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mynotsohealthyobsession · 1 year

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Disembodied - Part 2/8

Warning: Mention of death // Angst // Fluff

Pairings: Adrian Raines X MC // Nik Ryder X MC

Words: 1.515

Part 1 is here!

As always, tags in the reblog!

"... Something is off about her." Alex stopped stretching and walking. She was heading to Adrian's office when his voice, thanks to her new highlighted sense, reached her.

"She is just recovering from a certainly traumatic experience. It's normal during transition." Kamilah responded, as Alex crept closer to the door.

"It's not quite that. I can't place it." Alex leaned against the wall. She had been pretending to be Amy for a week, trying to think of the best way to proceed. She had considered talking with Adrian and everybody else but she wasn't sure how they'd take something like that seriously. They probably just would think she was traumatized. Adrian sighed on the other side of the door. "As strange as this might sound, it's almost like she isn't Amy." Alex lowered her gaze, guilty. In the few days she shared with the vampires she noticed how much they care about Amy. They all had protected her and helped her during this time, even though she couldn't return their warmth treatment completely. And she had noticed the way Adrian looked at her, affectionate and like he was wanting to say something important to Amy. Something that wasn't for her to hear but for the real Amy. "It's almost like she isn't there." Adrian let out a bitter chuckle followed by a deep sigh. "Sounds ridiculous, doesn't it?"

"Mmh. Not completely. We both know that people change after being turned. You said it yourself."

"I know. But I've never seen someone change this deeply."

"Time will tell, Adrian. For now, give her space to accept her new life and embrace it." Kamilah made a pause and Adrian stayed quiet, probably thinking over her words. "You will have the chance to express your true feelings to her when she is ready."

"I sure hope you are right. I can't even bear the thought of losing her again."

"I know, brother." Alex heard the clink of their glasses against the wood table and a few steps moving away from the couches so she hurried down the hallway. She turned to the left and walked back her steps, pretending she was just arriving.

"Hello Adrian, Kamilah." Alex smiled even though it wasn't completely sincere.

"Good evening, Amy." Adrian nodded with a slight smile and a bit of sorrow in his eyes.

***

Amy walked into Nik's flat, frustrated. She had been trying to contact 'herself' in New York, for most of the day. To see if she could get any information about Adrian or the gang, and the situation in there, but nothing. She felt trapped, worried, and, to be honest with herself, lonely.

"Welcome back." Said Nik, with his usual ironic tone coming from inside.

"Hey." She simply replied, walking to the bathroom.

"Kristin called me today. Vera gave her my number since she couldn't contact you."

"Oh yeah. My phone broke after that thing attacked me."

"This is just ridiculous, Alex! You ignore everyone, you refuse to talk with me, what is wrong with you?!"

"I can't deal with this. I need a drink." Amy said, rushing to the door to avoid conflict. "I'm going to the bar."

"Alex! Stop!" Nik's voice resounded in the small flat as he followed her.

"No!" Amy responded, frustrated. When she was about to take the knob, his hand grasped her wrist, making her stop.

"What the hell is happening with you?" Amy kept looking at the door. "I get that you are pissed off with me but ignoring Lamrian? Kristin?"

"Let it go, Nik." Amy bit down her lip, trying to contain her thoughts inside her. The rage that was forming inside her.

"She's your best friend! You fucking risked your life for her!" She turned abruptly at him.

"No, Lily Spencer is my best friend! I risked my life for her, Adrian, and the rest! I don't know Kristin! I don't know what Lamrian is! I'm not Alex, okay!?" Amy snapped with fire in her eyes. "I'm not pissed off at you 'cause I don't know you!" Nik let go of her hand, looking at her astonished, like she had just slapped him. "My name is Amy Miller, I live in New York and work in Raines Corp.! I'M NOT ALEX!"

***

"Amy? Are you there?" Alex sighed slightly as Lily's voice filtered through the guest penthouse door. She had been reading a book about creatures that she had found on Adrian's bookshelf, trying to figure out what was happening.

"Yeah, I'm here."

"Can I come in?"

"Actually I'm kinda tired. I was heading to bed."

"C'mon, girl! I have wine and blood." Lily said playfully and Alex bit her lip, thinking about it. She heavily closed the book, marking the page she was in, and hiding it in the closet. Forcing a smile, she opened the door. "Finally!"

"Sorry about that! I was making the bed." Lily observed her weirdly.

"Really? You never do it."

"Is that a vintage?" Alex took the bottle hoping to point the attention to that. "Never heard about this brand…"

"What do you mean?" Lily was fully observing her, confused. "You love it." Alex smiled again as Lily kept carefully watching her.

"I was kidding, Spencer!" Now the eyes of the other girl were looking at her suspiciously.

"You never call me Spencer." Alex froze in place. Trying to lighten up the mood, she had slipped into old habits. "Amy, are you sure you are okay?"

"...I honestly don't know." Alex sat in the bed, looking at the floor. "Since the Turning, I've been feeling so weird. I… I feel like part of me died that day." It wasn't entirely false. After Thomas' attack and waking up in this strange body, she hadn't been herself at all. Being partly honest would make her more believed. "Sometimes I feel like I'm losing my mind." Lily sat beside her.

"I know what you mean."

"You do?"

"Yeah. I had the same feeling after my Turning. But there was something that helped me through it."

"What?"

"Your words." Lily smiled. "You told me that no matter what I still was me. And you were right." She hugged Alex by the shoulders. "And you are Amy no matter what. That doesn't change. You just need to adapt." Alex sadly nodded. If she only knew how mistaken she was. "Everything will be fine, you'll see."

"I hope you are right. Thanks, Lily."

***

Amy kept looking at Nik slowly calming down as the realization of what she had said sank into her.

"Oh god..." She leaned her back against the door, sliding down until she was sitting on the floor covering her face with her hands. She was shaking and a few tears slipped from under her palms, all the pent-up feelings from the past week overwhelming her. "Oh no…" She simply whispered. How did she lose control like that? She was expecting a reaction coming from Nik, a scream or even an attack, but, when she moved her hands out of her face, he was still standing in front of her, unmoving. "Nik, I–I know how this sounds. I shouldn't have told you like this, I–"

He looked down at her. "Can you prove it?"

"What?"

He squatted, his eyes cold like steel piercing into hers and his words sharp as knives. "Can you prove you are who you say you are and not Alex?"

Amy thought for a moment. "I can." She dried her tears. "Is Garrus still in the bar?"

"Probably. Why?"

"I met him, Krum, and Ivy as myself when they went to New York last year. It was around Christmas."

"They met a lot of people on that trip."

"They helped us to stop a monster that looked like a freak Santa. Garrus made magic drinks that I shouldn't have been able to see but I did and he told me there was something about me, that I wasn't a regular human."

"I need more."

"He met Adrian Raines in the 1800s here and he was happy that Adrian remembered him." A little lump formed in her throat. She missed Adrian so much. "Lily contacted Ivy through the dark web. And Adrian was the one that noticed they were hiding their true appearance."

"You stay here. If what you said is true, we have a very unpleasant talk in front of us." Amy nodded while they both stood up. "If you try to escape…" He said opening the door. "...I will hunt you down." And he closed it behind his back, locking the door. Amy sat on the couch, shivering slightly. She wasn't sure what would happen now and that scared her. Would they blame her? If Nik wanted to know where or what had happened to Alex, she didn't have the answers. The minutes passed and her nerves took over while she waited. She didn't know how much time had passed, maybe thirty minutes or three hours, when the door opened and Nik appeared through it. He looked at her with a complex stare.

"You said your name is Amy, right?"

"Yeah."

"Pack your things. We are going to New York." He went to the small bedroom.

"That's it? You don't want to ask me anything?"

"We have a six-hour flight for that."

✨

#choices stories you play #playchoices #choices fanfiction #adrian raines x mc #adrian raines #fanfiction writer #nik ryder x mc #nik ryder #choices bloodbound #choices nightbound #disembodied serie

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suspicious-whumping-egg · 1 year

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heyo i am a stats freak and got the "how is this index actually calculated?" kind of autism and noticed numbeo in your latest couple of posts so just a heads up - their data is crowd-sourced and largely not accurate! it's great at giving you a vague idea as to cost of living but it falls pretty flat in terms of more granular info like groceries and house prices. also the cost of living calculator doesn't take the purchasing power of an average salary into account, as far as i know it just compares it to new york. if you ever want to study the relationships between quality of life and geographical location (for research or, yknow, moving out lol) then numbeo does offer a qol index which gives you a way better idea of how "good" a place is to live in, and can be used as a proxy to better estimate the actual cost and quality of living there. but it's still kind of a mess. for example, their "safety" measurement is basically irrelevant, since it's based of an arbitrary test that people online can fill out (and yes, people have flooded the dataset with negative reviews of cities inflating their crime rates. sometimes for fun sometimes for some Very Racist Reasons). the metric for healthcare is based on a form people can fill out (again, 100% anonymously, 100% online, 100% with no verification) and it combines the scores to form a "healthcare rating" - what goes into that "healthcare rating" is very subjective and largely not something a patient could even know. "friendliness and courtesy of the staff"? this doesn't even vary from hospital to hospital, this shit varies from department to department. there is no fucking way a statement like "the medical staff in all of Turin, Italy is very unfriendly" has any merit. a score for "equipment for modern diagnosis and treatment"??? compared to what? does the average patient filling out some online survey know anything about state of the art medical equipment so that they can compare it to what they've been treated with????? (the answer is no). ok, sorry, i'm just rambling now, but damn this actually is just yelp for cities and not much else. in a brief flash of self-awareness, i've decided not to go into detail on that horrible image by geo.universe on instagram (the one where nearly all of europe is a green LOWER cost of living than the us). it'd be another unhinged rant about how they don't have a source and how you can't possibly average out a cost of living for the entire usa, where housing prices range all the way from "five bucks and a warm smile for seven acres of land in some rural state" to "$1mil and a kidney for an almost-human-sized cage in NYC". ANYWAY jesus christ what i wanted to get to is that if you're ever considering comparing "costs" (financial and otherwise) when moving out please refer to better indices (like EIU's where-to-be-born index or CIW though they have plenty of flaws too) and remember to always compare costs (this time just financial) of living against the MEDIAN net income!!! averages are almost meaningless because of weird ghouls who make billions of dollars and act as the number-inflating Spiders Georg of money. i'm so sorry if you read all of this. take it as psychological whump or something. it's been a long day and i had a bird fly directly into my window today and it woke me up after i tried to take a nap. i hope the bird is fine because i sur

Hey friend thanks for letting me know! I’ll check out the other metrics you mentioned (although I’m not exactly sure what CIW is? Is it Canadian index of well being or smth else?) and yeah I hope the bird is ok <333 also how do you best find like, the average cost of living/purchasing power of places? Is there a decent scale or metric or do you really just have to do a fuckton of research for everything? Cause I’m definitely willing to put in serious work and research once I have it narrowed down to a few places and once emigrating becomes a serious possible option but rn it’s just very off in the distance planning and I’m just trying to think about what would even be the best options to consider

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phlistopher · 2 months

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How Cool is Scientology?

I wrote an essay about Scientology after visiting New York City while attending Hofstra University. It was probably my freshman or sophomore year, so circa 2005. I wrote it just to write it, never finished it, and it's sat in a digital drawer for almost twenty years. I took another pass at it now, and finished the thing. I think it came out pretty well.

I was in NYC just a couple of days ago, wandering around midtown with two friends. To protect their identities, these two friends shale be here forth referred to as “Cheryl” and “Steve”. So we were hanging out and heading into Toys ‘R Us, when a man handed us a pamphlet for the church of Scientology. The text was as follows:

ORIENTATION, a Scientology® information film. Written by L. Ron Hubbard.

Find out for yourself, see the film. Come Today! Free admittance with this ticket.

We all liked movies, and things that are free, so we decided to go. Soon we found ourselves at 227 West 46th street, staring at a stylish brownstone with gold lettering proclaiming it’s nature; The church of Scientology. We milled around outside a little, debating whether or not to actually go in, but we somehow decided that it was, and we went through the revolving doors.

My first thought upon entering this holy site was, “Ah, air conditioning.”

The interior was tasteful, with something to the effect of marble floors and polished gold banisters. Also, on the walls in large letters were excerpts of their scripture. I didn’t read any of it.

A woman motioned us down a short flight of wide, tasteful steps upon seeing our “orientation tickets”. Once we had descended, we were again standing in front of a desk. A tastefully dressed woman greeted us in a tastefully sweet voice. She took us down a well lit passage, making small talk tastefully. It wasn’t much small talk, however, since the passage was short. She peaked in a door, then turned to us and apologized. The movie was playing in all their theaters, we would have to wait about fifteen minutes for the next showing. Apparently the fliers were working. Fifteen minutes, not a long time, but I was still waiting that period to see a Scientology movie. I needed things to do with my time. Either that, or I could call it an “experience” and write about it later.

Anyway, the woman told us to watch a flat panel on the wall, and left to perform her specific breed of science. The flat panels on the wall were really nice, the kind the museum of natural history uses to show pretty computer graphics of how dinosaurs evolved. Maybe Scientology would give us the same treatment? No, the screen pictured a young Indian girl running through an unnaturally bright field. The narrator asked if we had questions, then stated that we do.

“You are desperately searching for answers. Scientology has those answers.”

The narrator went on to talk about some shape (triangle?) associated with states of being, or walks of life, or sections of existence. Then he started talking about how emotional states of people can be directly represented by a number from one to four. For instance, “anger” might be a 2.3, but a “happy” might be a 3.5. We compared our GPA’s to the chart. Now I realize why parents really push their kids to get good grades; with a GPA of .005 not only are you expelled, you also experience “Body Death”, which is a fate worse than “regular” death for college kids.

In the interest of investigative journalism, I took this test. This consisted of following prompts on a video screen, and holding metal rods for half a minute. It felt just like those “shocking” carnival games, where they vibrate the handles you hold faster and faster until you can’t take it, and then it gives you a score. Only here, the rods didn’t vibrate. My score was just above “Soul Death”.

After the fifteen minutes where up, the woman behind the second desk told us the movie was ready, and motioned us back up the stairs, where the woman behind the first desk took over and brought us to the theater. The movie was still playing, however. She said it was almost done though. She waited with us.

“This is a great film. Written by L. Ron Hubbard himself. It changed my life for the better, a lot of better changes. I can still remember the first time I saw the movie many, many years ago. Many, many years ago.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Oh wow…” She thinks, mumbling softly, counting back.

“Three years” she said.

“Ah.”

The movie was ready. We walked in with an older man who didn’t talk and sat in the back. The movie started. The picture quality sucked, but there was surround sound.

The first shot, we are in space. Space rocks whiz past us with a roar. After a minute of this, we break free of the rocks and earth centers in our view. Triumphant music blares as the word “Orientation” materializes roughly around the equator. Apparently, this will be a very thorough orientation, starting with familiarizing the viewer with which planet they live on.

A man walks out of an archway of light and starts talking about Scientology, let’s call him, “The Man”, repeating how it has the answers to life’s persisting questions. Realizing we are all new to this Scientology thing, and figuring we would probably like to jump right into the meat of the faith, The Man narrates a series of pictures depicting the many Scientology headquarters.

“This is our building in LA. And the one in Oakland. Here’s our location in Vegas. This is our building in the deep south. This is our main building (ooh! Ahh!), and this is our cruise ship retreat, because L. Ron Hubbard sailed.”

After that, The Man told us we probably were asking ourselves if Scientology was a bona fide religion.

“Let me assure you, that Scientology is extremely bona fide, in fact it is more bona fide than any other religion.”

Different voice actors then proceeded to read various court rulings deciding that Scientology was a religion over an image of a waving American flag. The segment went on for at least five minutes. I seem to recall there was a shot of a gavel as well.

After the segment was over, The Man said, “A ton of courts said Scientology is a religion, including the supreme court. No other religion has won so many court cases, all of them in fact. So now that you’re convinced, let’s move on.”

He conveniently forgot to mention that no other religion had ever been called into question that many times, but let’s not hold that against him; as if I needed to remind you, the place had AC.

The Man takes us on a tour of different branches of the Scientology organization. First stop, an explanation of L. Ron Hubbard’s life. His first great accomplishment? He wrote dime novels in the thirties.

The Man proudly describes all the genres that Hubbard wrote in, ending with, “even romance,” chuckling falsely. Also, he sailed and wrote tons of Scientology books.

Then they mentioned Dianetics. Apparently, this practice frees your mind. It was also very threatening to the government. The government knew Dianetics worked, and they knew it would also counter their famous brainwashing program.

After this, The Man leads us to the L. Ron Hubbard book store. A perky woman is having an unheard conversation with a customer. The Man walks in and says “hi” to her. Immediately she turns, ignoring her previous customer, and addresses The Man.

“Hello!” She says with pep. “Tell me about all these books”

The Man motions to the vast library.

“All these where written by L. Ron Hubbard”

“All of them?”

“Yes, he did write a lot of books!”

Her laugh would give Gandhi diabetes. They jabber for a while.

Then, The Man says, “All this might seem a little daunting, so would you tell these good people,” he motions towards us, “which books to start with?”

“Of course!” She smiles like she’s selling toothpaste, and lists about ten book.

“These are good to start with, but you can also buy whatever you want, because eventually you’ll want to own them all”

There are over 200 books in total.

The Man went on to talk about some reincarnation stuff, maybe a hint of ancient aliens, and our obligations to the universe. The film was wrapping up. The Man made his final pitch.

You are at the threshold of your next trillion years. You will live it in shivering, agonizing darkness or you will live it triumphantly in the light. The choice is yours. If you wish to leave the room after seeing this film, walk out and never mention Scientology again, you are free to do so. It would be stupid, but you are free to do it. You can also dive off a bridge, or blow your brains out; that is your choice. It is your future.

As we were let out of the theater, I considered my options. My next trillion years sounded cold, what with all that shivering. Right now, however, the outside was sweltering.

I felt the cool AC on the back of my neck.

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rotationalsymmetry · 1 year

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the entirety of howl by Allen Ginsberg, because I can.

(cn sexually explicit, somewhat offensive racial terms, suicide/self harm, disturbing psychiatric treatments — I’m doing this off the top of my head and might be missing something.)

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked,

dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix,

angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night,

who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities contemplating jazz,

who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tenement roofs illuminated,

who passed through universities with radiant cool eyes hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy among the scholars of war,

who were expelled from the academies for crazy & publishing obscene odes on the windows of the skull,

who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burning their money in wastebaskets and listening to the Terror through the wall,

who got busted in their pubic beards returning through Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York,

who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their torsos night after night

with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, alcohol and cock and endless balls,

incomparable blind streets of shuddering cloud and lightning in the mind leaping toward poles of Canada & Paterson, illuminating all the motionless world of Time between,

Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery dawns, wine drunkenness over the rooftops, storefront boroughs of teahead joyride neon blinking traffic light, sun and moon and tree vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brooklyn, ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind,

who chained themselves to subways for the endless ride from Battery to holy Bronx on benzedrine until the noise of wheels and children brought them down shuddering mouth-wracked and battered bleak of brain all drained of brilliance in the drear light of Zoo,

who sank all night in submarine light of Bickford’s floated out and sat through the stale beer afternoon in desolate Fugazzi’s, listening to the crack of doom on the hydrogen jukebox,

who talked continuously seventy hours from park to pad to bar to Bellevue to museum to the Brooklyn Bridge,

a lost battalion of platonic conversationalists jumping down the stoops off fire escapes off windowsills off Empire State out of the moon,

yacketayakking screaming vomiting whispering facts and memories and anecdotes and eyeball kicks and shocks of hospitals and jails and wars,

whole intellects disgorged in total recall for seven days and nights with brilliant eyes, meat for the Synagogue cast on the pavement,

who vanished into nowhere Zen New Jersey leaving a trail of ambiguous picture postcards of Atlantic City Hall,

suffering Eastern sweats and Tangerian bone-grindings and migraines of China under junk-withdrawal in Newark’s bleak furnished room,

who wandered around and around at midnight in the railroad yard wondering where to go, and went, leaving no broken hearts,

who lit cigarettes in boxcars boxcars boxcars racketing through snow toward lonesome farms in grandfather night,

who studied Plotinus Poe St. John of the Cross telepathy and bop kabbalah because the cosmos instinctively vibrated at their feet in Kansas,

who loned it through the streets of Idaho seeking visionary indian angels who were visionary indian angels,

who thought they were only mad when Baltimore gleamed in supernatural ecstasy,

who jumped in limousines with the Chinaman of Oklahoma on the impulse of winter midnight streetlight smalltown rain,

who lounged hungry and lonesome through Houston seeking jazz or sex or soup, and followed the brilliant Spaniard to converse about America and Eternity, a hopeless task, and so took ship to Africa,

who disappeared into the volcanoes of Mexico leaving behind nothing but the shadow of dungarees and the lava and ash of poetry scattered in fireplace Chicago,

who reappeared on the West Coast investigating the FBI in beards and shorts with big pacifist eyes sexy in their dark skin passing out incomprehensible leaflets,

who burned cigarette holes in their arms protesting the narcotic tobacco haze of Capitalism,

who distributed Supercommunist pamphlets in Union Square weeping and undressing while the sirens of Los Alamos wailed them down, and wailed down Wall, and the Staten Island ferry also wailed,

who broke down crying in white gymnasiums naked and trembling before the machinery of other skeletons,

who bit detectives in the neck and shrieked with delight in policecars for committing no crime but their own wild cooking pederasty and intoxication,

who howled on their knees in the subway and were dragged off the roof waving genitals and manuscripts,

who let themselves be fucked in the ass by saintly motorcyclists, and screamed with joy,

who blew and were blown by those human seraphim, the sailors, caresses of Atlantic and Caribbean love,

who balled in the morning in the evenings in rosegardens and the grass of public parks and cemeteries scattering their semen freely to whomever come who may,

who hiccuped endlessly trying to giggle but wound up with a sob behind a partition in a Turkish Bath when the blond & naked angel came to pierce them with a sword,

who lost their loveboys to the three old shrews of fate the one eyed shrew of the heterosexual dollar the one eyed shrew that winks out of the womb and the one eyed shrew that does nothing but sit on her ass and snip the intellectual golden threads of the craftsman’s loom,

who copulated ecstatic and insatiate with a bottle of beer a sweetheart a package of cigarettes a candle and fell off the bed, and continued along the floor and down the hall and ended fainting on the wall with a vision of ultimate cunt and come eluding the last gyzym of consciousness,

who sweetened the snatches of a million girls trembling in the sunset, and were red eyed in the morning but prepared to sweeten the snatch of the sunrise, flashing buttocks under barns and naked in the lake,

who went out whoring through Colorado in myriad stolen night-cars, N.C., secret hero of these poems, cocksman and Adonis of Denver—joy to the memory of his innumerable lays of girls in empty lots & diner backyards, moviehouses’ rickety rows, on mountaintops in caves or with gaunt waitresses in familiar roadside lonely petticoat upliftings & especially secret gas-station solipsisms of johns, & hometown alleys too,

who faded out in vast sordid movies, were shifted in dreams, woke on a sudden Manhattan, and picked themselves up out of basements hung-over with heartless Tokay and horrors of Third Avenue iron dreams & stumbled to unemployment offices,

who walked all night with their shoes full of blood on the snowbank docks waiting for a door in the East River to open to a room full of steam-heat and opium,

who created great suicidal dramas on the apartment cliff-banks of the Hudson under the wartime blue floodlight of the moon & their heads shall be crowned with laurel in oblivion,

who ate the lamb stew of the imagination or digested the crab at the muddy bottom of the rivers of Bowery,

who wept at the romance of the streets with their pushcarts full of onions and bad music,

who sat in boxes breathing in the darkness under the bridge, and rose up to build harpsichords in their lofts,

who coughed on the sixth floor of Harlem crowned with flame under the tubercular sky surrounded by orange crates of theology,

who scribbled all night rocking and rolling over lofty incantations which in the yellow morning were stanzas of gibberish,

who cooked rotten animals lung heart feet tail borsht & tortillas dreaming of the pure vegetable kingdom,

who plunged themselves under meat trucks looking for an egg,

who threw their watches off the roof to cast their ballot for Eternity outside of Time, & alarm clocks fell on their heads every day for the next decade,

who cut their wrists three times successively unsuccessfully, gave up and were forced to open antique stores where they thought they were growing old and cried,

who were burned alive in their innocent flannel suits on Madison Avenue amid blasts of leaden verse & the tanked-up clatter of the iron regiments of fashion & the nitroglycerine shrieks of the fairies of advertising & the mustard gas of sinister intelligent editors, or were run down by the drunken taxicabs of Absolute Reality,

who jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge this actually happened and walked away unknown and forgotten into the ghostly daze of Chinatown soup alleyways & firetrucks, not even one free beer,

who sang out of their windows in despair, fell out of the subway window, jumped in the filthy Passaic, leaped on negroes, cried all over the street, danced on broken wineglasses barefoot smashed phonograph records of nostalgic European 1930s German jazz finished the whiskey and threw up groaning into the bloody toilet, moans in their ears and the blast of colossal steamwhistles,

who barreled down the highways of the past journeying to each other’s hotrod-Golgotha jail-solitude watch or Birmingham jazz incarnation,

who drove crosscountry seventytwo hours to find out if I had a vision or you had a vision or he had a vision to find out Eternity,

who journeyed to Denver, who died in Denver, who came back to Denver & waited in vain, who watched over Denver & brooded & loned in Denver and finally went away to find out the Time, & now Denver is lonesome for her heroes,

who fell on their knees in hopeless cathedrals praying for each other’s salvation and light and breasts, until the soul illuminated its hair for a second,

who crashed through their minds in jail waiting for impossible criminals with golden heads and the charm of reality in their hearts who sang sweet blues to Alcatraz,

who retired to Mexico to cultivate a habit, or Rocky Mount to tender Buddha or Tangiers to boys or Southern Pacific to the black locomotive or Harvard to Narcissus to Woodlawn to the daisychain or grave,

who demanded sanity trials accusing the radio of hypnotism & were left with their insanity & their hands & a hung jury,

who threw potato salad at CCNY lecturers on Dadaism and subsequently presented themselves on the granite steps of the madhouse with shaven heads and harlequin speech of suicide, demanding instantaneous lobotomy,

and who were given instead the concrete void of insulin Metrazol electricity hydrotherapy psychotherapy occupational therapy pingpong & amnesia,

who in humorless protest overturned only one symbolic pingpong table, resting briefly in catatonia,

returning years later truly bald except for a wig of blood, and tears and fingers, to the visible madman doom of the wards of the madtowns of the East,

Pilgrim State’s Rockland’s and Greystone’s foetid halls, bickering with the echoes of the soul, rocking and rolling in the midnight solitude-bench dolmen-realms of love, dream of life a nightmare, bodies turned to stone as heavy as the moon,

with mother finally ******, and the last fantastic book flung out of the tenement window, and the last door closed at 4 A.M. and the last telephone slammed at the wall in reply and the last furnished room emptied down to the last piece of mental furniture, a yellow paper rose twisted on a wire hanger in the closet, and even that imaginary, nothing but a hopeful little bit of hallucination—

ah, Carl, while you are not safe I am not safe, and now you’re really in the total animal soup of time—

and who therefore ran through the icy streets obsessed with a sudden flash of the alchemy of the use of the ellipsis catalogue a variable measure and the vibrating plane,

who dreamt and made incarnate gaps in Time & Space through images juxtaposed, and trapped the archangel of the soul between 2 visual images and joined the elemental verbs and set the noun and dash of consciousness together jumping with sensation of Pater Omnipotens Aeterna Deus

to recreate the syntax and measure of poor human prose and stand before you speechless and intelligent and shaking with shame, rejected yet confessing out the soul to conform to the rhythm of thought in his naked and endless head,

the madman bum and angel beat in Time, unknown, yet putting down here what might be left to say in time come after death,

and rose reincarnate in the ghostly clothes of jazz in the goldhorn shadow of the band and blew the suffering of America’s naked mind for love into an eli eli lamma lamma sabacthani saxophone cry that shivered the cities down to the last radio

with the absolute heart of the poem of life butchered out of their own bodies good to eat a thousand years.

What sphinx of cement and aluminum bashed open their skulls and ate up their brains and imagination?

Moloch! Solitude! Filth! Ugliness! Ashcans and unobtainable dollars! Children screaming under the stairways! Boys sobbing in armies! Old men weeping in the parks!

Moloch! Moloch! Nightmare of Moloch! Moloch the loveless! Mental Moloch! Moloch the heavy judger of men!

Moloch the incomprehensible prison! Moloch the crossbone soulless jailhouse and Congress of sorrows! Moloch whose buildings are judgment! Moloch the vast stone of war! Moloch the stunned governments!

Moloch whose mind is pure machinery! Moloch whose blood is running money! Moloch whose fingers are ten armies! Moloch whose breast is a cannibal dynamo! Moloch whose ear is a smoking tomb!

Moloch whose eyes are a thousand blind windows! Moloch whose skyscrapers stand in the long streets like endless Jehovahs! Moloch whose factories dream and croak in the fog! Moloch whose smoke-stacks and antennae crown the cities!

Moloch whose love is endless oil and stone! Moloch whose soul is electricity and banks! Moloch whose poverty is the specter of genius! Moloch whose fate is a cloud of sexless hydrogen! Moloch whose name is the Mind!

Moloch in whom I sit lonely! Moloch in whom I dream Angels! Crazy in Moloch! Cocksucker in Moloch! Lacklove and manless in Moloch!

Moloch who entered my soul early! Moloch in whom I am a consciousness without a body! Moloch who frightened me out of my natural ecstasy! Moloch whom I abandon! Wake up in Moloch! Light streaming out of the sky!

Moloch! Moloch! Robot apartments! invisible suburbs! skeleton treasuries! blind capitals! demonic industries! spectral nations! invincible madhouses! granite cocks! monstrous bombs!

They broke their backs lifting Moloch to Heaven! Pavements, trees, radios, tons! lifting the city to Heaven which exists and is everywhere about us!

Visions! omens! hallucinations! miracles! ecstasies! gone down the American river!

Dreams! adorations! illuminations! religions! the whole boatload of sensitive bullshit!

Breakthroughs! over the river! flips and crucifixions! gone down the flood! Highs! Epiphanies! Despairs! Ten years’ animal screams and suicides! Minds! New loves! Mad generation! down on the rocks of Time!

Real holy laughter in the river! They saw it all! the wild eyes! the holy yells! They bade farewell! They jumped off the roof! to solitude! waving! carrying flowers! Down to the river! into the street!

III

Carl Solomon! I’m with you in Rockland

where you’re madder than I am

I’m with you in Rockland

where you must feel very strange

I’m with you in Rockland

where you imitate the shade of my mother

I’m with you in Rockland

where you’ve murdered your twelve secretaries

I’m with you in Rockland

where you laugh at this invisible humor

I’m with you in Rockland

where we are great writers on the same dreadful typewriter

I’m with you in Rockland

where your condition has become serious and is reported on the radio

I’m with you in Rockland

where the faculties of the skull no longer admit the worms of the senses

I'm with you in Rockland

where you drink the tea of the breasts of the spinsters of Utica

I’m with you in Rockland

where you pun on the bodies of your nurses the harpies of the Bronx

I’m with you in Rockland

where you scream in a straightjacket that you’re losing the game of the actual pingpong of the abyss

I’m with you in Rockland

where you bang on the catatonic piano the soul is innocent and immortal it should never die ungodly in an armed madhouse

I’m with you in Rockland

where fifty more shocks will never return your soul to its body again from its pilgrimage to a cross in the void

I’m with you in Rockland

where you accuse your doctors of insanity and plot the Hebrew socialist revolution against the fascist national Golgotha

I’m with you in Rockland

where you will split the heavens of Long Island and resurrect your living human Jesus from the superhuman tomb

I’m with you in Rockland

where there are twentyfive thousand mad comrades all together singing the final stanzas of the Internationale

I’m with you in Rockland

where we hug and kiss the United States under our bedsheets the United States that coughs all night and won’t let us sleep

I’m with you in Rockland

where we wake up electrified out of the coma by our own souls’ airplanes roaring over the roof they’ve come to drop angelic bombs the hospital illuminates itself imaginary walls collapse O skinny legions run outside �� O starry-spangled shock of mercy the eternal war is here O victory forget your underwear we’re free

I’m with you in Rockland

in my dreams you walk dripping from a sea-journey on the highway across America in tears to the door of my cottage in the Western night

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petnews2day · 2 years

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From a nippy hamster to a dog eating droppings — your pet queries answered

New Post has been published on https://petnews2day.com/pet-news/small-pet-news/from-a-nippy-hamster-to-a-dog-eating-droppings-your-pet-queries-answered/

From a nippy hamster to a dog eating droppings — your pet queries answered

HE is on a mission to help our pets . . . and is here to answer YOUR questions.

Sean, who is the head vet at tailored pet food firm tails.com, has helped with owners’ queries for ten years.

Today Sean helps a pet owner with a nippy hamsterCredit: Alamy

Sean McCormack, head vet at tails.com, promises he can ‘help keep pets happy and healthy’Credit: Doug Seeburg – The Sun

He says: “If your pet is acting funny or is under the weather, or you want to know about nutrition or exercise, just ask.

“I can help keep pets happy and healthy.”

Q) I SURPRISED my hamster, picking him up without saying hello and he nipped me.

I realised my mistake, but I’m keen to make sure it doesn’t happen again.

Any advice on best handling practice as Hammy is still a baby?

Shelby Campbell, Aberdeen

Sean says: If I was grabbed unawares by a giant hand I might be inclined to bite too. Especially if I was asleep at the time.

Hamsters often bite as they are nocturnal. They can be a bit grumpy if woken up before it gets dark.

Interact with Hammy when he’s up and let sleeping hamsters lie.

Treats help him learn that interacting with you is rewarding. Gentle handling also helps them feel safe.

It takes a time but before long Hammy will love playtime and won’t dream of biting you. Unless you disturb his slumber again!

Q) OUR rabbit Orio had seven kits, ten weeks ago.

In the last week, four of them have developed a floppy ear. Is this anything to worry about?

Joanna Allan, Beverley, East Yorks

Sean says: It depends who Orio had her wicked way with ten weeks and 33 days ago.

If it was a lop-eared male, or even a normal-eared male with lop-eared genetics, then these kits could be a throwback to their heritage.

As long as they are healthy, this sounds like a normal development considering several are affected in the litter.

If worried, a vet visit is in order.

Q) MY six-month-old merle French bulldog Papi has started to lick his legs and underside a lot.

He gets hayfever in the summer. There’s no red skin. He drinks, eats and plays normally. Is this anything to worry about?

Liam Cornes, Hitchin, Herts

Sean says: I am sorry to hear about poor Papi.

Developing allergies at just six months is not at all normal for dogs, but it’s getting common in French Bulldogs I am afraid.

The health of Frenchies in general is shocking. They’re prone to all kinds of skin issues, allergies, eye problems and the obvious breathing difficulties associated with their flat faces.

The quest for merle and dapple and ever rarer genetic colour mutations (which demand a higher price) also means irresponsible breeders are cashing in on their popularity and not necessarily choosing the healthiest parents to breed from to begin with.

This leaves loving owners like yourself looking after a dog with issues.

Ask your vet about treatment going forward. It really upsets me that some breeders are not putting health over appearance.

Q) I HAVE a 15-month-old Yorkipoo Tino who has started eating pigeon and horse droppings.

With bird flu now getting worse, is he in any danger?

We are surrounded by wild cherry trees and power and phone lines so it is nearly impossible to avoid the pigeon mess.

Graham Titman, Northampton

Sean says: It’s not known that avian flu can infect dogs so I wouldn’t be too worried.

Tails.com provides tailor-made nutritional food for pets

But I suggest keeping Tino’s worming regime up to date, and avoid encouraging him to lick anyone in the face any time soon.

You could also try coaxing him away from the yucky stuff with an treat — that way you can hopefully train him out of eating poo in the park.

I’d also advise ensuring he’s on a complete and balanced diet, as some deficiencies can lead to this.

Star of the week

ORLANDO the cat loves yoga – but he has yet to perfect his downward dog.

The three-year-old ginger mog tries to nab the top spot on 59-year-old owner Liz Dolding’s yoga mat and lies down by her side during classes.

Orlando from Sevenoaks, Kent, is a cat who loves yoga!

Liz, from Sevenoaks, Kent, said: “Orlando definitely likes yoga.

“When I get the mat out for a class he lies on it ready to start and he hangs around throughout the class.

“He hasn’t got the hang of downward dog yet though!”

WIN: HEDGEHOG HOME

HOME And Roost is offering five readers the chance to win one of its hedgehog hibernation house starter kits – perfect for the creatures so you can do your bit to save the species.

Worth £64.99, each kit is UK-made, predator-proof, easy to clean, and contains food, hay and a Helping Hedgehogs guide from Brent Lodge Wildlife Hospital.

To enter, send an email headed HOME&ROOST to [email protected] by November 14. T&Cs apply. See homeandroost.co.uk.

CUT RISING COSTS OF KEEPING PETS

THE COST of pet care has increased by ten per cent in the last year, latest figures have revealed.

Around 3.4 million of us gave up a pet, with rising costs a factor.

Here’s how to make sure your pet is cared for amid rising costsCredit: Supplied

Pets At Home and Trusted Housesitters – an online community of pet sitting services – are offering cash saving tips for pet owners.

Dr Karlien Heyrman, head of pets at Pets At Home, said: “There are easy steps owners can take to help keep costs down and stay on top of their pet’s health.”

Here are just a few:

Don’t scrimp on healthcare. Going every three to six months for a health visit can spot problems early – saving cash in the long run. You could also ask your vet about payment plans to spread the costs.

Watch portion control. Weighing your pet’s food helps to ensure nothing goes to waste and that you aren’t over or under-feeding them.

Search out special offers and loyalty schemes. Pets At Home, for example, has a free VIP (Very Important Pet) Club.

Keep grooming in check. Regular maintenance with a trained pet groomer are more cost-effective than sporadic grooms.

Opt for high quality toys. Doing so will save you a lot of money in the long run.

!function(f,b,e,v,n,t,s)if(f.fbq)return;n=f.fbq=function()n.callMethod? n.callMethod.apply(n,arguments):n.queue.push(arguments);if(!f._fbq)f._fbq=n; n.push=n;n.loaded=!0;n.version='2.0';n.queue=[];t=b.createElement(e);t.async=!0; t.src=v;s=b.getElementsByTagName(e)[0];s.parentNode.insertBefore(t,s)(window, document,'script','https://connect.facebook.net/en_US/fbevents.js'); fbq('init', '752905198150451'); fbq('track', "PageView");

#Small Pets News

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shorthillscranialcenter · 10 months

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Revolutionize Your Appearance: Flat Head Treatment in New York

Do you or your loved one struggle with a flat head appearance in New York? You're not alone. Flat head syndrome, medically known as plagiocephaly, is a common condition that affects many infants. Thankfully, there's a solution that can revolutionize your appearance and provide hope for those seeking flat head treatment in New York. At Short Hills Cranial Center, we're committed to helping you or your child achieve a rounder and healthier head shape without invasive procedures or discomfort.

What causes flat head syndrome? Many factors, such as the baby's sleeping position or limited head movement, contribute to this condition. Without proper intervention, it can persist and affect not only the child's appearance but also their overall development.

Our team of experts at Short Hills Cranial Center is dedicated to providing the best non-invasive flat head treatment in New York. We employ a personalized approach that includes the use of FDA-approved cranial helmets and repositioning techniques. Unlike other treatments, our approach is gentle, safe, and highly effective.

Key benefits of choosing Short Hills Cranial Center for flat head treatment in New York:

Expertise: Our specialists have years of experience in treating flat head syndrome, ensuring you receive the best care.

Customized Treatment:Every patient is unique, and our treatments are tailored to meet individual needs, promoting effective results.

Comfortable Cranial Helmets:Our state-of-the-art cranial helmets are designed to provide comfort and support head shape correction.

Non-Invasive:No surgery is required, ensuring a gentle and safe treatment process.

Beautiful Results:Witness a noticeable transformation in your appearance and head shape.

Don't let flat head syndrome affect your life or your child's development. Revolutionize your appearance and find hope at Short Hills Cranial Center, where we offer the best flat head treatment in New York. Contact us today to schedule a consultation and take the first step towards a rounder, healthier head shape. Your transformation begins here!

#flat head treatment in New York

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eliteinternet023 · 2 years

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Can Babies Who Suffer From Flat Head Syndrome Receive Treatment?

You may be wondering what to do next if your child has been diagnosed with flat head syndrome and whether or not to seek therapy. In this post, we'll go over some of the more typical methods of care, like repositioning, physiotherapy, and the use of protective gear like helmets and bands. We will also briefly cover why surgery is usually not recommended for children in this situation. After a diagnosis of plagiocephaly, brachycephaly, or scaphocephaly, repositioning or flat head treatment new york are common recommendations from doctors and other medical professionals. Your infant will be taught to sit up straight and play with toys without assistance as part of these therapy plans.

#flat head treatment new york

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yoursecondfirstlove · 2 years

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🌖Little Muffin🌒 p.3

P.1 P.2 P.4 P.5

Moon boys x f!reader

(Marc Spector x reader, Steven Grant x reader, Jake Lockley x reader)

There truly is nothing like a sleepover to bring people together, or get them at each others throats, something (y/n) quickly learns.

Word count:1396 words

Warnings: FLUFF!! This is damn near the fluffiest shit I’ve ever written, play fighting, description of light injury, slightly suggestive, alcohol consumption, the moon boys being the cutie patooties they are

Steven would like to say inviting (y/n) to stay the next few nights in the flat was a purely tactical decision, I mean, think about all the time they waste going to each other’s places right? They have a plan to settle, how are they gonna do that when they’re stuck running after each other? The logic was sound enough but it wasn’t the reason for the suggestion, all the boys knew it, he wanted to spend more time with her, open up a new sense of closeness that Marc had strictly kept closed for years. He loved the idea for having her for a few days, give her room to be vulnerable. What’s the worst that can happen right?

The other two had very different reactions to the development. Jake threw his head back and thanked every god he knew of that Steven ‘finally grew some balls’ and progressed things with her or at least established room to do so, Marc on the other hand stayed completely silent, not giving any opinion on the matter. However he had caused Steven to “slip” while cutting up fruit earlier, resulting in a shallow but still nasty gash on his index finger. Steven yelped in pain, dropping the knife as if it burned him. He suckled at his wound before turning to the reflection in the toaster, as expected, Marc was there glaring at him. “Cheers for that mate, very mature!”

A know rang through the flat and Steven had all but rushed to leave all he was doing to get the door to reveal (y/n) standing with a large pizza box and a smaller box set on top of it, hung from her arm was a plastic bag filled with different drinks and on her back a backpack filled with clothes and toiletries. “Let’s get this cute little sleepover kickin’ shall we?” She said with a giggle, Steven gave his own laugh back letting her in, she brushed by him to set the boxes on the counter. “I got us pizza, but don’t you worry that pretty little head of yours Steven, I wouldn’t dream of forgetting about you” she spun to face him holding out the smaller box to him. He took it and opened it to reveal spaghetti in a creamy sauce and seasoned with herbs. “This, my adorable little friend, is the best vegan pasta you will ever put in that pretty mouth” (y/n) stated with a proud grin. Steven flushed pink and looked up at her, smiling, “that’s really lovely of you, thank you” (y/n) didn’t respond, just scrunch her face into a sweet, adorable smile. She placed her hand in his cheek briefly, no doubt feeling the searing heat of it, before turning back around to set down the drinks. ‘Oh lookie gettin special treatment as always’ Jake grumbled ‘it’s not special treatment, she’s just making sure he eats and she didn’t want to make US eat vegan pizza’ Marc rationalised prompting another scoff from Jake.

They had worked on exit strategies for about three hours before deciding to reward themselves with a movie. Steven was still in control at this point, his spaghetti devoured and what was left of the pizza still in its box. They were both making slow work of some red wine as they calmly chatted through the film. After a moment of silence (y/n) felt an arm stretch across her “Encantada de verte preciosa” a New York accent breathed into her hair. A smile bloomed on (y/n)’s face “hi Jake” she looked up at him to see a flirtatious, pleased look on his face. “We done with the plans shit for the night?” He asked teaching for his wine glass and downing it before pouring himself another. “Oh yeah don’t you worry, I know you’re ‘not exactly the plans guy’” she said, mocking his accent when she quoted him. He scoffed out a laugh and looked at her with the same divine predatory look as he licked one of his canines, a habit he had that (y/n) already know would always drive her crazy. Jake shuffled to sit even closer to (y/n) “so I gotta ask…” his thumb began rubbing her cheekbone softly “what’s the sleeping arrangement for tonight?” His suggestive tone dripping with tease and the other two promptly started screaming ‘what the fuck man?!!’ ‘What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing mate?!’ “Jacob Lockley!” (Y/n) reeled back in faux dramatic horror “are you propositioning me?” Even though she was faking shock the smile didn’t shake from her face for a second. “Hey I didn’t say nothin’ ‘bout that, it’s your little mind that went there muñeca” a sarcastic laugh burst from (y/n)’s lips at she hit his chest “don’t even you know exactly what you were doing!” Jake let out a rare, hearty laugh “oh I knew what I was doin’ huh?” (Y/n) continued to swat at his chest while giggling “oh it’s like that?” Jake asked “yeah it’s like that” “oh it’s like that is it?” “Fuck yeah it is Lockley” “al-fuckin-right then” Jake continued to laugh as he started the dreaded couch wrestling match of the year, flailing limbs and giggling, man it was just a blood bath. Jake had managed to pin (y/n) to the sofa and the giggling, little by little, died down as they made searing eye contact. “Hi there…” Jake said lowly “we’ll hello” a foxlike grin spread over Jakes face for a moment and then..his eyes rolled back.

His eyes returned to hers and a warm grin spread on his face “would you look at that” Marc’s voice said “the almighty (y/n) (l/n) taken down by little ol’ Jake Lockley huh?” (Y/n) giggled again “shut up you asshole…do you feel like getting off of me anytime soon?” She asked teasingly. Marc smiled but he didn’t laugh, he didn’t get off of her either. The pause was most likely a few seconds but it felt like hours. “No…no not really” he finally said lowly. He leaned down hesitantly, his right hand moved from pinning her wrist to cup her jaw. He had brought his face within an inch of hers and looked in her eyes to check that she was okay with this, she was, she really, really was. With the assurance he took the plunge he should have taken a long time ago and connected their lips. His kiss was passionate but it wasn’t hungry, it was tender. It wasn’t rough but it was confident, sure. His other hand moved as well to wrap around her waist as he lowers his hips to be flush with hers. (Y/n)s hands went to grip one of his biceps and softly hold his hand on her jaw. Once they started kissing they didn’t stop for a few minutes, the kisses never grew harsh of sexually charged, they stayed exactly as they were, loving and intimate. Once their lips parted they were tingling, they made eye contact again and Marc kissed out a chuckled before burying his face in her neck and hair “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time” he grumbled, still sheepishly chuckling. (Y/n) giggled and moved a hand to softly hold the back of his neck “yeah…yeah me too.” Marc sighed as he held himself up to look at her again through heavy eyelids “we’re so dumb” he said prompting a laugh from (y/n) “yeah…yeah we are” she said continuing to chuckle being joined by Marc as he leaned down again for yet another tender kiss.

They did end up sleeping in the same bed that night. No sex, just cuddling. Although (y/n) may have done the classic butt wiggled while spooning to tease him a little. It was damn near domestic. They were both so content. (Y/n) knew that if she was going to do this with Marc, at this rate, the other two came as a package deal. Marc knew this too. They had both come to terms with that. Not only had (y/n) come to terms with it, she was excited to experience it. Three totally different men with the same beautiful face. There was much to explore and a couple more nights before she had to go back to the safe house. It was anyones guess of what would happen, those guesses would certainly have a common theme, but, who knows.

A/n: honestly the love for this series makes me so god damn happy and this fic is actually the most fun I’ve had writing a fic in a WHILE. More to come for sure

Taglist: @-1 @spacetime8032 @emmamikaelson95 @nemtodd-barnes1923 @gadsgikklesen @missdragon-1 @alicetweven @moonknightivy @marc-steven-jake

#steven grant #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #marc spector #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley #moon boys x reader #moon knight x reader #moon knight

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deanstead · 4 years

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I’ll Take Care Of You

Pairing: Will Halstead x Reader

Requested by anon: reader comes back home with her boyfriend Will after one year being away. she tries to hide the fact that she feels sick to Will so he doesn't worry, but he soon realizes about it. he takes her to the hospital against her will, and there he treats her of the anemia he discovers she's suffering. also, reader is afraid of doctors, and Will is really worried about reader's health.

Warnings: anxiety, mentions of illness, fluff

A/N: Received a specific request to write for Will so I thought I would try this out! Please let me know what you think, if I should write more for Will too? Am in no way a doctor or nurse so I’m sorry if there’s any mistakes in medical terminology or situations! Even so, hope you like this one! Taglists are open!

*gif not mine*

---

“Y/N?”

You looked up from where you were sitting on the floor in front of his apartment, although you could already imagine the look on Will’s face. You smiled, getting to your feet as he ran towards you, pulling you into his arms and nuzzling his face into your neck.

It had been a year. One whole year since you had been forced to leave Chicago for work. Professionally, it had been good for you. It was good career progression and all that crap your boss had forced down your throat but it had been difficult for you as well. Leaving your friends, your family, your boyfriend behind.

“When did you get back?” Will asked, gently pulling himself away to look at you.

You smiled. “I came straight from the airport.” You paused, “I hope that’s alright.”

“It’s better than alright.” Will answered, pulling you into another hug. “Come on.”

Will fumbled with the keys for a while before he pushed the door open.

The moment the door was closed, Will pushed his lips down onto yours, as you felt the rush of warmth from just being near Will – a feeling you hadn’t had in a year, and the feeling that you had missed the most.

“I’m glad you’re here.” Will whispered.

You looped your arms around his waist, pushing yourself closer to his chest. “So am I.”

---

Being back in Chicago was great for you. What was not so great was the light-headedness that had followed you back as well.

You had always tired easily but you had figured the stress in New York had made it worse. Stress coupled with being alone in a new city had definitely made it worse. But you hadn’t expected to still be feeling this after being back.

Will glanced at you over the table in his apartment and you could see the small furrow in his brow that indicated he was worried. “Y/N? You okay?”

You realised you had been frowning while waiting for the headache to pass.

You nodded, smiling back at him. “Yeah, just tired.”

Will smiled, although he still looked a little worried. “Nothing caffeine won’t fix. Come on, you’re going to be late.” You said as you walked around the table, heading to him as he leaned forward to give you a kiss.

He turned to walk out the door and you felt a dizzy spell hit you. You grabbed the edge of the table but not quietly enough. Will spun back around as he heard a dull thud from the impact of your palm hitting the table, and he saw you sway a little on your feet.

Quickly, he made it back to you, throwing his bag onto the floor.

“Y/N!” Will was by your side, a steady hand on your shoulder as you sank to the ground.

“I’m fine.” You managed to get out, feeling a slight shortness of breath.

Will looked at you a little while more, studying you. “Okay, that’s it, you’re coming to Med with me.”

“Wait, what?” You asked. “Will, I’m fine, it’s just a dizzy spell.”

Will shook his head. “Humor me.”

“Will…” You tried to protest but he looked at you.

“You gonna walk with me, or do I have to carry you there?” Will asked, and you knew you were fighting a losing battle.

“Fine.” You relented, finally letting Will lead you towards his car.

---

“Will, you know how much I hate doctors.” You whined, as he put you into a treatment room.

Will looked at you. “Ouch.”

You smiled. “You know what I mean.”

“I’ll be right here, okay?” Will reassured me as a nurse came in. “Doris, can we get a CBC, CMP, the complete tests.”

You shot a glance at Will. “It’s okay, I’ll be right back.” He planted a kiss on your head before heading out.

“You’re better at this than I gave you credit for.” You told Doris, who smiled. “Let me know if you need anything.” She said before she disappeared out the room.

---

Will watched you from where he stood at the doctors’ station.

“Will?” Maggie called, following his line of vision.

“What’s Y/N doing here?” She asked, looking back at him.

Will looked back at Maggie. “I’m waiting on the test results.” Will’s expression was strained although he tried not to let it show. “I practically had to drag her in here. Why didn’t she tell me?”

Maggie looked at him. “I’m sure she just didn’t want you to worry.”

Will sighed and Maggie patted his arm reassuringly. “I’ll try to put a rush on those tests.”

“Thanks Mags.”

Just then, a faint beep sounded from the treatment room you were in. “Dr Halstead!”

Will’s head snapped up as he ran to your room.

“What happened?” He demanded, looking at you, your eyes wide, your chest heaving.

“Will…”

Doris looked up at Will. “Sats are dropping.”

“Oxygen. Now.” He instructed, as Doris nodded. He turned back to you, “Shh, it’s okay. We’re going to give you some oxygen. I need you to try to relax okay? It’s okay.”

You nodded, as Doris gently put the oxygen on you and you felt oxygen slowly fill your lungs once again.

Will watched you, a small worried frown still resting on his forehead but he smiled when he noticed you watching him.

“We’ll figure this out. I’ll be back soon, okay?” Will gently stroked your hair.

You nodded, watching him hurry out of the room.

Will sighed, taking a last look towards your treatment room before heading straight for Maggie.

---

“Hey.” You looked up as Will entered again.

“I got your results.”

Will sighed as he sat on your bed. “The tests show you have anemia. You must have been having these symptoms for a while. When did they start?”

You blinked back at him. “What? Anemia?”

Will took your hand, “Has it ever been this bad?” You immediately shook your head. You could kind of tell Will was holding something back and it made you wonder if he was mad at you.

“Your red blood cell count is lower than I would like. Let’s do an iron infusion today to improve your levels then we can make a plan to manage it, alright?”

You sighed. “More needles?”

Will gave a small smile. “I’ll stay with you while they set it up?”

You gave him a skeptical look but didn’t answer. “Please?” Will said.

“Thar’s so unfair, Will. You know I can’t say no to you when you do that.”

Will took your hand and kissed it. “Just the iron infusion then I should be able to take you home, okay?”

You nodded, wincing a little as you felt the IV pierce your skin. “That’s it.” Doris said, smiling.

“Will.” You called, before he left. “I’m sorry.”

Will frowned slightly again. “For what?”

You looked pointedly at the room around you, your eyes finally resting on the IV needle.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, okay?” Will planted a kiss on my forehead. “I’ll see you in a bit?”

You nodded but you could see the hesitation in his eyes.

“I’ll be fine.” You reassured, giving him a smile before he finally nodded, giving Doris more instructions before he left.

---

Will hadn’t said a word since you had been discharged. He had just silently led you out of the ED and into his car.

He swung open the door to his apartment, leading you to the couch. You leaned against the fabric of Will’s couch as he put two iron pills in your palm and handed you a glass of water.

You echoed his silence, swallowing the iron pills, your eyes following him as he pattered back towards the kitchen.

You stretched your legs out, lying flat on the couch before turning your head in, so that your face was hidden from view, buried into the cushion.

You could hear Will pattering about, you even knew exactly where he was in the house based on the sound of his footsteps and you felt the sting of tears behind your eyes. It wasn’t supposed to be anemia. They were supposed to be symptoms that resolved once you were back in Chicago. Which they weren’t. And now, Will was probably mad at you.

“Y/N, you can sleep inside.” Will said, absentmindedly.

When you didn’t respond, he gently touched your shoulders but you didn’t move so he gently tugged, turning you around. You tried to resist, you didn’t really want to let him see you crying because you couldn’t explain it anyway, but it was like fighting a losing battle.

You saw the moment that Will realised you were crying and his eyes widened in surprise.

“Y/N, what’s wrong? Are you in pain?” He asked, a tone of worry evident in his voice.

You didn’t say anything as Will studied you. “Are you feeling breathless? Y/N, talk to me.”

“I’m sorry.” You whispered again.

“What…” Will trailed off, before helping you sit up, sitting on the ground in front of you, and looking straight into your eyes.

“I didn’t… I just didn’t want you to worry.” You whispered, pulling your eyes away from his. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. They said it was stress symptoms. I…”

“Woah.” Will stopped you, realizing what was happening. “I’m not mad.”

You looked up at him, as he continued, “I’m just worried. You should have told me this was happening.”

“I’m sorry.” You said again, as Will got to his knees and enveloped you into a hug.

“It was hard.” You whispered. “Being away from you for a year.”

Will didn’t say anything but you could feel him leaning further into you.

“But you’re here now.” He finally whispered in your ear. “I’ll take care of you.”

You pulled out of his embrace to look at him, putting a hand on his cheek, his stubble tickling your palm. “We’re lucky, it’s not that serious. We just need to manage it, and you’ll be fine… we’ll be fine.” Will whispered.

You smiled, “Thanks, Will.”

“Don’t keep it from me if you’re unwell, okay?” Will asked.

You nodded. “Okay, I promise.” You answered, smiling as you nuzzled back into his embrace.

---

WILL HALSTEAD TAGLIST

@winterberryfox | @bestillmystuckyheart | @jayhlstead | @winterreader-nowwriter

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ekaterinatepes · 3 years

Text

Nothing But The Best

Author Notes: once again I apologize for how long this took to update. Schedule is still hectic and will remain so for the following month or so. But fear not. I shall continue to update at least once a week. Once again reblogs and comments are appreciated!

XVI

Our ability to survive depends on our skill to change and adapt. Everything in life is about transformation.

The drastic changes in your life seemed like a never ending avalanche of heart break and tough decisions… once again, transformation.

Your own choices placed you exactly where you were at, there was no one else to blame but yourself.

Satoru chose to remain in New York for another two weeks during which he had invested himself into re-discovering you (in his mind you never stopped being his. In the sanctuary of his thoughts you are always referred to as his wife, his one and only Mrs. Y/N Gojo. The woman of his life and owner of his heart).

Satoru tried a gentle approach with you. Not wanting to push you too far not to leave you alone all together. Using all his knowledge of your personality and preferences he slowly inserted himself in your life once again.

At 5:30am sharp he would meet you at the entrance of your building wearing his training clothes, he wanted to show you he supported you and your career. He would go for a run with you around the park. This, of course evoked memories of when you both first started dating and Satoru would show up to workout with you or take you out to dinner after training.

You got to know he had been working harder to help Yuuji control the curse inside him but it was a hard endeavor. He didn’t have to specifically verbalize it for you to know it was a loosing battle and he felt responsible for it but he was trying his best to find a way to help the boy. You missed the kids, they were like family. So you made sure to ask Satoru to tell them you missed them.

But despite your ex-husband’s best efforts you still wanted to be alone. You needed some clarity, the opportunity to sort out your feelings. Gojo wasn’t particularly thrilled with you pushing him away but he promised to you and himself that he would change and would do an effort to respect your wishes so he gave you your space.

But Satoru wasn’t stupid, he knew you missed Suguru and felt guilty for choosing your own husband (ex-husband) over your best friend.

And that’s why you kept pushing him away. Saying you needed time to think.

His time was running out, he had to return to Japan. At least for now, he had unavoidable responsibilities with his students as well as the rest of his missions. He went to your apartment the night before his flight and explained to you why he had to return but he also promised to come back to New York as soon as possible.

“It’s alright Satoru, I understand… I’m gonna be just fine” you reassured the sorcerer who didn’t look convinced at all about leaving you alone. “Please, at least answer my calls and messages. I’m gonna be worried sick if you don’t” you nodded and then he hugged you tightly, inhaling your intoxicating aroma as if he wanted to commit it to memory. His lips soon found yours and before either of you knew it you were in your bed ripping off each other’s clothes so you could express with your bodies how much exactly you would miss one another.

He had taken you for granted once, he would never make that same mistake.

-1 Week Later-

It had been three weeks since you last saw Suguru, he wouldn’t answer your calls, texts nor your emails. You didn’t even know if he was still in New York for that matter. Not knowing was slowly killing you, consumed by guilt you knew you deserved this treatment.

And yet, you wanted to find him and explain… try to make it up to him somehow. He didn’t deserve the pain you had inflicted upon him.

From: Kitten 🐱

To: Sugu

I need to talk to you, please give me a chance to explain. I don’t want to lose you Suguru. I know it’s selfish on my behalf but I can’t let you walk away without explaining. Please Suguru.

I miss you.

Another message sent, he wouldn’t answer your texts. At least he didn’t block your phone number. (Not yet, supplied your tortured mind)

The whole reason why you held back from actually having sex with Suguru although you both had wanted that very much during the last 6 months was because you wanted to give Geto everything. Not only half of you. He deserved someone who would chose him completely. At least that’s what you knew was right.

You didn’t want to toy with his emotions. Then again Satoru’s sporadic presence in your life didn’t help at all. Everytime he showed up you were back to the beginning.

There was no other way to explain this other than saying…you could never resist him.

It was a Monday evening, you just got home after your training at the academy. Sitting on the couch eating some salad when the doorbell rang. You were not expecting anyone. And most importantly someone who didn’t need to be announced by the guard downstairs. There were only two people who could show up at your door in such fashion.

When you opened the door the first thing you saw was a broad torso covered in a very familiar black fitted t-shirt. Long black hair framing a handsome face and those beautiful amber pools looking at you. Without hesitation you threw your arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. Suguru responded to your embrace by surrounding your firmly in his arms lifting you a few inches from the floor.

His sweet lavender and sage scent welcomed your senses once more. It wasn’t until he dried the tears from your cheeks that you realized you had been crying.

“Yo..you are here… Suguru! I am so sorry! I-“ he stopped you by placing his right index finger upon your lips. “You don’t have to say anything. I am here because I have to tell you something important. Come Kitten, let us sit” he took your hand and guided you to the couch where as soon as you both sat next to one another you threw yourself into his arms once more making the raven haired sorcerer chuckle “I missed you too Kitten” he whispers against your h/c tresses.

“Listen…. I was angry… I was mad at you because I thought you would choose me and instead chose Satoru. But these past weeks without you, I have been a wreck to say the least and then I realized… I have always known you loved Satoru from the beginning and that never bothered me before.” Sighing he made a small pause before continuing “Granted… I do resent him for hurting you but I never expected you to completely loose your feelings for him.“ you were about to explain to him that you were trying to sort those feelings out but he interrupted you with a little kiss on your lips “let me finish Kitten” a tender smile spread across his lips making you blush again.

“I realized that I don’t want to renounce to you, I don’t want to give you up. Because there simply is no other person who I want to be with. No one can replace you. And you don’t have to choose between Satoru and me…. At least on my behalf I am ok with sharing you with him. I don’t want to lose you and I don’t want to put you in a position that only will hurt your heart.” Stroking your cheek softly Suguru leaned in and kissed your lips once more, just this time the exchange was sweeter and lasted longer. His tongue teased the entrance to your mouth before fully delving in to revel in your warmth and sweetness. Pulling back and looking into your eyes Geto assured you “I love you… and I want you to be happy. I am not going to make you choose because I don’t want to lose you Y/N”.

To say you were shocked to the core and touched beyond words was an understatement “Suguru… I don’t know what to say…” you start but Geto chuckled

“You don’t have to give me an answer right away.. I und—-“

You cut him by crushing your lips against his, kissing him throughly. Your legs straddled his waist immediately so you could feel his strong and warm body against yours. Was this man even real? I mean… Suguru Geto was a remarkable person but at this point you started questioning your own sanity. Did you make this man up in your imagination? Because you have never met someone sweeter, nor kinder nor more loving than him. And this was without counting all his very alluring physical attributes.

By the time you pulled back you were out of breath and so was he.

Now, the thing was… is this what you wanted? Did you want them both? Wasn’t it too greedy to have them both as lovers?

There was also the possibility Satoru would flat out reject the idea but… you didn’t want to choose between them. You…. Loved them both.

Before you could speak once more you ‘felt’ someone behind you stroking your back.

Almost jumping out of your skin you turned around to find Satoru in his usual jujutsu high uniform sans blindfold.

“You’re late…” Suguru comments as if he had been expecting his best friend to teleport right then.

“I know… Yaga was being a pain in the ass as per usual” added Satoru with a grin before taking a sit next to Suguru with the biggest shit eating grin you could imagine.

“So? Did she agree?” Questioned smirking and moving his hand to stroke your hair away from your neck while you still sat on Suguru’s lap.

“I am not sure… I think we broke her…” added Geto amusedly before chuckling and kissing your cheek.

“I know how to fix that!” Excitedly announced the white haired man. Cupping your face between his hands he pulled you in to kiss you deeply. His tongue voraciously licking the inside of your mouth and enticing you to kiss him back.

This was surreal…. Were you dreaming? You had to be dreaming or maybe you hit your head and now we’re in a coma. Yeah… you have to be hallucinating this.

When Satoru pulled back he laughed “Princess… don’t look so surprised… you must have known this would have happened sooner or later… Sug and I would never give you up and we know you wouldn’t pick one over the other either… and well, we didn’t want to give you the chance to pick neither…” they knew exactly how you were. Even before you knew it yourself. They just knew you would bolt and choose no one if that meant not hurting the other so they had to figure out a solution where all of you were happy.

Tags: @sleepyamaya

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@my-reality-is-in-my-head

@dok-ja

@jscarlet06

@fiona782

@thatsharklovingwoman

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@actualdeemon

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@heizenka

@haleypearce

#jjk #gojo x you #gojo saturo x reader #jjkgojo #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen gojo #gojo angst #jujustu kaisen #jjk suguru #gojo x female reader #gojo x y/n #getou #geto x reader #geto x y/n

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sambvcks · 3 years

Text

crawl home to her, b.b. x reader

chapter four // three days on drunken sin

summary: bucky decides to rifle through those boxes and finds the will to make the first move.

warnings: food/eating, nothing too bad this time!

word count: 1.7k

author’s note: how are we feeling about this week’s episode?? we’re getting closer to the start of tfatws with this chapter!! hope i don’t break your heart too much with the boxes :)

[ read on ao3 | series masterlist | inbox | join my taglist! ]

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The boxes taunted him for three days.

Three stacks of two boxes each cluttered his entranceway, each with that familiar scrawl of Steve’s God-awful handwriting.

‘BUCKY’

All caps, in black Sharpie, underlined three times just for good measure. Steve was always good at getting his message across.

He didn’t want to know what was in them, he told himself. But Steve was gone, and this was all he had left. These, that stupid notebook he still hadn’t found the will to write in, and the shield that was kicking around Sam’s apartment somewhere.

He wanted to toss them in his building’s dumpster, to push these aside like he did with everything else in his life. Out of sight, out of mind. That week, he didn’t tell his therapist about the boxes, or Sam’s unexpected visit, or his neighbor that he was now avoiding like the plague. Thankfully, she chalked his silence up to Steve and tried to fill in the conversational lulls with suggestions of amends and lists and he just wanted to go back to sleep.

Like always, sleep never came.

He knew the single night in his bed was a fluke, but he kept trying at least. He’d untuck his flat sheet from under hit mattress, fluff his pillow, and tuck himself in. Within five minutes, he was back on the hardwood floor of his living room, the lamplights illuminating his window and casting a perfect shadow on those stupid boxes. Finally, on the third night, he huffed a sigh and sat up, his arm whirring at the sudden movement. He wasn’t accomplishing anything letting them sit and gather dust.

Bucky reached under the cushions of his couch, fishing for the knife he had stashed away and got to work slicing through the clear packing tape securing each one.

The first five boxes were files. Mission reports, everything Steve could get his hands on about The Winter Soldier. The translations were rough, the descriptions weren’t as vivid as he remembered them now, and it wasn’t even close to everything. Why Steve kept them when Bucky was working to erase every trace of this from the universe, he would never understand. Steve was sentimental, even with the bad stuff. Bucky glanced over the files scattered across his entranceway, which maybe amounted to a year of his missions. If Zemo had looked in some suburb in upstate New York, he would have found everything he needed.

The dumpster behind his building was starting to feel more and more enticing.

The last box felt different. Significantly lighter and smaller, the items rolling and clanking as he dragged it towards him. He braced himself for more files, more reminders of what he had done as though they didn’t exist in his mind every second of the day.

The first thing he recognized was his mother’s handwriting. ‘Recipes’, scrawled so perfectly on a yellowing label.

The tin box was tinted with age, dented after so many years. He laughed and could remember it tucked away on the top shelf of the cabinet by the fridge, just out of Rebecca’s reach, even when she’d stand on her tiptoes in search of it. His Ma rarely fished it out, other than to let his little sister read over the ingredients with sticky hands as she helped stir pots and peel potatoes. She had them memorized by the time she was a teenager, having transcribed her own mother’s recipes onto these little cards. He was sure Rebecca did, too.

Next was the worn fabric of his Ma’s favorite apron. Yellow embroidered flowers scattered the crimped edge, strings falling loose. He recognized some of the stains, from spaghetti night and cake batter that she let dry on the cloth for too long.

Finally, a worn silver chain was buried at the bottom of the box.

JAMES B BARNES 32557038 T42 A

Of course, Steve with all his connections and know-it-all attitude and ‘I can do this all day’ would find some way to find his dog tags, probably tucked away in some ancient Hydra file. His flesh fingers ran over the indentation of his name, pressed into metal like millions of other boys had, off to fight a war that had nothing to do with them. Everything to lose, nothing to gain.

When he was most alone, settled into muddy trenches with wet socks and a stiff military jacket, he would recite those numbers out into the night sky. He’d map constellations over his head, wondering if it would be his last night and all there would be left of him would be those stupid discs of metal clanking around his neck and the letter tucked away in his jacket breast pocket, addressed to his mother.

His mother was long gone, he knew that. But to a fully conscious James Buchanan Barnes – not the Winter Soldier - he had only seen her a few years ago when he shipped off.

After a moment, he pulled the chain of his dog tags over his head, settling them under his shirt. His ears rung with the sound of footsteps in the hallway. The sound of dragging feet and the jangle of your keychain signaled your return from class.

His family was gone, Steve included. The only people he has left are halfway across the world, or off on some death-defying mission wearing metal bird wings. Except you, who still leaves bags of cookies on his front door mat, despite the silent treatment from his end. His maybe too friendly neighbor who poured over lists of albums for him to find taped to his door in barely legible handwriting when you should have been studying.

His mother’s recipe box was calling his name.

The knock on your door startled you from your nap. Well, if you can call dozing off at your desk using a law book as a makeshift pillow a nap. You stalled in your desk chair, eyes bleary as you squinted at your front door, then at the top corner of your computer.

2:36 AM

You nuzzled back into your book, content to chalk it up to your sleep deprived brain making things up.

The second knock was much more insistent and was certainly coming from your door. You rushed out of your chair, sock-clad feet dragging the blanket draped across your shoulders as you shuffled over, the knocking never ceasing. You blinked the sleep from your eyes, peering out your peephole into the dark hallway.

Bucky, with slumped shoulders and a bowed head, trying with all of his might to make himself as small as possible still took up so much of the doorway with his broad shoulders.

You should be mad at him.

You should go to bed, ignore him like he’d been ignoring you for the past few weeks. Like you hadn’t shared late nights and he hadn’t sat in your kitchen, licking your spoons clean or tucked into your couch just to watch you study, a new record playing gently. Your forehead pressed to the door, vile building in your throat as seething words collected on your tongue.

“I know you’re there.” His voice was muffled through the wooden door, feeling so close but sounding so far away. “We should work on you dragging your feet, doll.”

If you had taken another peek, you would have seen him pressing his forehead to the other side.

“You ignored me, Bucky.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” He sounded sincere, even through the door. “Some family stuff came up. But it’s no excuse, I shouldn’t have pushed you away.”

It’s so stupid, letting yourself get so attached to the first guy to bat his eyelashes and read to you. It’s idiotic to want him to seep into your days and nights, to never leave like he had left you, after only knowing each other for a month.

It’s so foolish to open the door. But you do it anyways.

He swallows as he stands straight, and the widening of his eyes tells you that he wasn’t expecting you to give him a second chance.

“I, uh, here. Thought I’d finally return the favor.”” Bucky shoves forward a plate of cookies, misshapen and unevenly cooked. His eyes finally found yours. “My mom’s recipe.”

Family stuff, you remembered. The weight of the plate felt heavy in your hands, almost as heavy as his gaze on you as you lifted one of the lesser burnt cookies to your mouth and took a timid bite.

Bucky, you’ve come to learn, gives his love in silent acts of approval. He shines when you tell him his singing isn’t totally awful or that he makes a great sous chef, eyes crinkling when you approve of his music choice for the night or compliment the voices he picks when reading from his books. As he watched you, you felt that this cookie meant more to him then just flour and eggs.

He was reaching out, terrified of your rejection.

“You made these?”

“Alright, I’m not totally helpless.”

“They’re amazing, Bucky. Your mom should be proud.”

He returned your smile, knowing that she wouldn’t be. How could she, after all that his hands have done? Hands that should’ve been home, hoisting his sisters onto his shoulders. Hands that should have been helping set the table and at work so they had something to eat in the first place.

He looked so timid in your hallway, unsure of the next move. You rolled your eyes, moving to clear your doorway, despite his hesitation.

“Come on.” You spoke, like ushering in a stray cat with the promise of food and love.

He took the first step forward, shoulder to shoulder, head tilted down to catch your playful gaze with his serious one. Your mouth opened to make some sort of quip to ease the tension, but the words died in your throat as he pressed his forehead against yours for just a second.

His eyes closed as he drew in a single serene breath through his nose.

He was gone as quickly as he had come, moving further into your apartment and directly to your shelves of records, gloved fingers grazing over the sleeves in contemplation for his first choice of the night. As you finally collected yourself enough to close the door, you wondered how many people in the world had ever loved Bucky Barnes enough to give him a second chance.

taglist: @tisthedamninez @wcndamaxcmoff @freyagallileaevans @bibliophilewednesday @justtoreblogfics @teti-menchon0604 @l-adysansa @heart-eyes-horan @thiswasnevermylifefromtony @rexorangecouny @dilfvision @urafakebetch @comphersjost @am-tired-bois @spid3rgwen @beautyandthebleh @euphoricaaaa @inadquacy @mackycat11 @withyoutilltheendofthismess @motherofallthesmallthings @victoriabaker112213 @macrillez @stvalentiness @nova10711 @tailsoflightning @okiegirl24 @qhbr2013 @beachbabe925 @weenersoldierr @venusinart @marvel-mistress @orthellqs @phasma-trash @beni-angie @infinitely-yellow @riverlethe1

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #tfatws #tfatws imagine #sab writes #crawl home to her

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berylgrace · 3 years

Note

prompt: use a taylor swift lyric in a drabble

i have a confession... i do not remotely stan tswift, pls don't attack me lmaooo

however just for you i used one i heard on tiktok mwah ur welcome my darling <3

this is set some time around tlt? vaguely tlt timeline

It just didn’t make sense to Percy. He couldn’t help it, it had never been his way. Gabe was the biggest piece of shit imaginable, and even his presence - and his smell - wasn’t enough to keep Percy from going home. He would tolerate a million Gabes, a cologne made entirely of days-old pizza and underwear and beer, if it meant a few moments with his mom. Family was everything, wasn’t it?

Annabeth’s family were garbage, he knew that. They had neglected her when she needed them most, and Percy would never forgive them for that. But he couldn’t help it - a part of him wondered if Frederick was secretly battling with the same guilt Sally had, sending him away to different boarding schools. She had done it for his safety, and hated every second of it. Maybe his treatment, though cruel, had been misguided and out of love?

Wasn’t it worth giving family a chance?

“I just think you should give it a shot, that’s all. It’s been years,” He told her, immediately regretting it as her expression grew cold. Annabeth was like that - his friend right up until she wasn’t, her walls back up as soon as he broached anything that might be sensitive. Percy had no idea how to actually communicate with her, in all honesty.

He liked Annabeth, but she was so confusing.

Her voice was stony, flat. “Why should I? After everything I went through? I deserve better.”

Percy frowned. “Is this better?”

He thought about camp. Sure, it was quickly becoming his favourite place in the world, but that didn’t mean it didn’t have its downsides. Constant companionship from friends and siblings was great until you wanted a moment alone in your cabin. The lava wall, the archery range, the training ground - as exciting as they were, the injuries were enough to dilute the novelty of it. And once everyone left for the summer, with only a handful of year-rounders, home-schooled by Chiron - surely it would get dull?

Annabeth looked dangerous - she was probably going to kick his ass. “Than my family? Absolutely it is.”

He pushed on regardless. “What, never getting away from Clarisse? No privacy? Getting scraped and burnt and scarred?”

“You mean, respect? Acknowledgement? Freedom?” She scoffed, giving him that look that girls were so good at, the one that read you don’t know what you’re talking about, stupid boy.

Maybe he didn’t. But it just made Percy sad to think about her giving up on something that maybe, one day, could be good.

“What freedom?” He watched as her grey eyes flashed, a sure sign he was overstepping. “You can’t leave camp, you’re literally confined here.”

“I just have to ask, that’s all,” Annabeth told him through gritted teeth. He opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off, her voice growing louder. “I can go anywhere I want! Just… not home.”

Percy thought about never being able to go home. The freedom to roam the entirety of New York, to do anything he wanted except for setting foot in Sally Jackson’s home, to eat her food, to hug her. It was overwhelming enough just thinking about it that he almost teared up, forcing it back at the last second. No wonder Annabeth was so guarded about it; it was heartbreaking. That was no kind of freedom at all, really.

“I’m sorry,” He murmured, slightly feeling that it was too little, too late given that he had already upset her. “I just… my mom-”

“I know, Percy.” She looked sad. “Not all of us are so lucky. You’re her pride and joy. Me… I’m the one that spoils the family picture.”

“Nu uh,” He swore, shaking his head. “You would improve every picture.”

Then he blushed. That was a weird thing to say.

Annabeth’s ears were red. “Thanks. I just don’t exist, not in that house. I ruin the image they have, the kid from the previous relationship, the one with all the learning difficulties who causes weird, dangerous things to happen. It sucks that I don’t get to watch the boys grow up but at least if I’m not there I’m not resenting them for getting what I never will.”

Percy hated that she had a point. The universe had dealt him a pretty rubbish hand, but Annabeth’s was just as bad. His life had an abundance of love despite everything, more than enough to share.

“Well, uh… you’re always welcome at mine. I mean, you don’t have to or anything, and it’s not very big or super nice or whatever, but uh, if you want to like, hang out… you can.” He stumbled over his words, suddenly embarrassed that she would laugh and refuse. “My mom works at a candy store, we could go there and say hi, buy some stuff… you could stay for dinner sometime if you wanted?”

He was rambling, but thankfully, Annabeth cracked a smile. She was pretty when she smiled.

“That sounds nice, Percy. I’ll hold you to that.”

“Please do.” He grinned, glad she’d cheered up. “Just write. Or, um, email. Whenever you’re free.”

#my writing #percabeth #<3333

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knightsimp · 4 years

Text

Just a Little Bit of Blood

Pairing: Vampire!Percival Graves x Reader

Summery: Percival comes home late at night, injured. He needs a little blood to be able to heal.

Genre: Tooth-rotting Fluff, but spicy tooth-rotting fluff.

Word Count: 1600+

Date Posted: February 22, 2021

Warning: Definitely spicy (no actual smut in this, but it alludes to it and is still pretty suggestive), blood talk

Note: Oh god I have never posted any of my suggestive pieces. We were talking about Colin Farrell in Fright Night (2011) and this happened.

Requested by: @sugarbloomart

Percival landed in his apartment, apparating from the MACUSA building. It was late at night, around an hour past midnight. The bustling city was starting to go quiet, though New York never seems to go completely quiet. Percival took off his coat, hanging on the coat hanger near the front door. He pulled off his tie and waistcoat and placed them on the dining table. He did the same thing with his belt.

The blood from the injury on his side had stained his white dress shirt. When he moved, it felt like pins and needles. The man had gotten injured during a mission with a trainee. This trainee had a lot of promise but clearly needed more experience. Unfortunately, Percival paid the price of that inexperience with getting injured.

Percival getting hurt was always a concern. He did not heal like any other human wizard.

“Percival?” Percival looked towards the bedroom door, where (Y/N) was standing. Clearly, his return had woken her up.

Her hair was tossed from whatever sleeping she had already done. She was only wearing a pair of underwear and one of Percival’s dress shirts. Simply said, she was not put together in the slightest.

But to him, she was quite the sight.

(Y/N)’s bare feet did not make a sound on the dark, hardwood floor as she approached him.

“You’re late.” She stated, putting two hands on his chest and dragging them to his shoulders.

“I know, darling.” He gently held her left wrist. He watched as her eyes slowly wandered to his injury.

“Percival!” She gave light pressure to the wound, making him hiss from the sharp pain. “Is this why you are so late to come home?”

“Yes.” He grumbled, running his hand through his hair. “The boy has potential, but...” Percival rubbed her arms, up and down. “I must ask something of you.” (Y/N) is quick to agree, knowing what he is asking of her.

“You need blood, right?” She asked, clarifying.

“Yes.” Percival brushed a little bit of her hair out of her face. “The blood supplements won’t help here.” The blood supplements were just that; they were what Percival can take instead of hunting and taking blood from humans and survive off of that. However, they were not enough for him to heal. While he can heal rapidly, he could not heal at all without real blood. If he were to let an injury go unattended long enough, he would bleed out, regardless of any medical treatment. There was already an anti-wizard growing sentiment growing and a vampire getting spotted would not make matters better.

She sat on the kitchen island, pushing her hair away from the left side of her neck.

“Come on.” She encouraged. Percival smiled, seeing how ready she was for him to take blood from her when he needed it. He stood in between her legs, hands instinctively on her waist.

“As much as I appreciate your kindness, my dear, taking from your neck will be too visible. We both must go into work tomorrow.” (Y/N) hummed, looking off to the side.

“I guess you’re right.” Percival took her left wrist, gently rubbing his thumb over the visible veins. She looked back at him, staring into his dark eyes.

“You’re wrist is another viable area for taking blood.” He suggested. “Not an area you are used to but would make for another spot.” (Y/N) shook her head.

“If secrecy is your concern, my wrists will seem even more suspicious if someone notices. The neck is something more explainable, but the wrist would asking to be found out.” She thought for a moment. “My thigh is always an option.”

“As much as I do love getting in between your legs like that, you don’t need to be limping or in any pain when you go to work.” Now, this was getting frustrating. What would be an area that Percival can take from that would not hinder her as an auror or risk Percival’s true nature as a vampire from being found out?

“What about my chest?” She inquired. “It would be under my clothes and it is not an area that is very mobile during the day.”

“It is not an area that will produce a lot of blood, nor will it be comfortable for you.” Percival gently held onto (Y/N) arm, sliding his hand down to meet hers.

“Well, how much blood do you need for an injury like that?” She gestured to his injured waist.

“Not a lot.”

“Then, let’s do it!” Percival seemed hesitant. “Percival, it is our best option right now.” He takes her cheek in her hand, lips close, and his other hand holding her thigh.

“Are you sure?” He whispered. “This will not be pleasant and I will need to expose you for a moment.” She nodded, still sleepy.

“We’re both adults. It’s not anything you haven’t seen before.”

He popped a couple of buttons on the shirt and pushed the left side of the shirt down her shoulder, just exposing the top of her breast. Of course, she was not wearing a bra underneath. His hands slithered on her body; one on the side of her neck, his thumb under her ear, and the other holding her ribs, just under the breast he was about to take blood from, thumb massaging the side of her breast. His lips were so close to her body.

“Are you ready, darling?” She nodded, biting her lip to prepare for the pinch. When he went in just above her breast, she realized what he meant when he said this was not going to be pleasant. The muscle in the chest is tight, making it painful. The puncture was not pleasant, but otherwise doable given the circumstance.

Oh, but the sounds Percival was making.

To get whatever blood he could from the area, he was sucking on her skin hard. The sounds he was making were absolutely sinful. Not only were the sounds slightly wet, but he was also panting slightly. And the occasional grumble from his throat came through. If he was not trying to get blood to heal his wound, this moment would have taken a very different turn. It was enough for (Y/N) to make a couple of noises of her own which were not from the pain.

Once he was done, he pulled away. Both of them were breathing heavily. Blood had dripped from the wound on her chest to the once-pristine dress shirt she wore.

“Percy, you’re shirt.” She whined, feeling a little lightheaded.

“It’s okay.” He went to her chest once more, licking off the dripping blood from her skin using the flat of his tongue. He put the hand which was sitting on her side on the side of her neck with his other hand. She leaned in, letting her forehead rest on his. The red around his mouth did not scare her in the slightest. No one spoke, but it was very clear how thankful Percival was.

He wrapped her legs around his waist before picking her up. She loosely put her arms around his shoulders, unable to cling on harder. Percival carried her to their bathroom, setting her in the bathtub and sitting on the closed toilet seat. He took his time when stripping her of her chosen nightwear, gingerly unbuttoning the shirt completely and pulling her panties off from under her.

When she was completely naked, he took the time to strip himself. In all honesty, he was ready for the shower after a long day. When he shrugged off his shirt, he saw the tail-end of his injury rapidly healing. He looked down to (Y/N) only to see her smiling up at him, eyes on the verge of closing. She was happy that he was no longer injured and that was all that mattered.

He held her up as warm water from the showerhead poured onto them, each movement of his hands so gentle and full of adoration. One hand rested on her back and the other held her head to his chest, keeping her upright. The blood on both of them was washed off and went down the drain. As much as they both wanted to stay in the moment, (Y/N) was slowly falling back asleep and the slight loss of blood was not helping.

Percival sat her on the bed, putting a cut-out J&J band-aid onto her chest before dressing her in one of her more comfortable nightgowns. It was not until she was lying comfortably on her side of the bed, duvet over her, when he started getting dressed for bed.

He dragged his feet back to the bathroom to freshen up before joining her.

As he was brushing his teeth, he caught a glimpse of those slightly elongated teeth of his. The red had slightly stained his teeth, but a quick brushing washed it away rather quickly.

He rinsed his mouth out completely before looking at his reflection in the mirror.

For years, Percival thought of himself as a monster. He never found someone, in all his years, who was as accepting as the beautiful woman currently in his bedroom. Sure, he should have told her earlier than he did in their relationship, but even then she was so accepting of him.

He pursed his lips, still tasting her blood in the back of his throat. Like her, it was sweet.

Before returning to the bedroom, he drank a glass of water to wash down anything that was left. (Y/N) was already fast asleep when he laid down on the plush mattress. Facing her and entangling his legs with hers, he gently slid his knuckles over her cheek before pulling her into his chest.

Moments like this, he almost felt human again.

#percival graves x reader #percival graves #fbawtft #fantastic beasts and where to find them #percival graves/you #percival graves/reader #percival graves x you #fantastic beasts #fantastic beasts x reader #vampire au #vampire!percival #vampire!percival graves #knightsimp writes #reader insert #x reader

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apronnash · 3 years

Text

Just thought of such a great, yet horrible way for a Buddie confession. Okay, so don’t hate me, but here’s the episode/fic idea:

The episode opens with Buck bloodied and lying on the ground in the middle of the road. There are muffled voices and shadows dancing around him. A car alarm blaring in the background. He just stares up at the audience. His voice comes over to narrate something Grey’s Anatomy style about wishes, love, death, and missed moments.

Cut to black.

Earlier. Buck wakes up in the same kind of position in his loft bed, eyes looking through the screen. It’s bright and sunny and he hops out of bed to make breakfast. He’s got a shift today and he needs to run some errands for this big dinner he planned for tonight. Today’s the day he’s gonna tell Eddie he loves him.

Meanwhile, Eddie’s prepping Chris for school with Carla and they discuss his dinner with Buck and how he feels awkward he hasn’t told him that he and Ana are moving in together. Carla is *shook* - and knowing Buck and Eddie finally speaks her mind: “are you sure you’re doing this for the right reasons?” Eddie’s confused and tries to say something when Carla interrupts and says “don’t lie to me, I’ve seen the way you’ve been eyeing our Buckaroo lately; and Chris tells me you’ve been spending more time thinking about him than pretty Miss Flores.” Eddie goes all red and tries to make excuses, but Carla’s not having any of it. Finally, he says, “I can’t. Buck’s too important to me and besides, he’s got Taylor.”

Little does he know, Taylor’s long gone to NYC for a new job as a reporter for NBC.

Buck’s walking out of Whole Foods with bags of new ingredients he and Bobby have been working through in their quest to explore the culinary world. Buck crosses the street and BAM! A crash - cut to black.

It’s 12:32pm and Buck still hasn’t shown up for his shift. Bobby, Hen, Chim, and Eddie are starting to get worried. But their concerns are interrupted by the alarm. A vehicle accident plowing through a crowd of pedestrians on Lasalle (just made that up lol). Eddie shudders, a sudden wave of worry washing over him.

Now, it’s back to the opening scene. Buck can’t move - it hurts all over, he just stares helpless at the audience as blood seeps through his clothes and mouth. Whimpering.

The 118 pull up to the scene and they check on the driver. This woman is distraught - “I didn’t seem him coming! I didn’t see him coming!” Eddie shivers… he’s hit with deja vu. He gets her checked and proceeds to the epicenter of the commotion, presumably the person who was hit.

Chim and Hen are bent down by a blonde man. Eddie rushes over but is stopped by Bobby. Eddie’s confused - why can’t he help? “You can’t do this. You’re too close to this.” Bobby mutters.

Eddie’s heart drops into his stomach. He uses his strength to push Bobby aside and pushes past the crowd to see Chim and Hen crouching by Buck’s side, body broken, skin pale and bloody, body angled in the same way Shannon’s was in her last moments.

Eddie’s world slows. Every emotion he felt then, he felt now. Maybe even worse the second time around. Bobby tries to pull him back, but he doesn’t relent. He crouches down next to Chim as he puts a neck brace on Buck. Buck, slowly looks at Eddie, whispers “E- Eddie… you-you’re here” through the severe pain he feels in his chest, with a pained smile and tears flowing down his face. “Looks like m-my luck finally ran out this time,” he says effortfully.

Eddie tries his best to keep it together. “You’re gonna be fine, Buck. You’re gonna be fine.” He turns on medic mode and tries to help Hen and Chim finish up their check. Hen and Chin exchange a solemn look and shake their heads as they begin changing their course of treatment, trying anything to keep Buck alive. Eddie follows along as he tries to keep Buck talking. They get to a point where they just have to hoist Buck on to a gurney and transport - he’s losing time.

Chim gets into the front of the ambulence, while Hen and Eddie get into the back. Hen’s getting the monitors set up and all the tubes and wires placed onto Buck’s body. “Eddie…” Hen looks over to him with watery eyes.

“Wha- what are- why aren’t you doing anything?” Eddie exclaims.

“When I put this tube in… there’s a good chance it may not come back out.” Suddenly, Eddie’s breathless. These are almost the exact words she said to him when it was Shannon.

He turns to Buck. “Eddie, listen to her. We- we don’t have much time left.” Buck is weakly holding on to Eddie’s wrist.

“No, Buck. Don’t say that. Stop it. You’re going to be fine.” He can feel his voice shaking.

“I- I don’t feel anything anymore,” Buck explains. “Eddie, I- I have something to tell you.”

Eddie can’t stop the tears flowing from his eyes now. “Save it for later, when you’re in your hospital bed, awake.”

“I- I’m not sure if I’m gonna make it. Eddie, I- I love you.”

Eddie’s heart explodes.

“Eddie, I’ve been in love with you for- for so long. That’s what I was gonna tell you tonight.”

“But, what about Tay-“

“She’s gone. New York. New job. Look- It took me so long to figure this out, but- but it’s you. It’s always been you and Chris.”

“God, Chris.” Eddie’s tears flow more fiercely. “You can’t do this, Buck. You can’t do this! He- I- we will never forgive you for this.”

“I- I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Buck cries weakly. “All I ever wanted was to be a part of your family.”

“You are! You always were. Come on. You’re in my will for gods sake. I LOVE YOU TOO!”

Buck smiles and reaches for Eddie’s face. Eddie grabs his hand and kisses it. He leans and kisses him. “I love you too, okay? I love you too. So, fight. I put you in my will because you are a fighter, now fight it, damn it! Whatever light you’re seeing, whatever’s calling for you, fight it, Evan!”

There’s so much emotion in his voice, so unlike himself. Buck laughs, seeing the love of his life finally being honest with his feelings. “I love you…” his voice fades on the last word as the monitor starts to flatline.

“No! No! Buck, wake up! Wake up!” Eddie pleads. Hen pushes him out of the way and intubates him. It’s no use, as the monitor is still flat, the long beep signaling no heartbeat ringing through the ambulance. Hen moves to compressions. It doesn’t work. Eddie pulls himself together. He grabs the paddles and yells “charge!” and shocks Buck. His heart comes back momentarily, but then flatlines again. He keeps going.

“Eddie- I” Hen says, crying.

“No! I know he wouldn’t stop fighting for me, for us. So I’m not stopping for him.”

Eddie alternates between compressions and the paddles. They finally arrive at the hospital. The back doors open as he’s mid-compressions. “Male, 29, multiple traumas - he was hit by a car.”

The doctor looks at the monitor: “how long has he been down?”

“Approximately 5 minutes.” Hen replies.

A brief pause. Then “Call it.”

“What?” Eddie yells. “No, stop. What are you doing.”

The doctor holds his hands up and gets closer. “I’m sorry, he’s been down for too long, I’m afraid- I’m afraid he’s-“

Eddie cuts him off. “He’s not! He’s not gone. Come on, Buck, wake up. Come on, Evan!”

He can feel Hen’s arms reach to pull him away. Suddenly, the heart monitor picks back up. It starts slowly, then gradually get’s stronger.

“He’s back!”

“Alright, let’s get him to OR 2! Stat!”

The doctors grab the gurney and rush off.

The last scene leaves Eddie with Buck’s blood over him, standing alone looking through the ER doors as they shut in front of him. Cut to black.

#911 fox #evan buckley #eddie diaz #henrietta wilson #chimney han #bobby nash #fic ideas #episode idea #buddie #buddie fic #someone please write this #@911 writers wanna steal my idea?#please write the fic #and tag me #i wanna experience it and cry

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horrorcomeshome · 2 years

Photo

“My name is Sam Tyler. I had an accident, and I woke up in 1973. Am I mad, in a coma, or back in time? Whatever's happened, it's like I've landed on a different planet. Now, maybe if I can work out the reason, I can get home.”

Sam Tyler

Born: February 2nd, 1987

Gender: cis man

Sexuality: Polysexual

FC: John Simms

(SAM TYLER THE OC IS BASED OFF THE CHARACTER OF THE SAME NAME FROM THE BRITISH TELEVISION SHOW LIFE ON MARS)

Bio under the cut (trigger warning for car accidents, death, unreality, suicide attempts, and kidnapping)

At one point, Sam Tyler was a recent emigrant from England to New York. In the city, he found a job as a policeman, eventually becoming Staff Inspector. At the time, he found himself in a relationship with a man named Mason, who worked as a journalist. They were in many ways, a perfect pair. There was even a time when Sam was close to proposing. However, that changed when the two of them had a spat over a case that Sam was in charge of and Mason was reporting on. Looking into some vigilante justice, Mason followed a lead that, by police standards, was a long shot. The last Sam heard of him was a frantic phone call, the scene devoid of any evidence as to what happened to his lover.

Guilt in his heart, Sam was driving back from he station that night, and after being clipped by a drunk driver, got out of his car to investigate the damage. Without a moment of reprieve, there was another car that didn’t see him, hitting him head on, laying him out in the road. All he could think about was Mason as he closed his eyes...

And strangely, he woke up in a familiar place... though not as he left it. Before him was Manchester, his home in England he left behind. Everything was laid out as if this had been his life with a new flat prepared for him, a transfer to the Manchester and Salford Police from a place called Carey... not a town in Britain that he’d ever heard of, let alone been to. After a hard meeting with the boss, he found out that he was apparently in 1973. While a kindly woman named Annie who worked at the station was attempting to help him through it, the stress became too much, especially with the noises of a hospital following him around, making him believe he was in a coma. So, he made what he thought was the next logical step and jumped off of a building.

Yet he was not home. The world continued to be strange around him, but in a different way. Now he found himself in a village called Carey. Carey, Ohio. The year, he was told, was 1957. He was apparently working as a private investigator for a man named Boris Shuster. On top of everything, it seemed this man believed in the supernatural... and he believed that currently, Sam was switching between realities. However, Sam believed he was losing his mind. So, while she did not specify in psychosis, he made the choice to see a local psychiatrist named Mary Agana... perhaps she would know what was happening.

Eventually, through her extreme treatments, he was killed, but that only sent him back to 1973, in the hospital mere days after his suicide attempt.

After that, it seemed accidents kept happening, switching Sam between the three realities... in modern day, Mason was found alive, but had moved away from New York after such a traumatic experience. He moved down south to Florida. Sam did not want to seem as if he was being too clingy, but he did follow to help them. Once there, he couldn’t help but notice the draw he was feeling to an old theatre, seemingly abandoned. Did this Palace Theatre or any squatters inside have answers about his condition?

Well, after being marked by another crazy murderer (in a clown suit this time?), it seems he’d have to wait until the next cycle to find out. Now, he was back with Dr. Agana and her ruthless treatments.

#muse: Sam Tyler #murder tw #suicide tw #kidnapping tw #car accident tw #unreality tw

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