***

One day, Chase finds something in his attic. Henrik never goes up there, because it’s nothing but old junk and dust, but Chase stumbles on an old wooden chest there as he searches for something completely unrelated. It’s perfectly ordinary, without a proper lock, and the vlogger can’t help but take a peek inside.

When he comes back down, holding a beautiful, ample coat of white-pattered grey fur, Henrik breaks. He takes a step back, then another, until his back hits the kitchen counter. He’s breathing fast, too fast, even as Chase rushes up to him. Henrik doesn’t hear his pleas to calm down, it’s okay, what’s wrong? Nor does he see Chase’s panicked face, his grey-blue eyes set on the coat in the other man’s hands like it’s death itself coming to take him.

He knows what this is he doesn’t know what this is.

He wants to take it back he wants to run away.

Chase, Chase has it, he touched it, wrong, wrong! Stolen, taken! He wants it back he doesn’t want it he wants it he doesn't want—

Henrik lets out a pitiful whine and sinks down to the cold tiled floor, rocking and whimpering and pulling at his hair as his lover tries desperately to understand, to help. And Henrik doesn’t start to calm down until the coat is hidden out of sight, out of mind, out of mind, out of mind.

In the end, the mysterious coat goes back in the attic, and Henrik spends the rest of the evening curled up in Chase’s lap, the vlogger gently petting his hair and whispering apologies. But there’s nothing to forgive, Henrik thinks. Chase hasn’t done anything wrong.

Then why? Why had he felt the burn of seawater in his throat, in his lungs, longing and terror alike tearing his carefully stiched-together self apart?

***

 That night, Henrik has a strange dream. As his lover holds him and the rain pours outside his window, he dreams he hasn’t always been human.

***

Things don’t get back to normal. Henrik can’t sleep, dream-memories of watery darkness and weightlessness making him wake up with the gasps of a drowning man. He zones out, his hands keep shaking even though he’s cut the caffeine. His coworkers look at him with barely disguised concern, and it drives him up the wall.

(A box has been opened. A wooden chest. And the latter might have been closed, but the former hasn’t.)

He almost botches an open-heart surgery. His boss makes him take the week off. Everything he’s built for himself is falling apart, because of a goddamn piece of fur that doesn’t even look like a proper coat.

He spends the first few days despondent on the couch, exhausted yet unable to sleep. Whenever he closes his eyes, all he can see are tiny, tiny silver bubbles of air escaping his mouth and nose as life leaves his lungs. He can hear the waves, louder and louder in his ears. The smell of salt and brine has become so pungent he can taste it in everything he eats, everything he drinks. 

He must be going mad. And it’s taking a toll on Chase too, stubborn, self-sacrificial Chase who’s trying so hard to keep him fed and hydrated, keep him sane, keep him together.

(He’s selfish. He's supposed to be the other man’s support, not the other way around.)

He’s scared. Gott, he’s so scared. “Chase,” he croaks out on the fourth day, after many, many hours of silence. His boyfriend is at his side instantly, catching his hand and squeezing it gently. “Yeah?” Chase asks quietly, smiling down at him. He looks so tired. “What’s up, big man? Do you need something?”

Henrik plants his own dull, grey eyes into pools of blue. He can see flickers of gold and silver in the vlogger’s eyes, quick shadows swimming through like fish. He blinks, and they’re gone.

The allure. It’s never been this strong, slowly overtaking his fear. His whole body is singing, so loud he can barely hear anything else, not even the waves. It’s discordant, it needs, it wants. “Take me to the sea,” he murmurs. The waves in his ears crash with a thunderous noise.

***

It’s not a short trip. And despite Henrik’s frantic demands that they leave now, quickly, Chase insists they pack up properly and book a hotel first. Henrik barely takes anything, and what little he shoves into his suitcase is more to appease Chase than anything else. He doesn’t need any clothes, or toiletries, or anything. He just needs to go. He has to see it.

(Without really realizing it, he climbs up into the attic while Chase loads up his things and takes the coat. It feels impossibly soft against his skin, like it was made just for him.)

They take Chase’s car, because the doctor is nowhere functional enough to drive even a bumper kart at a local fair. They live pretty far off the nearest coast, so it’s a fairly long drive that takes up most of the next day. The low drone of the engine and rocking motions lull Henrik into an uneasy sleep on the passenger seat — the bags under his eyes are so dark, his face so gaunt and pale and hollow, it makes Chase’s heart lurch. But he keeps driving, keeps forcing water and snacks into his boyfriend at each pit stop, because he’s not fucking giving up on the man he loves.

The more they approach the seafront, the more frantic Henrik seems to get. Dull grey eyes gain back some shine, a fevered kind of glint that’s almost more concerning. His hands fiddle with the strings of his borrowed hoodie, the one he likes to wear when he’s anxious. It smells like Chase, and it’s comforting enough.

The first spot they reach, thanks to Henrik’s insistence, is not a beach you’d see on a postcard. It’s remote, right under a jagged cliffside, which makes it tricky to climb down to. Grey and black rocks sinking under the tide instead of white sand. And it’s early November, which means it’s cold, a humid, freezing cold only made worse by the grey drizzle of rain. Nobody sensible is around this time of year.

It’s perfect, Henrik thinks.

He can smell it, actually smell it — the salt, the foam, the brine. No longer a phantom scent clinging to him, but tangible, real, surrounding him. Chase helps him down the last boulder, and his shoes hit the rocky beach with a dull crunch. “It’s kind of pretty,” the vlogger comments, shivering a little within the confines of his parka. “Wild.”

Henrik doesn’t respond. The bundle on his back almost burns through his clothes. The wind whips at his face and hands harshly, but he no longer feels the cold.

The sea is restless, grey, reflecting the troubled skies. Foam forms within the creases of the crashing waves. Definitely unsafe.

“Think there’s an undertow somewhere,” Chase squints as his lover sits down on the rocks, protecting his eyes from the pale light of the setting winter sun. “No wonder there’s no easy path down there, place is a death trap.”

Still, he sits down next to the older man, wrapping an arm around him. Henrik lets him, his head falling against Chase’s shoulder as they both gaze out at the horizon. The drizzle has stopped, for now.

Chase takes a deep breath — the seabreeze enters his lungs, fresh and invigorating after weeks of rough nights and silent anxiety. Seaspray mixes with the remaining rainwater on his cheeks, cold, leaving little white salt patches on his skin. Now he and Henrik are twins.

It really is pretty out there, even though it’s cold and the rocks are digging into his ass uncomfortably. “I’ll go get the blanket,” he decides, rubbing Henrik’s arm as he presses a kiss to his temple. “You stay right here, I’ll be right back.”

Henrik nods, slowly, like he’s not quite all there. His fingers dig into the bundle at his side as Chase gets up and walks away, beginning his ascension back to the car.

When the rocky beach comes back into view as the vlogger climbs back down with a bag, he almost trips and falls into a chasm.

Henrik is no longer there. His clothes lay discarded where Chase left him, and the fabric bag he was carrying is empty among them. The vlogger feels a cold, sharp panic claw at his heart before he spots the other man, standing further away, and Chase understands that something is really, really off.

Henrik stands there, naked as the day he was born, wrapping that coat around himself — the one from the attic, the one thing that had started his partner’s downward spiral in the first place. It falls around the doctor’s wiry frame like a thick layer of foam, shapeless but somehow perfectly fitted.

His naked feet are in the water. He’s too close, too close, and the raging waves are right there. “Henrik!” Chase calls out, his voice going up a few octaves as he scrambles faster down the rocks. “What are you doing?! Get back, it’s — shit, it’s dangerous!”

Henrik turns back to look at him. Chase can’t make out his expression from that distance, but he can tell he’s no longer wearing his glasses. Henrik never takes off his glasses, not even in the bath even though they alway get fogged up, because his eyesight is that terrible.

He stares. Then he pulls the hood of that coat over his head, blue eyes disappearing beneath grey and white fur, and he takes a step forward.

“No!” Chase screeches, missing the last few steps and falling over the edge with a startled yelp. He hits the rocks with a pained wheeze, not even taking the time to check his throbbing shoulder before he scrambles to his feet. “Henrik!”

The other is knee-deep already, and he’s not stopping. Chase grits his teeth and starts running, calling the other’s name in a desperate attempt to get him to stop, come back, Hen, please!

But Henrik doesn’t hear him. All he hears is the song, that song that’s been drilling in his ears ever since he first woke up in that hospital, always droning in the background. Now it’s loud, like a siren’s song, and he can no longer resist it.

Even now, he’s scared. He doesn’t know if he’s heading for his death, or something different he doesn’t understand yet. But he doesn’t stop, not even when Chase skids to a stop at the edge of the water and begs him to come back. Not even when Chase grits his teeth and jumps in after him, his jeans quickly soaked and waterlogged. Not even when the vlogger realizes how stupid of an idea this is when a wave knocks him off his feet and the current almost drags him away at frightening speed.

Henrik walks. The water’s cold, but it doesn’t bother him. The coat is warm, soft, and sticking to him like a second skin. His fear gets quiet. He takes a deep, deep breath. And he sinks under the surface, letting the current carry him far, far away as the coat and his body become one.

It’s peaceful. It’s grey and blue, blue, blue.

Henrik forgets.

***

Chase coughs, soaked and freezing, choking out mouthfuls of seawater on the rocky beach. And when he has no more water left to heave, he screams.

 *** The ocean is infinite.

He sinks, as the fear and doubts boil inside his veins.

Strikes of bright silver, the seals fly by his sides.

Their song is so beautiful, he can’t remember if he’s swimming in water or in the harmonious chords of their perfect trills.

They weave a web of light and life around him. Inside him.

Trapped by the threads, the doubts and fear dissolve as he becomes ocean.

And always, that song. The song of the sea.

This is home. I’m home.

***

Chase sobs. He’s cold, so cold, fingers digging like claws at the rocks beneath him.

Henrik’s gone. He’s lost him. It’s been almost an hour since he’s sunk under the surface, and nobody could survive this long underwater. Chase knows this.

Yet, even as the hours pass and the night paints the sky in ink and stars, something keeps him here, sitting on that beach, his blanket wrapped tightly around himself, soaked clothes discarded to the side. Waiting for the impossible.

***

The world is a song. The song of the sea.

Every perfect note binds existence and matter, water and dream, desire and change.

Quick chase and playful tumbles, sweet daydreams rocked by the waves. Dives in forgotten darkness, iridescent bubbles of calm exhales or boiling rush of foam, the song drapes the world in harmony.

The drifting, translucent icebergs are drums, drums drifting towards their doom.

The shimmer of silver fish fleeing in vain in front of him, a chorus of chimes, light and beautiful.

Harmony of the purest kind, marrying the darkness of the abyss to the light of the surface. His fins cut through the sea, through the song.

There is only one false note — a splash of sunny yellow in the endless blue.

A face. Cherished.

***

Chase’s body shivers. His eyelashes flutter in the breeze, hands faintly twitching and curling around the blanket as he sleeps fitfully, knocked out by the exhaustion.

***

He has a strange dream.

As the moon bathes the world in silver and unstoppable waves rock his slumber, he dreams he hasn’t always been part of the sea.

A face. A smile, dimples, freckles, a nose scrunching up. Soft, baby blue eyes. I love you, Hen.

The blue-eyed harbor seal remembers.

***

Chase wakes, sluggishly, like he’s being pulled out of a quagmire. He’s not sure what woke up him at first, the sky still dark, the sea now quiet and at peace. But when his eyes flutter open, crusty with sleep and salt, he makes out a shape kneeling next to him.

He gasps, the last cobwebs of drowsiness burned away to nothing. Because Henrik is back, his hair plastered to his forehead by the seawater. He’s still wrapped up in that coat, shaking him gently with a look of pure worry.

Chase tackles him and the doctor yelps, the coat absorbing most of the impact as his back hits the rocks. “Henrik Von Schneeplestein, you fucking idiot!” Chase seethes and Henrik winces, because oh, his boyfriend is mad. “What the hell?! I thought— I thought—”

Chase whimpers, his rage fading into relief, so overwhelming he can’t form words. He embraces Henrik through his thick, fluffy coat, suppressing a sob because he’s so tired of crying. Hen’s back. He’s alive. He’s alive.

Henrik’s eyes soften. His arms slowly emerge from the furs, the coat falling back to reveal his very alive, very human upper body. He wraps his arms around the younger man, closing his eyes and letting the other cry silently into his neck. They hold each other for a while, no more words needed.

“Fuck, Hen,” Chase finally breaks the silence after many, many long minutes. He breathes out in a shuttering exhale. “I thought— you were—”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“I thought I lost you.”

“I know. I thought I lost myself, too.”

Chase clings to him like a mussel to its rock, like he’s scared Henrik will dissipate into foam if he lets go. But he does eventually, letting Henrik cradle his tear-stricken face. Everything tastes of salt, everything. “Häschen,” the German murmurs, stroking over the other’s cheeks to wipe the tears away. “It’s alright. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere, not again. I promise.”

Chase sniffles, burying his face into the other’s chest. Henrik pets his uncovered curls soothingly, the iconic snapback lost somewhere near the cliff. “...I’m not human,” he breathes out. Not lamenting, or awestruck, just… stating a fact. Like a piece of his universe righting itself. He looks healthier than he’s ever been, Chase notices when he pulls away again — his eyes are bright, no longer grey and dull, and the dark rings around them are all but gone, color returned to his previously ashen skin.

He looks… peaceful. Radiant. But a hint of worry twists the corners of his mouth down. “You… you don’t…” Henrik tries, visibly bracing himself for some form or rejection, or fear. Chase lets out a wheezy, wet bout of laughter. “Hen, c’mon. You could be a fucking dragon for all I care. I love you, and—”

He presses his lips against the other man’s, fiercely, like he’s trying to convey every ounce of trust, affection and devotion he has. He pulls away to breathe, leaving Henrik a little dizzy and lovestruck. “I love you so much,” the vlogger continues, holding his lover even tighter. “If this is who you are— if this,” he gestures at the wide expanse of ocean in front of them, “Is what you’ve been needing all this time… then we’ll figure it out. Okay? Together.”

Chase kisses his forehead, his nose, his mouth. Gentle. Loving. Chase is human, he’s warm, and Henrik loves him, has loved him way before he ever laid his hands on his precious coat, his other skin.

He leans into his love, letting him lay his head down on his thigh. He trusted Chase with his life, had for a long time. And now, he was trusting him with his skin. Selkie skin, his mind provides, finally remembering the word, the old stories.

 

Gott. He was a selkie. That made so much sense. Now he felt like a fool — the answer had been right under his nose this whole time, locked away in an attic, gathering dust. “I’m tired,” he mumbles, because he is. Gone is the fear, the unknown that kept him up at night. His mind is quiet, save for the song, back to a comforting background noise.

Chase hums. “I can imagine. What were you doing in there?” he asks, trying to light up the mood. “Your breath smells like fish.”

Henrik laughs. It feels good. “Chase, mein Gott. And you tell me this after you kissed me silly. Several times.”

“Didn’t want to ruin the moment.”

“Dummkopf,” the German slurs, already struggling to keep his eyes open.

“Love you too, doc. Fuck, so much for that hotel room…”

They grow quiet again, Chase laying down to pull Henrik against him, pressing his forehead against his boyfriend’s. Henrik smiles sleepily, both of their songs intertwining in perfect harmony as the sun rises over the horizon.

Henrik sleeps, and dreams of nothing.

[tomtenadia]

A Little Braver  - Chapter 4

So, chapter 4 is finally here.

It has a few funny moments but it also has angst.

This fic has so much more angst that i originally planned. 

Anyway... enjoy it.

-----------

The drive to the hospital did not take long but once inside they noticed the waiting room was swamped.

“Whitethorn, this is pointless,” she said when he placed her on an empty chair “we’ll be here for hours.”

“I don’t care, we are getting that knee checked.” His tone did not admit any protest from her.

Aelin grunted “I hate you.”

“Is that news? Tell me something I don’t know.” Rowan took a seat on the empty seat beside her  then took her injured leg and lifted it on his lap. Aelin winced.

It was three hours later when Rowan started to loose his patience “that woman came after us and she went in already.” He protested a bit too loudly for Aelin’s taste. Why was he caring about her wellbeing all of a sudden?

“Maybe she is worse than a busted knee.” She shrugged but he glared at her.

“She walked into the A&E on her own two feet. You just dealt with that damn inferno with that busted knee.” He protested and the hint of pride in his voice moved something inside her.

“I don’t need the red carpet.”

“Some fucking attention for people who bust their asses to save other people lives would be appreciated.” His tone got a bit louder still. Rowan did not seem the type to cause a scene but he seemed a bit too annoyed and to be honest she did not know much about the guy. She just hoped his military training would kick in and restrain himself.

“Doctor save lives too.”

He grunted and stood and Aelin braced for the worst. She saw him walk with purpose to the reception desk with perfect military stride. She would have laughed if it wasn’t that she was scared of what he would do.

She saw him talk to one of the nurses behind the nurses station. A few times his arm pointed at her and she made herself small and invisible. 

Then she went back spying on him and studied his posture and gasped. The man was flirting with the nurse. Stick up in the arse captain was flirting with the nurse to get her in early. She was dumbfounded. She could not believe that he had it in him.

He came back five minutes later with a smug face “Someone will come for you soon.”

Aelin’s mouth fell open “Did you just flirt with the nurse to have me seen earlier?”

“I did not such thing,” and he looked away, scanning the waiting room.

“She is looking over here. I think she is interested in you and is now wondering how it would feel to bag an airforce captain.”

Rowan huffed ��not interested.”

“She is pretty.”

“Not my type…”

“Oh come on grampa, she could even play sexy nurse with you.”

Rowan rolled his eyes “you really are a menace.”

She was about to add a snarky remark when a doctor stopped in front of them “Aelin Galathynius?”

Aelin’s head snapped up “I am here.”

“I am doctor Yrene Westfall. Follow me.”

Westfall? Was she Chaol’s wife?

“Did you say Westfall? Is Chaol your husband?”

“Yes. Do you know him?”

Aelin nodded “I am a firefighter, we work a lot with the police. He was at the embankment fire tonight.”

“He told me, apparently it was hell. His own words.”

“It was bad.” Aelin stood and swore as sharp pain shoot from her knee up her leg.

“Why did you do that?” Rowan protested and lifted her again in his arms.

“You are making the nurse jealous.”

“Shut up and let’s follow the nice doctor.”

“Put her down here,” Yrene pointed at an empty bed.

Rowan placed her gently on the bed and stepped at the bottom of it. His hands behind his back.

Yrene lifted the leg of her trousers and had a look at her knee “This look quite bad, why did you wait this long to come to the hospital?”

“I was going to… but then city emergency and all and it slipped my mind.”

Rowan snorted and Aelin glared at him.

“And you walked all day on it?”

“Kinda…”

“You might have made things much worse.”

Aelin leaned back on the pillow and sighed. She knew and with the performance review on its way it had been very stupid of her.

“How did it happen?”

“We were in the middle of a drill this morning. The explosion happened, the shockwave made me  loose my balance and I fell down the ladder face first and my left knee took the impact.”

“You might have broken your kneecap. I need to send you for an x-ray and see what is the situation.” She went away and came back five minutes later “Someone will come and get you soon. You captain, can wait here until she is back.”

Rowan nodded and pinched her big toe when he noticed her worried expression “Do you want me to come in and hold your hand?”

“Screw you, Whitethorn.”

He pinched the toe again and his lip quirked up in a tight attempt at a smile.

Aelin wondered if she’ll ever see him smile or even laugh.

The porter came and rolled her bed away. She snatched a last look at Rowan and saw him standing where her bed had been I’ll be here. She saw him mouth to her.

Rowan began pacing back and forth in a very nervous state. His phone pinged and saw a text from Lorcan asking for an update on behalf of her squad. He texted back saying she was getting an x-ray.

He sat down on the chair near where the bed was and took out his phone to scroll through the news of the fire at the warehouses. In one of the articles he saw a great picture of her. She was staring at the inferno in front of her and with her hand she was pointing at something, maybe giving an order. He saved the picture on his phone then went on reading the article flushing with pride at how the journalist had praised her for handling such an emergency with professionalism and doing a great jobs at keeping the victims to a very low level. Turned out they only had lost two workers. Considering what he had seen he was impressed because it could have been far, far worse. He read a few more articles and almost seethed with rage when a journalist had the courage to criticise the TFD for having a young girl in charge of such an emergency.

It was an hour later when Aelin and Yrene came back. Aelin’s face told him that the news was bad.

“Her kneecap is badly fractured. She will need surgery. I have contacted the orthopaedic surgeon to see if he can squeeze her in tomorrow.  Then she will have to stay in the hospital for a few days. Once she gets home she can move around with crutches but it might take up to a month before she will be able to do rehab. The whole thing should last around three months if she cooperates.”

Rowan stared at Aelin and he saw her heartbroken expression. 

Once Yrene excused herself saying she was going to get her a room, Rowan moved closer to her.

“Don’t. Don’t you even try and say what you are about to say. I do not need your pity.”

He knew that the idea of not being able to participate in the performance review was killing her. Gods he wanted to hug her again like in her office and offer comfort. But that was a skill he had always been bad at. 

“Do you need anything?”

“Yes, being less fucking stupid.” She growled through gritted teeth “I knew that explosion was coming. I knew we had fucked up the exercise and let it run longer than meant to. Aedion and I had planned that explosion. I knew it and I still let it knock me off like a blasted newbie.”

She breathed deeply “I am too stupid to be a captain.”

No, he was not having that.

“Now you are talking shite.” He snarled back. He was not having her accusing herself os something like that. He took out his phone and opened the first article he read. The one with the great picture.

“Captain Galathynius has showed nerves of steel while handling a double fire that could have had catastrophic consequences. She masterfully deployed two teams to tackle emergency after emergency without ever backing down from the constant challenge. And when it seemed that the situation was taking a turn for the worst, she pulled a rabbit out of the hat and convinced the stiff necked airforce posh boys to join and help tackle a raging fire, far too big for three fire engines. Captain Galathynius and the two teams deserve more recognition for their incredible job. Far more than a pat on the back.

All the firefighters involved tonight had showed great heroism and excellent skills. Every day these men and women place their lives on the line to keep our city safe. The government should keep it in mind at his next budget review and find in itself to invest in money in services the city deeply deserves like firefighters, the police and the health services instead of flushing it down the drain to fund fancy planes built for destruction.”

“Uh…. He really does not like you guys.”

“I don’t care,” said Rowan quickly “What matters is what she said about you. She doesn’t think you are stupid. And I don’t think it either. This stiff necked posh boy thinks you are amazing.”

“Liar.”

“I am not lying. Why would I? I agree with this woman. You were fucking amazing tonight. All of you. And yes, you deserve far more credit than what you will get.”

His eyes glistened with pride and his words had helped a bit ease her anger.

“So you think I am amazing?”

“I do.” His voice much softer all of a sudden.

Yrene came back in that moment and broke the spell. She had a feeling she and the captain were about to have a moment but the magic had passed.

“I have a room for you.” And she had a wheelchair with her.

Rowan grabbed Aelin again and lifted her into the wheelchair and offered to push her.

“Chaol was my saviour tonight,” she giggled while Rowan rolled the wheelchair along the corridor following the doctor.

“How so?”

“He knows I hate reporters. So as soon as he saw a few coming at me he came and saved me before I could punch them. Plus, he and his men did an outstanding job at crowd control. I know it doesn’t seem like a lot, but when you have people running terrified from a building on fire it can end badly. And they also kept an eye to all the curious monster who come and have a peek and film it to post it social media for a five minutes of glory. Police let us concentrate on the emergency without worrying about what’s happening in the background.”

“Thank you for telling me.” The woman smiled at her.

“Make sure you give him an extra cuddle tonight.”

Both Aelin and Yrene burst out laughing.

“I will reward him accordingly, captain.”

They finally reached the elevator and the three got in. Not long after they were in the room and Rowan lifted her in bed. Yrene left them to get her settled in.

“You need clothes, damn it.” He looked around him as if to find an answer in an hospital room.

“My house keys are at the station.”

“Fine I’ll go and get them and grab some clothes for you from your house. Give me the address.”

“No.”

His face turned confused “why? You can’t stay in your uniform.”

“I am not having you in my house, going through my drawers and my clothes.”

Rowan sighed “tell me where you keep t-shirts and shorts and I will just go straight to that one. I am not a creep I swear.”

“Fine.” She texted him the address “my keys are in the black messenger bag in my locker. There is a small pocket at the front. They are attached to the hook. Actually take the whole bag with you. I have a charger and other stuff in there that I might need.”

“Ok, I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

“Captain?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

He nodded and before leaving he turned once more “you could start calling me Rowan, by the way.”

“Thank you, Rowan.”

He left thinking that his name on her lips was the most beautiful sound ever.

He reached the fire station not long after. He met Ress in the corridor.

“Captain.”

“Ress, isn’t it?”

The man nodded.

“How’s Aelin? 

“She will need surgery. She is not happy as you could imagine.”

“Damn.”

A tall man joined them a moment later. His uniform was white.

“This is chief Havilliard.” Said Ress.

So that was the young Havilliard. 

“You must be captain Whitethorn.”

Rowan nodded.

“Thank you for your assistance tonight.”

Rowan shook his head “it was Aelin’s idea. The credit goes to her. I just follow orders.”

“How is she by the way?” And Rowan could see concern in the man’s eyes.

“She will need surgery. Her knee is busted pretty badly. They are trying to book her for tomorrow. I am heading to her place to get her some clothes.”

“I will update the squad.” Dorian said “I will also try and beg the board to postpone the review. Aedion will be home tomorrow but he will be off for a week and Aelin looks like she will be out of commission for a while. And I need them to train the team. They are my golden duo.”

Rowan took an immediate liking to the chief.

Once Dorian took his leave, Ress took Rowan to their changing rooms and pointed to Aelin’s locker.

“Tell her that the team is behind her and that she was awesome tonight. Also let us know where she is in the hospital so we can come and visit.”

“Room 252 in the orthopaedic ward.”

“Thank you sir.”

Ress left him. He grabbed Aelin’s bag and his eyes spotted the pictures attached to the door and the walls. He saw some pictures with a man and he had a feeling his face was familiar. The photos portrayed a couple in love and for a very brief instant a very strange emotion he could not decipher set into him and then it quickly went away with the same speed it came.

He ignored it. Slammed the locker shut and left the station.

Fifteen minutes later he reached her house and let himself in. The house was gorgeous and very modern. He stepped into the living room and noticed the wall were painted a light yellow giving the room much more brightness. He smiled at the insane number of bookcases bursting with books. So, she was a book worm. Good, something to talk about if they had a chance to have a conversation that contained less insults and vitriol.

He walked to the door she had indicated and reached her bedroom and froze for a moment. He knew he had her permission but for an instant he felt as if he was invading her privacy.

The room was painted a pastel blue and a huge bed was was in the middle. At one end he noticed the drawer and walked to it and froze when he noticed there were two middle drawers.

Shit, she had said the middle drawer but which one. Damn, he had promised.

He opened the top one and slammed it shut when he saw the content. That was her underwear drawer. He turned and leaned against the piece of furniture. Bras… 38A she had said and now his treacherous brain was picturing the piece of clothing filled by…

“Damn.”

He opened the other one and breathed relieved when he noticed t-shirts and shorts. Good. He grabbed a few of her TFD t-shirts and placed them in the duffel bag at the bottom of her bed.

His phone went off. It was Aelin.

“What?”

“Gee, you sound grumpy.”

“What do you need m’lady?” His voice dripping with fake pleasantness.

“I am giving you permission to open the second drawer from the top and grab me some underwear as well, please.”

“You are kidding me.” Aelin could clearly hear the panic in his voice.

“Ro, I am not. I have an emergency and I will soon need new knickers. So yes, get in that drawer and grab me my underwear.”

His hand ran through his hair in a nervous gesture.

“Also, there is a small convenience store around the corner, could you please buy me tampons?”

Rowan almost choked. 

“I am sorry what?”

“You heard me. I assume you had been with other women before. You know we get periods, right?”

“Fine, I will phone you back once I am in the shop. I have no idea what to buy.”

“Just don’t blush too much.”

And he could hear the grin in her voice.

He hung up and breathed deeply and opened the drawer. The selection was… incredible.

He picked a few sports bra thinking that for an hospital stay they would be the better option. Definitely the lacy one were not proper. He rummaged a bit and looked again for something more sober when all of a sudden he found in his hands something that had little or no use as underwear but his treacherous mind painted some very sexy pictures.

Damn, that was torture. He grabbed a nice selection of the sober pieces and closed the drawer from hell in relief. He stuffed everything in the bag and walked out, in desperate need of fresh air.

Next stop he drove to the convenience store and braced himself for the next task. He walked in and sneaked to the correct section feeling like a perv for lingering in a section where he clearly did not belong to. He looked at the boxes and he had no idea that there were so many choices. He phoned her.

“Oh, you are still alive.”

“I am in the shop. Which one do you need?” He almost growled.

“Tampons.” She said matter of factly.

“I am a bloke, Fireheart. I have no idea of what you are talking about.”

He heard her sigh “the ones that looks like bullets.”

“Ok, which type?”

“At the bottom they have guidelines with drops. One with two drops and one with three. Actually make it two each.”

“Does the brand matter?”

“I am not fussed.”

“Okay. I got it.”

“I owe you another one.”

“That’s two now.”

“Fine, fine, Buzzard.”

“What?”

“I’ll tell you later, get your arse back here.”

“So bossy.”

 He hang up and had a look at the brands. She had said she was not fussed but he had decided to get her the expensive ones, hoping it meant they were of a better quality as well.

He walked to the counter to pay “For my wife,” he muttered embarrassed, paid and got out quickly.

She owed him big time. Not for the water drop but for this.

When he got back to the hospital he went to her room and dumped the bag on her bed and moved away from her.

“Gee someone is on edge. Did my underwear scare you? The fearless pilot got frightened by lace.”

He scoffed an ignored her.

“Seriously man, never had a girlfriend or a date wearing sexy lingerie for you?”

“Of course.”

“Well, so what’s problem?”

He sat heavily on the chair “I was probably dating the person at the time, which implies other things.” She could still see the embarrassment in his features “you and I are just work partners. It was very weird.”

“Well, at least now you know how big is a 38A.”

The top of his ears turned red. She loved so much to rile him up.

She had look at what he had brought her and was very happy when she noticed he had picked sports bra. He had actually put some thought in it. Then her eyes caught the boxes of tampons “Rowan, these are very expensive.”

“I just thought… you know… better quality, perhaps? More comfortable? I don’t know. Again, I am a bloke.”

She wished she could stand and kiss him. He had been amazing. She never had put Sam through such torture. He would have probably died at the idea of buying her feminine products.

“I am very grateful. For everything.”

He gave her a smile. It never reached his eyes but the effort was there her heart fluttered at the precious little show of emotion.

He stood “I’ll let you change.” He made to walk away but stopped when he noticed her face.

“You need to use the facilities I guess.”

She nodded.

He lifted her in his arms and walked into the bathroom and deposited her on the loo.

“Let me know when you are done.” He left the room and walked to the corridor and sat on a chair. He took his phone and started browsing some old news about firefighters. He was still thinking about the man he saw in the picture in her locker. He had seen that face in the news.

He searched for a while until he found an article about a fireman called Sam Cortland. He opened and began to read. Shit. Sam and Aelin had been an item for five years and according to the article they had been engaged. He had been a captain at west station. He got killed while fighting a fire in a warehouse. Shit. His hands shook. They had in common more than just books. He pocketed the phone and walked back to the room.

“Are you okay?” He called through the door.

“Almost ready.”

He leaned against the wall and tried to calm down. It had been just over a year. Was she okay?

“I am ready.” He shoot off the wall and opened the door of the bathroom and saw her in her TFD t-shirt. He lifted her in his arms and he never would have wanted to let go of her.

“Back to your bed.”

Her arms were around his neck and it felt as if she lingered like that a bit longer on purpose. 

Or maybe he had just imagined.

“Do you need painkillers? Something to eat?”

Aelin shook her head “I am officially fasting. My surgery has been scheduled for tomorrow at 9.”

“That’s great.”

“I am a bit nervous.”

He sat down on the bed, just in front of her. Her hands were on her lap. He took her hand by grasping just the tip of the fingers “I can stay with you. I can be here when you wake up, or I can call someone else whose company you enjoy more.”

Aelin squeezed his hand back. She wished she had the strength to tell him that somehow she had enjoyed his company very much in the recent hours. But things were still very weird between them and she was positive he still did not like her.

Then she looked up and saw his eyes staring at her and realised that maybe she was wrong. In those beautiful green eyes of his she had noticed a spark of emotion, albeit for a fleeting moment.

“Keep me company, please.” He nodded and sat back on the chair.

They chatted amicably. She had told her about the station and her friends, then he reported that Lorcan was officially smitten by Elide and the two started making plans to set up the two of them.

At her first yawn, Rowan ordered her to go to bed. He tucked her in and went back to his seat.

When he woke up the next morning it was pretty early. He stood and stretched his back, sore from a night asleep on a chair. Aelin was still asleep so he sneaked out of the room and went in search of the cafeteria for a coffee. Then he had a look at himself in one of the doors and noticed he was still in uniform, now a mess, and a shadow of stubble on his face. His academy CO would have his head for walking around in such horrible state while in uniform. He shrugged, got his coffee and went back to the room. Jotted down a note for Aelin. He needed to go home, take a shower and get fresh clothes. He would be back by the time she returned from surgery.

On his way home he phoned Lorcan to give him an update on his whereabouts. He asked also for a few days off to help Aelin and the man agreed. Rowan snorted. Being in love was doing miracles on the old bastard.

He got home, relaxed, took quite a long shower and eventually he had breakfast and caught up with the news and saw that the big fire was still making the headlines. Then a photo caught his attention. Apparently the community had turned in support of the fire stations. They had flocked in front of the government building protesting in light of the new spending budget. Many of signs called for a cut in military spending and to give due value to corps such as firefighters and police. He realised that he would have probably been there as well if it wasn’t that his presence would guarantee him being kicked out of the force immediately. He had been disgusted when he saw how much the airforce got for the repairs. So much more than asked and then Aelin and the guys had to beg for a second engine. Yes, he was in the airforce but he did not agree with the amount of money that often got thrown at them. He eventually got dressed and headed back to the hospital but once he arrived he spotted a few reporters.

“Bloody leeches.”

He tried to walk unnoticed, but alas, his silver hair was not the most inconspicuous of traits.

One woman blocked his path and flung the microphone at him “Captain, how does it feel to save the day?”

Rowan looked at the woman puzzled. How on earth did they know who he was? He had been on a plane the night of the fire.

“You and your team stopped the fires. Without you, the firefighters would have failed.”

Anger. Fiery anger surged through him in a savage wave.

“I think you have read the news wrong.” He tried to calm down “The real heroes are the firefighters,” he shouted for all the reporters to hear “They are the ones who put their lives in danger. They are the ones who jumped into an inferno saving as many workers as possible.” He looked at all of them “over an hour. They were at it for over an hour, with no break, no one to cover for them or take their place. Captain Galathynius supervised the whole thing while injured and barely being able to stand. And you give all the credit to us?” He roared “We showed up because the captain had the amazing idea of using us. We swooped in at the end of the game, when one of the building was almost off. We just dropped some water and you call us heroes?” His hand were now in tight fists “I flew one of those planes and I do not want glory. I do not deserve glory. East and west station do. The police do.” And he walked away furious. Bastards. He hoped that someone passed the interview live, so his real words would pass on. He did not trust reporters.

He ran upstairs and when he arrived he noticed Aelin in bed and half asleep. He gave her a big smile.

“Hey you, tight-pants.”

He chuckled and sat beside her “how do you feel?”

“My hand moves funny.” She said moving her hand in front of her face and Rowan realised she was still quite drugged up from the surgery.

She was quite funny.

“Your hair is white.”

He brushed his hair with his hand “do you like it?”

She gave him a goofy smile “you are sooooo pretty.”

“Oh thank you. No one has called me pretty in a very long time.” He took her hand in his.

“I have a secret” she said and placed a finger in front of her mouth.

“Can I hear it?”

“Yes. But don’t tell the captain.” Who did she think she was talking to?

“I won’t, I promise.” He played along.

“I think  I like him. A lot.”

For a brief instant something flashed in her eyes and Rowan had a feeling she was quite lucid. 

He jumped off the bed in terror.

“I like him a lot, but he hates me.”

Sadness. That was definitely sadness in her voice. He took a step back.

She turned her head to the side.

“I really, really do.” And he saw her close her eyes.

He took another step back and walked out of the room. Once outside he ran to the car and leaned against it closing his eyes. Her words kept ringing in his ears. And her voice. It had changed so much when she uttered those words. It was her. She was fully lucid when she said it. He placed a hand on his heart and found it racing. He wanted to go back to her and say that he did not hated her. That he… he had no idea what he felt. He groaned and jumped in the car and decided to go for a drive. He had to clear his head.

Lysandra found Aelin with her head turned to the window and she thought she had heard her friend crying.

“Hey you…” Lysandra sat at her side and caressed her friend’s head “what’s wrong?”

Aelin sniffled loudly “I think I have said something stupid.”

“More than usual?” But when Aelin did not laugh she realised it must have been real and bad.

“I woke up from surgery and I felt funny for a while. I think captain Whitethorn was here. I am not sure. And I think…” she stopped, sobbing a bit more “I think I told him I like him.” She finally turned her face to Lysandra “I remember his terror and then he left.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I think the drugs were wearing off and I felt a bit more lucid. I think it was him.”

“Oh darling.”

“He hates me so much that he ran away.” Aelin resumed sobbing heavily “am I such a horrible person?”

Lysandra hugged Aelin tightly and cursed the man. If she got her hands on him he would be a dead man. Or she could unleash Aedion on him. He was just as protective of Aelin. 

“He is an idiot. A big tall idiot.” Lys brushed Aelin’s cheek “you need to rest now. You just had surgery.”

“How’s Aedion?”

“At home. Sore and bored already. The doctor gave him a week off but he is not happy. Well, you know him.”

“I heard Dorian mentioning that he might try to get the review postponed. It’s not fair on you guys.”

Aelin sighed “I will still be out.”

“I know, but at least Aedion will be there. One of you at least.” Lysandra reassured her.

Aelin put the tv on and gasped when the tv showed Rowan. It was just outside the hospital.

“What the fuck?”

“Put the volume up,” said Lysandra.

“They were at it for over an hour, with no break, no one to cover for them or take their place. Captain Galathynius supervised the whole thing while injured and barely being able to stand. And you give all the credit to us?” She heard him raise his voice“We showed up because the captain had the amazing idea of using us. We swooped in at the end of the game, when one of the building was almost off. We just dropped some water and you call us heroes?” His hand were not in tight fists “I flew one of those planes and I do not want glory. I do not deserve glory. East and West station do. The police do.” Aelin saw him walk away and she had a feeling that it was when he came back to her. He had normal clothes on. When he took her at the hospital he still had the uniform on.

“That is definitely not the speech of a man who hates you.”

“Lys, not helping.”

Aelin flipped through the channels to see the interview again.

“Don’t think too much about him.”

“Yeah,” Aelin stared at the tv “no worth it, right?”

“Totally.”

Lys kissed her head “Babe I need to go home and tend to Aedion. I don’t want to leave him alone for too long. I know the guys are planning to come as soon as they are off shift, which will be tomorrow morning.”

“Go, I will be fine.” She patted her hand and gave her a tight smile “go and look after Aedion.”

Once Lysandra was out of the room she grabbed her phone and texted Rowan. She waited an hour and tried to phone and realised his phone was off.

“Fine, message received.”

Rowan had driven all the way to the coast to Ilium. It had taken him two hours but it had been worth it. He had spent the afternoon sitting on the beach, his phone switched off. He lay down in the sand and closed the eyes, enjoying the peace of the beach. He almost thought that he’d love to take Aelin there but as soon as his brain said the name he had been ignoring for the past two hours his mood was soured again.

He had fled. Like a coward. She just had surgery and he had left her on her own because he had an issue dealing with his feelings. He was the worst human being ever existed.

Was it so wrong if she was in love with him?

His mind flashed him a name. A name he had tried to bury in the depths of his mind.

He groaned in frustration and stood and started walking on the sand along the beach. The place was beautiful.

He wandered until it was late then decided to go and find a room for the night. He was not in the mood to go back to Orynth. Then he went for dinner and finally dragged himself to a pub. Alcohol. He definitely needed a drink. Something that he hadn’t enjoyed in a very long time. Damn he was so boring. How could anyone be in love with him?

He had a few whiskies in one shot and the liquor burned his throat. He was not used anymore and the booze already started spreading a welcomed numbness through his body and mind. Good, oblivion is what he wanted.

He ordered two more whiskies and chugged them down again in one single motion. 

He looked at the tv behind the counter and he discovered the news were passing his interview. He lowered his head and realised straight away it was a stupid idea. His silver hair stood out like a sore thumb. 

“I think you look prettier in person.” Said a voice at his side, then he felt a pair of hands on his arm.

He turned his head and there was a woman at his side. Smiling sensually at him.

“Well, you need glasses.” He turned his head again and kept watching the tv ignoring the woman.

“I am Remelle.”

“Good for you.” He ate a couple of the peanuts on the small plate on the counter.

“Why is such a good looking man all alone in a place like this, drinking whisky shots?”

“None of your business.” She moved closer and her hand traced the length of his arm. He had a t-shirt on and his tattoo was on display.

“I love your tattoo.” Her fingers traced the lines of it.

Rowan got off the chair “I am sorry, but I am not interested. Not in the mood and you are being very rude.”

“I can help you make forget about her. You look like pining about some mysterious woman”

Rowan had enough. He stormed out of the pub and ran all the way back to the beach and fell on his knees. He looked up at the dark sky and then closed his eyes.

He had feelings for Aelin. Somehow his treacherous heart had decided to play tricks on him and make him feel again. Something he had forbidden himself from doing for a while. But Aelin had struck him dumb since day one with her big mouth, her defiance. The woman had fire in her and a part of him felt irremediably pulled to her, no matter how much he tried to deny it. He confessed to himself that he had enjoyed fussing over her, looking after her and even try to cheer her up when she had been down. He had told her the truth, he was in awe of her, of what she had done  and he hadn’t been in awe of anyone in a very long time. 

He had feelings for her, big damn feelings and all he could do was flee instead of facing them. But he was not ready yet. That was his biggest fear. That’s why he had ran out of the room, because her admission had touched a part of him that hadn’t healed yet. Just like her he had loved and lost everything. His feelings were just budding. He had better repress them before it got worse. It was better for both of them. He was positive she deserved someone better than him.

Rowan sighed and sat in the sand in silence, staring at the sky until the fog in his mind started to clear. Eventually he dragged his pitiful arse back to his hotel and crashed in bed fully clothed.

TAGS:

@rowaelinismyotp

@jlinez

@swankii-art-teacher

[hesterzhao]

NAME: Hester Ai Zhao AGE:  28 BIRTH DATE:  June 12 1996 ZODIAC SIGN: Gemini MORAL ALIGNMENT: Chaotic Good MBTI: Istj GENDER: Non conforming SEXUALITY: Biromantic Bisexual RELATIONSHIP STATUS: In an open relationship with Robyn Walton PRONOUNS: She/They OCCUPATION: Librarian

ABOUT

born to maverick zhao, an artist, and laura brown, a surgeon, and being an only child, hester grew up getting anything that she wanted - she knew she was priviledged that way. she never let it go to their head though and always found a way to give back rather it be a donation or volunteering. 

aside from being spoiled most of the time, she rarely had any friends - maybe one but they left out of town. all those who did pretended because of the money or just to be associated without actually caring about them. so she grew up lonely. it wasn’t until she was eleven that she made a life long friend, his name austin, the next door neighbor. they’d go on adventures together, pretend to be pirates in the sky, they were almost completely inseperable even throughout highschool until hester got the news that their dad was missing.

finding out your dad was missing in high school of all places, people talked. there were rumours going about that he finally left her mother or that hester was a bad child that he had to disappear or worse yet that he had actually planned on killing himself - that one there made hester hit people. it didn’t help matters that they had gotten into an argument the day before either. 

she was never truly the same, becoming withdrawn from everyone and heading out to the lighthouse to look for signs that he was still out there, she never stopped hoping. but, she knew she would never let anybody get close to them again that was for sure.

getting through college she decided she wanted to be a librarian, she always loved books. she even has a library of two in her home - her favorite place being her father’s study, the same place that is off limits to her or so her mother says. 

her mother was grief stricken for years, not able to leave the house or take care of it or her when she got the news. it was only about six or seven years ago that she had snapped out of it. hester soon thought she had her mother back but she wrong. her mother began sleeping around with men. it was hard to see, especially in the morning sometimes in the kitchen. it caused them to argue a lot. hester wants to move out but this was her house too - her father’s house - she wasn’t going to leave. so instead she plays music loudly, anything to drown out the noise.

because of her withdrawn personality she has never dated before. hester would not know what to do, she had a lot of crushes but that’s about it. she also doesn’t know how to put herself out there, preferring to stick to her books. growing up she didn’t have any pets either. she didn’t have a lot of things that other people grew up with but she had her brain and books and they were always going to be there, they were something she could always count on.

they are usually seen at the library or out near the waters, especially the lighthouse. she is also seen strolling about with a book in hand, sometimes even banging into things or falling down because she wasn’t watching where she was going. she’s very clumsy that way. on rougher nights where nothing else works she goes out to drink, their cousin’s place or the bunker. she’s content with her life but has a thought in the back of their mind somewhere to go back to school to be an accountant, perhaps one day.

PERSONALITY

if you knew hester back then you would say she was adventurous and brave, full of life and wanting to know more than what was in their small town. she really had a thirst for knowledge, still does but way more then than now. she also smiled more and wasn’t so much in their head or have their face in a book. 

they also value their individualism, they don’t like to conform to others opinions - an example would be dressing normally, she likes to dress in steampunk fashion. she is often aloof as well, as their thoughts drown out anything else. you can say one thing to her and she will pretend to have known what you said and it be something completely different, she doesn’t mean to do that but it happens more often than not.

she’s also pretty inflexible, set in her ways and is strict on themself. she has priorities and standards she has to meet and when she fails to meet them she gets upset. 

HOBBIES

anyone who knows hester knows she loves books. reading is a favorite pastime and she wouldn’t want to do anything else in the world. aside from reading she likes to draw, like maverick zhao she is very skilled in that matter. she could even eventually write a novel if she really wanted to and illustrate it. she doesn’t do much else, afraid to step out the lines but that doesn’t mean she won’t.

WANTED CONNECTIONS

ex friends that grew apart, book club buddies, frenemies, friends, best friend, crush, i’m down for anything with her!

[maehara-san]

strawberry feelings

Pairing: AU!Katsuki Bakugo x F!Reader

Summary: After looking for months for a job position you finally get an opportunity at a big company. Being the assistant of the angriest person was going to be a lot harder than you thought it would be.

A|N: I can’t believe you guys managed to get my series list to 1k+ notes! That’s insane thank you for sharing my series it means the world <3 <3 We are also close to 700 followers as well! I love you guys thank you so much!!

🄼.🄻🄸🅂🅃

ⓉⒶⒼⓈ  ⬇⬇⬇

Beads of sweat kept running down the sides of your forehead. It was impossible to keep going, you knew your body would end up giving out any second.

“I-I...” you huffed out as your calves were getting ready to give out at any second. “I-I can’t! Tenya!... Y-you’re going too...d-damn fast!”

The blue-haired man turned around and stopped, taking a good look at you he realized you weren’t lying. Iida moved his glasses up the bridge of his nose into a comfortable adjustment. “Alright.” he said, “Let’s stop here and walk back home.”

“T-thank you!” you mumbled and collapsed on to the ground panting heavily. As much as you tried to breathe properly it was impossible getting enough air in.

“I get that I didn’t run for almost three weeks....b-but was it necessary to get up at 6 in the morning?” you questioned looking at him.

“You were the one who said you wanted to get back to running.” he answered, “I won’t be able to do it later since one of my patients is having surgery today...”

“Right...little Yui.” you said “H-How is she doing?” you grabbed your filled water bottle and began to drink sighing as you felt the cold water running down your throat.

“Yui is doing better, we hope this surgery will be the last. After all, she’s barely a kid, and getting these many procedures is too dangerous for her body to handle.”

You smiled softly looking at him “Don’t worry. She’s in good hands, Yui is being treated by the greatest Surgeon in the world!”

He smiled small “Thank you Y/n. Are you ready to head back? We have an hour until we have to go back to work.”

“Yes, I’m ready to go home and get myself cleaned. I need to ASAP since today there’s a lot to do,” you added.

“When aren’t you not busy?” he joked.

“Stuff that happens when you become an assistant I guess.” you shrugged “I’m stopping by after work to bring you dinner though.”

“I can’t wait to look forward to it then.” he chuckled.

After an hour and a half, you’d finally made it to the company on time with fifteen minutes to spare. You checked in at the front desk, quickly making your way over to the cafeteria to pick up Midoriya’s coffee for the morning.

“Busy morning?” Sara asked as she handed you the fresh cup of coffee along with a treat.

“A little you could say that.” you answered chuckling and gave her the money, “I’ll see you at lunch!”

She waved goodbye only shaking her head, smiling at your silliness. You checked the time seeing you had five minutes left. You headed to his office and began sorting everything out for the day. The coffee was neatly placed on his desk, the papers that were scattered across were put back into the same file.

The phone then rang, you quickly went over and picked it up. “Midoriya’s office, [name] [last name] speaking,” you spoke grabbing your notepad and pen ready to write a message down.

“Hello this is Hassaku Daisuke from Iwate school of Engineering.” he said, “Is Mr. Midoriya there by any chance?”

“I apologize but he hasn’t arrived yet. Would you like to leave a message?” you asked.

“Please tell him to call me back as soon as possible. I’d like to speak to him about something important. I’ll leave you my number so he can contact me.” he said.

You then agreed and wrote down the phone number making sure it was correct. Afterward, you bid him goodbye and hung up, you placed the sticky note on your desk where it won’t get lost.

“Hey.” someone spoke, you turned around and saw Bakugo standing there by the door.

Your cheeks turned a light pink “H-hey...Bakugo.” you softly smiled “Midoriya hasn’t arrived yet if you were looking for him.”

“Actually... I came to see you.” he rubbed the back of his neck feeling nervous to look at you. “I wasn’t sure if you had anything to eat yet...” he then moved his arm forward to show you two plastic food trays. “Are...you hungry?”

It was hard to contain the smile that was spreading widely by the second. Trying to keep yourself calmed down you nodded shyly, “I-I am...I was about to get something to eat.”

Bakugo smirked, “It’s a good thing I showed up first then.”

‘The way he dressed today makes it hard to look away, I can’t believe he brought me food.’ you thought ‘Maybe...he’s changing...’

“What?” he asked, “Is something wrong?”

“Oh no!” you raised your hands while shaking your head, you chuckled lightly “Sorry...let’s eat before the food gets cold.”

A small smile formed on his lips, his heart was racing and smirk was impossible to hide. You opened your plate to see Tamagoyaki on top of a bed of rice and a side of miso soup with some slices of salmon as well. The steam hit your nostrils making your stomach grumble. you didn’t realize how hungry you were.

“This...looks delicious. Thank you for the food Bakugo.” you said, “They’re all my favorite foods.”

He nodded “You should start eating...or else...you’ll pass out throughout the day.”

Sitting down next to each other you tried your best to calm your beating heart.

"Have you spoken to Mina?" he asked.

"No not after the conversation we had. Denki and her have been busy these days." you answered, "I'm surprised she hasn't messaged me she usually does."

"As long as she hasn't told you anything embarrassing about me then I'm fine with that." he admitted "I can't believe she opened her mouth," he mumbled poking at his rice before grabbing it with his chopsticks.

"I mean...all in all I'm glad she told me what was going on." you confessed "It...well...- gives clarity on how things are now at least." you chuckled rubbing the back of your head. "That's a good thing no?..."

Bakugo nodded biting his inner lip "Yeah...just not the way I wanted you to find out."

"But it worked and I'm thankful she told me that night. It helped make things clearer for me now that I understand."

He placed his chopsticks down on the table and looked at you. "About Abigail..."

"You don't have to explain it to me." you said "I know you both have a past...and I'm not inclined to say anything when I don't know how it happened or how you're feeling. All I ask is...for you to be honest...as long as you're doing that then...that's all that matters."

"Mhmm." he sounded sure yet at the same time he was conflicted about how things will turn out.

You smiled brightly and then dig into every piece of food in front of you. It was truly heaven how all the flavors came together so well. “I know that Kaminari and Todoroki are into business as well...but what about Iida?” Bakugo asked.

“Iida chose a different profession he was set on going into business with Todoroki then he had a troubling moment in his life and decided to pursue into being a doctor,” you answered. “He’s a great surgeon, after studying for 12 years he was able to finally be part of a hospital and is now doing surgery for almost 2 years.”

“That’s...a lot.” he said, “I’m surprised he never gave into to changing is occupation.”

“He did actually, a few times. Some of the professors weren’t all that understanding, they were tough which brought his confidence down. Still, he never gave up even when it was impossible to pass at times.” you smiled small “I admire him...he’s been so strong, sometimes I wished I had his dedication.”

Bakugo placed his chopsticks down and turned to look at you. “I know I was a dickhead...and you wanted to quit. But I think you have a lot more guts coming back here despite all the bullshit I threw at you. You’re definitively strong and not weak for wanting to leave. I was at fault for that. You are doing fine now, even if another problem happens you know not to back down. That’s what you’ve always shown.”

“It wasn’t easy...still isn’t actually.” you admitted “A lot of people still believe that I was the one who screwed up on the project.

“Fuck them.” he abruptly said.

You were taken back by his use of words knowing these were his employees he was talking about. “I-I know they were talking bad but I don’t it’s necessary to talk like that-”

He then cut you off “-it doesn’t matter if they’re my employees or not. They’re talking crap without even knowing shit in the first place. It’s not acceptable, I’m not going to defend them if they’re acting like a bunch of high school punks. This isn’t a playground anymore, if they’re brave enough to talk crap behind your back then they’re too weak to tell you upfront.”

As much as you tried being the good person you knew deep down he was right. People like that shouldn’t be respected, it’s not okay to start rumors where you’re supposed to be professional.

“I hate to say that...it’s the way to go but in the end...” you sighed “You’re right Bakugo. Sometimes it's impossible to change their mind no matter how hard you try.” you played with your fingers looking down at your lap as flashbacks began to come back.

There was a change in the mood, Bakugo noticed it right away. Something was hurting you, yet it wasn’t his place to ask you about the problem not when it was troubling you so much. He moved his chair closer to you and held your hand.

Without any warning or signs, he was holding it protectively. You couldn’t talk, there was something about him that made it impossible to speak. He looked at you in the eyes. With his look he saying so much to you even if it seemed like he wasn’t.

“It’s fine.” he softly spoke.

Your heart was beating rapidly against your chest. You couldn’t look away from his red orbs. “Please don’t let me fall.” you suddenly spoke not realizing what was coming out of your mouth.

“Never.”

Your lips curved into a small smile hearing his reply.

A knock then sounded at the door disrupting the moment between you two. “Ah! Here you are [last name].” Your friend and colleague, Nakano, spoke as she opened the door seeing you and Bakugo together.

“Nakano, hey is there something you need?” you asked.

“Mr. Midoriya is here he’s waiting for you in the conference room,” she said.

You looked at her confused, “In the conference room? Did he say what for?”

“All he mentioned was about it being important. He told me to take care of any calls that came in.” Nakano replied.

“Oh.” you said, “I see, thank you I’ll be right out then.”

She excused herself and closed the door. “You should get going it’s important you don’t want to keep him waiting,” Bakugo spoke.

“Right.” you slightly smiled, “Um...thank you for the breakfast. I’ll make sure to finish it later when I get back. I’m sorry I have to go.”

“It’s fine.” he replied “I need to talk to Kirishima about something. At least you have something in your stomach.”

“I’ll see you later then,” you said grabbing your phone and clipboard along with a few other important things. Bakugo gave you a nod, you turned back around to look at him again before closing the door.

Your heart was still beating when you left the room. You weren’t sure how to comprehend what happened in there. All you were sure about was how your chest tightened when he held your hand in yours.

‘Whatever happens...I don’t want to be afraid of going forward.’  you thought. Upon seeing the room you took a deep breath and calmed yourself down before walking down the stairs.

When you arrived in the lobby you saw someone standing in front of the main deck. “I need to speak to her please, if you tell her who I am I’m sure she’ll know who I am.” they impatiently spoke.

“I understand but she’s in a meeting right now with Mr. Midoriya. I can’t interrupt-”

“Suzuki, it’s okay,” you said walking over to the person who had their back turned towards you. “Is there something you need that’s important?”

The mysterious stranger then turned around, your legs took a step back not believing who it was. “W-what...are you doing here?” you questioned trying to keep your voice down.

“I need to talk to you.” they went to touch but you moved your back not wanting to be anywhere close to them. “Don’t...touch me...”

They sighed “You must come with me.”

“Why would I want to go anywhere with you, Reo?-”

“It’s your dad.” he answered, “He’s at the hospital.”

Your eyes blinked not comprehending what he had said “What?... Why did they call you to come? You have no business with them.”

“I was at work when your mother called me telling me about your dad. She didn’t have anyone else to call. She insisted that I’d come for you so you could go see him.” he explained.

“It doesn’t matter...there’s no reason for me to be near them...please leave,” you said swallowing the cries that wanted to erupt. “I don’t want to have to call security.”

“I understand that you don’t want to see me but they’re your parents first.” he said “The least you could do is push away that anger and go see them. I’m not sure how injured he is.” Reo then took out a card and wrote down the address of the hospital he was at. “If you change your mind this is where he is.”

The numbers were immediately recognizable to you “He’s in the hospital where Tenya is working at?”

He nodded “Tenya offered to look after him, I don’t know much about your dad’s details. I was at fault for all that happened don’t hold the grudge against them. You know how long it has been...don’t let more years pass by.”

Reo then left, Bakugo walked down the same stairs after seeing the mysterious man leave. “Is everything alright?” he spoke.

Your phone then vibrated, Tenya had sent you a message telling you about your dad’s condition. “Yeah...everything is fine,” you answered. “I should get going, Midoriya is probably waiting for me.”

“You don’t need to lie,” he said.

“I’ll talk to you later Bakugo.” you excused yourself and went to the conference room. He followed you and managed to stop you before entering the room. You were going to ask him to let you go but he spoke.

“I’ll tell Midoriya what happened. You should go to the hospital you have a job to be next to your father,” he said.

“And I have a job to do here as well, I can’t drop everything and go see them,” you added. “I’ll go once I’m done-”

“You can come back and do the work he told you to do. Right now something else is more important than attending a stupid meeting.”

‘He was right...why was he right?!’ you thought, struggling to find an answer to this whole mess. Sometimes you preferred to not have had parents, now when everything was set and done it’s like fate wanted to mess with you.

You relaxed your arm, “Fine...” you softly spoke, Bakugo then let go of your arm “I’ll go...I will be back in time before we all get together in the afternoon.”

“I’ll tell Midoriya and let him know you needed to get something done,” he said looking at you. “Call me if you need anything.”

“I will.” your eyes looked at the door and then left leaving Bakugo alone.

He opened the brown double door, inside he saw all sorts of people standing around. Some he knew while others were only strangers he didn’t care about. “Midoriya,” he called out.

The green-haired man then turned around to see his colleague standing there. “What is it Bakugo?” Midoriya asked.

“I need to talk to you about something.”

➞➞ tags closed ➞➞ 

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[chickensarentcheap]

Never Gonna Be Alone:  Chapter 1

Warnings: none

Tagging: @innerpaperexpertcloud, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @tragiclyhip

His flight lands at JFK shortly before two in the afternoon. He’d slept for the better part of it; worn out from the lengthy hikes in the oppressive heat. Something to eat and a shower had done him some good. Easing the majority of tightness in his back and shoulders and tackling some of the swelling and pain in his right knee. It remains the proverbial thorn in his side; first replacement failing after only a year and a half and then having lengthy and painful recovery issues following the second one. He’ll never be able to fully straighten that leg or go a day without some swelling or pain. The surgeons had done the best they could under the circumstances; warning him of excessive and irreparable damage done to the surrounding ligaments and tendons and preparing him for a third surgery before he hits sixty.

While miserable and hobbling at times, it’s still nowhere near as agonizing as what he’d been living with before. Ninety percent of his nights are spent sleeping straight through; very rarely is he woken by pain, nor does he have to resort to the alternating of hot and cold showers in effort of relieving some of the suffering. And there’s been no nightmares. Two and a half years of NOT having his rest disrupted by vivid and terrifying recollections of his times in Dhaka. THAT’S more of relief than the absence of pain; the troubles with his mind finally giving him reprieve thanks to a strict regime of medications and therapies. There’s been no manic or severely depressive moments; moods managed relatively well and healthy coping mechanisms long ago replacing the damaging and dangerous behaviours he’d once turned to.

It helps to have a support system. Knowing there’s someone in your corner that will constantly cheer you on; never letting you get discouraged or allowing you to give up on yourself. Oftentimes...when things get particularly bad...willingly carrying some of the burden and despair themselves. Had it not been for her, he would have surrendered a long time ago. He would have easily resorted back to the booze and the drugs; his life empty and meaningless and not worth the effort and the oxygen it took to stay alive.

He woke an hour before landing and placed two calls. The first to Dylan’s Candy Bar; a favourite destination of the kids every time they make a trip to the Big Apple. It’s one of the places they insist on visiting at least twice. Shamelessly dropping nearly all their spending money given to them by their parents; filling their shopping bags to the brim with sweet treats and various trinkets. The order was simple; seven plastic buckets -each adorned with the kids’ favourite cartoon character or superhero- filled with their candy and chocolate of choice and gift certificates for the sundae bar. The second call is placed to the ‘go to’ local florist. Two dozen long stemmed sweetheart roses; white, pink, and purple. It makes him happy; being able to both surprise and spoil her. The latter always launches a protest on her behalf; reminding him that she isn’t a materialistic person and most certainly doesn’t expect or need expensive gifts. But he can’t help himself. While they live remarkably simple and low key in the grand scheme of things, it’s no secret that money is no longer an issue; their bank account will never run dry and there will always be cash -BIG cash- rolling in. And he feels she deserves to be spoiled and treated like a queen. Not only giving him seven kids in as many years, but staying by his side through thick and thin; never giving up on him -or the- even when things were their darkest and direst.

She’s been with him from the humblest of beginnings; when he had absolutely nothing to offer her. Money had been scarce. Nearly all their combined savings used up on a mountain of medical bills; his long and painful recovery from Dhaka making any and all employment impossible. It was worrisome; wondering how the hell he’d keep a roof over her head and food in her pregnant belly. If he couldn’t manage THAT, how was he going to be able to properly care for a kid? They hadn’t had much back then; that tiny apartment outside of Sydney filled with used and mismatched furniture and barely any clothes in their closets. But she’d hung in there. Agreeing to marry him even though he couldn’t even afford to give her a ring, let alone a proper wedding. Loving him with every fibre of her being and always looking at him as if he was the most incredible man on earth; declaring that he made her feel safe and protected and that she’d never...EVER...felt that way before.

And that’s why he does. All of that blind faith and love and trust that she’s always possessed. The chances she’s given to him; forgiving him for all the broken promises and all the lies he told -never maliciously, only as a means of keeping her safe- and the times he fell off the wagon and went back to the booze and drugs. So many times she could have walked away; taken the kids and fled the country and made sure that he would never find them. But she never did. She never let it...HIM...break them. No matter how hard it got, no matter tears she shed, no matter how volatile the arguments or how many holes he punched in the walls, she never gave up. Even when she did kick him out, it hadn’t been a sign of defeat. It had been a warning; telling him that she wouldn’t allow someone like him in her children’s lives and he needed to clean up his act. He’s still ashamed that it took as long as it had. Six months spent wallowing in his self pity and despair; twenty four weeks away from his family because he was too scared and too weak to face his problems head on and try to solve them. And she’d taken him back; a tearful phone call in the middle of the night begging him to come home. They’d stayed up until dawn; having the calm and rational heart to heart that they should have indulged in months..if not YEARS...ago. And finally he’d been ready to change; crying and begging for forgiveness and promising to do whatever it took to make things right again.

To make THEM right again.

Although Anil had arranged for a private car to take him home, he opts for a taxi instead. While he appreciates Anil's continued generosity, it’s far too ‘flashy’ for him; a black Lincoln with tinted windows pulling up into Gramercy Park will only draw attention from the neighbours. While everyone residing there is just as wealthy -if not more- things are still relatively low key; North American made SUVs and sedans in place of luxury models from overseas, no outward displays of disgusting riches and pompous attitudes. He knows he and his family are an enigma of sorts; nine of them from Australia showing up out of the blue and dropping huge cash -especially for what’s considered a young family- on a place that'd been on the market for nearly two years. Then spending an exorbitant amount of money transforming the three story townhome into exactly what they wanted. Adding a private and secluded back deck complete with a wet bar and a hot tub and an area for outdoor food prep and grilling. Blowing the one wall out in TJ and Tanner’s room; removing would have been a study in favour of turning it into built in queen sized bunk beds and enormous walk in closets with enough space for clothes and toys. And a home gym stocked with the best equipment money can buy and a top of the line sound system; ; an addition off the kitchen that had been a last minute decision. It had taken two years and a dozen trips to and from Australia and New York CIty to get everything just right. Finding joy in seeing just what all the hard work and seemingly endless shedding of blood, sweat, and tears, could actually bring to their family.

When he’s two blocks away he texts his wife, letting her know he’s mere minutes from their front gate. The three littlest love that final stretch; kneeling on the couch and pressing their noses against the living room window as they impatiently await his arrival. She’ll try to get boots and coats on them in time; more often than not chasing them out the front door with winter apparel in hand, shouting about the dangers of frostbite and hypothermia and how they don’t want to spend their entire Christmas break stuck in bed with the flu. It’s been an adventure; raising seven children. Definitely not for the faint of heart or those lacking in patience. There’s the frustrating moments; two or three throwing temper tantrums in unison, an often mouthy and rebellious pre-teen girl that makes her mother her primary target, a ten year old boy that has absolutely no fear; who indulges -and excels- in even the most aggressive of sports and gets bored and irritable if he isn’t keeping himself moving. It’s chaotic and it’s noisy. School mornings are a whirlwind of activity; breakfast for a family of nine, the oldest helping finish and pack lunches, mom and dad working on getting the less independent kiddos ready and out the door. But there’s a lot of fun under that roof; an endless supply of giggles and little arms always ready and willing to wrap you in a hug. The great times far out number the trying and exhausting ones; rewarded with kisses and cuddles and those crinkly eyed smiles.

And there’s a lot of love in that house. If the pain and the worry and the fear that his brush with death had five years ago had taught him anything, it’s that they truly are capable of getting through even the toughest of times. They ARE stronger together than they are apart; fighting through all the pain and all the tears and coming out the other side relatively unscathed. And they’ve become stronger; as individuals AND as a couple. Their marriage has never been healthier. Rational and calm discussions taking the place of often volatile arguments and taking every opportunity presented to them for ‘one on one time’; whether it be date nights or their evening walks along the beach or coffee out on the deck while the sun rises. Seamlessly and effortlessly working as a team when it comes to raising their children, but never forgetting how important it is to acknowledge the bond that exists between them. Not just as spouses and two people that made babies together, but as best friends and lovers and each other’s biggest supporters and most loyal confidants. Marriage therapy has turned out to be the best thing they ever could have agreed to; able to acknowledge their weaknesses as both a couple and as individuals. Opening their eyes to the little things that annoyed and often -unintentionally- hurt one another and tested the limits of their patience.

Things aren’t perfect. But most days they seem damn close to it.

****

Clad in a cumbersome ski jacket and a pair of heavy and clunky winter boots, five year old Takota scrambles onto the living room couch. Leaning stomach first against the back cushion, he places his elbows along the top and heaves a long, forlorn sigh. “He’s late.”

Beside him -and already bundled into her own cold weather gear- Addie casts a glance towards the clock that graces the nearby fireplace mantle. “It’s only been eight minutes.”

“Mummy said he’d be here in FIVE minutes.”

“Maybe the traffic is bad. Maybe the cabbie is a really slow driver. I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”

“I hope so.” Another dramatic sigh. “I wonder why daddy had to go away in the first place?”

Addie twirls one of the braided tassels on her knitted hat around her index finger. “‘Cause Kota, he’s the boss and sometimes bosses have to go and boss people around. In person. Not just on the phone and through the computer.”

“Maybe he had to go and yell at them,” Takota suggests, and pushes his beanie towards the back of his head, then uses a forearm to clear beads of sweat from his brow. “His voice is REALLY loud when he yells. I bet he scared them . Do you think they cried?”

“I would cry if he yelled at me.”

“Daddy never yells at us. He doesn’t need to. He just gives us the stink eye. You know, ‘the look’.”

“The look is scarier than when he yells, I think. He yells at Millie sometimes.”

“That’s ‘cause she deserves it. We don’t. We’re just little. She’s big and mean. And bad. Really bad.”

“Who’s bad?” Brooklyn asks, soles of her boots loud against the laminate flooring as she clomps into the living room, then squeezes her tall and slender frame between the window and the back of the couch.

“Millie,” her twin replies. “All the time.”

“That’s ‘cause she’s almost a teenager,” Brooklyn reasons. “All teenagers are bad.”

“I think it’s ‘cause she’s just a big bitch,” Addie declares.

Voices -especially high pitched little ones that don’t come with a volume switch or understand the meaning of the word ‘whisper’- travel easily through the main floor. Particularly through the open concept design that seamlessly combines living room and kitchen; high ceilings and easy to clean carpet free flooring. A definite must have with seven kids and two dogs. And as she stands at the kitchen island nursing a mug of tea, Esme’s eyebrows arch as she catches the profanity that slips from her soon to be six year old’s mouth.

“Hey!” she calls, and drops her chin to her chest and narrows her eyes. “Language. Please.”

“Sorry,” Addie gives a sheepish grin, then turns back towards the window. “It’s true though.”

“Mum,” Takota turns to face the back of the couch; a pout on his lips and his arms crossed over his chest. “You said he’d be here in five minutes. It’s been an hour.”

“It’s been ten minutes,” she informs him. “It’s snowing out. People forget how to drive when it’s snowing. Traffic is probably bad. Patience, young sir.”

“I don’t have any patience. I’m five, remember? Why did daddy have to go away again?”

“He had some business to take care of. Far away.”

“He’s been gone for like a year.”

“I know it seems that way, but he’s only been gone for four days. Five if you count the night he left.”

“Why’s he leave when we’re sleeping?” Brooklyn inquires, as she traces a fingertip along the edges of the paper snowflakes -done in various colours and sizes- that she and her siblings had created and taped to the glass the evening before. “Why doesn’t he wait to say bye to us?”

“Because most of the flights leave at night. It’s not personal.”

“He should at least wake us up,” Takota says. “I hate not getting to say bye to him.”

“I don’t know, I’m kinda of glad that he DOESN’T say bye,” Addie pipes up. “I’d cry for sure. It’s better if he goes when I’m asleep. So I don’t ugly cry.”

Their chatter turns to plans to build snowmen in the small expanse of backyard, hopes of going sledding, and excitement over the buckets of candy that had been delivered only thirty minutes earlier. The bouquet of flowers sits in the middle of the dining table; a stunning arrangement of long stemmed sweetheart roses in her favourite colours and accompanied by a card that simply reads: I LOVE YOU. While not a fan of grand romantic gestures, over the past five years he’s shown an increased propensity for these ‘out of the blue’ moments. It can be simple yet thoughtful and personal things. Her favourite cupcakes from the local bakery back home, flowers being delivered to the bookstore in the middle of the day, or him taking a break from seemingly endless hours of ‘in office’ work and showing up with lunch for the both of them. Just taking the time to be with her is what matters most to her; the affection he gives and effort he puts into making sure she realizes just how often she’s on his mind. And how much he appreciates her and loves her and truly can’t imagine his life without her.

Then there’s the bigger and more elaborate things; the desire to spoil her every chance he gets, claiming it makes him happy to do so. She always protests. Reminding him that that’s NOT why she fell in love with him; marrying him when they both had very little yet their lives somehow seeming simpler and less stressful. But it just goes in one ear and out the other. his persistence and stubbornness always getting the upper hand. Showering her with jewelry and designer clothing and accessories; surprising with spa appointments and ‘girls weekends’ away with her sister. And then there’s the twice yearly ‘mommy and daddy only’ trips he insists they take. One always to their favorite getaway in Phuket, Thailand, and the other destination always kept a secret until they actually land. He says it makes him happy; being able to just randomly treat her to things they’d never been able to really afford before. Truly believing that she deserves to be spoiled; wanting a way to show how much he appreciates her and how grateful he is for the life she’s given him. A chance to prove he CAN be a good husband and father and that his past mistakes in no way to define who he truly is. And he always talks about how fortunate he is that he found a strong woman; someone that stuck around during even the hardest and darkest of times. Always loyal and faithful. Loving him when he didn’t make it easy to.

He’s come a long way in five years. THEY’VE come a long way. Both separately and as a couple. Therapy has made a world of difference; helping them get to the bottom of both individual issues and those causing friction and tension in their marriage. It had taken him a while to accept the idea of couples counselling; afraid that needing it was a sign that things were far worse than he thought they were Slowing coming around to the realization that it wasn’t because they had serious problems that had to be addressed, but because they needed to find ways to keep those issues from cropping up in the first place. Both had needed to be reminded that their roles in each other’s lives went far beyond just being spouses and raising children together. That the bond that existed between them surpassed what most normal couples could lay claim to. Best friends. Lovers. Each other’s most trusted confidants and most loyal and steadfast supporters. Once they began taking time out to spend together, they soon learned how to nourish those very different roles in each other’s lives. Their marriage started to see the benefits almost immediately; becoming stronger and their appreciation, gratitude, and love for another growing beyond anything either of them could imagine.

“Momma?” Takota appears on the other side of the island, having to stand on his tiptoes to see over the countertop. Like his Tanner and Addie, he’s on the small side; not blessed with the tall and lanky genes that the others -including his twin sister- had been given. And like Tanner, he is soft spoken and serious; loving to spend time outdoors, yet preferring quieter pursuits. Very creative; indulging in painting and drawing and any form of craft that he can get his hands on.

She glances up from the copy of the New York Times open in front of her. “What’s up, buttercup?”

“Do you think daddy went away because he had to kill someone?”

“What?” She gives a startled chuckle. “Why would you…?”

“TJ said that daddy used to kill people. Before he became a boss. That he was a mer...mer…”

“Mercenary,” she finishes for him, then pushes the sleeves of her sweater up to her elbows and moves to the stove; stirring the contents of a simmering pot. One of Tanner’s many culinary creations; a rather creative mixture of chicken, taco seasons, and various vegetables. It’s his newfound passion; cooking and baking. And he insisted that some of that day’s lunch be left over so daddy could try it when he got home.

The little things go both ways. She’s found her own ways of spoiling him and showing her gratitude and appreciation. Today it’s a warm meal and fresh, hot coffee and the hot tub on the back deck already bubbling; relief for what she knows will be an aching and weary body.

“Is it true? That he used to kill people? When he was one of those? A mercenrie?”

“Mercenary,” she slowly repeats. “And yeah, sometimes. Sometimes he DID have to.”

“Because they were bad people?”

“Very bad people.”

“Is that why he had to go away? To kill bad people?”

“I don’t know why. I didn’t ask for details. He just had to go away for a few days.” It isn’t entirely true. He did in fact head to Laos and Cambodia to do just THAT; two high profile drug and weapons smugglers with enormous price tags on their heads and lengthy lists of enemies. But he’d also said that there was ‘more to it’; things that she didn’t need to know. Details that made HIM extremely unsettled. Something THAT bad? He preferred not to place it upon her shoulders.

“Is he going to go to hell? Because he killed people?”

“No.” She scoops some of the soup from the pot and holds it to her lips; aggressively blowing on it and then checking the temperature with the tip of her tongue before offering it to her son.

Takota eagerly accepts the ‘snack’. “Are the people he killed going to hell?”

“How about we NOT talk about this? If you want to know those kinds of things, you ask daddy. He’ll be able to answer your questions a lot better than I will.”

“I think you’re just throwing him under the bus. Setting him up for failure. We BOTH know he won’t tell me.”

“You are way too smart for five. Taste good? The soup?”

“Really good. Tanner could be a really famous chef one day, I bet. I’m gonna be a lion tamer.”

Grinning, she moves back to the island and snags her mug; heating the tea with some of the remains sitting in the pot she had made earlier. “You are, are you?”

“Daddy said I could be whatever I want to be when I grow up. And I want to be a lion tamer. And maybe a dentist.”

“Both at the same time?”

“I can’t tame lions and fix teeth at the same time. That’s just weird.”

“Mum!” Brooklyn bellows from the living room, then begins pounding her palm against the window. “That weird guy is back again!”

“He’s talking to TJ,” Addie chimes in. “I think TJ is going to tell him off. TJ doesn’t like him. He thinks the guy’s an asshole.”

“Adeline! Language!” she scolds, and then turns the burner on the stove to the nearest possible setting and heads through the kitchen and out into the living room, Takota hot on her heels.

“Why is he back?” Brooklyn unlocks the latch on the window and aggressively shoves it open. “Why are you back, weirdo?! You already shovelled the sidewalk! It hasn’t snowed enough yet! Go away! Mum…” both brows are arched as she glances over her shoulder. “...TJ is going to flip out. The weirdo is asking if you’re here. He called you pretty. I heard him! TJ is pissed!”

“Hey! Hey you!” Addie yells out the window. “My brother is going to kick your ass!”

“No one is kicking anyone’s ass,” Esme says, and shoves her feet into a pair of Crocs by the front door and snags one of the many coats from the hall closet; a snowboarding jacket that belongs to her husband and is monstrous on her tiny frame. And she barely manages to get the front door open; the three littles rushing past her and out onto the freshly shovelled porch and half completed steps.

“Why don’t you just go away!” TJ is barking at the ‘hired help’; a neighbourhood kid that she’d hired three years ago to handle the sidewalk IF Tyler was away. TJ had willingly taken on the responsibility of snow cleaning their first Christmas in Gramercy Park. Happy to be in charge of keeping the walk, stairs, and porch clean, but knowing that anything past the front gate is off limits. “You already did the sidewalk! It doesn’t need done again!”

“What’s going on?” Esme wraps an arm around her son’s shoulders and pulls him tightly into her. He’s tall for only ten; less than an inch away from squeaking past her in height. Still slim yet not as lanky and awkward looking; shoulders broader and muscles in his upper body already forming and becoming defined. A direct result of his love for sports and the kid friendly workouts in the gym that his dad let’s him partake in.

“This guy…” TJ nods in the teenager’s direction. “...wants to talk to you. He called you pretty. He asked ‘where’s your pretty little mom?'. I don’t like the way he said it. And dad wouldn’t like it either.”

“Is there a fight?” Tanner inquires, as he and Declan emerge from the side of the house; hearing the shouting from the backyard where they’d been keeping an eye on the dogs and building ‘snow fortresses’. “Who’s fighting?”

“No one is fighting,” Esme replies. “Just a misunderstanding between your brother and Jacobi. I’m sure it’s nothing, TJ. Go back to what you were doing. Daddy will be home soon. It’ll be a nice surprise for him; seeing everything shovelled off.”

“I don’t like this drongo,” TJ declares, and gestures towards the teenager with the end of the shovel. “He called you pretty. No one calls my mum pretty. Even if she is.”

“Beat him up,” Delcan suggests. “Daddy would.”

“Daddy would NOT beat someone up for no reason,” Esme informs him. “Especially not a teenager. Jacobi,” she turns to the teen in question. He’s a senior at the high school only three blocks away; a nice enough kid from an upper middle class home, constantly clad in backwards ball caps, baggy jeans, a varsity football jacket. “Now is NOT a good time. My wallet’s inside and I have no cash on me and my husband’s going to be home any second and it’s going to get really crazy around here. And loud. Very loud.”

“You don’t have to pay me until next time. I was just going to ask you if…”

TJ steps in front of Esme, forming a protective barrier between her and the unwanted visitor. “My mum’s married,” he snarls. “To my dad. Leave her alone! My dad is big and he’s strong and he can hurt people. With one hand. And if he finds out you’re mackin’ on my mom…”

“Tyler..” she places her hands on his shoulders. “...enough. No one is ‘macking’ on anyone. Jacobi is just being friendly. He shovels the sidewalk for us when dad isn’t here. And takes the garbage to the curb. He’s just trying to be friends.”

“My mom doesn’t need any more friends. Especially GUY friends. Seriously, my dad will kill you. Trying to get with my mom? Yeah, my dad will lose his shit. And you don’t want him to lose his shit. He’ll break you half. With his bare hands.”

“He’s very protective,” Esme explains to the teen, and gives an apologetic smile. “When dad leaves, he takes the role of ‘man of the house’ very seriously. You’re more than welcome to come back later; you can come in and have some hot chocolate or you can stay for dinner.”

“Oh now he’s coming to dinner?!” TJ huffs. “He just wants to try and get in your pants, mum. It’s obvious.”

“You’re ten. You don't know what's obvious when it comes to those things. You need to settle down. Jacobi is harmless. He’s just trying to be friends. Wouldn’t that be nice? To have friends here? It’s always nice to have friends.”

“I have friends back home. I don’t need them here. I got Tanny and Declan. What do I need HIM for?”

“Daddy!” Addie shrieks, as she stands on the lower rung of the wrought iron fence that borders their slice of property. One mitten clad hand wrapped around one of the posts while the other frantically waves at the yellow cab that pulls up to the curb. “Daddy! Daddy’s home!”

******

Chaos erupts; the gate being thrown open and a stampede of six human bodies and two dogs trying to steamroll their way through. The pure joy on those little faces and the excitement in their voices enough to cause a lump of emotion to settle square in his throat and tears to prick at his eyes; the latter hidden behind the lenses of his sunglasses. It had taken work to get past the feelings of inadequacy. The self hate and guilt and shame that had been telling him for years that he didn’t deserve the life he’d been given; a second chance at being a husband and father. Therapy has helped him get past that; helping him learn how to forgive himself and look at everything he DOES have instead of constantly questioning WHY he does. Now all he thinks about is how damn lucky he is; to have created seven human beings and to know how much they love him and how much they need him in their lives.

He barely gets a foot on the curb before the three littlest are on top of him. Shrieking and squealing with happiness and grabbing at the legs of his jeans; all three chattering at once, anxious for his undivided attention and begging to be picked up. He opts to dropping to one knee; not caring about the snow and the slush that soaks his leg or dirties the fabric. All that matters is those kids; three sets of arms wrapping tightly around his neck and those and those tiny voices giggling and happily screeching in his ears. And he gives each one the same attention; laying on the back of their heads and pressing kisses to their lips and cheeks.

“Daddy!” Addie climbs onto his thigh and squeezes his neck even tighter. “I missed you! I missed you so much!”

“I missed you too, Peanut. Every second of every day. I missed ALL of you.”

“But me the most, right? You missed me more than anyone, right?”

“ALL of you. I don’t have favourites.”

“Yes, you do. I know it’s me, daddy. Everyone knows it’s me.”

“Maybe I’ve got a little soft spot for you. But you know who my absolute favourite is? My most favourite human in the whole world?”

“Mummy.”

“Exactly.” He gives her a final squeeze and peck on the cheek, gently sliding her off of his thigh and then standing; wincing at the discomfort in his right knee and the tightness in his shoulder when he slings his piece of luggage -a simple backpack often used during hiking and camping excursions with the family- up onto it. “Hey little red,” he greets Declan, and affectionately ruffles both the winter hat and the shock of red hair underneath. “What happened? Grow another foot while I’m gone? You look taller.”

“I’m going to be a giant like you, dad,” Declan declares, then stands on his tiptoes with his lips pursed for a kiss. “Mum says I might even be BIGGER than you.”

“Guess I better watch my step, huh? Treat her right? Or you’ll be kicking my ass when you’re older. What about guys?” He addresses the oldest twins, clapping a hand on the back on the back of TJ’s neck and pressing a kiss on his cheek.

Tanner...and his needs...are different. He’s the more sensitive of the two; so much like his mother when it comes to a near constant need to show and receive affection. And since his Autism diagnosis almost five years ago -high functioning, as the developmental pediatrician had called it, a term that Tyler finds gets under his skin and leaves a foul taste in his mouth- they’ve all learned just WHAT Tanner needs. Whether it be ‘sensory breaks’ when feeling overwhelmed or anxious or more one on one interaction. Today it’s deep pressure. Tyler feels his son’s need for it the second Tanner’s arms wrap around his waist. He’s struggling emotionally; likely missing him the most out of all the kids and having a hard time adjusting to being away from home and not having his usual routine. It’s been difficult to adjust to; trying to find that balance between giving Tanner what he so desperately needs and craves yet not alienating or neglecting the needs of the others.

“Hey, mate.” He presses a kiss to Tanner’s temple, then wraps both arms around his petite frame. Knowing the exact amount of pressure he needs to put into the embrace. It will last longer than what he’d shared with the others. Long ago getting used to Tanner’s ‘signs’; knowing it’s better for his son’s mental state if he allows Tanner to be the one to break contact.

The ten year old’s demeanour begins to change almost instantly; tension releasing from his body and his heart rate slowing down and the head to toe tremors disappearing. And he holds on until Tanner is good and ready to pull away, then places his hands on his son’s shoulders and crouches down to make them eye level. Smiling when his sunglasses are gently and carefully pulled off his face. That contact again; Tanner needing to be able to read the emotions and even the thoughts that he always says is ‘written in daddy’s eyes’.

“You good?”

Finally a smile. One that crinkles the corners of his eyes and creases the bridge of his nose. “I’m good, dad.”

“Good,” he leans in and presses a kiss to Tanner’s lips. “Miss me?”

The ten year old nods.

“How much?”

“Lots.”

“Just lots?”

The smile broadens. “Tons.”

“I knew it. I missed you too. Tons. I brought you something. From Vietnam. Remember how when I told you where I was going, you did all that research? Especially about the animals? What was your favorite one?”

“The sun bear.”

“Look what I found.” Reaching into the pocket of his navy wool pea coat, he pulls out a small porcelain statue of a sun bear. It had taken him two hours of scouring various markets near his hotel and in surrounding areas, but he’d managed to find one. Tanner’s obsession with studying countries and their native wildlife is no secret; postcards and other trinkets constantly pouring in from Koen and Rata and some of the other guys on staff.

Tanner’s eyes widen, and he gingerly “Just for me?”

“Just for you. I told you I’d do my best to find you something. You can add that to your collection.”

“Mum!” He excitedly turns to Esme as she joins them, cradling his gift in both palms. “Look what daddy found! Look what he got me!”

“That’s awesome nugget. Daddy never disappoints, does he.”

“Never. Thank you, daddy,” Tanner curls his arms around Tyler’s neck and presses a kiss to his cheek. “I missed you. I love you.”

“I missed you too, mate. And I love you,” he places his lips against his son’s temple. “So much.”

“Why don’t you go put that inside,” Esme suggests. “In your room. So it doesn’t get broken. You can come back out to play if you want. If not, dry socks please. Your feet are probably soaked.”

“And put my boots on the mat by the door and all wet stuff in the sink in the laundry room.”

“You got it.” She playfully tugs on the braided ties dangling from his head, then taps a fingertip against the end of the nose before he rushes off. “Hey, handsome,” she greets Tyler with a brilliant smile; one that’s a testament to immense relief his return brings. “Long time no see. Already upping your ‘best daddy in the world’ game, huh?”

“Couldn’t let him down, could I?”

“You never do. How was your flight?”

“It was alright.” He shrugs his bag further up onto his shoulders and reaches up to cup the back of her head in his palm, other hand falling on the small of her back and pulling her tightly into him. Despite the enormous difference in both weight and height, their bodies have always felt perfect together; easily and effortlessly melding into one another. He’d felt it that first day; 13 years ago in that rundown hotel room in Dhaka. She had felt amazing; soft skin and curves in all the right places, body warm and responding so eagerly and willingly to his. Everything it...about her...had felt good. It had felt right. And still does.

“I missed you.” Esme says, and perches herself on her tiptoes; the soles and heels of her bare feet lifting out her Crocs as she curls her arms around his neck.

“I missed you too. You have no idea how much.”

They both feel the stress and the worry immediately lift; her body leaning into his and her eyes closing, his hand gently pressing her head into his chest, his forearm sliding just under her ass. For minutes they stand in silence simply embracing one another and enjoying the reunion; snowflakes gathering in their hair and on the shoulders of their jackets. And when she eventually pulls away, he leans down to kiss her; long and soft and slow, palm moving from the back of her head to her cheek.

Tyler glances down, a grin playing on his lips. “What’s up with that outfit?”

“It’s a long story.” She reaches up to trace her fingertips over a handful of fresh scratches and gouges mar his face and forehead. “What’s up with these?”

“Those are also a long story. We’re missing one. There’s only six spawn. What happened? Finally have enough? Is she buried in the backyard?”

“I did FINALLY crack but she’s very much alive. She went to Alannah’s last night; for a sleepover. Alannah’s mom took them out today; for lunch and a movie and to do some Christmas shopping.” Alannah is one of the many friends Millie has managed to make during their trips to New York City; the daughter of a Korean diplomat and a former Rockette.

“She’s been THAT bad?”

“Let’s put it this way; she’s lucky she’s still breathing and I’m lucky I'm still sober.”

“Yikes. Not what I wanted to hear. Guess we’ll be talking about that later.”

“It can wait. No rush. She’ll be home for dinner. I’m sure she’ll still be in a mood.”

“I’ll handle it if she is.”

“And then I’ll get blamed for turning daddy against her.”

“Well, she’s got to learn. No one disrespects my wife. Not someone we know, not a complete stranger, not my own kids.”

“Always the protective husband. You hungry?”

“I could eat.”

“Tanner made some amazing soup yesterday and he insisted we save you some. And there’s fresh coffee AND the hot tub is already.”

“Best wife EVER.”

“I try. To keep my man happy.”

Smiling, he smoothes her hair away from her hair and loops errant strands behind her ears. “You do a very good job at that. And later, I’ll make YOU very happy.”

Esme grins. “Is that a promise?”

“That’s a promise.” He kisses her once more; her face cradled in both hands and her body more melting into his his.

Her smile is softer; eyes sparkling with a mixture of relief and happiness. And love. There’s always love there. And he's certain there always will be.

“I missed you,” he says yet again, and leans down to place a kiss on her temple and nuzzles the tip of his nose against her ear.

Pulling back to look at him, her hand once more moves to his face. Knuckles skimming along his jaw before her palm cups his cheek, her eyes never leaving his as two of her fingertips glide over his lips. She allows the the bottom of his chin to rest in the curve between thumb and forefinger, then softly and briefly brushes her mouth against his

“Welcome home, baby,” she whispers against his lips, then takes his hand in hers and leads the way inside.

[fourdaysofrain]

Self-Made Man

Summary: A Trans!Tony Stark AU. 

(Lengthy, personal author’s note below the cut, if you’re interested.)

Natasha Marie Stark was born twelve minutes before midnight on May 29th, 1970. She weighed a healthy seven pounds and two ounces when she arrived. She was the most beautiful thing that either of her parents had ever seen. And she was screaming loud enough to scare the pigeons from the trees outside.

Read on AO3

Well, hey everyone. It’s been a handful of months since I’ve been on here. I want to apologize for being gone, but that feels kind of phony. I don’t know. I missed this, though. I can tell you that much. I still checked my notifications every once in a while. It made me really glad to see people still commenting on my fics or passing my links around. Love y’all. 

I guess it’s about time that I tell you that I’m trans. I have been this whole time. To answer a few quick questions, I first knew sometime in late high school, but it was always kind of in the background my whole life, I just didn’t know how to isolate the feeling. I started socially transitioning (i.e. dressing male, coming out, going by he/him) after my high school graduation, and I started HRT (Horomone replacement therapy, that means I inject myself with testosterone weekly. .33mL subcutaneously into my tummy, if you’re curious) on Oct. 12, 2018. So it’s been almost two years since, and I’ve been completely passing as a man for quite a while. Ass-crack hair, sweat, and all. 

This is a pretty personal fic for me, given the nature of it. I’ve wanted to write it for a long time, and I’ve actually had words in the Google Doc since January. It took a lot of long nights to write. It helped that I was back home. I always have an easier time tapping into Trans Emotions when I’m in my home town, for better or for worse. All the memories and relationships I formed pre-transition follow me like ghosts. 

I’m leaving for college in two days, conversationally. 

I see a lot of trans!Peter Parker fics. I’m not dissing them, I love them to bits. But it makes me wonder why fandom is so quick to headcanon Peter as trans instead of one of the other characters. He’s petite, has a higher voice, and has softer features than the other male cast members. I feel like those attributes definitely play a role. It can be easy to see trans men as “uwu soft bois”, or as Men Lite, or as a more palatable version of “normal” (that is to say, cis) men. Those ideas are often flawed and based on transphobic foundations. The reality is, trans men (and by extension, all trans people) have the ability to be indiscernible from their cis counterparts. Everyone likes to think they can pick trans people out from a crowd, but you’d be surprised how quickly I started being read as male. Androcentrism for the win, I guess. 

I won’t be entirely pessimistic. I understand that people my age project onto Peter (I am by no means exempt from that), and that there’s a greater number of young trans people than old, due to a series of depressing reasons. But I still wanted to try a different take on a trans character. 

My experience as a trans man is vastly different than the one I write about here. If anything, I’m closer to fandom’s idea of trans!Peter. My parents were accepting, I had the financial and social means to transition relatively early, and I can fly under the radar easily. The most important difference is the time period. 

I don’t know a lot about the trans experience of the 80s and 90s, which is what Tony would have gone through. I know of one single trans man who began his transition back then, one of the gender studies professors at my university. Even then, he’s from Canada, which I’m assuming has an entirely different culture around trans lives. There aren’t many older trans men. It’s depressing. There’s a lot of reasons for this. I don’t want to get too deep into them, because it only makes me feel sad. The final scene in this fic is extremely self-indulgent with regards to this. I wrote what I needed to hear. 

That’s not to say I don’t relate at all to what I wrote. There are themes that are almost universal for the trans experience. I hope you can parse those out here.

I also wanted to talk about how I showed the change from “Natasha” to Tony. In the early stages of this fic’s development, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to openly say Tony’s deadname (the name trans people are given at birth, and often, but not 100% of the time, change as a part of their transition), but I soon realized that it would make the story much clearer with the inclusion of it. If you’re wondering, I got the name from Earth-3490, where Tony is born a woman (and marries Steve, lol). I chose to show the change between the two with the use of past tense for the first half of the fic, and switching to present for Tony’s life. Often times, it feels like that when you transition. You start living in present tense. 

I also want to make it clear that transitioning isn’t as simple as shown here. From the beginning of mapping out this fic, I was stressed about “Oh, how will he be able to graduate as Tony if he doesn’t start transitioning until after he gets to college,” and “How will Howard react to him coming out?” and “How will he have a playboy persona if he isn’t able to have sex with someone without them knowing?” and a zillion other ideas. It was very freeing for me to let go of some of these obstacles and leave it up to the reader to decide. I alluded to some of the solutions that I came up with, but for the most part, I glossed over the paperwork and bureaucracy aspect to transitioning. But in real life, there are countless red tapes you have to cut for even the simplest of actions. I went to the state court to change my name and sex in March of 2019, and I still have cards in my wallet with my deadname. I had a consult with a plastic surgeon for top surgery (the colloquial name for the double mastectomy that trans men often go through to masculinize their chests. If you’re wondering, genital reconstruction surgery is normally called bottom surgery to mirror this) last December, and I still don’t have a date set. It took me a few months to start T, and I only got it so easily because I went through my unviersity, which does informed consent. Some places have to have proof of 6 months of social transitioning and a letter from a therapist. There is a lot of medical gate keeping in the trans community. I don’t know what I would have done had my parents not been accepting enough to help me through the processes. I am extremely thankful for their support. 

But it’s a lot easier to write about transition happening smoothly. Money helps, which I don’t touch on a lot in this fic, but oh my God, does money help. I’m lucky enough to be able to afford my ~$20 a month T prescription (which I will be taking until the end of my days, likely), and I’m in the process of saving for top surgery. Thankfully with Tony, I can just presto most of the problems away because he’s canonically a billionaire. Eat the rich, folks.

There’s also the intersection with race that is very impactful for trans people, as it is for everyone. Both Tony and I are white, which gives us societal privileges that trans people of color don’t have access to. As well as the fact that transitioning from female to male is a much different experience than transitioning from male to female. We don’t experience trans misogyny, which is a special kind of misogyny specifically related to trans women. (Think of old sitcoms where the joke is that it’s a man dressed in women’s clothing, and that’s what makes it funny. That’s a fairly tame example of trans misogyny. It gets ugly fast.) 

I’m veering dangerously off-topic, but it’s important to talk about. It’s easy for white trans people (and LGBT people as a whole, I suppose) to distance themselves from talking about white privilege or male privilege because they aren’t straight and/or cis. But it’s important to recognize that while we may face unique oppression, we also still benefit from historical white supremacist and patriarchal structures present today in society. 

Sorry, not sorry for getting political. And if I haven’t said it on here, Black lives matter. Of course. 

If you end up having trans-related questions, I want to be a resource for you. Seriously, I’m narcissistic and love talking about myself I don’t mind helping you understand the trans experience. I can’t promise that I know everything, but I also have my own group of trans friends who might know what I don’t, and we can learn together. 

Again, love y’all. Thank you for the continued support you give me. I can’t promise that I’ll go back to my normal level of activity on here, but I might dip my feet back in the pool. <3

[an-ambivalent]

Uchiha Therapist: Part II

Synopsis: Yandere! Madara x Reader x Yandere! Sasuke

[Name] is a struggling post graduate psychology student who has more on her plate than she can handle. Between her practicums to gain work experience and writing reports, to trying to maintain a decent lifestyle and look after her own mental health, there is little to no time left to work an actual paying job. Yet, money is essential for survival. So,  she does the next best thing that has been trending recently to assure a good paycheck; she becomes a sugar baby. The only thing is, [Name] is unaware that she’s become sugar baby of the Madara Uchiha, the notorious CEO of Uchiha Corporation. She is also unaware of the fact that she’s the therapist of his nephew Sasuke Uchiha, who has begun treading over the professional boundary of a patient, and has started developing an abnormal fixation for his therapist since she seems to be the only one who actually understands him.

Warning: Although this story will come to contain yandere themes that can be triggering or uncomfortable to read, there are no yandere themes present  in this chapter. It does have mentions of negative and tiring thoughts that may be triggering. Read at your own risk. This work is purely fictional and any yandere or other toxic behaviours that may be present in the future, know that I do not condone such behaviour.

Word Count: 4.1K

–

Story start; A day in the life of Madara Uchiha

It was no surprise really, when the ticking of the clock seemed to become louder with each passing second, and the loudness of it in the agonising silence started to grate on Madara’s nerves. The unforgiving light of the desktop screens in front of him that he worked on constantly in his office, were beginning to hurt his eyes; it left them feeling dried up and sore. The enormous piles of paperwork that were stacked on his desk, and a few more piles on other parts of his office, was the work he had yet to do. Although Madara spent the majority of his time cooped up in his office – some would go as far as to say that he lived in it or was married to it, more and more work simply continued to pile up.

Madara had been employed into the CEO role for the Uchiha corporation for about five years now. In saying so, he had been trained to take over the company and become a diligent, intelligent, intimidating worker– and other adjectives used to describe him, since his toddler days. Growing up with rigid rules and strict parent(s) who had unrealistic high expectations and standards laid out for their children to achieve, came hand-in-hand with his side of the family. It would be unfair to claim that all Uchiha forcefully pushed their children beyond humane capacities.

Granted that their family overall did strive for the best, but mostly in their own capabilities. While achieving excellent results was a driving factor, everyone was encouraged to give it their all because it was the value of hard work that mattered the most. Whether that was an individual working their hardest to overcome their depression and learning to live a better life for themselves, or someone who wanted to be a surgeon and then being expected to commit wholly to their studies – the standard for each person differed; there was no set limits. Madara was satisfied as long as everyone did their best to achieve their own goals and kept up with their well-being. Madara was like this because it was the life he wished he would have had, rather than the one his father and older brother had forced him into.

Having to grow up in the environment that he had, he had missed out on many experiences that were the bare minimum for the majority. Certainly, it had made him stronger mentally and emotionally to the point he was now; at least, that was what he thought. Perhaps, that thinking was the foolish part of him that he was not aware of. Having to grow up in the environment that he had, any sane person would have lost a part of their sanity in one way or another.

Returning back to the original point that the author wanted to explain before she saw the opportunity to introduce a little bit of Madara’s back story, while Madara was more than accustomed to the demanding duties of his work, it did not mean it made it any easier. The lack of sleep and proper nutrition was slowly beginning to affect his health. What would be many hours at work he could get through robotically made him hate his work even more now; it was beginning to become unbearable. The words on the paper he had to read through to decide whether to sign them or not were beginning to blur.

Madara let out an exasperated sigh as he picked up his cup of mocha from beside him and mindlessly gunned down the last few remaining sips. He tossed it carelessly in the bin that was beside his desk, before moving the paperwork away from him and laying his head on his desk.

The sound of his office door opening was heard, and before the person entering had even spoken, Madara felt a vein pop on his forehead out of annoyance.

“Don’t,” he ordered sternly. He could not spare a single bother to even lift his head up to acknowledge the person who had entered.

While Izuna truly did feel bad for his older brother and often took on much of his workload in order to support him, seeing him act so childish and feeling a bit deflated was funny. It was even more entertaining when he rubbed the salt in his wound.

“Big bad Uchiha-sama defeated by mere paperwork? Wait till I leak this to the media to get some money and start a scandal,” he remarked chuckling.

Madara groaned in response, and this time, he did lift his head up to address Izuna as he spoke. “Don’t start unnecessary crap Izuna. You and I both know the bastard will use whatever he can against me.”

At the mention of the ‘bastard’, whatever signs of humour was lingering on Izuna’s face were wiped away. The raven-haired pressed his lips in a thin line to affirm his shared distaste of the bastard that Madara had mentioned.

“You know I would never do that Aniki. I’ll always be on your side,” Izuna spoke seriously, as he sat down on the chair opposite of Madara, and settled a box of food on his desk. Instantly, Madara grabbed the box and pulled it towards himself. When he opened it to reveal a few pieces of inarizushi, his eyes lit up. He gave Izuna a sincere smile, although it was etched with a tinge of exhaustion.

“I know Izuna, if no one else, I know I can always count on you and you can always count on me. For that, and everything else you always do to support me, I will always be grateful to have such a caring little brother,” Madara said grinning. The slightly over-the-top complement had seemed to embarrass Izuna the way Madara had intended to because now, the younger male of the two was housing the colour pink on his cheeks.

“W-Whatever,” Izuna retorted scowling, as he snatched a piece of inarizushi from the lunch he had bought for Madara as a way to get his revenge. While this action did in fact displease Madara, he chose not to comment on it since he needed to be on Izuna’s good side for what he was about to ask.

Madara took one bite out of one of the inarizushi, and nodded in satisfaction at its taste, before he focused his gaze onto Izuna.

“I need you to step in for me this Friday night. I have somewhere to be,” he said nonchalantly. Well, he hoped he sounded nonchalant as to not raise any suspicion. But he knew that the way he had spoken was the tone he used when he wanted to hide something. Barely anyone would be able to notice it, however Izuna was not just anyone. And no matter how much he had wanted to hide it, Izuna had definitely noticed it.

Izuna furrowed his eyebrows. “Again? You needed me to step in last week too. I don’t mind, but it’s not like you to do that. I mean, I’m glad that you seem to be doing something other than work because you work way too much but I’m just curious… Wait, you aren’t doing that sugar baby thing again are you?” He accused, narrowing his eyes.

Madara’s shoulders tensed at Izuna’s accusatory tone. However, before he even had the chance to defend himself (lie his way through more like it) Izuna continued to speak.

“Nii-san, I understand how you feel but that’s not the way to handle things. If you want to settle down, there are women in our clan that will be suitable for you. Or if you need to, we can arrange therapy for you so you have someone confidential to talk to–” Izuna began to ramble, and Madara growled.

“Izuna I don’t need to settle down with a clan woman. And you and I both know no therapy we attend will be confidential because of that bastard and the elders–” Madara started to hiss. However, before he could continue, there was a knock on his office door, causing both of the brothers to freeze.

In the midst of their banter and serious talk, both had seemed to have forgotten they should have been keeping the volume of their voice to a minimum. Usually, both Madara and Izuna were proactive about discussing secrets and making sure no one was eavesdropping and whatnot. However, seemingly both seemed to be so exhausted that it must have slipped their minds. Now, they could only hope that they had not been overheard, and if they had been, whoever it was, would keep whatever they heard to themselves.

“Madara-sama may we come in?” A familiar voice inquired. Both brothers looked at each other as if they were deer caught in headlights before they managed to calm themselves down. Then, they sat back in their seats in a way that would lead one to assume they had been discussing very important business.

“Come in,” Madara responded stoically. Now, he was no longer the merrier man who allowed himself to be expressive in a vulnerable way like he was with Izuna. Now, he was the unshakable Uchiha CEO, who kept others onto the edge of their seat.

The door opened to reveal Shisui and Itachi. Once the two had entered, Itachi who was behind Shisui, made sure to close the door behind them.

Shisui wore his usual friendly smile on his face as he greeted his superiors (who were nearly the same age as him and Itachi), while Itachi had a neutral expression. He merely nodded as a greeting to acknowledge both Madara and Izuna. He knew that while both brothers held nothing against Shisui or even him, there was a sense of discomfort and mistrust amongst them because of how they were related. It was at times like this that Itachi was reminded of his position in the clan – the position that he absolutely hated. If it was not for him and his damn status, then people around him would not be kept at an arm’s distance like he was; Shisui would be in a position in the corporation that he was more than experienced for, but did not get due to Madara’s and Izuna’s distrust in anyone that was close to him.

“Here is all the paperwork to extend our links into the art industry with the Yamanaka corporation. The discussions surrounding the contract for our joint collaboration was a success,” Shisui confirmed, as he handed all the paperwork over to Izuna, who began to skim read through it already.

Madara nodded in acknowledgement. “Good work you too.” And in response to this, both Shisui and Itachi nodded back.

Generally speaking, that was meant to be the end of the conversation and a sign for them to excuse themselves, unless Madara would hint that he needed them to stay to assign their next task right away. However, as Itachi went to leave, because he did not want to overstay his welcome and be around Madara and Izuna for more than what was necessary, Shisui had grabbed onto his arm to prevent him from leaving. This action was not missed by Madara or Izuna, and they both raised an eyebrow at them.

“Was there something else you two needed?” Madara asked.

“Forgive us for overstepping our boundaries but we could not help but hear,” Shisui started, and right away his words caused Madara and Izuna to tense. Itachi’s eyes widened as he realised what Shisui was about to do and he instantly shook his head, while trying to pull his arm out of his best friend’s grip.

“Shisui, you’re overstepping your boundaries don’t include me onto your schemes. They hate me enough as it is and if Father finds out–“ Itachi started whispering in panic. However, Shisui gripped his arm tighter to give him reassurance which made him silence himself.

“Shisui I encourage you two to think twice before saying what you’re going to say,” Izuna warned in a low tone, and narrowed his eyes at the two. While his threat would have scared anyone else, Shisui stood his ground and continued to give them a bright grin.

“We heard about Izuna-san prompting Madara-sama to seek therapy but having concerns around that given the nature of some people in our clan,” Shisui started. Near the end of his sentence, his voice had lowered to signify to them that he understood their concerns. However, that was not what annoyed Madara. What annoyed him was that not only his brother, but now other members of his clan were suggesting he needed therapy. For some reason, that assumption really ticked him off.

“Even though it may not seem like it, we care about your well-being, both of us do. We have no intention of saying anything to you know who, especially considering we’re in a similar situation.”

Izuna raised an eyebrow. “Really? Are you now? I wonder what he could possibly have against his star son who was groomed to do his bidding,” Izuna accused. At this, anger flooded Itachi. He was going to growl at Izuna but one look from Shisui prevented him from lashing out in any way that might be detrimental.

Izuna looked pleased for having getting underneath Itachi’s nerves.

“As you may know, Sasuke is in therapy right now,” Shisui started and Madara scoffed.

“I actually did not know that. Good to know the members of our own clan are keeping secret from us,” he accused, and this caused Shisui to sigh exasperatedly.

“Well, we’re not keeping any secrets since we’re telling you about this, and it’s a sign of trust because Madara-sama, just like you, if there’s nothing else, Itachi cares the most about his younger brother,” Shisui explained, narrowing his eyes. At this, Madara’s eyes flickered to Itachi who tensed under his scrutinizing stare. Then after exchanging a look with Izuna, both brothers refrained themselves from making any further accusations and signalled Shisui to continue. The mediator between the two parties sighed in relief.

“We have managed to find a therapist who will assure confidentiality of her clients no matter the threats. We did… threaten her so we could sit in with Sasuke during his sessions to assure it went according to what Fugaku-sama wanted. But she refused to allow that unless Sasuke consented to it. I know, you may not believe us so what you do with this knowledge is up to you. We only ask that you don’t inform Fugaku-sama of what we’ve told you in mutual agreement that we will not discuss anything we overheard here. I will just leave the therapist’s contact details here,” Shisui said, as he settled a small business like card with contact information on Madara’s desk.

Then instantly, he bowed before he grabbed Itachi once again, and forced them to hurriedly leave the room.

“We’ll be taking our leave now. I wish you the best.”

As Shisui shut the door behind him after they left, Madara mindlessly took the card Shisui had given him and shoved it into his pocket as Izuna watched him.

"Will you–”

“One more mention of me needing therapy and you’ll regret it.”

The moment Shisui and Itachi were out of the suffocating atmosphere they had experienced with Madara and Izuna, and were at a safe distance where no one was around to hear the young prodigy go off, Itachi went off.

The glare he gave Shisui was cold and vicious, enough to have made a mama bear protective of her cubs freeze over. Internally, Shisui started to pray for his funeral and he sweat dropped.

“Geez, your glare is so cold and vicious a mama bear protective of her cubs would freeze over,” Shisui remarked light-heartedly, trying to improve the mood. However, he had simply succeeded in making Itachi’s glare harden.

“I know you can be impulsive Shisui and like to live ‘life dangerously’ but what you did back there was downright foolish. Our relations are sensitive enough as it is and they don’t trust me because of my parentage. You know we have to cautious around them or Father will–”

“Or your father will beat us up with the stick that’s always up his ass, yeah yeah I know,” Shisui said and scoffed. “But I know better than anyone that you hate being your father’s marionette nor do you deserve that. That’s precisely why we should risk it and try to be on Madara’s and Izuna’s good side because they at least won’t manipulate your strings without your own knowledge.”

“I can’t afford to take that risk. Sasuke has enough to deal with already. If not me, then it’ll be him and I, I can’t allow that. I won’t let them do to him what they did to me. He’s still an innocent child–”

“An innocent child? Itachi do you hear yourself? Sasuke is twenty-two years old. He’s not a child anymore nor is he innocent. He wears his own scars, and as much as you don’t want to hear this, you need to. He doesn’t need you to hold his hand and coodle him. He’s his own person, he can look after himself. The problem isn’t him, the problem is you. You’re the one who refuses to move on from your past and insist on destroying your own happiness thinking you’re some sort of saint who needs to sacrifice himself for the rest of us, when you’re just human, like all of us. Honestly, Itachi you need to get out of your own head and stop letting Sasuke or your dad influence how you want to live your life. Maybe I should’ve kept [Name]’s contact information for you,” Shisui scolded.

Although his words were harsh and cut deep, what mattered to Itachi was how Shisui cared about him so much. Despite not being entirely blood related, Shisui acted as an older brother to Itachi and was probably the one who knew him the most. Unlike many other members of their family, Shisui did not kiss the floor Itachi walked on due to who his father was, suck up to him, or have unrealistic expectations from him. He treated Itachi how he needed to be treated; a normal person. And when Itachi felt himself beginning to spiral, it was always Shisui who kept him grounded and brought him back to reality. He did not voice it often, but he was grateful for Shisui always sticking to his side.

Just like how now, he had given Itachi the desperate reality check that he needed.

Itachi looked at Shisui and smiled at him.

“You know what Shisui, don’t feel too bad about giving her information away to Madara. I’m sure I can get it from Sasuke,” Itachi responded, looking upwards at the ceiling.

Shisui froze for a few moments as Itachi kept on walking ahead of him. Then, he snapped out of his trance and ran after Itachi.

“Wait after all these years, that was all I needed to say to make you admit you have serious repressed issues going on and need to see a counsellor?” Shisui began, but he received no response from Itachi. If anything, Itachi sped up so Shisui would not be able to catch up to him, causing the later mentioned male to run after him.

“Wait Itachi, answer me! Hey, you bastard, I said answer me!”

____________

Friday Night

“Did you not like the food that is prepared here?” Madara asked, after [Name] had entered his penthouse, and made herself comfortable by sitting on the floor behind the coffee table in his living room, with her legs folded. Prior to her arrival, she had told him not to have anything prepared because she was bringing what she quoted “the food of the commoners.”

Even though Madara was traditional in many ways, the interior of his penthouse was modern. For that reason, he found it strange that [Name] had chosen to sit the way she had, and was planning on eating on the coffee table rather than the dining table.

His eyebrow twitched as he awkwardly went beside her.

“Wouldn’t you rather eat at the dining table?” He enquired in last hopes that she would at least eat at the dining table. Said female grinned widely, and patted the empty beside her.

“And give into traditions of the hungry hippos of the capitalist world? No way. Every choice I make, I want them to know how much I hate them,” she said grinning, and Madara scoffed at her response in amusement, as he finally gave in and sat beside her.

“If you say so. What did you buy?” He asked, eyeing the big obnoxious yellow W that was on the paper bag.

“Wcdonalds.”

“And you can afford to buy this?”

“The money you sent me for our first date was more than enough to buy this…  amongst other things as well,” [Name] began in a murmur as she turned her head towards Madara. “You know you don’t have to pay me that much. I don’t think I did anything worth the amount you sent me.”

Madara raised an eyebrow because he never had anyone complain about that before.

“You have an issue with how much I chose to give you?” He asked incredulously.

“N-No, I just think that I didn’t do anything to earn that much,” she tried to argue.

“I enjoyed your company, so I paid what I saw fit. It’s disheartening to have you question the worth I saw in you,” Madara reasoned. Admittedly, his tone was a bit icy which made [Name] wince inwardly. Rather than elaborating on it any further since it was a topic he was evidently not open to discuss, she let it drop and steered the topic of the conversation in another direction.

“Have you ever eaten Wcdonalds before?”

Madara stared at her for a good few seconds before he shook his head, causing [Name]’s grin to return to her face.

“Well you’re in for an experience. Care to guess how much it was?” she said, as she slid over a paper bag over for him. Then, as she unwrapped her burger, and bit into it Madara’s eye twitched.

“$60? Don’t you need cutlery to eat? The kitchen is right there–”

“Wrong, it was $20 for two meals. And don’t worry about the cutlery, you can eat the food without it. The purpose of this is to be convenient, meaning no cooking, no dishes required, so no cleaning afterwards either. Here, try some of these fries with ketchup,” she prompted. Albeit being a bit hesitant, Madara did as she said and tried the combination. Admittedly, it was a bit too greasy for his liking, but he still enjoyed it.

“It’s good. Anyway back to what I was saying before,” Madara started, and slid closer to [Name] until he was pressed against her side. Tenderly, he brushed a lock of her hair behind her ear to get a better look at her face. [Name] found herself beginning to feel flustered as Madara leaned closer to her.

“If you did think you lacked in your performance that much, you’re always welcome to step up your game and do what you think you must to earn your paycheck,” he suggested, before he left a light feathery kiss just behind her ear. “After all, the purpose of our meeting was to be intimate. I was just lucky enough that you’re compelling just as much as you are beautiful.”

“Y-You think I’m b-beautiful?” she inquired shyly.

“Of course.”

“W-Well, I think you’re beautiful too.”

Madara’s lip twitched upwards in amusement. “You think I’m beautiful?” He asked, copying her words from before.

[Name] smiled sweetly at him. “Of course.”

“I’ve never been called beautiful before,” Madara pointed out chuckling, as he shortened the distance between their faces. [Name]’s eyes had widened momentarily, before she closed her eyes and began to follow his lead. However, just as Madara’s lips brushed against hers, and she was about to deepen their kiss, Madara pulled away.

[Name] blinked multiple times in confusion before what had happened sunk in. She saw Madara staring down at her with a wicked smirk on his face, and had it been possible, steam would be coming out of her in embarrassment.

“We should eat. Wouldn’t want the food you bought to go to waste,” Madara remarked. His smirk widened when [Name] pouted at him. Then, when her stomach rumbled loudly to signal her hunger, she was left feeling more embarrassed, but dug into her very much needed dinner.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

STARTUPS AND COMPANY

A job means doing something people want. When a new medium arises that's powerful enough to enforce taboos, but weak enough to need them. If a writer rewrites an essay, people who read the old version are unlikely to complain that their thoughts have been broken by some newly introduced incompatibility. We have such labels today, of course. Are patents evil? Demand transparency. We don't need to know this stuff to program in. There are also two practical problems to consider: jobs, and graduate school. The word startup dates from the 1960s, but what they want. Labels like that are probably the biggest external clue. In practice, to get good design if the intended users and figuring out what they need. Working on hard problems.

Instead of accumulating money slowly by being paid a regular wage for fifty years. It takes a while to be optimistic after events like that. It's easy to measure how much revenue they generate, and they're usually paid a percentage of the company? Startups usually win by making something so great that it's growing at 5% a week. Unfortunately there are a lot of the questions people get hot about are actually quite complicated. It's not especially inconvenient to own several thousand books, whereas if you owned several thousand random possessions you'd be a local celebrity. Mapmakers deliberately put slight mistakes in their maps so they can sue competitors. Applying for a patent is a negotiation. And if you can manage it, is to have the lowest income taxes, because to take advantage of dramatic decreases in cost is to increase volume. But as long as your critical spirit doesn't outweigh your hope, you'll be able to think what you want. If you had a magic machine that could on command make you a car or cook you dinner and so on.

European attitudes weren't affected by the disasters of the twentieth century; now the trend seems to be vanishingly rare in the arts could tell you that the right way to lift heavy things is to let people do the best work they can, and then try to pry apart the cracks and see what's inside their heads. Applying for a patent is a negotiation. I wish someone would get this point across to the present administration. The really painful thing to recall is not just something happening now in Silicon Valley. That's the good part. Few investors understand the cost that raising money from them imposes on startups. But my guess is that we see oscillations in people's idea of the corporate ladder was still very much alive. The millennia-long run of bigger-is-better left us with a lot of latent respect among the very best hackers—the medium of exchange, called the dollar, that doesn't physically exist. Certainly some rejected Google. A good programming language.

Steve Jobs, Bill Gates, and Michael Dell can't be a company of one person. What I'm going to take a shot at describing where these trends are leading. Maybe successful people in other industries are; I don't know enough to say whether there is a peloton of younger startups behind them. I've had several emails from computer science undergrads asking what to do has to rest with one person. Best of all, for the same reason I did look under rocks as a kid: plain curiosity. I've found that it matters a lot how code lines up on the bottom. This is a dumb plan. What does make a language that makes type declarations mandatory could be convenient to program in Lisp, but it has to be the mistaken one. Two things keep the speed of the boat. And during the Renaissance, journeymen from northern Europe were often employed to do the other. Founders are your customers, and the PR campaign surrounding the launch has the side effect of specialization.

The EU was designed partly to simulate a single, definite occupation—which is not far from the idea that each person has a natural station in life. If there are any laws regulating businesses, you can also get into Foobar State. Eventually, though, you're still designing for humans. All you need to attract. Every era has its heresies, and if not, they say they want the meretricious feature du jour, but what happens in one is very similar to the venture-backed trading voyages of the Middle Ages. If you said them all you'd have no time left for your real work. Startups yield faster growth at greater risk than established companies. Why aren't all police interrogations videotaped? And there is a safe option, that's the worst thing you can say about it. They're determined by VCs starting from the amount the company needed to raise and let the percentage acquired vary with the market, instead of the other methods are now illegal but that it's obvious. Darwin himself was careful to tiptoe around the implications of his theory. Odds are this project won't be a class assignment.

We did. But if capital gains rates vary, you move assets, not yourself, so changes are reflected at market speeds. Boston's case illustrates the difficulty you'd have establishing a new startup hub this late in the game. They'd be far more useful when combined with some time living in a country with a strong middle class—countries where a private citizen could make a fortune without having it confiscated. What does he think that would shock her? It has a long way to run. Kids are less perceptive. I can't think of a financial advisor who put all his client's assets into one volatile stock? For centuries the Japanese have made finer things than we have in the West. If you want a potato or a pencil or a place to live, you have to say everything you think, it may be that it gives you. It's tricky to keep the old model, like runtime typing and garbage collection. Wow.

Running upstairs is hard for us would be impossible for our competitors. If you're saying something that Richard Stallman and Bill Gates would both agree with, you must be contributing at least x dollars a year. Actors and directors are fired at the end that the lines don't meet. I want to spend money on stuff. Eventually something would come up that required me to use it, and even though I've studied the subject for years, it would obviously be a good idea in the first few minutes whether you seem like you'll be one of the biggest startups almost didn't happen that there must be a hacker's language, like the US, and good high schools and bad universities, like the pyramids. And they are also different lengths, meaning that the arguments won't line up when they're called, as car and cdr often are, in successive lines. In 1960, John McCarthy published a remarkable paper in which he did for programming something like what Euclid did for geometry. If it were simply a matter of degree. This connection adds more brittleness than strength, however: make the best surgeons operate with their left hands, force popular actors to overeat, and so on. Whatever the disadvantages of working by yourself, the advantage is that the inhabitants still speak many different languages.

[luca-connolly]

hello everyone! it’s kat again with my third babe, a muse i couldn’t get out of my head once i started thinking about him. below are some stats to get to know him, and you can always message me here or on discord if you would like to plot with lucas.

FULL NAME: Lucas Ray Connolly NICKNAMES: Luke, Luca (by family or really close friends), L.Conn (in undergrad) FACE CLAIM: Gregg Sulkin DATE OF BIRTH: 12/11/1994 SUN SIGN: Sagittarius GENDER/ PREFERED PRONOUNS: Cismale, he/him SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Doesn’t label his sexuality but leans towards males OCCUPATION: Florist at Flor Amor AFFILIATION: None LENGTH IN CHARMING: a whole week MBTI: estj. realistic, direct, takes charge, self confident, matter of fact, and analytical. MORAL ALIGNMENT: chaotic good. a lawful good person acts as a good person is expected to. she combines a commitment to oppose evil with the discipline to fight relentlessly. she tells the truth, keeps her word, helps those in need, and speaks out against injustice.

A more detailed bio will be linked here, but below is rough outline.

TW: drugs, abuse, death

Grew up in a small town, in the middle of nowhere, with two parents who were more addicted to catching the next high than actually being parents. The best parental advice he ever got was from his late father who told him “don’t knock up a whore with any vices or they will become your vices too and you’re the asshole paying for it”, he was six.

As the third child of four, he was doomed for the middle child syndrome from the start. His parents paid as little attention to him as possible and Lucas could not have been more thrilled. If his dad wasn’t passed out from drinking he was taking his drunken anger out on his older siblings. He really doesn’t have many memories of his dad and for that he’s pretty grateful.

The little relationship he has with his mom comes from watching her poorly assume the role of a single mom after their fathers death. She didn’t handle it well and acted more like a roommate in his opinion than the motherly figure he was seeing the other kids at school have. Trying for a week to actually care and step up before failing miserably and turning back to the crutches that kept her sedated. 

Having parents that were essentially absent in the years that matter meant that the Connolly siblings really had to lean into each other to get by. He did this by getting as close to Nina as he could before she got old enough to choose her own life for herself. When she was gone it was only him and his younger sister who seemed to think that she could save their mother.

Instead of wasting his time he threw himself into studies at school to distract the lack of a home life. Reading and studying because his singular hobby and there were many nights he’d have to be kicked out of the school’s library because even the janitor was going home and needed to lock up.

Come graduation he’d managed a full ride academic scholarship to Stanford which was practically unheard of in his little town. It was his time to leave the nest and say goodbye to the hellhole that was his old life. He joined a fraternity freshman year, sucked up to the rich kids, and made more friends than he ever thought possible. 

The parties that came with being in a frat had initially scared him, reminded him of how his parents would act when drinking and it wasn’t until his sophomore year he relented. It started with just one game of beer pong, and then it was a keg stand, and then it was living for the weekends to do it all over again. A joint here or there wouldn’t kill him either and he’d made a rule for himself, nothing harder. He was different than the two sperm donors that made him because he was responsible. He was in college and was still getting mostly A’s. He wasn’t them, he just wasn’t. 

After graduation came completing his masters and then med school as a mere wanting to not have to enter the real world just yet. Being a doctor was never something he thought he’d want to do but it felt right with his grades and major. Like the next step he should take. 

Three weeks ago he dropped out of his program one month before he was set to do his residency at a renowned hospital on the east coast. Everything had happened so fast that Lucas felt like he didn’t know what he wanted to do anymore. Did he really want to become a doctor, a surgeon of all things? Did he want to spend his days around Washington, DC just because that’s where he’d gotten placed? No, he didn’t. So he left and figured he’d take some time to figure things out.

Charming, California was not a town he’d ever heard of until Nina had moved there. It wasn’t necessarily a place he ever thought he’d even visit with how small it was and how much like home it reminded him of. Yet with no plans and no real desire to admit his defeat and go home he headed to the only place he had some familiarity with. 

On his first day in town after setting up at the Highway Motel, he went around exploring and had walked past Flor Amor and saw a “help wanted” sign in the window. Lucas has absolutely zero experience with flowers or arrangements but the owners took one look at him and deemed him worthy of the job because he could do the heavy lifting for them. He couldn’t tell you what any of the flowers are called, and will just shove assortments of flowers in a vase and call it good.

You will be hard-pressed to get Lucas talking about his past or really anything personal or below surface level. He had an extremely rough childhood and while therapy and a little weed ha soothed his own soul he doesn’t bring up the past. It’s left there for a reason.

He does love to workout and is very diligent about hitting the gym and not missing leg day as to not be one of those types of guys. Any type of outdoor activity and he’s there though he’s got a real penchant for golf or tennis. His college friends got him interested in those fancier sports that usually require more money than it’s worth. 

Wanted Connections:

I’ll make an actual page for them but here are some quick ideas;  someone to show him around town or show him the lack of much to do in town, a dealer because he will most definitely need some weed to get by, hookups, someone he may have pissed off while drunk on his first night here because like his dad he get’s a little mean when intoxicated, and ofc all the friends!

[angry-slytherin]

Heaven Help Me(Ch 2)

Jo is reading scans from an email on her cell phone when she hears a voice behind her.

“Hey, Jo, wait up!” Jo whips around on her way to the coffee cart outside the hospital. She stops just short of the doorway. Amelia is walking briskly toward her.

“Okay so I know probably shouldn’t tell you this, but I’m dying to tell someone. Meredith is going on a date with Hayes. Don’t tell her I said this, she’ll kill me.”

Jo gives Amelia a look of confusion. “Uh, first of all I don’t know who ‘Hayes’ is and why are you telling me this?” Jo and Amelia had of course met through Link, and Jo likes her well enough, but she feels it’s weird that Amelia is sharing personal information about her sister’s dating life with her.

“Doctor Hayes! Pediatric co-chief of surgery! And I told you before, I needed someone to tell. You were on the way to the coffee cart and I don’t think you’ll blab to Meredith.”

Jo nods, “Right. You getting coffee?” Amelia frowns.

“No, I have surgery.” She says, and Jo just watches her walk off towards the elevator. Jo is just glad Amelia is self-aware of her crazy. That much is true.

Jo sees Rayn coming up the hall and quickly turns back toward the doors.

“Before seven is mine, Doctor Rayn. I told you this.”

“Doctor Wilson, I think you’ll want to come see this.” Rayn is tight-lipped.

“Fine; tell everyone I’ll be there in ten. I need sustenance or I’ll be crankier than normal. You don’t want that.”

Rayn agrees, still somber. “See you in ten. And I know we’re professionals, but I think it’s important you know that know my first name is Carleen.”

Jo studies the younger doctor carefully, realizing she reminds her of herself during her early residency years.

“Thank you, Rayn. I’ll be there in ten.”

Rayn goes to turn away, but Jo finds herself compelled to speak again.

“My first name is Jo.”

Rayn grins wide at Jo, before rushing back to the lab. Jo finally reaches the doors, stepping outside into one of Seattle’s rare clear mornings, and takes a deep breath. The fresh air helps to clear her mind.

“Good morning, Doctor Wilson.”

Jo jumps. Behind her is Alex Karev, scowling.

“Jesus, you scared me. Good morning to you too. What’s got you in a mood?”

“Got into a fight with my wife.” He practically tears his wallet out of the pocket of his jeans, and opens it.

“Oh, well. Don’t let it get to you too much. She loves you. And you don’t have to harp on it if it’s nothing that important.” Jo then remembers to take her wallet out of her own purse, fishing out a couple dollars.

“It was about— You know what, it doesn’t matter, you’re right. I’m just going to forget about it.”

“Right then,” Jo awkwardly moves on, “Did you read the article on ex-lap efficiency from Doctor Yat-Sen at UCLA? It was really interesting, the way he argued that you can minimize OR time by immediately doing a biopsy on the healthy tissue also.”

“I actually did. I dunno if it’s practical for me. It’s harder to decide on things like that with kids. They’re so compliacated. Like my wife.”

Jo openly laughs at that.

“Don’t hate on your wife. I thought you were forgetting about it?”

Alex groans, scowling again, “Right.”

“You’re right about the kids part though. Peds was super fun to me, but in the end I ending up in general, specialty-less.”

“Any particular reason?”

“Indecisiveness in the end. I never thought too far enough into it in the first place. Plus now, I have my research.”

Alex stands behind her on the coffee line, and Jo orders a lemon scone.

“What do you want, Karev?”

“I can pay for my own coffee.”

Jo turns to the clerk, “One black coffee please.” She smiles and hands the clerk the money.

“How could you possibly know how I like my coffee?” Alex says, accepting the cup.

“Please, you’re clearly not a sugar and milk person. You’re such a grouch.”

Alex keeps his scowl, but thanks Jo nonetheless.

***

“Good morning, all.” Jo greets the team as she enters the research lab. ‘The team’ being surgical resident Cross, oncology intern Rayn, and three biomedical engineers— John, Armani and Deborah.

“Doctor Wilson, we have great news. The mice are fine.” Deb is smiling, and the other engineers follow in suit.

“I don’t understand. That means our cells are flawed.” Cross furrows his eyebrows Jo sighs.

“Yes. It means we have lots more work to do. Actually, that’s the bio engineers’ job. Us doctors have to sit back now. Doctor Rayn, you’re of course welcome to help, as you’ve got the most extensive knowledge of cancer. Doctor Cross, thank you for all your help, but your services are no longer needed here.”

“It was wonderful to meet you Doctor Wilson. Hopefully we can call you back soon, once we’ve better understood this in our lab.” John sticks his hand out, and Jo shakes it.

“Thank you all. I look forward to it.” Jo nods, and she and Cross exit the lab.

“Doctor Cross, you should scrub in on as many surgeries as you can. I appreciate all of it, but your time spent here has set you back as a surgeon. Take some extra nights on-call for a while. Thank me later.”

Cross looks both solemn and grateful, and he simply walks away. Jo feels surprisingly upset at this; she knew her idea wasn’t the end all be all, but she had hoped it would’ve fleshed out more. All she had done was make mice ill, not help anyone.

She had gone and given up a great surgery fellowship, for one of her ideas to fail within only a little more than a week. Her favorite research already up in flames.

Then her pager goes off, and she is being briefed by a senior resident on a hernia patient who came into the ER last night. The woman whose scans she recieved this morning.

“Audrey Davis, 36. Came into the ER last night complaining of abdominal pain. After CT, it was concluded she has an epigastric hernia.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” Jo nods to the resident.

“Doctor Wilson,” a medical student begins, “Am I correct to assume you’ll be performing a hernioplasty?”

“I will. Does anyone know why?”

“Yes. Mesh has proven to be exceedingly effective in long-term hernia repair.” A third-year resident answers.

“Doctor Wilson, will you be using an animal-based mesh or a composite synthetic one?” Another medical student.

“A bio human-based one. Why?”

“Because there’s a lesser chance of rejection.” A second-year.

“Alright, anyone who answered a question can join me in the OR today. Baker, scrub in. The rest of you can watch in the gallery. Find me later if you have further questions. Now excuse me.”

Jo makes her way into the patient’s room and the woman is surrounded by multiple people, ranging from toddlers to elderly. Jo counts thirteen.

“Good morning Ms. Davis, and family. I’m Doctor Wilson, and I’ll be your surgeon. I’ll be performing a laparoscopic repair for your hernia, and then hopefully in a day or two, you can go home. Do you have any questions?”

The elderly man speaks up, “Honey, are you the nurse? Because you need to speak up. I have hearing aids for god’s sake.”

“No, sir. I’m the doctor. Doctor Wilson, the surgeon who’ll be operating on Audrey.” Jo tries her best to muster a smile.

The patient rolls her eyes, “I’m so sorry Doctor. He’s especially irrational when he’s stressed. My mom was the first one in our family to have a surgery, and she died a year ago.”

Well that explained the whole gang showing up.

“No problem, Ms. Davis. I will see you in surgery.” The patient nods and Jo moves on to her post-ops. One med student trails her, with a concerned look on his face.

“How could you possibly not yell at that old man, it was crazy sexist what he said.” Jo faces the not-yet doctor, sighing.

“It’s the world we live in. As a female doctor, you learn to get used to it. You could probably ask your female peers” He frowns at Jo, shaking his head.

“Somebody should change that.” Jo is nearly crushed by his hope.

“Somebody should.”

She bumps into Izzie Stevens as she walks past the med student.

“Sorry, Wilson. I should’ve been looking where I was going. It’s been a long morning.”

Jo remembers Alex’s grumpiness this morning and guesses he probably slept on the couch.

“Don’t worry about it, I understand.”

“Are you married? Have you ever been married? It’s exhausting.” Izzie says it tiredly, not antagonistically.

“No, I mean I- yes. I have been married. But not anymore.”

Jo does not wish to share her own experience with marriage. She feels bad for Stevens and Karev, but their petty arguments hardly compare to her memories. She went to therapy for a long time after it ended.

“My husband — I think you know him — Alex, is just exhausting. He always thinks he’s making me happy, but half the time it’s just him pushing his wants onto me and calling them mine. Sorry, you probably don’t care.”

“It’s okay, I could use a break from my own thoughts.” Jo gives her a small smile, but the other doctor is right, she doesn’t care.

“Sorry, sorry again. Goodbye Doctor Wilson.” Izzie rushes off.

Jo finds several residents and med students waiting for her at Willy O’ Connor’s room.

***

After performing two appendectomies, Jo takes respite on a hallway gurney. She rubs her temples, leans her head back against the wall, and closes her eyes.

“Feeling okay? Fellowship life getting to you?” Link’s voice rings in her ears, her head pounding. She feels him sit next to her.

“I feel more tired than on a 24 hour shift as a resident. I research, and then I do surgery, and then I do more research, and then I do more surgery. It’s like everything I’ve ever wanted but it is so draining. I am so tired.” Jo opens her eyes and looks at her friend, fatigued.

“Ah I remember when I was a fellow, I actually slept through a M&M. The resident next to me who’d been there all night woke me up. It’s so much better than residency though. You’re basically an attending and still learning.” Link looks at Jo.

“Yeah,” Jo lets out a breath of air.

“So how is wedding planning going?”

Link smiles, “Well we set a date. July 18th. At the Old Mill Factory.”

“It’s gorgeous there! Oh I’m so happy for you both!” Jo squeals and suddenly she’s energized.

“Speaking of my wedding, how would you feel about being my best man?”

Jo smiles slowly, “Really? I mean I would of course be the best woman but minor details. Yes, of course Link, yes.”

Link grins at her. “Not that I’m doubtful, but I’m going to need you up there. Because me and Amelia will both be nervous wrecks.”

Jo bites her lip, “I bet. It’s gonna be great.”

***

Jo makes her way to the attending’s lounge on the third floor, but her desire for hot chocolate and a comfortable seat is prohibited by a screaming couple in the room already.

Jo decides she’s had a long enough day and braves the sparring lovers. It’s Alex and Izzie, of course. Jo shrinks, just wanting hot chocolate. That’s all she wants.

“-well that’s rich! You haven’t thought about what I want in a long time!”

“Oh so now you don’t want kids? We’ve always wanted kids, what changed?”

“Of course I want- that’s not what I’m saying, I’m saying I can’t give up more time for maternity leave. I have a lot going on right now with my patients and I need you to be willing to take time!”

“And I’ve told you I’m willing. But I’m not being a parent alone. That’s no— Iz.” Alex looks over at Jo and she widens her eyes, scooping up her mug.

She awkwardly smiles, “I’ll just be going now.”

God, she thinks, what a mess.

Alex follows Jo out of the lounge.

“Sorry about that.” Jo furrows her eyebrows, frowning.

“I thought the argument this morning wasn’t important.”

“It wasn’t.” Alex grunts. Jo doesn’t want to aggravate him more, but kids seems like a big topic. Kids are always a big topic.

“Kids are a big decision. I was a kid no one wanted, not even my own mother could stand to keep me for more than two days. She was under different circumstances, but no kid wants parents who can barely agree before they’re even a clump of cells.”

Alex fumes, “Who the hell says you get to comment on my marriage? What gives you the right? You’re not married, you’re not a parent. You have no idea.”

Jo rolls her eyes, “You’re right, Alex. But I’ve been married before, and I- you should think about what you’re getting into.” Alex waves her off.

“Screw you, Jo.”

Jo takes a deep breath, moving on to her surgery.

[calebwhitmore]

GUESS WHO’S BACK, BACK AGAIN!!!! 

Is that DANIEL SHARMAN on campus? Oh no, that’s CALEB WHITMORE. From UPPER EAST SIDE, NEW YORK, the 22 year old has come to study COMPUTER SCIENCE. Rumor has it he is CHARMING and PERSONABLE, but MANIPULATIVE and IMPULSIVE, which is why he is known as THE CAVALIER. He resides in YORK’S and can’t wait to graduate.

Name: Caleb Whitmore

Birthday: June 6th, 1998

Sexual Orientation: Straight

Relationship Status: Single but mentally taken by Mina Fournier lmao bye

Major: Computer Science

Siblings: Eleana Whitmore (otherwise known as Elle, Ellie) - 8 years old

Some other things you should know about him:

- He was born in Brooklyn, New York to a single teen mom. He was left to raise himself at a very young age, considering that she worked nights as a stripper in one of the hottest clubs in NYC. On top of her stripping, she worked as a prostitute and brought many guys home in order to get more cash. Caleb would often get pimped out as a child, which lead to him suffering years of sexual abuse, a trauma that he hasn’t confront to this very day. However, this does explain the dominate side of him, as latches on to anything he could possibly get control over. 

- When he was 6 years old, his mom got into a relationship with a man that she would end up dating until the birth of his sister when he was 14 years old. This boyfriend of hers was interested in one thing and one thing only; and that was partying and spending any little money the pair had on alcohol and drugs. He never liked the thought of having a child in the picture, but he liked the thought of having Caleb’s mother under him at all times; thus, he didn’t enjoy Caleb’s presence from the get go. This lead to Caleb being severely neglected, and terribly abused by the man, with the man using the excuse that he needed to “toughen up and become a man”. I won’t go into detail what the abuse entailed, but it was pretty bad, and to this day Caleb finds himself wondering how the hell he made it out alive.

- When his little sister was born, Caleb automatically became responsible for both himself and Ellie. He’s very protective of her, and is basically like her father (lol believe it or not). He would go to the ends of the earth for that little girl, and often finds himself turning into a different person around him; a better, gentler, more wholesome person. 

- Life was like this until his mother married some hotshot plastic surgeon and CEO of one of the biggest pharmaceutical companies around who is ten years older than her when he was 15, which is when they moved to the Upper East Side. By this point, Caleb wasn’t used to the concept of family; he was used to constantly doing his own thing, and being his own person doing whatever the hell he wanted to do. So, he began acting out. You would only see him with his family during holidays; but other than that he was out on the streets getting into trouble. Partying, drinking, drugs, hooking up with random people, getting into fights…literally anything and everything he could do to get into trouble. He’s definitely a trouble maker this one!!!!

- Although his stepfather has the money to pay for his schooling, Caleb is here on an athletic scholarship for baseball! He’s the leading pitcher for the team here at monarch.

- Caleb is very outgoing and will talk to anyone and everyone, but doesn’t know boundaries AT ALL. He’s very charming, but lowkey hella disrespectful when it comes to other peoples relationships. If he wants something, he’s going to get it. With that, if he doesn’t like someone, he’s going to do anything to get under their skin.

- Despite his charming persona, he can be a fucking dick and shit head at times. He’s capable of hurting anyone’s feelings as if it’s his freaking job, and will show little to no remorse (unless if it’s someone he actually cares about). He’s also very good at talking to get what he wants!!! DANGER DANGER WE GOT A PLAYBOY OVER HERE

- If he likes you and considers you to be a friend, he’ll go to the ends of the earth for you. He’s a little shit, but he’s loyal to those who actually matter. He’s also super fun and adventurous and would literally be a ride or die if he likes you :)

- Lol he has a major drug problem that he’s been in denial about but honestly I don’t think anyone’s surprised by that

Where he’s been since leaving Monarch:

- Caleb left Monarch for one reason and one reason only: his sister. 

- He went back home to NYC after his sister was diagnosed with childhood Leukemia that has quickly progressed and traveled to different organs in her body, causing her to also develop Astrocytoma. He knew that his mother wouldn’t take care of her, and had to simply take matters into his own hands

- Despite the fact that Caleb always gives his stepfather trouble, the man has actually pulled through for both him and his sister for this one. After his mom was caught cheating (literally guys his mom only cares about the clout, nothing else), his stepfather has still continued to provide for both Caleb and Ellie. 

- Caleb has also gotten in his own source of money after he hit it big time in the stock market, specifically investing in Amazon during the pandemic of COVID-19, and is pretty much set for life.

- But because Caleb is obsessed with gaining more money than he can possibly handle, he’s put some of his science talent into producing many drugs, turning himself into a manufacturer. He doesn’t want to be bothered with the concept of dealing to people, so he simply just makes the shit he wants to make, have his dealers sell it, sit back, and make a shit ton of money. He’s basically the boss man now. 

- He is currently fighting for full custody of his sister from his mother, suing her as he sees her unfit to be a parent, especially now. He’s been struggling with trying to be a girl dad, going to court when he himself has a record, while also trying to remain lowkey with the amount of money he’s making. But as said before, he’d go to the ends of the earth for that little girl

- After getting agreement from his stepfather, Caleb decided to bring Ellie to California with him so that not only can he continue his education (which he really doesn’t care about lmao he just wanted to get away from his mother and her new boyfriend before he swung on a bitch), and to give Ellie the best time of her life in the few months that the doctors think she has left

- He currently has a house for his sister since he’s living on campus (in order to basically hide the fact that 1. he has a sister and 2. that his sister is severely sick). He has hired a nanny to take care of her, but he’s pretty much there during most of his free time 

HMU FOR PLOTS!!!!