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earlysunshines · 1 year ago

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myoui mina x fem!reader ; smut

synopsis: your girlfriends a model and you’re always clocked in so it’s reeeaaally hard for you to get intimate and goddddd mina’s getting impatient and sexually frustrated so she takes matters into her own hands.

warnings: smut ; filthy!! ; did someone say sub reader? ; sub!reader!!!!! ; mina is a model ; reader is in forensics ; somnophilia ; thigh riding ; fingering ; mentions of stitches ; bruises ; blood ; small easter egg if you’ve read one of my jihyo fics ; not proofread ; anything else i forgot to mention

a/n: muahhahahaa

attachment: 1 image

your phone buzzes, and usually you’d ignore it considering you have to meet this deadline– but when you look at your phone, seeing the small pixels of your girlfriend getting a kiss on the cheek from you in the contact picture and the little “minari” on the screen; you quickly grab your phone, clicking on the notification.

jesus. is all you can think of when you see the picture, you’re surprised you can think after seeing it.

mina – your girlfriend, your oh-so-lovely girlfriend, the girl of your dreams, the model you managed to get into a relationship with after spilling all of your drink on at one of sana’s parties, your everything and more – is leaned over against a balcony, eyes looking into the camera seductively. her makeup is light, a strand of her bangs fall over her forehead and then you glimpse down. you feel your chest tighten as soon you see the panties peeking out, pants slipping down so you can get a tantalizing glimpse of the skin and–

you groan.

it’s four, and you’re working overtime – again; there are too many cases to examine and report – you can’t be riled up, especially not now. biting your lip, you put your phone down, deciding to push everything to the side.

getting back to work is not easy.

minari: 1 notification

“you fucking hate me.” is mumbled under your breath before you peek over, unlocking your phone quickly to see a text:

minari: don’t ignore me baby

minari: miss you

minari: did you like the picture?

oh you loved the picture, loved it so much that you wonder what it would be like to rip the clothes she has on right off of her.

you: :-(

you: please dont do this to me

you: i’m working overtime

you: when will you be back?

minari: this weekend, friday night

you groan again, sitting back in your chair in defeat. that’s three days.

you: i have to get back to work

you: the things i’d do to you

you: you’re a pain in the ass

on the other side of the line, mina giggles. she’s satisfied with her effect on you, she can just picture the little crease of your brows, the frown, and really just how cute you look when you’re all pouty and impatient.

she bites the inside of her lip after reading the second to last text from you, thinking about just what you could do to her, until she’s interrupted by one of the photographers. it isn’t easy to model when she’s missing you, she’d much rather show off her luxury panties to you than the cameras.

–

you’re beat. literally and figuratively.

as someone accustomed to the comfort and safety of the forensics lab and the routine of the department, being dragged into a chase on a friday night is far from what you expected. you had plans to go home and wait for your girlfriend, ready to greet her with a hug and something more – but no, of course you had been caught in a pursuit.

after being treated by the nurses, they hand you a slip of paper for a follow-up check-up, but you wave it off, insisting that you'll be fine. however, it's clear that jihyo, the detective, has endured much worse. fresh stitches on her ribs, bruises covering her upper back and arms, a bloody nose, and a cut on her jaw, she's clearly been through a rough ordeal, thankfully spiderwoman stepped into help you all out.

in comparison, your injuries seemed minor—a smack to the ribs, a punch or two to the face, and a close call with a punch that grazed your temple, resulting in a bit of blood and a bandage to cover it.

when you finally get to your car, exhausted and limp against the seat, you check your phone while you wait for the air conditioning to turn on.

there’s seven new messages from mina, earning a sigh.

you read through all of them, each one slowly getting more worrisome as you scroll, which paints a frown on your lips.

[6:03pm]

minari: i just got home

minari: where are you?

[7:44pm]

minari: i bet you’re busy, stay safe

minari: i’ll be waiting here

minari: love you, i hope you’re okay

[10:30pm}

minari: going to bed, i’ll see you soon love

minari: thinking of you

[10:58pm]

minari: wish you were here, goodnight, i love you

the pain that’s spread throughout your body doesn’t bother you anymore; the thought of your girlfriend alone in bed – finally home after her two week-long work trip – makes you groan frustratedly as you lean your face against the wheel of your car.

you’ve got to get home.

–

it’s almost midnight when you get to your apartment and you don’t even make it to the bedroom.

you underestimated the toll of the fatigue, the bruises, and the damage done to your body – not to mention the countless sleepless hours leading up to this chaotic night. you've been tirelessly investigating various dna samples and physical evidence, neglecting your much-needed rest in favor of focusing on your work and trying to distract yourself from missing your girlfriend too much because that is already enough to throw you in a spiral.

as soon as you catch sight of the couch, you practically collapse onto it, sinking into the cushions with a sense of relief. leaning back lazily, you feel the heaviness of your eyelids, each blink a struggle to keep them open for just a little longer.

mina crosses your mind and you feel sorry for leaving her alone, but you physically can’t do anything about that.

the exhaustion catches up to you, and then you find yourself passing out on the couch with your work clothes still on, tie loose, and no energy left to fight off the drowsiness.

–

mina wakes up earlier than usual – still alone.

the sun hasn’t even risen yet, and she had expected to find you lazily draped over her, maybe with the blanket slipping off the bed and the feeling of your breath gently warming her skin. but as she wakes, she realizes that the blanket is still snugly wrapped around her, and her skin feels oddly cold.

she blinks once, then twice, and still, you’re not there.

getting up and reaching over blindly for her phone, she unlocks it groggily, opening your messages to see a “read, 11:40pm”

mina furrows her brows, rubbing her squinted eyes to read the same message on the screen. she feels a pang of worry as she wonders why you haven't responded or called, and why you're not next to her right now. hastily, she checks your location, clicking on your contact photo, and then freezes in disbelief.

you're home?

the contact picture she has of you—your smushed face with drool leaving the corner of your lip—is only half a centimeter away from her on the screen. with a sense of urgency, she jumps out of bed and rushes to find you.

she walks out of the hall and into the living room, catching a glimpse of the back of your head on the couch. mina lets out a sigh of relief, walking over and standing in front of your figure.

you look adorable, sitting up against the couch with your head leaned back on the cushion. you stay frozen in place, the only movement coming from the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest, which tells mina that you’re out. your hair is disheveled, you're still in your work clothes, and there's a new band-aid beside your brow on your temple. mina finds herself captivated by the sight, unable to tear her gaze away.

“long night, i bet.” mina mumbles, sitting down next to you and putting her head on your shoulder. you don’t budge, still remaining in your place.

mina kisses your cheek before returning to your shoulder, deciding to rest her eyes with you for a while more.

–

your girlfriend wakes up a few hours later – you’re still asleep by her side, still frozen in your place.

mina rubs her eyes against your shoulder, feeling the warmth of your body as she stirs awake for the second time that morning. fishing for her phone, she checks the time: 11:31 am. glancing back at you, still sound asleep, she decides it's time for both of you to start the day. she hasn't even had a chance to greet you while you were awake yet, and she misses your attention.

she presses a kiss to your cheek – no response.

pouting, she presses a few more to your cheek – you stay frozen in place, eyes closed and breathing still relaxed.

then she moves over to your jawline, pressing a few pecks and moving down to your neck, the spot that earns the most from you – there’s a reaction, a small groan from you, and then you shift in your place – still no sign of consciousness.

mina's never been a morning person, which only adds to her frustration. with a whine, she moves over to straddle you, settling herself on your lap.

“c’mon, i’ve been waiting for you.” she says, and still, it doesn’t wake you up. “wearing the same lingerie from the pictures and you’re still like this…”

not only is she frustrated from missing you, she’s been irritated from how sex-deprived she’s been.

she brushes a strand of your hair behind your ear, gently fixing the mess from whatever ordeal you endured last night, before taking a good look at you. the morning sunlight highlights the contours of your jawline, making your skin glow, and the slight parting of your lips adds to your allure.

you look good—maybe even better than usual—and mina can't help but feel a surge of desire, fueled by her deprivation of you.

she tugs gently on the tie wrapped loosely around your neck, coaxing you forward. your head naturally falls forward in response, so mina tilts it up by the chin, cradling your face between her fingers.

“you look so cute,” mina sighs, rubbing a thumb over your skin. “i could take you like this.”

the two of you have talked about this – about fucking while one is asleep – and neither one of you was against it. however, it’s never actually happened, and sure mina’s daydreamed about this, and you have too, but she never thought there’d actually be such a perfect moment in time.

you’re asleep, looking all pretty, perfect, and downright fuckable – mina can’t help but bite her lip at the sight, grinding down against your lap a bit.

she shifts over to straddle one thigh in order to gain more friction, gasping at the second movement of her hips against you.

“maybe,” a small breath leaves her lips, “this’ll wake you up.”

another rut against your slacks and she’s shutting her eyes, fully waking herself up at the feeling.

mina’s usually never this horny, or bold for that matter, but after two weeks without her girlfriend with barely any time to talk to one another – she’s a whole new person.

holding onto one shoulder – earning a small mumble from you – mina grinds against you again. she’s only wearing your t-shirt, which sits loosely on her, and the panties from the picture she had sent – they’re soaked now.

her arms rest on the top of your shoulders now, and wrap around your neck as she clings onto you desperately. she feels hazy, seeing stars the faster she stimulates herself on you, and you have no fucking clue what’s going on. it honesly turns her on even more, getting to use you like this.

and when she thinks it can’t get anymore overwhelming, the feeling of her cunt against you, the thrill of making a mess of herself against you – she feels a rough, firm grip on her hips, then moves her head away from your neck to see your eyes slowly opening.

“baby, w-what?” you sigh out lazily, trying to process everything that’s going on, “what are you–”

mina cuts you off with a kiss, to which you respond immediately with a hand cupping her cheek, and your lips fitting with hers perfectly.

your girlfriend shudders against you, looking down at her cunt leaving a dark mark of arousal on your gray bottoms, then latches her lips onto your jawline. she leaves sensual kisses, waking you up from your deep sleep immediately. you melt as your hands reach the base of her neck.

she presses a peck on your upper jaw before muttering into your ear, “i missed– ah– you,” she says breathily.

“me too baby,” you respond with a sly smile, using your hands to push her down on your skin roughly, eliciting a loud moan into your ear.

she leans back, placing one hand on your shoulder while the other grabs the end of your tie. with a swift tug on the black cloth, you gasp in surprise. your face is close, close enough for mina to see your dilated pupils, creased brows, and flushed cheeks. it all adds to the allure, and tightens the knot in her stomach.

“y-you– fuck– left me all alone… l-last– god, nngh– night,” she struggles to say, especially when your thigh flexes. her hips jerk once before she grabs your hair roughly, then she throws her head back slightly, still making eye contact with you.

all your attention is on her, your eyes wide and pleading, like a puppy ready to answer and do anything she says. there's a mix of longing and desperation in your gaze, making you look arousingly pathetic and utterly irresistible simultaneously.

she tugs on your tie once more, earning a small whine, then orders: “you’re going to make me— u-ugh, cum, okay?”

you nod eagerly, already helping her please herself against you with both hands again.

quickly, you tap your thigh up and rut her against you once more, the sensation and timing earns something near a yelp from her. mina pauses in her place and you feel her lower body vibrate against you as her high washes over, she practically melts, and her body goes a little limp as she tries to catch her breath.

you hold her tightly, supporting her body as it recovers from the overwhelming feeling.

there’s a large, darkened spot on the cloth covering your whole thigh now, her arousal leaking over.

she kisses you again, basically taking the breath away from you. she traps your bottom lip between her two teeth, tugging gently to tease you – your grip on her tightens.

“y/n,” she says, climbing off your thigh and settling beside you.

you respond immediately, “yes?”

her hands toy with your tie again before she pulls dangerously. you whimper, biting the inside of your bottom lip. her manicured nails trace along your skin all the way up to the bandaid on your temple; you sigh out pathetically.

“where were you last night?” mina questions, letting her nail trace down your skin languidly. “no text, call, or girlfriend in my bed after two weeks of not seeing her.”

“i-i–” she tugs on your tie once more, tantalizingly, before rubbing two fingers on the cloth covering your cunt.s “mmf, i-i was caught in a pursuit and, we got into some um– some disagreements.” she presses on your cunt and your head shoots back – mina pulls again, making your head jerk forward to meet her dark gaze. “mina, please–”

“keep going, i didn’t tell you to stop, did i?”

you gulp. “n-no.”

she unzips your slacks now, skillfully unbuttoning it with one hand so she can play with your waistband. you fight the urge to look down, pleading with your eyes in an attempt for her to just fucking touch you.

pulling on the cloth again, she orders, “keep going.”

then she slides her fingers in, teasing your skin by rubbing circles above where you need it most. “j-jihyo um, she was beat up really–” mina presses against your clit, brushing her fingers over it softly and pushing your buttons. “fuck, really badly, a-and i– mmf–”

“you what, love?”

“p-please, please i need you, please just–”

“are you done with the story? i still don’t know why i woke up alone, and to find you dead asleep on the couch.” her tone is viscious, which makes you gulp again.

“s-sorry,” you apologize, looking down at her hand in your panties. “i waited until everyone was, patched up and–” you throw your head back at the feeling of her fingers sliding up and down your slit. she tugs – you whimper, “s-sorry. and i saw your text and had to go home and– god, i had to rush home and by the time i–”

you feel her enter you just barely, pressing just the tip of her finger inside you, making you squirm and moan breathily. your head shoots down, your eyes shutting in response to the overwhelming stimulus. mina's touch is grueling as her fingers trail up to your chin, caressing it with a sensual tenderness. she tilts your head back up, and when your eyes meet hers.

“c’mon, use your words.”

“s-sorry, again.” you pant. “i got home and, t-these past weeks i couldn’t sleep without y-you and–” she pushes half of her middle finger in; you bite back a groan in order to finish your explanation. “i-i guess it caught up to me, and then i passed out here.” you sigh out quickly, looking at her deperately.

“you haven’t been taking care of yourself?” mina asks, looking at you pitifully. her hand cups your cheek now, “love…”

“i just, missed you.”

mina frowns, rubbing her thumb on your cheek. “let me take care of you baby.”

“please,” you beg, “just, god, just touch me already.”

mina kisses your lips again, and as she does so, you groan into her lips as she pushes two fingers into your soaking cunt.

they enter seamlessly, earning a desperate mix of a cry and a whimper out of those puffy lips of yours. she brings her fingers out, and with the same thrill – pushes them back in, almost double the force. your hand grips your own thigh, overwhelmed by the way she flattens her palm against your clit, tormenting your pussy.

mina’s lips start to roam your neck, leaving marks that’ll stay for days, marks that’ll have you reprimanded but you don’t fucking care. she’s been gone for two weeks, way too long and fucking yourself to pictures of her on your phone could never compare to what you’re feeling right now.

she can feel your tightening around her fingers, you were always so easy to rile up, so sensitive and vocal about everything that made you feel good. so when she curls her fingers and feels your hand snake to her hair, practically pulling it off her scalp, she knows you’re close already.

and then you’re lazily grinding your hips against her, slacks now caught at your ankles as your panties start to soak up the arousal leaking from your entrance. your legs close, but mina opens them, getting rougher with her fingers and hitting your clit with her palm.

“m-mina,” you whine, “i’m close, god, so close,”

“yeah?” she says softly, in a way that sends a shiver throughout your whole body. “cum for me then, c’mon baby, you deserve it after all your hard work.”

you manage to look her in the eye, brows creased to oblivion and your jaw dropped before it picks itself up so you can mutter a shaky “m–hmm.”

her thumb moves swiftly to brush your clit, which is enough to send you over the edge, leaving you to shake against the couch and rock your hips up. she watches you cry out, the rise of your chest – then the fall, and feels her hand grow damp with your climax.

she continues to massage your clit, sliding her fingers up and down your entrance simultaneously to let you ride out your high, bringing you back down to earth, letting your vision go from hazy to normal again.

“m-mina, fuck, baby,” is all you can mutter before she pulls you forward with your tie, kissing your swollen, reddened lips. your words muffle against her and your hands grip her shoulder tightly before loosening the more you kiss.

you feel dizzy, dizzy in the best way possible with her lips on yours, tongues swirling and kisses growing sloppier.

and then mina pulls away one more time, twisting the fabric of your tie around her pointer as she gazes at you; dark red marks – almost purple, each the size of a quarter – are plastered on the skin of your neck, your eyes are closed as you breath heavily, and your hair is even more ruffled than before. you’re trembling, mina always liked how cute and overstimulated you are after you cum, so riled up and thrown off that it makes her want to kiss you till you’re struggling to bring air into your lungs.

she brings a hand to your hair, brushing the messy strands that hang over your pretty face in order to then cup your cheeks again. she smiles at you, grinning at the mess she’s made.

“awake now?”

“very.” you sigh out, bringing your hand over to her thigh to rub circles on it. “i’m really sorry for leaving you alone last night.”

mina shakes her head. “it’s fine, you had your job to do love.”

“i would’ve enjoyed doing you instead.” you joke, pouting at her cutely. “god, do you know how annoying it is to be horny when your girlfriend isn’t home?”

your girlfriend rests her head against the cushion, then turns to face you. “oh i know. i waited all night for you, you know?”

turning to her and giving her an apologetic frown, you apologize again, “sorry.”

mina rolls her eyes at you, giggling.

she holds your hand and uses the other to brush her fingers over the marks she’s made on your neck, making your breath hitch.

“make it up to me with a few more rounds?”

yeah, you’re tired as hell, even after eleven hours of sleep. you’ve just came and it took the life out of you – plus, you’re seriously just exhausted, but the way your cunt throbs at the suggestion urges you to lean over and kiss her again.

you pull away, lips brushing against hers before you answer against her, “ruin me.”

#twice x reader #kpop x reader #twice imagines #mina x reader #twice mina #myoui mina x reader #myoui mina #twice smut

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hirayalore · 4 months ago

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( 01. ) IN THE WAKE OF US.

when the passing of james and lily turns your world upside down, sirius is determined to face it with you, taking it upon himself to be the person that you need now that your older brother is no longer here.

amidst balancing shared grief, unexpected responsibilities, and a blooming familial dynamic with him and harry—you suddenly find yourself forging an unexplainable deeper bond with sirius that you’re not sure what to make out of, especially when other... odd emotions get involved that can’t be easily ignored.

pairing: sirius black x potter!reader

word count: 2.1k

rating: 18+

content: angst, fluff, nsfw | muggle au, modern au, brother’s best friend trope, forced proximity trope, childhood sweethearts trope (if you squint lmao), slow burn!!!! | ft. forensic scientist!sirius, artist!reader; philosophy professor!remus

warning/s: james and lily death (car crash, not detailed), grief, swearing, mature themes

[ chapter index. ]

CHAPTER ONE: YOU

The only thing grounding you at this moment is Sirius’ touch, his palms pressed on your knees as he’s crouched down in front of you. You’re sitting on the bench provided in the hospital hallways, still spiralling, still convincing yourself that maybe if you pinch your skin hard enough, you’ll jolt awake and all of this will be over.

“____,” he says your name, the sound of his voice enough to coax you to flutter your eyes open, meeting his gaze that is uncharacteristically soft.

You blink.

It’s funny, the more you think of it. The first person you never thought you’d call in an instance like this is Sirius. Mostly because… well, he’s Sirius. He’s the more annoying version of your brother, the bad influence, the one who only had to smirk and you’d automatically know that he’s trouble.

But perhaps if there’s also something you know about Sirius, it’s that his bond with James is something else. The two of them have always been more like brothers than friends, this unexplainable connection they had so seamless and natural that being part of Sirius’ life and him to yours was eventually easy too.

You feel his thumb gently rub against the material of your pants.

“Hm?” you weakly ask, dazed and exhausted.

“We have to contact Lily’s family,” he says. “I’m not sure if you have her sister’s number but—”

“I have it,” you say, sighing and rubbing your face with your palms. “I mean, I think I do. I used the number to contact Petunia before when I was helping out with Lily's bachelorette party, but she never responded.”

“Well, it’s still better to try.”

“Yeah, of course.” You take your phone out and go to your contacts, scrolling, but as you do, Sirius grabs the device from your fingers and moves to take the vacant spot beside you.

“I’ll handle it,” he explains, taking his own phone out and transferring the number to his.

You nod and go back to staring at the floor, no energy to argue when you can’t even think straight.

It’s a good thing that a pediatric nurse took Harry in the meantime as you gather your thoughts. She probably saw how messed up you were earlier when you were crying in Sirius’ arms, or maybe it was protocol for situations like these, when family members with children didn’t have the emotional capacity to look after them that they just volunteer to do the job for a few hours. You’re not sure. You’re just grateful that you don’t have to balance being a caring aunt and a mourning sister amidst everything at the moment.

“You want me to call Moony?” You hear Sirius speak again, your phone being handed back to you.

You swallow hard. More people being told about what happened would make it more real. Still, you nod. “Okay.”

“Alright.” He does a motion of standing up, though halts halfway, his bottom falling back on the seat as he touches your knee again.

You look at him. You see the cracks of pain in his eyes that he’s somehow doing a far better job with holding it together unlike you are. “Don’t,” you mumble and he raises an eyebrow.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t start saying sorry like the shit people do when they discover someone from your family died.”

A halfhearted snort escapes him. “That wasn’t what I was going to do.”

“No?”

“No.” He shakes his head, a few strands of his dark hair falling from where it’s tucked behind his ear.

You take a slow breath. “Then why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like a guy who’s concerned about you?” He points out. “I’m just making sure you’re alright, ____,” he says, his features softening up in a manner that appears so unusual, “which I know sounds stupid because it’s obvious that you’re not. Nobody in the right mind would be.”

Your eyes begin to water again, the reminder of why you’re in this horrible state filling up your head.

At the sight, Sirius curses under his breath, wordlessly bringing a hand on the back of your head to bring you closer, holding you as you pathetically find yourself crying for the hundredth time. “Look,” he begins, speaking against your hair, “you have me, okay? We’ll figure it out together.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. There’s no bloody manuals with these things, is there?”

“There should be. Something titled Grief for Dummies—or How to Survive When Every Family You Have Is Dead.”

“Stop that.” He hisses.

But it’s true, you want to say, with the exception of Harry, of course. Other than your nephew? No one is here anymore. Your mother died giving birth to you, your father died a few years shortly after, and now James is gone too. You’re having a hard time grasping how you’re supposed to live your life moving forward.

“I’m scared, Sirius,” you murmur, not knowing why you’re on the roll with the vulnerability tonight, but you can’t seem to stop yourself. “I wish… I wish this was just easier. That it didn’t have to happen. Or it was me who was—”

”Hey,” he interjects, pulling away and placing a warm hand on your cheek. It smells faintly of cigarettes, and if it wasn’t for the fact that your body seeks for comfort right now, you would have shoved it away. “I mean it. Stop it. I won’t tolerate this kind of shit talk.”

“Or what?” you deadpan. “At this point, what’s the worst thing that could happen?”

His lips press in a thin line. And then he brings you under his chin rubbing a thumb on your arm and letting you breathe in and out.

You don’t know how long the two of you sit there, but time has been moving far too slowly since James and Lily’s death. Eventually, you find yourself being led to the pediatric observation room of the hospital where Harry is, Sirius’ steady arm on your shoulders, like he’s afraid you’d collapse on the ground if he doesn’t hold you tight enough—which to be fair, you would agree with.

“Alright, here’s what we’re going to do,” he says just as you’re about to approach the doors leading to where your nephew is, “I’ll handle James and Lily’s funeral arrangements. I’ll be in charge of calling any relatives or friends that may want to know about their passing too.”

You open your mouth to speak but he shakes his head, continuing on.

“If you’re worried about the expenses, I have it handled. We can talk about the cost after everything is done if you want to split it—or not. You don’t have to pay it back, I don’t really care. I just want you to know that you don’t have to think about that right now, ___.”

You frown. It seems too much to let Sirius handle like that when technically it shouldn’t be his responsibility. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Okay, but—” you sigh, combing your fingers along your hair— “if you’re short on money or whatever—I’m not sure how much it’s supposed to cost—just tell me, okay? Maybe they have life insurance that we can—” You feel like rambling again and it’s Sirius’ hands on your shoulders that grounds you back on your feet.

“Hey,” he says and when you look up, there’s a hint of that familiar mischievousness in his eyes, “do you really think I would run short on money?”

You scoff out a halfhearted laugh, the first of the evening. “Show off.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know who you are.”

“That’s not—” He chuckles, rolling his eyes, while the ends of your mouth twitch. “Anyway, we’re clear on that, okay? I handle the funeral arrangements.”

You nod. “And what about me? What am I supposed to do?”

“Start finding a lawyer. For legal custody over Harry.”

Your head begins to pound at the reminder of another thing you have to stress over. “Yeah, fuck. I thought those things were automatic.”

“I can give Regulus a call. He might know someone.”

You can’t help but gape at him. “Since when did you become all chummy again with Regulus?”

“Since Walburga died.” He shrugs, mentioning the name of his mother without any hint of sadness or regret. “Turns out having both of our parents dead would make it easier to be brothers.”

Your mind flashes back to four years ago when Walburga died. You discovered it through James who broke the news like he was only informing you that your favorite cereal was out of stock at the market. And you can’t blame him for the showcase of indifference, not when to his eyes and yours, the rest of the Black family are not exactly the type of people you’d mourn about.

You knew that from the moment Sirius, at the age of 16, arrived at the doorstep of your household, announcing that he ran away from home and that he could no longer live in the same space as his horrid parents.

Still, you sent a text to Sirius when you heard about his mother’s passing, and he replied with a remark about finally being a freeman that you snorted to when you read it.

“So, you want me to call Reg?” he asks, and the nickname throws you off a bit.

You take a long inhale. “You’ve already been doing so much for the last five hours.”

“And?”

“And I think I can handle finding a lawyer on my own.”

“You think?” His piercing gray eyes analyze you like he has you memorized inside and out. “You might be forgetting, but my family has a law firm. One that Reg is co-managing right now.”

“Stop flexing how rich you are, Sirius,” you say as a joke.

He smirks. “It’s not a flex, it’s a fact.”

“Shut up.”

The smirk widens. “That settles it then. I’ll call Reg too, and I’ll forward you the number when he refers me to a competent family lawyer.”

“You don’t have to—” You stop talking when he raises a brow. “I just—it’s too much. You’ve already been doing so much,” you reiterate.

“____,” he says your name in a gentle tone, a tone that doesn’t match the ruggedness of his exterior, “let me do it. I’m not only doing this for you and Harry. I’m doing it for James.”

Your throat tightens and there’s a pressure building between your eyes.

“He wouldn’t want me to let his kid sister do this on her own,” he adds.

You huff, staring upwards and blinking to prevent any tears from spilling once again. “I’m not a kid.”

“I’m well-aware.”

With that, the conversation leads to you giving him the greenlight to talk to Regulus about finding a capable family lawyer, and Sirius gives you a tired smile before heading to the parking lot to make his calls and probably to have a smoke too, judging from how he’s already placing a stick between his teeth as he stalks off.

That leaves you to enter the pediatric observation room where Harry is bundled in, sleeping and completely unaware that it’s just you who he has now. You talk to the nurse and thank her, saying she can take a break and that you’ll call her again when you need her, and she nods and offers a warm smile.

Once the door closes, you look at Harry, caressing his head as a shaky breath escapes you.

He coos, opening his green eyes for a millisecond and then reaching out, causing you to go ahead and present an index finger to have his little hand fist around it.

At that, your heart melts and your eyes begin to get glassy once more. Suddenly you find all the motivation you need to keep going, to push back any selfish and negative thoughts you had earlier about not knowing what to live for now that James is gone.

Your mind brings you back to when your father died and James was perhaps in the same position you are at this moment, clueless at the age of 20 on how he’s supposed to take care of himself and his younger sister without the guidance of anyone but Google or Reddit. Even though he and Lily were already together, and that her presence gave him all the comfort and strength to be strong, you understand now how it must have taken all his courage to step up and never let you see even an ounce of devastation in his state.

“Guess you’re stuck with me, buddy,” you murmur.

Harry’s hand tightens.

You try to hold it in, but a sob escapes, shaky and quiet. You wipe them away with your free hand hastily, promising that as soon as you wake up tomorrow, you’re going to get your shit together and be the best person your nephew will have by his side.

Just like James was.

You’ll spend the rest of your life making sure of it.

note. see the parallel???? SJDSHDJS just dropping by to say that i’m so excited for this series but also want to apologize if updates go really slow sometimes!! unfortunately my day job also requires a lot of writing so please forgive me if i do not have the brain cells to write for this one <3

gentle reminder: this author loves feedback! let her know your thoughts if you enjoyed reading this fic and you’ll add 100+ points in her writing motivation meter ♡

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kalevalaknights · 5 months ago

Note

If you don’t have too many drawing requests- can I humbly request a Dr. Iplier? 🤲🏻

And do you have any Hcs on him? 🩵

Of course. Dr iplier is very tired.

-I believe that he’s an actual qualified surgeon rather than a guy in a costume.

-He wants to be a comedian, but he’s not funny enough. Hard to make a joke if the patient really is dying yknow.

-Likes to study rare conditions in his spare time. He will tell you about these.

-Should probably be in forensics too because of Wilford.

-Has a lot of blood from The Host. O negative. So he saves a lot of lives.

-He practices breaking bad news to his dog. Her name is Nurse.

-Lactose intolerant but still eats ice cream when he’s upset.

-Drinks double espresso with no milk. He has a job to do

#I will think of more soon methinks I will come back to this #dr.iplier #markiplier egos #Headcanon yap session #anon #ask #answered

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xxelliewxx · 5 months ago

Text

Fire and Frost {Ellie x Reader} Chapter 5

Pairings: loser!(AFAB)Reader x hockey player!Ellie

Synopsis: When y/n is requested to tutor Ellie Williams in organic chemistry, she expects arrogance and attitude from the hockey player. However, she discovers a different aspect of Ellie’s tough exterior, revealed through humor and fleeting glances. This raises the question: why does Ellie go to great lengths to embarrass and harass y/n whenever they are in the presence of others?

Warnings: Mentions of depression, anxiety, sexual/physical assault, alcohol, violence, trauma (if I miss any let me know!)

w/c: 1.9k

an: this is my first time ever posting fanfic on Tumblr, so feedback is completely welcome! this is not proofread and is a work in progress.

Radon Fears

The weekend passed by in a haze of blurry hours and restless nights. You spent most of it lying low, nursing your injuries and letting the stitches Dina had carefully tended to do their work. The physical pain was a dull throb now, more of an uncomfortable reminder than a constant ache. But the emotional strain was harder to shake.

You and Ellie would sometimes exchange messages, with her reaching out to check on your recovery and to confirm if Dina had indeed tended to your injuries as you had mentioned. Each message from her lit up your day, revealing a playful side of the captain that you rarely saw. You even shared silly doodles reminiscent of the ones you had sketched on your now-broken iPad, its shattered state lingering in your thoughts, a reminder to keep your guard up.

Sunday evenings were the designated time for your chemistry club's biweekly gatherings, the other being Wednesday nights. This past week had been filled with anticipation as you prepared for an exciting theme: forensic chemistry night! The weekend meetings always brought a lively energy that the weekday sessions, which were primarily dedicated to gearing up for the chemistry olympics organized by the American Chemical Society, simply couldn't match.

Ensuring that the tote brimming with props and supplies was all set, you grasped the hefty bin and stepped out of your apartment, securing the door with a firm click behind you. With the bin balanced in your grip, you juggled your keys, using the fob to unlock your car before sliding the tote into the back seat of your Jeep Cherokee.

The journey to the science building on campus was brief, allowing you to bask in a cozy silence, anticipation swirling inside you as you approached the meeting spot. Lavoisier Chemistry Hall, the venue for your gatherings, was the very lecture hall where Dr. M delivered her captivating lectures. Outside, your friend and assistant, Yara, stood eagerly, prepared to assist you in carrying all the props inside.

With a grin spreading across your face, you shifted your car into park and leaped out in a burst of enthusiasm, flinging the door open and grabbing the tote with eager hands. "Did you bring everything?" you inquired, panting slightly from the heft of the bin and what it held inside.

Yara grinned, giving a playful nod, "Oh fuck yeah, I did!" You had asked her to bring along her trace evidence analysis kits, including her fingerprint development kit. A surge of exhilaration coursed through you as you dashed inside, with Yara trailing right behind, her enthusiasm shining just as brightly as yours.

Dr. M was filled with anticipation as she awaited your entrance into the lecture hall, her face beaming with a bright smile that mirrored yours. As you and Yara got ready for the club members to arrive, the atmosphere buzzed with excitement. Today's meeting centered on utilizing the kits to uncover trace evidence scattered throughout the room, while you all delved into the fascinating chemistry that underpins trace evidence analysis.

As the minutes passed, club members began to trickle in, their excitement palpable as you and Yara added the final touches to the setup. With a warm smile, Dr. M welcomed each person at the door, presenting them with a delicious chocolate chip cookie—a delightful tradition that had become a hallmark of these gatherings. The members looked on with curiosity at the setup you had created, eager to dive into the meeting. With a clap of your hands to announce the beginning, you exclaimed, "Welcome, everyone! I trust you had a wonderful weekend. Today’s meeting promises to be an exciting one. There has been a murder!"

All activity came to a halt, concern etched on their faces as they failed to grasp that you were merely joking. With a playful cough, you announced, "Hey everyone, no actual murder here—just go with the flow!"

As they caught on, the crowd erupted in exaggerated gasps, prompting you and Yara to burst into laughter. "Now, it's your turn to uncover any clues in this room that could stand up in court!" Yara declared, her enthusiasm bubbling over as the meeting aligned perfectly with her passion for forensics.

As you prepared to speak once more, a gentle knock echoed from the door. You turned to Dr. M, who gestured for you to carry on. Taking a deep breath, you declared, "You have 35 minutes to gather all the evidence in this room. Feel free to collaborate as a team or tackle it solo."

Dr. M then beckoned you closer, her hand waving in your direction. A look of bewilderment crossed your face as you turned to Yara, silently requesting her to step in for you. As you approached Dr. M, your gaze shifted past her to spot Ellie, who stood there, beads of sweat cascading down her chin, a clear sign of her recent hockey practice.

Your throat felt dry as you took in her appearance: a black cap worn backwards, a snug dri-fit shirt that accentuated her toned abs adorned with the school's hockey logo, and joggers emblazoned with the Bauer name along the thigh. Fuck.

Her chest heaved rhythmically, another clear indication that she had just finished practice, and she offered you a shy wave. "Could I steal you for a sec?" you nodded, reluctantly pulling your gaze from her deep forest green eyes, warmth flooding your cheeks as you stepped out of the lecture hall.

With a hint of tension, she rubbed the back of her neck with her right hand, her bicep taut and defined, while her left arm remained hidden behind her back. This little quirk of hers caught your attention, finding her anxious gestures adorable. "Is everything alright?"

Ellie averted her eyes, giving a slight shake of her head. "Yeah, no, everything's fine. I, um, swung by your place, but Dina said you’d be here." You nodded, observing as she shifted uncomfortable under your stare, her fingers nervously toying with the gift bag she had hidden behind her. As she extended it toward you, her eyes fell to the ground, fixated on her sneakers.

As you eagerly unwrapped the tissue paper from the bag, a pristine white box came into view. The familiar Apple script elegantly spelled out iPad on the side, and a wave of disbelief washed over you. It dawned on you with stunning clarity—Ellie had gone out of her way to replace the iPad she had broken. While you appreciated the gesture, it still left you in awe that she had done such a thing.

Gazing up at her, it was hard to determine whether the rosy hue on her cheeks came from gliding over the ice all day or if she was simply feeling shy. "Listen, I messed up and I shouldn’t have wrecked your stuff. I genuinely regret it, and I hope this can help make up for it."

Not knowing what to say, you leaped forward and enveloped her in a warm hug, inhaling the delightful fragrance of her cologne that lingered in the air. You found yourself captivated by the firmness of her muscles, sensing her initial tension before she melted into your hold, her arm finding its way around your waist. The sensation of her embrace sent a flurry of butterflies dancing in your stomach, a thrill you hadn't experienced in ages.

"Thank you, Ellie. This is so thoughtful."

Ellie rolled her eyes at your words, stepping back and leaving you longing for the warmth of her hug. "Thoughtful? Y/N, I fucking broke it to begin with, of course I was going to replace it. Listen, don't make a big deal about this, I just wanted to apologize."

A slight pang of disappointment washed over you as she dismissed your compliment, clearly attempting to distance herself. You nodded slowly, your gaze dropping to the bag clutched in your hand, unsure of how to respond to the awkwardness hanging in the air. Ellie tilted your chin upward, her gaze meeting yours as she released a gentle sigh. "Are we still on for tomorrow?"

She seemed to possess an uncanny ability to leave you utterly speechless, leaving you with no choice but to nod in response. You observed as her typically stoic demeanor melted away, replaced by a gentle smile that warmed the air between you. "Good," she said softly. Releasing her grip on your chin, the brunette tucked her hands into her pockets as if to resist the urge to reach out to you again. "You should probably head back to your meeting. I’ll catch you in the library, just like last time. Take care of that cut please." Without waiting for your response, Ellie turned on her heel and walked away, her figure gradually fading from view. You were fucked.

The meeting whirled by in a haze, your thoughts tangled in a tapestry of greens and the anticipation of tomorrow's tutor session. Yara noticed your wandering focus and stepped in to steer the discussion, allowing you to drift deeper into your own reflections—a familiar dance between the two of you. You were grateful for her.

After the meeting wrapped up, you loaded your car with the remnants of the evening's discussions, feeling a sense of satisfaction with how everything had unfolded. As you crossed the threshold of your home, thoughts of Ellie danced in your mind, and you found yourself biting your lip while you tucked the bin away in the closet. Dina snuggled close to Jesse on the couch, engrossed in a Marvel movie, while the inviting aroma of freshly popped popcorn filled the air.

As you popped a few kernels into your mouth, you settled down next to the couple, attempting to grasp the unfolding plot of the film, using it as a diversion from the events of the night. "Did Ellie come find you." Dina pulled you back from your reverie, mentioning the very distraction you had been trying to steer clear of.

With a reluctant grunt of affirmation, you brushed her off, feigning interest in the screen. "Do you forgive her?" Jesse chimed in, eager to join the discussion. You rolled your eyes and popped more popcorn into your mouth, stalling for time. "Well?"

With a heavy sigh, you pushed yourself off the couch. "Enough already, you two. I’m not in the mood to discuss this." Snatching the gift bag you had set on the counter earlier, you trudged to your room, the door slamming shut behind you in a fit of irritation. A thrill surged through you, igniting a spark of enthusiasm to resume journaling. So many thoughts had slipped away, lost in the void created by your absence of a writing tool.

As you lifted the cover off the iPad, a slip of paper caught your eye, resting atop the sleek surface of the device. Curiosity sparked within you as you set the lid aside and reached for the paper. The front was blank, a canvas of emptiness waiting to be explored. Turning it over, you were greeted by a vibrant drawing of a cow with a sulky expression, accompanied by Ellie’s tidy handwriting that read, I made a mis-steak, I am sorry.

You burst into laughter at the sight, your heart brimming with admiration for the brunette's dedication not only to the iPad but also to her artwork. With a sense of purpose, you took the drawing and secured it to your cork board with a tack, ensuring it would be in clear sight every time you settled down at your desk to write or draw.

A wave of excitement washed over you at the thought of seeing her again the following day, a rush you desperately tried to contain. You kept telling yourself to stay grounded; your role was strictly that of a tutor, nothing more. Yet, you found yourself craving the brief moments of affection she provided, however rare they might be. Deep inside, you recognized the importance of maintaining some distance, but uncertainty gnawed at you—was it really possible to step back now?

Absolutely not, and that scared the fuck out of you.

#abby anderson #dina tlou #ellie williams #ellie x fem reader #ellie x reader #ellie x y/n #the last of us #abby tlou #ellie tlou #x reader #@vahnilla #@liasxeatt

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mostlysignssomeportents · 6 months ago

Text

Chapter One of “Picks and Shovels” (Part 1)

Picks and Shovels is a new, standalone technothriller starring Marty Hench, my two-fisted, hard-fighting, tech-scam-busting forensic accountant. You can pre-order it on my latest Kickstarter, which features a brilliant audiobook read by Wil Wheaton.

My next novel is Picks and Shovels, out next month. It's tells the origin story of Martin Hench, my hard-charging, scambusting, high-tech forensic accountant, in a 1980s battle over the soul of a PC company:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865908/picksandshovels

I'm currently running a Kickstarter to pre-sell the book in every format: hardcover, DRM-free ebook, and an independently produced, fabulous DRM-free audiobook read by Wil Wheaton, who just nailed the delivery:

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/doctorow/picks-and-shovels-marty-hench-at-the-dawn-of-enshittification

Picks and Shovels opens with a long prologue that recounts Marty's misadventures as a failing computer science student at MIT, his love-affair with computers, and his first disastrous startup venture. It ends with him decamping to Silicon Valley with his roommate Art, a brilliant programmer, to seek their fortune.

Chapter one opens with Marty's first job, working for a weird PC company (there were so many weird PC companies back then!). I've posted Wil's audio reading of chapter one as a teaser for the Kickstarter:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IGXz1mkAd2Q

(Here it is as an MP3 at the Internet Archive:)

https://ia600607.us.archive.org/5/items/picks-and-shovels-promo/audio.mp3

The audio is great, but I thought I'd also serialize the text of Chapter One here, in five or six chunks. If you enjoy this and want to pre-order the book, please consider backing the Kickstarter:

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/doctorow/picks-and-shovels-marty-hench-at-the-dawn-of-enshittification

Chapter One

Fidelity Computing was the most colorful PC company in Silicon Valley.

A Catholic priest, a Mormon bishop, and an Orthodox rabbi walk into a technology gold rush and start a computer company. The fact that it sounded like the setup for a nerdy joke about the mid-1980s was fantastic for their bottom line. Everyone who heard their story loved it.

As juicy as the story of Fidelity Computing was, they flew under most people’s radar for years, even as they built a wildly profitable technology empire through direct sales through faith groups. The first time most of us heard of them was in 1983, when Byte ran its cover story on Fidelity Computing, unearthing a parallel universe of technology that had grown up while no one was looking.

At first, I thought maybe they were doing something similar to Apple’s new Macintosh: like Apple, they made PCs (the Wise PC), an operating system (Wise DOS), and a whole line of monitors, disk drives, printers, and software.

Like the Mac, none of these things worked with anything else—you needed to buy everything from floppy disks to printer cables specially from them, because nothing anyone else made would work with their system.

And like the Mac, they sold mostly through word of mouth. The big difference was that Mac users were proud to call themselves a cult, while Fidelity Computing’s customers were literally a religion.

Long after Fidelity had been called to the Great Beyond, its most loyal customers gave it an afterlife, nursing their computers along, until the parts and supplies ran out. They’d have kept going even then, if there’d been any way to unlock their machines and use the same stuff the rest of the computing world relied on. But that wasn’t something Fidelity Computing would permit, even from beyond the grave.

I was summoned to Fidelity headquarters—in unfashionable Colma, far from the white-hot start-ups of Palo Alto, Mountain View, and, of course, Cupertino—by a friend of Art’s. Art had a lot more friends than me. I was a skipping stone, working as the part-time bookkeeper/accountant/CFO for half a dozen companies and never spending more than one or two days in the same office.

Art was hardly more stable than me—he switched start-ups all the time, working for as little as two months (and never for more than a year) before moving on. His bosses knew what they were getting: you hired Art Hellman to blaze into your company, take stock of your product plan, root out and correct all of its weak points, build core code libraries, and then move on. He was good enough and sufficiently in demand to command the right to behave this way, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. My view was, it was an extended celebration of his liberation from the legal villainy of Nick Cassidy III: having narrowly escaped a cage, he was determined never to be locked up again.

Art’s “engagements”—as he called them—earned him the respect and camaraderie of half the programmers and hardware engineers in the Valley. This, in spite of the fact that he was a public and ardent member of the Lavender Panthers, wore the badge on his lapel, went to the marches, and brought his boyfriend to all the places where his straight colleagues brought their girlfriends.

He’d come out to me less than a week after I arrived by the simple expedient of introducing the guy he was watching TV with in our living room as Lewis, his boyfriend. Lewis was a Chinese guy about our age, and his wardrobe—plain white tee, tight blue jeans, loafers—matched the new look Art had adopted since leaving Boston. Lewis had a neat, short haircut that matched Art’s new haircut, too.

To call the Art I’d known in Cambridge a slob would be an insult to the natty, fashion-conscious modern slob. He’d favored old band T-shirts with fraying armpit seams, too-big jeans that were either always sliding off his skinny hips or pulled up halfway to his nipples. In the summer, his sneakers had holes in the toes. In the winter, his boots were road-salt-crusted crystalline eruptions. His red curls were too chaotic for a white-boy ’fro and were more of a heap, and he often went days without shaving.

There were members of the Newbury Street Irregulars who were bigger slobs than Art, but they smelled. Art washed, but otherwise, he looked like a homeless person (or a hacker). His transformation to a neatly dressed, clean-shaven fellow with a twenty-five-dollar haircut that he actually used some sort of hairspray on was remarkable. I’d assumed it was about his new life as a grown-up living far from home and doing a real job. It turned out that wasn’t the reason at all.

“Oh,” I said. “That makes a lot of sense.” I shook Lewis’s hand. He laughed. I checked Art. He was playing it cool, but I could tell he was nervous. I remembered Lucille and how she listened, and what it felt like to be heard. I thought about Art, and the things he’d never been able to tell me.

There’d been a woman in the Irregulars who there were rumors about, and there were a pair of guys one floor down in Art’s building who held hands in the elevator, but as far as I knew up until that moment, I hadn’t really ever been introduced to a homosexual person. I didn’t know how I felt about it, but I did know how I wanted to feel about it.

So Art didn’t just get to know all kinds of geeks from his whistle-stop tour of Silicon Valley’s hottest new tech ventures. He was also plugged into this other network of people from the Lavender Panthers, and their boyfriends and girlfriends, and the people he knew from bars and clubs. He and Lewis lasted for a couple of months, and then there were a string of weekends where there was a new guy at the breakfast table, and then he settled down again for a while with Artemis, and then he hit a long dry spell.

I commiserated. I’d been having a dry spell for nearly the whole two years I’d been in California. The closest I came to romance was exchanging a letter with Lucille every couple of weeks—she was a fine pen pal, but that wasn’t really a substitute for a living, breathing woman in my life.

Art threw himself into his volunteer work, and he was only half joking when he said he did it to meet a better class of boys than you got at a club. Sometimes, there’d be a committee meeting in our living room and I’d hear about the congressional committee hearing on the “gay plague” and the new wave of especially vicious attacks. It was pretty much the only time I heard about that stuff—no one I worked with ever brought it up, unless it was to make a terrible joke.

It was Murf, one of the guys from those meetings, who told me that Fidelity Computing was looking for an accountant for a special project. He had stayed after the meeting and he and Art made a pot of coffee and sat down in front of Art’s Apple clone, a Franklin Ace 1200 that he’d scored six months ahead of its official release. After opening the lid to show Murf the interior, Art fired it up and put it through its paces.

I hovered over his shoulder, watching. I’d had a couple of chances to play with the 1200, and I wanted one more than anything in the world except for a girlfriend.

“Marty,” Art said, “Murf was telling me about a job I thought you might be good for.”

The Ace 1200 would have a list price of $2,200. I pulled up a chair.

Fidelity Computing’s business offices were attached to their warehouse, right next to their factory. It took up half of a business park in Colma, and I had to circle it twice to find a parking spot. I was five minutes late and flustered when I presented myself to the receptionist, a blond woman with a ten – years – out – of – date haircut and a modest cardigan over a sensible white shirt buttoned to the collar, ring on her finger.

“Hello,” I said. “I’m Marty Hench. I—uh—I’ve got a meeting with the Reverend Sirs.” That was what the executive assistant I’d spoken to on the phone had called them. It sounded weird when he said it. It sounded weirder when I said it.

The receptionist gave me a smile that only went as far as her lips. “Please have a seat,” she said. There were only three chairs in the little reception area, vinyl office chairs with worn wooden armrests. There weren’t any magazines, just glossy catalogs featuring the latest Fidelity Computing systems, accessories, consumables, and software. I browsed one, marveling at the parallel universe of computers in the strange, mauve color that denoted all Fidelity equipment, including the boxes, packaging, and, now that I was attuned to it, the accents and carpet in the small lobby. A side door opened and a young, efficient man in a kippah and wire-rim glasses called for me: “Mr. Hench?” I closed the catalog and returned it to the pile and stood. As I went to shake his hand, I realized that something had been nagging me about the catalog—there were no prices.

“I’m Shlomo,” the man said. “We spoke on the phone. Thank you for coming down. The Reverend Sirs are ready to see you now.”

He wore plain black slacks, hard black shiny shoes, and a white shirt with prayer-shawl tassels poking out of its tails. I followed him through a vast room filled with chest-high Steelcase cubicles finished in yellowing, chipped wood veneer, every scratch pitilessly lit by harsh overhead fluorescents. Most of the workers at the cubicles were women with headsets, speaking in hushed tones. The tops of their heads marked the interfaith delineators: a block of Orthodox headscarves, then a block of nuns’ black and white scarves (I learned to call them “veils” later), then the Mormons’ carefully coiffed, mostly blond dos.

“This way,” Shlomo said, passing through another door and into executive row. The mauve carpets were newer, the nap all swept in one direction. The walls were lined with framed certificates of appreciation, letters from religious and public officials (apparently, the church and state were not separate within the walls of Fidelity Computing), photos of groups of progressively larger groups of people ranked before progressively larger offices—the company history.

We walked all the way to the end of the hall, past closed doors with nameplates, to a corner conference room with a glass wall down one side, showing a partial view of a truck-loading dock behind half-closed vertical blinds. Seated at intervals around a large conference table were the Reverend Sirs themselves, each with his own yellow pad, pencil, and coffee cup.

Shlomo announced me: “Reverend Sirs, this is Marty Hench. Mr. Hench, these are Rabbi Yisrael Finkel, Bishop Leonard Clarke, and Father Marek Tarnowski.” He backed out of the door, leaving me standing, unsure if I should circle the table shaking hands, or take a seat, or—

“Please, sit,” Rabbi Finkel said. He was fiftyish, round-faced and bear-shaped with graying sidelocks and beard and a black suit and tie. His eyes were sharp behind horn-rimmed glasses. He gestured to a chair at the foot of the table.

I sat, then rose a little to undo the button of my sport coat. I hadn’t worn it since my second job interview, when I realized it was making the interviewers uncomfortable. It certainly made me uncomfortable. I fished out the little steno pad and stick pen I’d brought with me.

“Thank you for coming, Mr. Hench.” The rabbi had an orator’s voice, that big chest of his serving as a resonating chamber like a double bass.

“Of course,” I said. “Thanks for inviting me. It’s a fascinating company you have here.”

Bishop Clarke smiled at that. He was the best dressed of the three, in a well-cut business suit, his hair short, neat, side-parted. His smile was very white, and very wide. He was the youngest of the three—in his late thirties, I’d guess. “Thank you,” he said. “We know we’re very different from the other computer companies, and we like it that way. We like to think that we see something in computers—a potential—that other people have missed.”

Father Tarnowski scowled. He was cadaverously tall and thin, with the usual dog collar and jacket, and a heavy gold class ring. His half-rim glasses flashed. He was the oldest, maybe sixty, and had a sour look that I took for habitual. “He doesn’t want the press packet, Leonard,” he said. “Let’s get to the point.” He had a broad Chicago accent like a tough-guy gangster in The Untouchables.

Bishop Clarke’s smile blinked off and on for an instant and I was overcome with the sudden knowledge that these two men did not like each other at all, and that there was some kind of long-running argument simmering beneath the surface. “Thank you, Marek, of course. Mr. Hench’s time is valuable.” Father Tarnowski snorted softly at that and the bishop pretended he didn’t hear it, but I saw Rabbi Finkel grimace at his yellow pad.

“What can I help you Reverend Sirs with today?” Reverend Sirs came more easily now, didn’t feel ridiculous at all. The three of them gave the impression of being a quarter inch away from going for each other’s throats, and the formality was a way to keep tensions at a distance.

“We need a certain kind of accountant,” the rabbi said. He’d dated the top of his yellow pad and then circled the date. “A kind of accountant who understands the computer business. Who understands computers, on a technical level. It’s hard to find an accountant like that, believe it or not, even in Silicon Valley.” I didn’t point out that Colma wasn’t in Silicon Valley.

“Well,” I said, carefully. “I think I fit that bill. I’ve only got an associate’s degree in accounting, but I’m a kind of floating CFO for half a dozen companies and I’ve been doing night classes at UCSF Extension to get my bachelor’s. I did a year at MIT and built my own computer a few years back. I program pretty well in BASIC and Pascal and I’ve got a little C, and I’m a pretty darned good debugger, if I do say so myself.”

Bishop Clarke gave a small but audible sigh of relief. “You do indeed sound perfect, and I’m told that Shlomo spoke to your references and they were very enthusiastic about your diligence and . . . discretion.”

I’d given Shlomo a list of four clients I’d done extensive work with, but I hadn’t had “discretion” in mind when I selected them. It’s true that doing a company’s accounts made me privy to some sensitive information—like when two employees with the same job were getting paid very different salaries—but I got the feeling that wasn’t the kind of “discretion” the bishop had in mind.

“I’m pretty good at minding my own business,” I said, and then, “even when I’m being paid to mind someone else’s.” I liked that line, and made a mental note about it. Maybe someday I’d put it on my letterhead. Martin Hench: Confidential CPA.

The bishop favored me with a chuckle. The rabbi nodded thoughtfully. The priest scowled.

“That’s very good,” the bishop said. “What we’d like to discuss today is of a very sensitive nature, and I’m sure you’ll understand if we would like more than your good word to rely on.” He lifted his yellow pad, revealing a single page, grainily photocopied, and slid it over the table to me. “That’s our standard nondisclosure agreement,” he said. He slid a pen along to go with it.

I didn’t say anything. I’d signed a few NDAs, but only after I’d taken a contract. This was something different. I squinted at the page, which was a second- or third-generation copy and blurry in places. I started to read it. The bishop made a disgusted noise. I pretended I didn’t hear him.

I crossed out a few clauses and carefully lettered in an amendment. I initialed the changes and slid the paper back across the table to the bishop, and found the smile was gone from his face. All three of them were now giving me stern looks, wrath-of-God looks, the kind of looks that would make a twenty-one-year-old kid like me very nervous indeed. I felt the nerves rise and firmly pushed them down.

“Mr. Hench,” the bishop said, his tone low and serious, “is there some kind of problem?”

It pissed me off. I’d driven all the way to for-chrissakes Colma and these three weirdo God-botherers had ambushed me with their everything – and – the – kitchen – sink contract. I had plenty of work, and I didn’t need theirs, especially not if this was the way they wanted to deal. This had suddenly become a negotiation, and my old man had always told me the best negotiating position was a willingness to get up from the table. I was going to win this negotiation, one way or another.

“No problem,” I said.

“And yet you appear to have made alterations to our standard agreement.”

“I did,” I said. That’s not a problem for me, I didn’t say.

He gave me more of that stern eyeball-ray stuff. I let my negotiating leverage repel it. “Mr. Hench, our standard agreement can only be altered after review by our general counsel.”

“That sounds like a prudent policy,” I said, and met his stare.

He clucked his tongue. “I can get a fresh one,” he said. “This one is no good.”

I cocked my head. “I think it’d be better to get your general counsel, wouldn’t it?”

The three of them glared at me. I found I was enjoying myself. What’s more, I thought Rabbi Finkel might be suppressing a little smile, though the beard made it hard to tell.

“Let me see it,” he said, holding his hand out.

Bishop Clarke gave a minute shake of his head. The rabbi half rose, reached across the table, and slid it over to himself, holding it at arm’s length and adjusting his glasses. He picked up his pen and initialed next to my changes.

“Those should be fine,” he said, and slid it back to me. “Sign, please.”

“Yisrael,” Bishop Clarke said, an edge in his voice, “changes to the standard agreements need to be reviewed—”

“By our general counsel,” the rabbi finished, waving a dismissive gesture at him. “I know, I know. But these are fine. We should probably make the same changes to all our agreements. Meanwhile, we’ve all now had a demonstration that Mr. Hench is the kind of person who takes his promises seriously. Would you rather have someone who doesn’t read and signs his life away, or someone who makes sure he knows what he’s signing and agrees with it?”

Bishop Clarke’s smile came back, strained at the corners. “That’s an excellent point, Rabbi. Thank you for helping me understand your reasoning.” He collected the now-signed contract from me and tucked it back under his yellow pad.

“Now,” he said, “we can get down to the reason we asked you here today.”

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thewritetofreespeech · 2 years ago

Note

Could I request brothers of Obey Me with an s/o who's a medical expert?

Obey me Brothers + medical expert s/o

Lucifer

Finds it interesting.

He doesn’t know much about human anatomy or medicine, so it’s always interesting when someone knows more about a topic than he does.

Really has no interest in the physicality of humans or healing. Just interested in their knowledge and hobby.

Provides them with as many resources as possible if they wish to learn demon medicine as well. But only if they want to.

Mammon

Probably says a lot about him that he finds it so hot….

Hearing them talk about medicine, and take authority in an emergency, gets his blood going.

He has no idea what they are talking about, as he’s pretty think with anything biology or health related, but it sounds impressive.

Makes jokes about wanting to play doctor, but gets too flustered & embarrassed if they take him up on it to follow through.

Levi

Finds it interesting, but only for fact checking games or his otome fanfic needs.

He got really into medical information when Hataraku Saibō came out. However he quickly lost interest when he had to actually learn stuff and look at pictures of blood.

Levi has a slight Hemophobia complex.

Will go ask them things like “how quickly does the human body drain of blood?” “what’s the difference between a laceration and a hematoma?” “could someone live if they were stabbed in the stomach 13 times?” For literary purposes only.

Satan

Of course loves anything to do with knowledge, and the amount of reading required to become a medical expert is just a bonus.

Satan also has an interest in medicine and medical information due to his love of mystery drama, which are his favorite type.

Forensic knowledge has a great crossover. So he spends a lot of time speculating with s/o on the cause of death or suspects in a book before it reaches the end.

Finds a lot of obscure medical books & journals to share with them, should they cross his path.

Asmo

Says he’s interested, but only to play doctor.

A lot of it really goes over his head as Asmo is only interested in figures. Not literal anatomy.

He does like to listen to them though, as they always get so passionate when they talk about some medical marvel of obscure fact. He’s always found passion to be a person’s sexiest quality.

Dresses up like a nurse a lot to surprise them. Thinks it’s helpful.

Beel

A lot of it is too technical for Beel too, but he tries to pay more attention than Asmo.

He is actually really interested in anatomy. Particularly as it relates to kinesis and physicality.

He asks a lot of questions on how to move his body better to improve his results. Or avoid injury.

Injuries do happen though, as it’s inevitable with sports or the high intensity work outs, he’s doing. Goes to s/o to have them bandage him up and take care of him. They always have to ask if he’s running a fever as well with how much he blushes.

Belphie

Belphie is a bit of the medical expert too. He had a lot of time to read when he was locked up in that attic, and anatomy was actually always an interest of his before s/o.

He plays dumb though and acts like he doesn’t understand things, so they’ll reteach him. Mostly just to hear them talk.

He also plays sick a lot so they’ll take care of him. Not necessarily a Munchausen, just needy.

It usually works. However there are sometimes when the treatments get a little….intense, and more than he bargained for. At least they haven’t tried surgery on him yet.

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tumbleweed-writes · 1 year ago

Text

Death and the Lady: Chapter Four

Previous chapter found HERE

This chapter is slightly nsfw. So, 18+ only.

-----

Chapter Four: An Arrangement

Deputy David Hale usually didn’t make Y/N Y/L/N feel any sense of anxiety. To be honest, most of the time she was around him she just felt a little annoyed.

Her past interactions with the Charming police were a mixed bag.

Back when she’d been going through her wild phase with SAMCRO her interactions with the local police usually ended with her in handcuffs. Now that she was back in town and operating as a local funeral director, her interactions with the police tended to involve making arrangements for police escorts for funeral processions.

To be honest her feelings towards Charming’s local P.D. were quite conflicted given her past indiscretions…and her current ones.

She’d always found Deputy Hale to be arrogant and just a little too self righteous for comfort.

David Hale had been in the same grade as both her brother, Jax Teller and Opie Winston when she’d been growing up. All four guys had been five years older than her, so they’d not really interacted outside of the interactions all three men had shared with her older brother.

Of course, that had changed once she’d gotten older and her brother had his accident. After that her interactions with Hale weren’t pleasant and her interactions with Jax and Opie were chaotic.

Before the accident, her elder brother had been childhood friends with Deputy Hale all the way up until middle school when it had become obvious that her brother was finding new friendships with Jax and Opie.

It had become clear that David disapproved of Daniel Y/L/N’s newfound friendships.

Even as a teenager, Hale seemed to carry around the notion that he was superior to the kids of Charming’s white trash biker gang.

Y/N had gotten a certain level of respect from Hale as had her brother as their father was a respected member of the community…well they’d gotten respect before they’d rebelled and proved they were comfortable interacting with the white trash biker gang.

Hale himself came from one of the more affluent families in Charming. Generations of the Hales were politicians, lawyers, and doctors.

David Hale had seemed to believe that his family background meant that he was somehow far better than the new friends Daniel Y/L/N had acquired.

In Y/N’s opinion the Hales were nothing special. Everyone was equal in death after all. She had very little tolerance for people who tried to pretend they were somehow more important than anyone else. She didn’t care for snobbish people especially when she knew they’d wind up on her embalming table right where the same people they’d looked down upon had laid as well.

From what she could remember David Hale had been the All-American boy. He was the kind of guy who knew he wanted to grow up and serve the community. He was a boy scout. He played baseball in the spring and summer and football in the fall for the local high school. He attended church on Sunday and volunteered at the nursing home as a teen.

She guessed she shouldn’t be shocked that even as a man in his thirties David Hale was still just as pious as he’d always been.

If this had been any other scenario she’d almost find it funny to find that Hale had maintained the same short hair cut he’d had since he was a teenager. She’d always thought it made him appear a little boring especially when they’d been teens. Wasn’t being a teen the time where you did stupid crap to your hair after all?

Standing near the Deputy sheriff, a few other members of Charming PD’s finest, and a borrowed modest forensic unit from Lodi near an open grave made her feel less than amused at the moment though.

She’d felt sick to her stomach when she’d received the call early this morning that another grave in Charming’s cemetery had been robbed. This was the second one within such a short time period.

Both graves had previously been occupied by men she had buried and embalmed. She’d been asked to come out by the Deputy and at least give her insight on what had happened.

She hoped and prayed that the look of astonishment on her face, as she arrived at the cemetery, read as someone who was simply horrified by the situation and not at all aware of exactly who was responsible for this.

She gazed down into the empty casket both astounded and relieved to see that the sacks of dry concrete she’d filled the casket with were long gone.

It seemed that whoever had done this had been smart enough to make it appear as though she’d buried a body in the casket and not sacks of concrete.

She knew the concrete had been a risk, but it had been necessary for the funeral. A full casket weighed more than an empty one. She’d just been relieved that she was right that the man’s family had no desire to see what laid within the casket.

The man’s funeral had actually been quite sparse. From her interactions with the family regarding funeral arrangements it had seemed that the man had not had many friends in life and wasn’t the kind of guy that warranted a room full of mourners. She hated to talk ill of the dead, but she’d gotten the impression he’d not been the nicest guy.

She hated to admit it but the information had made her feel less guilty about the fact that she’d technically loaned the guy’s body to the local MC.

She knew of course that the thought was a weak attempt to mentally absolve herself from her guilt.

She’d be lying if she tried to claim she hadn't had a few nightmares about what she’d done. Most of the dreams featured her walking through the cemetery at night following a Son who she was sure might be Filip from what she could see through the pitch black night, only to have hands shoot out from the ground below her dragging her down screaming before she could escape.

She’d woken up in cold sweats hyperventilating more times than she cared to admit over the past month.

Y/N didn’t need to be Sigmund Freud or Carl Jung to figure out the symbolism behind such nightmares. Her brain was taunting her both about her guilt over her actions and her newfound involvement with a group of men she’d thought she’d moved on from.

As she stood over the empty grave she was overcome with the notion that she knew just who was likely responsible for the scene in front of her.

Jax and Chibs had apparently not been lying to her when they’d reassured her that the favor she’d done for the club would not lead back to her.

It was clear they had done this to make it appear as though any discovery of the missing bodies was a result of a simple grave robbery and she was the stunned funeral director who genuinely had no idea how such an awful thing could happen.

She took a deep breath feeling a little anxious as she’d watched the one lone forensic scientist who’d come out to investigate, swab the inside of the casket. She knew well enough that the body had resided in the casket at one point.

The man’s father had wanted one view of him in the casket before he’d insisted that a closed casket funeral was exactly what the family wanted.

Any DNA would lead back to the dead man. Bodies did at times leak despite the best efforts to embalm.

She knew if there were any traces of concrete that might have leaked out of those bags she could play it dumb and blame it on the casket manufacturer.

She highly doubted she’d have to play stupid in some interrogation though.

She tried to keep her face neutral as Hale turned to face her he quick to speak. “What do you make of this?”

She kept her voice even hoping it didn’t betray her with any signs of deception as she spoke. “I have no idea. He was there the last time I saw him.”

“And when was that?” Hale replied, gazing at her clearly studying her in a way that made her feel as though she was under a microscope.

She sighed adjusting the light black wool coat she’d worn over her black dress today. Even if this was just to come out and stare at an open grave she knew she had to look like the town’s funeral director. “When I screwed the casket shut before the funeral service. The family made it clear they didn’t want to see him like that. His father asked that the casket be sealed shut in case someone tried to go against the family’s wishes.”

She wasn’t lying. That had been the order she’d been given from the deceased’s father. Although there hadn’t been many mourners it had been clear that those who did attend were part of a somewhat dysfunctional bunch who didn’t seem to get along.

Hale nodded his head placing his hands on his hips, the action making him look all too self-important in her opinion. “Did anyone else have access to the body other than you?”

She sighed nodding her head back at Skeeter who’d recently gotten back in town the night before and seemed clueless as to what he’d come home to. She’d almost felt bad for the guy when he’d found out he’d have to tag along for this little adventure. “Skeeter was out of town. He’s usually the one who helps me set up the final touches on things prior to funerals. Old Charlie helps out a little too, but he’s getting up there. He’s nearing seventy soon. I highly doubt he’s going to start robbing graves when he’s been around this long.”

She paused thinking of the old man who was her father’s longest associate. Charles Olsen or Old Charlie as he insisted on being called, had developed a limp from arthritis but that didn’t stop him from doing a few of the more labor intensive jobs around the funeral home. He’d been a practical partner to her father in the business at one point, but he insisted his days of embalming were behind him as his body was beginning to feel worn with age. He had a harder time being up on his feet for the amount of time it took to embalm.

Of course that didn’t stop him from wanting to help out in other ways. He’d always been fond of her and she guessed he felt he owed it to her late father to help out any way he could. He’d practically watched Y/N grow up. He'd always been there. He'd been loyal to her father and now he was loyal to her.

She was always willing to treat him well in exchange for his loyalty. Lord knows with the financial struggles she’d had, Old Charlie and Skeeter both could have found better jobs by now with funeral homes that were doing much better.

Her way of appreciating the loyalty tended to be shared bits of casserole she’d made for dinner and the occasional bought lunch or dinner especially if they had to be out late for a body pick up.

She spoke again, shrugging her shoulders hoping she sounded honest. “The only other people who had access to the decedent were the gravediggers hired by the city.”

Hale let out a huff seemingly disappointed that she didn’t provide him with any information that could break the case. He spoke up nodding at the empty casket. “Have you ever seen anything like this?”

She sighed, being honest this time around. “A couple of times. It’s not a common occurrence. I saw it once or twice back in New York. Usually it’s old graves that are hit though…usually just edgy teens breaking into a crypt to steal a skull or something.”

She paused, shaking her head. “People are sick.”

“That they are. The deceased was found in Lodi, along with the other occupant of that first grave that was robbed…looks like someone used them to stage a crime scene. Doesn't seem odd to you that it took this long for someone to notice that this grave was disturbed. The cemetery groundskeeper spotted that first disturbed grave pretty quickly.” Hale remarked he once again seemingly studying her.

She frowned, not liking that he was clearly watching her as though he was awaiting some kind of tell that she knew more than she did. She pushed back the thought telling herself that she was being paranoid.

“You don’t say? That’s something new. I can't say it seems odd, in my professional opinion. This is an older section of the cemetery, so less mourners. The deceased's family lives a few cities over, so I imagine they haven't been out to the site since the burial. I'm sure if anyone passed this one by they may have assumed that it was just an empty grave for an upcoming burial. In my experience deputy, most people don't peek into empty graves. So, they wouldn't have spotted the empty casket. Plus, the city only does landscaping in the cemetery every couple of months...Seems reasonable to me to think this could have sat unnoticed this long. I can't believe someone would go to all that trouble just to stage a crime scene. Who’d do such a thing?” She remarked, almost proud of herself for being able to conjure up the shock.

She knew her reaction was genuine of course. It wasn’t as though SAMCRO had let her in on their intentions for the bodies they’d requested from her.

Hale let out a small scoff he fast to reply. “I have my suspicions of who might be the culprits.”

She raised a well manicured brow tilting her head to the side playing dumb. “I'm safe to assume it’s confidential information? Given the obvious investigation and all.”

Hale practically glared straight through her, he fast to respond. “It’s out of my jurisdiction. Lodi P.D. doesn't seem to be interested in what I have to say. As far as they’re concerned this is some sick prank done by some very disturbed individuals. They’re looking into a few suspects of their own…local freaks who’ve been caught loitering around cemeteries in their area.”

She nodded her head trying not to show relief that Lodi’s police weren’t interested in any of Hale’s input. “I hope they find the responsible parties. Things like this are bad for business. I can’t have the bereaved of Charming fearing their loved ones are going to yanked from their final rests. Something like this has the opportunity to sow chaos and paranoia. I’m sure you’d agree.”

Hale sent her a look that could only be described as stern, his lips tight and his eyes narrowed. “Yeah, bad for business.”

He paused, deciding to push a little more. “Speaking of the business. How is that going?”

Y/N pushed a stray bit of hair behind her ear, the bit of hair having managed to work itself loose from the twist she’d put her hair into this morning. “It’s going. It’s been a challenge. My father’s health left a few things around the funeral home in disarray. I think it’s turning around though. Business has been good lately.”

“And how is your brother?” Hale dared to ask watching Y/N straighten out her dress under her coat.

She resisted the urge to glare at him, her brother not entirely a favorite subject of hers to discuss. “He’s fine. He’s started new meds.”

She spoke again, a sigh leaving her. “Is that all you needed, Deputy? I should get back to the funeral home. I have a few phone calls to make regarding this entire mess. The family has already left me a few voicemails I’m sure. I need to do damage control and promise that I will either rebury their loved ones or help them transfer their business to a new funeral home if they desire once the bodies are released back to the families.”

She knew it wasn’t a lie. She was so not looking forward to those phone calls. She was sure she’d be refunding some money so that she didn’t get sued though she had a feeling the families would more likely sue the city given they were in charge of the cemetery and she’d done her part on burying the dead as far as anyone knew.

“Of course, I do have some concerns though.” Hale replied, deciding to push a little harder.

She cleared her throat hoping any annoyance she showed was more over this situation than the practical interrogation she was enduring. “Yes?”

He spoke knowing she’d probably bite his head off for this. “I know before you left town you weren’t exactly on the straightened arrow Y/N. Am I right in assuming you aren’t going to fall back into any old habits?”

She glared at him, her voice tense and sharp. “I don’t feel that this is an appropriate line of questioning, Deputy. My past is exactly that, in the past. I’ve not gotten as much as a speeding ticket for almost ten years now. My behavior as a teen and in the first year of my twenties is not at all reflective of my conduct as a grown woman. I don’t appreciate being treated like a common criminal especially when my biggest sins consist of underage drinking and some mild misdemeanors. I have worked very hard to clean up my act. I highly doubt it’s the local P.D.’s job to go around condemning innocent citizens for past misbehaviors. If that’s the case then you need to go down and arrest George Goldstein for spray painting the water tower when he was sixteen and maybe arrest Judy Mitchell for the pot she was busted with when she was fifteen.”

She cringed a bit knowing she sounded defensive but she couldn’t stop herself. She couldn’t believe he’d had the audacity.

Though a voice in the back of her head told her he was right to have the audacity. After all, she’d made contact with the very people who’d encouraged her bad behaviors back then.

She had done far worse now than some underage drinking and a few public nuisance charges.

Hale held his hands up in defeat he quick to reply. “I don’t mean any offense Y/N. I promise. I just had to ask. I am happy to have you back in town, especially seeing as you seem to have matured since I last saw you. I’m happy to see you’ve cleaned up your act. Your association with Jax Teller and SAMCRO did always trouble me, given our history.”

She scoffed quick to reply. “We don’t have a history Deputy. You hanging around my brother until you guys were thirteen doesn’t create some weird bond between us.”

She paused, taking a deep breath cooling her temper reminding herself that she couldn’t let him get her all riled up. She had to keep her calm and play the role of a totally innocent funeral director who knew nothing about the local MC or what they’d done with those bodies.

She spoke, clearing her throat. “As I’ve said, I need to be going. I have a busy day ahead of me. If you have any further inquiries about these graves please don’t hesitate to reach out. You can reach me at the business number for the funeral home.”

With that she turned leaving Hale behind her not noticing that the deputy did have the sense to look a little browbeaten by her comments.

She clenched her fists as Skeeter opened the door to the transport van , they usually used for body pickups, for her before he got into the driver's seat. It was obvious he was more than sure his boss was too pissed to be behind the wheel of a van.

Skeeter didn’t speak until they left the cemetery property. “Are you as innocent as you proclaim to be?”

“I could ask you the same thing?” She remarked adjusting her seatbelt around her neck , the seatbelt was always sitting too high on her body and cutting into her skin.

Skeeter let out a huff at the comment he fast to reply. “Touche.”

He spoke again, shaking his head. “Do I need to be concerned?”

“About what?” She asked, staring down at her nails making the mental note to get a manicure tomorrow she could use a refresh though she usually just had her nails trimmed and painted with gel polish.

It was a luxury she allowed herself along with the occasional pedicure.

Skeeter sent her a small stern glance fast to respond. “You know what.”

She sighed, rolling her eyes. “I’m fine. Everything is fine.”

Skeeter let out a huff, his hands gripping down on the steering wheel. “That’s what I used to say when I helped out SAMCRO too.”

She felt her stomach drop guilt flooding her, knowing she’d essentially stolen Skeeter’s side gig right out from under him.

She spoke, keeping her voice even and collected. “Everything is fine.”

She paused, shaking her head a small smile crossing her lips though it was weak. “You don’t need to fret over me. I’m a grown woman. I don’t need some man to come along and handle all my problems."

She let out a small laugh fast to speak again. "You know, If I didn’t know better I’d assume your concern meant you were sweet on me.”

Skeeter let out a scoff at the comment, shaking his head a small smile eventually crossing his features. “You aren’t really my type…You’re a little too…”

“A ball buster, a cold hard bitch…oh, a shrew, a C You Next Tuesday with a stick permanently lodged up her ass, a domineering witch with control issues a mile long who must constantly be PMSing. A spooky bitch.” She remarked, the small smile still on her lips remaining she finding humor in poking at her associate about just what kind of reputation she had among the local male population.

Skeeter rolled his eyes quick to reply. “I value my job too much to give any confirmation.”

She chuckled, giving his arm a small pat the words that left her genuine. “And I value you too much as a friend not to be offended by any confirmation.”

Skeeter shook his head as she removed her hand, his voice once again taking a serious tone. “I don’t like you being involved with SAMCRO.”

“What’s good for the gander is good for the goose.” She replied her voice picking up a mild tone of offense over the implication that he was implying that she shouldn’t do anything he might have done.

“I know, I’m a hypocrite for saying it…just be careful Y/N. You aren’t just my boss…I do care about you. I know just where the Sons can lead you.” Skeeter replied, his voice still holding that serious tone. She couldn’t ignore the hint of dread underneath the tone.

She sighed, shaking her head. “I know, I’m being as careful as I can be. I know SAMCRO well enough. I think we’re both aware of my history.”

Skeeter cringed knowing he’d been around during her wild streak. He’d been apprenticing under her father then.

She spoke as she reached out, turning up the air in the car. “We both have our indiscretions, Skeet. Let’s just leave this conversation at that.”

He sighed nodding his head, his voice still so serious. “I know.”

He spoke again, shaking his head as they turned down the road heading towards main street. “I feel bad for saying it, but it's kind of a relief for me…The cash from those favors for SAMCRO, it was a little too dangerous to have in my hands.”

“How’s it going…you avoiding triggers?” She dared to ask, well aware of the man’s gambling problem.

She was always worried it would interfere with his ability to work, but he managed aside from the occasional favor he did for SAMCRO that she was all too aware of.

“It’s going.” was the only response she received.

He glanced over at her needing to say it again. “Just be careful, okay. I don’t want you getting in over your head. Try to learn from my mistakes.”

“I won’t get in over my head. I’ve got it covered. Like I said, everything is fine.” She insisted, uncertain if she was trying to convince him or just trying to convince herself.

—--------------------------------------------------

The news of the empty graves had spread fast and weeks later it was still buzzing around town.

Y/N as the town’s most prominent funeral director was getting sick of the unprompted questions she was being asked by her fellow residents of Charming.

She tried not to grimace as she accepted the fresh cut of skirt steak from the local meat guy at Charming’s biggest grocery store, which honestly wasn’t that big at all.

The butcher who she was sure was named Oscar spoke looking almost giddy to get to grill her for information. “You find out who robbed those graves yet?”

“No, I’m pretty sure Lodi’s police have it covered.” She replied, trying to keep her voice level and hide any signs of irritation.

He spoke all too eager and ditzy enough to keep the questions coming. “I guess you must see a lotta sick stuff at your job though. I mean you hear the stories.”

“What stories?” She asked, widening her eyes slightly giving a false sense of innocence knowing her best course of action was to play dumb and let him maybe reflect on just how inappropriate this all was.

He shifted in place a bit, his cheeks growing dark enough that they almost matched his thinning red hair. “Uh, you know…you hear stories bout folks who wanna dig up corpses for…uh companionship.”

She cringed her stomach turning at the implication he was making. She spoke a tone of disapproval in her voice “I haven’t heard those stories in my line of work. Any reports of…that happening in the industry are greatly exaggerated.”

With that she tossed the meat into her cart turning to leave she still feeling a little queasy about the entire exchange.

She took a deep breath reminding herself that people had all sorts of wild preconceived notions about people who were attracted to her line of work.

She kept her mind focused on her grocery list.

For once it seemed that she actually had the budget to buy more than top ramen and produce.

The payouts from SAMCRO had helped her put money towards a few debts she’d had hanging over her head both relating to her brother’s health issues and improvements her father tried to make around the funeral home.

Her father had spent more than he’d made at one point trying to upkeep the home and now she was left picking up the tab.

Business had picked up as well. It seemed that even with the wild stories flying around about grave robberies that Charming’s residents were willing to use her services.

She’d had enough funerals lately to put some money in her bank account. There had been a car wreck with two casualties, a widow who’d died of a stroke, and most recently some teen had drowned out at a lake up near the Chigger Woods.

She felt bad knowing that people’s losses were her payouts. She knew though that this was the reality of her line of work.

When business was good, that most likely meant someone else was suffering.

She wasn't rolling in money, but she felt like she was close to breaking even. She felt comfortable enough to buy some decent groceries and she felt like she could kind of breathe. She knew she wasn't entirely financially stable, if any surprise expenses came up she might be in trouble. She wasn't fretting over money as much as she'd been though before she'd accepted the Son's payout.

SAMCRO had not come knocking for any more favors. It was something that gave her relief but troubled her.

She wasn’t exactly kicking down her door wanting to see Jax Teller or Tig Trager again, but the absence of SAMCRO after the favor she’d done for them made her feel uneasy.

No one had even shown up to address the obvious grave robberies when both she and they knew just who had done it.

She couldn’t help but to feel a little bitter knowing SAMCRO had disappeared without a trace and had left her to deal with the fallout.

She should have known better by now.

Y/N also had to admit she was missing the presence of a certain Scotsman.

It was a strange realization to have. She barely knew the man aside from the surprisingly pleasant conversation they’d had in the cemetery that night almost a full month before.

As hard as she tried to deny it, she had to admit Filip spiked her curiosity.

She found him contradicting in a way.

He looked rough. She’d be blind to deny it. The scars, the general unkemptness, the intense and clearly dangerous energy surrounding him…it was all parts of him that should send her running in the opposite direction.

He’d seemed so concerned about her that night at the crematorium and the cemetery though. She had a feeling it had something more to do than any worry about her wandering the cemetery after dark. She’d picked up on the implication that he almost seemed to care about how she was coping with everything that had been asked of her. She could remember the little looks he’d sent her throughout the night especially when his brothers said something uncouth. He’d been so quick to make a show of smacking Juice for being so insensitive during the cremation. It almost seemed as though the Scot cared what she thought of him.

Her brain kept flashing back to that conversation they’d had as she was digging a hole for those cremains. It was small talk honestly, but she’d never had small talk with someone about the beauty of the stars.

In a strange way it almost felt like he was trying to connect with her.

She felt absurd for the thought.

A voice in the back of her head told her all men were the same; especially men in the MC.

They classified women into two groups: girls they wanted to fuck and girls who they didn’t want to fuck.

A bitter voice told her that any attention the Scottish Son had given her was more likely him hoping to charm his way into her pants and that she shouldn’t read too deeply into it.

Another little voice piped up that him getting into her pants wasn’t such a horrible thing was it?

She’d been frankly going through a dry spell for a few years now. Her bedroom was quite frigid. Usually she had to seek out a bit of self release for her frustrations.

She had a hard time dating. Most men ran screaming when they realized what she did for a living. Her dating life consisted of men who worked in her industry. Her longest relationship had been with a fellow student during her time at mortuary school. She’d found that her partners disappointed her though. If they didn’t run screaming they just seemed like they didn’t click with her.

The Scotsman didn’t seem to be running…though he’d not contacted her since that night in the cemetery.

Even with the radio silence lately she could remember he’d been quite flirty with her. It had felt different from Jax’s methods of flirtation.

There was something kind of charming about the Scot. His little flirtations had seemed genuine and not just a means to get something out of her. It was so unlike the way the flirtation had always felt with Jax.

She would be a liar if she tried to pretend that the phone conversation the Scotsman and she had about the Son’s use of the cremator that night didn’t send a thrill through her.

It was alarming that the sound of his voice alone and a little pet name like love could pull that reaction from her. She’d tried to deny it but she did feel a certain heat spread through her under his gaze. She was almost certain her clit would throb like a broken tooth just from his gaze and voice alone, and she didn’t want to even think about those dimples or the intensity behind his eyes.

She’d maybe noticed he had nice hands too; sort of elegant as strange as that sounded. He had long fingers and she had to admire the golden biker rings lining them. She had noticed and appreciated the fact this nails were neatly trimmed. In her opinion most guys neglected their nails. There was nothing grosser than dirty fingernails on a guy who expected to shove those fingers in more delicate areas.

The Scotsman’s hands seemed strong and as though they understood a hard day's work. She had to imagine the roughness of his hands might feel incredible against her soft skin.

She found herself distinctly remembering a roommate she’d had for a short while when she’d first moved to New York. The girl had praised the wonders of older men in the bedroom.

She’d remarked that Y/N’s disappointment in the bedroom stemmed from the fact that she was relying on boys to do something a man could do a hell of a lot better.

Y/N had hated to admit it but the comment did seem likely. She’d lost track of the times she’d laid in bed after a sexual encounter and found she’d not reached her end, but her partner had definitely got there all too quickly. It was made worse by the fact that she’d had to fake it so as not to bruise the poor guy’s egos.

She’d not had many partners back in New York, but the few she’d had had been a let down.

A voice claimed that the Scottish Son would not let her down in bed. Filip seemed old enough to have figured out how to please a woman by now.

She groaned, tossing a jar of peanut butter into her cart as she neared the check out lane. She did not need to be going down this road.

She once again mentally scolded herself that Filip was not getting anywhere near her bed nor any other surface for that matter.

She’d outgrown the desire to spread her legs for bad boys on Harleys.

She ignored that obnoxious voice that piped up that Filip was no boy.

Y/N began to drop her items on the conveyor belt at the check out probably a little too harshly but she was tired and annoyed both from questions from seemingly everyone about grave robberies and her own mental dilemma about her feelings towards a certain Scottish Son.

She felt her stomach turn as she heard a voice behind her. “Y/N?”

She turned trying to seem as though she wasn’t ready to have a nervous breakdown as her gaze met the gaze of Dr. Tara Knowles.

She spoke her voice tight hoping the good doctor would read her expression as general sleepiness from errands. “Tara.”

“How are you?” the woman replied clearly happy to catch up.

Y/N cleared her throat placing a bag of spinach on the belt. “I’m well, just busy lately, tired, and you?”

“Same. Though I can’t imagine how stressed you probably are. I don’t blame you for being tired. Don’t worry, I’m not going to ask about the graves…I imagine you’ve been asked enough.” Tara replied the comment soothing Y/N slightly.

She shifted in place as she watched the cashier scan her items, the older woman moving at a snail's pace.

Y/N wasn’t entirely sure if Tara knew about her history with Jax Teller. Tara had been long gone and had left Charming by the time Y/N had begun hanging around SAMCRO.

Y/N was all too aware of the hole Tara had left behind in Jax Teller though.

Y/N had easily realized she had at times operated as a place for Jax to fill that void if only for a short moment. It had become clear from the very few encounters he’d had with her that she wasn’t the woman he wanted underneath him.

Y/N had been upset about it at the time not because she had held any romantic notions for the Prince of SAMCRO, but because she’d allowed herself to be used in that way.

It was one of the many reasons Y/N had pulled from that world.

She almost found it strangely amusing that two women who had both run away from SAMCRO were standing side by side. Two women who were similar in more ways than they realized.

Tara spoke, nodding her head. “I’m sorry to hear about your father. It seems like you’ve got the home running though?”

“I have…I’m sorry about your father as well.” Y/N remarked, still having to admit she wasn’t entirely accustomed to the showings of sympathy when it came to her late father.

The funeral had felt surreal and she’d barely registered the words of the mourners who’d shown their respects.

A small part of her had to wonder if Tara had felt the same about her own father. She almost wanted to ask, but the question felt far too sensitive for old acquaintances.

Tara had been around back then of course, hanging out with Y/N’s brother and Jax and Opie.

Y/N had been younger though, not entirely prone to tagging along with the older kids.

Tara cleared her throat as she responded Y/N placing the divider down between their groceries. “Thank you. It’s strange being back here…it’s like some things are exactly how I left them. I’m sure you know the feeling. I mean, you’re back as well.”

“I am…it does feel like some things about this place exist in a vacuum…things outside change but everything within remains.” Y/N replied having to admit she felt the same in more ways than Tara realized.

Tara cleared her throat again as she spoke, placing her own groceries down on the belt. “I don’t suppose you heard about Jax?”

She raised an eyebrow, paranoia running through her. Why was Tara asking her about the Sons?

Tara spoke again, shaking her head. “I mean, I know you probably haven’t seen him in years…I know Danny was close to us all…before the accident.”

Y/N glared down at the pears as they passed by her on the conveyor belt, the mention of her brother and who he’d been before the accident making her feel terrible. “I know.”

Tara spoke again, smart enough to realize she’d struck a nerve. She seemed eager to get on with it and make sure Y/N knew this wasn’t some way to bring up her brother and make her feel awful. “Uh, Jax is a dad now.”

Y/N widened her eyes at the news, it hitting her like a brick to the head. She never would have suspected. She sighed, shaking her head. “Didn’t even know he got anyone pregnant.”

“His ex wife…she’s in bad shape. It’s not my place to share it, but the baby…Abel, he’s premature. I’ve been taking care of him up at Saint Thomas.” Tara shared she resisted the urge to go into too much detail.

Tara certainly wasn’t going to explain Wendy’s medical history nor the antagonism from Gemma Teller Morrow.

Y/N furrowed her brow at the information. It seemed that things in Charming hadn’t stayed as in a vacuum as Tara and she had been discussing.

She felt a chill run down her spine at the mention of Abel Teller. Her line of work meant she’d taken care of a few premature infants who didn’t make it.

It was a depressing reality about her profession; children died.

She had proven to be quite proficient in dealing with infant and child mortalities. It was something the funeral director she’d apprenticeshiped under in New York had praised her for.

Y/N was capable of providing a nurturing environment to mourn for parents and keeping her wits about her enough to get the job done.

Everyone had a talent. Y/N kind of hated that one of her talents consisted of comforting and tending to bereaved parents and their dead kids.

She spoke hoping and praying that she wouldn’t be attending to Abel Teller. “How is he?...the baby?”

“It was hit and miss at first. Only time will tell.” Tara replied she biting her tongue, resisting to spill her heart to Y/N about everything she was feeling.

She had a feeling it was mostly due to the fact that Y/N was also returning to her hometown after the death of a parent.

Tara had a feeling that Y/N might be able to relate on that issue, even if Y/N’s issue didn’t exactly also include SAMCRO and a history with it.

Y/N cleared her throat as her final item was scanned and it was time to pay. “I hope for his sake that time will do him well. I hope my services won’t be needed.”

Tara felt a chill run down her spine at the comment. She was suddenly reminded that Y/N, as sweet as she looked, could be intense. She guessed it made sense though. Y/N was casual about death as Tara was about surgical procedures.

Y/N sighed as she began to roll her cart away from the register. “I’ll see you around Tara.”

Y/N didn’t wait for a reply, her mind feeling thick and exhaustion peaking up in the deepest parts of her soul.

She just wanted to go home and take a long bath, maybe have some wine.

Little did she know though fate had a different plan.

============================

The Acura started sputtering not long after she left the grocery store. She groaned knowing that this wasn’t an entirely new development.

Given her debts, she had maybe put off car maintenance. She knew it was foolish. She saw the deadly results of poorly maintained vehicles thanks to her job.

It was easier to preach automotive safety when you weren’t broke though.

She grimaced as the car drug it was obvious it wouldn’t make the trip home, and even if it did it wouldn’t make any other trips.

She sighed knowing there was only one automotive shop close enough for her car to make it.

She cringed as she pulled the sputtering vehicle into the lot of TM Auto. She tried to ignore the fact that the automotive lot was located on the same lot as the Sons clubhouse.

It was a place she’d spent far too much time engaging in debauchery almost a decade before. She was too close for comfort to a piece of her past.

Chibs Telford noticed the familiar Acura drag its way into the lot. He moved a little too quickly to approach it.

He felt a giddy sense of excitement hit him at the realization that he’d be seeing Charming’s local funeral director quite soon.

He’d not forgotten his silent pledge to solve the puzzle that was Y/N. It was just that shit with the club had gotten so hectic that he’d not had the time to properly devote to his goals.

He’d debated using the number he’d saved in his flip phone to give her a call, but he’d feared how that interaction would go. Besides what would he say?

He’d been debating his next move while trying to keep his mind focused on the rebuild of the warehouse, issues with the supply of guns from the IRA, and other numerous issues that had landed on SAMCRO’s feet.

He’d be lying if he tried to pretend that she hadn’t been on the back of his mind constantly for almost a month now. He’d even maybe picked up the habit of reading the obituaries in the local paper that was always delivered to TM Auto trying to pretend that he wasn’t searching for the name of her business.

He felt like a man obsessed and knew this action was a sign of his infatuation. He didn’t want to get shit from his brothers about the fact that he’d taken such a liking to their new funeral home connection.

It seemed that fate was throwing him a bone by placing the very woman he’d been thinking about right on his path.

He approached her car, opening the driver's side door, he hoping he sounded as charming as he was attempting to. “Lass, long time no see.”

She peered at him through a pair of oversized sun shades almost tempted to point out that he and his brothers had left her high and dry to deal with their little grave robbing antics.

She held it in though reminding herself she needed these idiots to fix her clearly dying car. “I’m having car trouble.”

She tried not to eye the name embroidered into the work shirt he was wearing: Chibs. So, she guessed not everyone called him Filip.

“Aye, when’s the las’ time ya took it in?” He asked not shying away from jumping into assisting her.

She shrugged her shoulders making a small joke, finding it easier to use humor to deflect how unhappy she was to be back in her old stomping grounds. “You’re supposed to maintain it? I’ve just been putting a post it over the pretty lights on my dash. I find them distracting.”

He rolled his eyes not showing that he found the snark kind of endearing. “I’m guessin’ it’s been a while then.”

She shrugged a sigh leaving her. “The oil has been leaking, but I’ve not had the time to do anything about it.”

She left out the last part of her statement or the funds.

“Aye could be yer head gasket that’s causin’ the oil leaks. The sputterin could be anything from the exhaust system to the spark plugs.” Chibs replied not missing the grimace on her features.

She ran a hand through her hair, a sigh leaving her. All she heard was bills bills bills, more debt to throw into the pot.

He spoke nodding his head. “It’s nothin’ I can’t fix though…might be costly and take some time.”

She cringed, rolling her eyes speaking more to herself than to him. “Great another bill…At least I have the old hearse to get around town. It’s retired from using in the business but my father couldn’t part from it. I guess his packrat tendencies for funeral equipment saved me at least transportation wise.”

“Aye, good thing we gave ya that payout though…should help with the bill.” Chibs remarked not missing the comment about the hearse or her father’s habit of hoarding funeral equipment the information both fascinating and a little worrisome.

She let out a scoff, turning her gaze towards him for only a moment before she stared down at her nails. “I had to invest every last penny of those lovely payouts in my debts. I can probably manage a bill from my legit earnings from work, but if it gets too expensive I might be fucked.”

She sighed not liking the slight hint of pity in his gaze. She spoke once again partially talking to herself working her anxieties out outloud. “I may have to let the stupid car go. I mean people around town already treat me like a pariah…in the most polite, condescending way possible…I may as well just drive a damn hearse in my day to day life. I might as well become a walking talking stereotype of a mortician. Who knows how long the old hearse will last though. I might wind up back here with another ruined car.”

Chibs spoke the words leaving him before he had a chance to stop them. “As far as payment goes…I’m sure we could figure out an arrangement fer a lower bill.”

She frowned another scoff leaving her as she spoke her voice low though she knew the few people within their earshot weren’t paying them any mind. “I’m assuming by arrangement, you mean the next favor I do is on the house.”

Chibs cringed admitting the idea had crossed his mind. He was sure Clay would be delighted to have Y/N owing a favor on the house. Clay would be proud if Chibs came up with a way to get a favor from SAMCRO’s newest asset in exchange for car repairs.

Chibs hated the concept though, it seemed kind of like a dick move. Chibs was no stranger to dick moves, but he wasn’t exactly fond of the idea of using Y/N’s car as a way to coax her into doing another favor for free.

He spoke, pulling a cigarette from the pocket of his work shirt, a sudden idea entering his mind. He had to hope she wouldn’t slap him for presenting it. “Ya could have a date with me. Tha’ coul’ be the arrangement.”

She glared up at him, interpreting the offer completely the wrong way. Her voice rose as she began to chastise him. “I don’t know what Jackson or any of your buddies told you about me, but I am not a club whore, buddy. I am not the kind of girl who spreads her legs in the clubhouse dorm. Fuck you, if you even think I’m sleeping with you in exchange for car work. You can shove that arrangement right up your Scottish ass.”

He stepped back having to admit he was equally mortified, amused, and even a little turned on by her reaction.

He held his hands up in defeat as he cleared up his statement. “I don’ mean a date like that lass. I mean…I wouldn’t turn ya down fer the offer ta sleep with me…I aint askin fer ya in my bed in exchange for autowork though. I may be a prick, but I ain’ that big of a prick.”

He paused, relieved to see that her claws seemed to be retracting. He spoke nodding over at the car. “I’m jus askin fer a chance to take a pretty lass out fer dinner and me fixin her car is jus a bonus.”

She sighed, shaking her head. “Doesn’t make me feel any less like I’m prostituting myself for car repairs.”

He spoke, shaking his head, his hand daring to reach out and caress her arm relieved that she didn’t yank from his touch. “Ya ain’ if it makes ya feel better ya can pay a reduced bill, if it bein' free makes ya feel like shite then I’ll take payment as well as a date.”

She sighed, tempted to once again tell him to shove it up his Scottish ass though a voice in the back of her head perked up that it was a nice backside.

She ignored the warning bells and harsh voice in the back of her mind telling her this was a bad idea. She ignored the voice that told her a date with Chibs would mean she was right back to being the club hangaround.

She stared up at him trying to read if he was absolutely full of shit or not. She had a feeling he was, but not in this instance at least.

What could one date hurt?

“Fine, it's a date. You call me with the plans. You can reach me at my business number.”

He smirked quick to speak. “I already got yer personal cell number love, ya do member our talk awhile back.”

She rolled her eyes wanting to snap that of course she remembered. She was tempted to scold him for saving her number behind her back. She wanted to scold him for a lot of things, some things that weren’t technically even his fault.

She resisted the urge, resigning herself to her fate. The sooner she agreed to this hairbrained date idea the sooner she could go home and take that bath she wanted. “Okay, now can I get someone to give me a ride home…preferably someone with a car…I have groceries in the back of mine that are spoiling as I stand here listening to your nonsense.”

He smirked having to like that she once again had to find a way to give him grief. He found it less annoying and more delightful. It had been a long time since a woman had given him so much crap and he’d genuinely found it appealing.

“Aye, Gemma’ll give ya a ride. Jus’ head into the office let er know yer here with a wrecked car and ya need a ride.” He replied, a joyful feeling settling over him. He had a date with Charming’s resident funeral director.

She cringed at the order not looking forward to coming face to face with the Queen of SAMCRO.

She grabbed her purse from her car refusing to glance back at Chibs even as he spoke that flirty tone clear in his voice. “I’ll call ya tonigh’ with those dinner plans lass.”

She let out a huff wondering how she got herself into these messes lately. Why did SAMCRO insist on making her life more complicated than it needed to be?

#chibs telford #sons of anarchy #chibs sons of anarchy #chibs telford fanfiction #sons of anarchy fanfiction #soa #chibs #Chibs Telford x reader #chibs telfordxreader

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training-tale · 10 months ago

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Forensic Nursing Course: At Training Tale

With Training Tale's Forensic Nursing Course, learn the steps to a rewarding career. Acquire abilities to connect justice and healthcare! Training Tale offers a Forensic Nursing Course. Encouraging Nurses in Justice and Healthcare

There is a greater need than ever for skilled healthcare workers in the quickly changing world of today. Within this industry, forensic nursing stands out as a distinct and vital area that blends nursing knowledge with legal and investigative skills. Enrolling in Training Tale's Forensic Nursing Course could be the ideal next step if you've ever considered developing your nursing career while having a real impact on the judicial system.

A Forensic Nursing Course: What Is It?

A forensic nursing course is a type of educational program created to give registered nurses the specific knowledge and abilities needed to practice in forensic settings. With this course, which focuses on the relationship between law enforcement and healthcare, nurses can support investigations and provide compassionate care.

Our forensic nursing course at Training Tale includes subjects like:

Gathering and preserving evidence

Concerns about law and ethics in forensic nursing

Investigating crime scenes and forensic pathology

Trauma-informed treatment for assault victims

providing testimony as a medical expert in court

Our extensive curriculum guarantees that students acquire both theoretical knowledge and practical skills, equipping them with the confidence needed to operate in a variety of forensic environments, such as crime scenes, hospitals, and legal offices.

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It's important to pick the correct place to continue your studies, and Training Tale is an excellent choice for those who want to become forensic nurses. Working professionals can benefit from our unique combination of online learning and hands-on training in forensic nursing.

What makes Training Tale unique is this:

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After completing a Forensic Nursing Course, graduates are prepared to work in a variety of settings where healthcare and legal systems intersect. This versatile qualification opens doors to many rewarding career opportunities, including:

Who Should Enrol in a Forensic Nursing Course?

For registered nurses who wish to pursue a career in forensics, the Forensic Nursing Course is a great option. This course can provide you the skills you need to make a difference whether you want to work with law enforcement, in sexual assault clinics, or in emergency departments.

If you are someone who:

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If so, Training Tale's Forensic Nursing Course is ideal for you.

The Benefits of Forensic Nurses in Contemporary Culture

After completing a forensic nursing course, nurses gain the ability to provide trauma-informed care that promotes patients' pursuit of justice in addition to their own healing. By taking a comprehensive approach to both professions, the work that forensic nurses conduct serves to close the gap between healthcare and the legal system.

The Format of Training Tale's Forensic Nursing Course

Our forensic nursing course at Training Tale is designed to offer a thorough educational experience that strikes a balance between theoretical understanding and real-world application. What to anticipate from the program is as follows.

#forensic nursing course #training tale #forensic nursing #online courses

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karanfartiyal · 5 months ago

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BSC Full Form

The Bachelor of Science (BSc) is a three-year undergraduate program designed for students who have completed their 10+2 education with a focus on science subjects. This degree offers a wide array of specializations, including Medical/Life Sciences, Chemistry, Physics, Botany, Zoology, Biotechnology, Microbiology, Biochemistry, Computer Science, Environmental Science, Food Technology, Electronic Science, Forensic Science, Biomedical Science, Physical Science, Operational Research, Statistics, and Anthropology.

The curriculum is structured to balance theoretical knowledge with practical application, fostering critical thinking, technical proficiency, and research skills among students. Admission to BSc programs typically involves merit-based selection or entrance examinations such as CUET, CUCET, NPAT, TS EAMCET, SET, BHU UET, and KCET. Prominent institutions offering BSc degrees in India include St. Stephen's College (New Delhi), Hansraj College (New Delhi), Hindu College (New Delhi), Presidency College (Chennai), Parul University (Vadodara), and Fergusson College (Pune).

The annual fees for a BSc program range from INR 20,000 to INR 2,00,000, varying by institution and specialization. Graduates with a BSc degree have diverse career opportunities in sectors such as information technology, education, healthcare, pharmaceuticals, and agriculture. Common roles include private tutor, nurse, food safety officer, lab technician, software tester, IT developer, agriculture specialist, and microbiologist. The average salary for BSc graduates ranges between INR 3 to 5 lakh per annum, depending on the chosen field and experience.

Specializations within BSc

One of the most compelling aspects of a BSc degree is the plethora of specializations available. Students can tailor their education based on their interests and career aspirations. Some prominent BSc specializations include:

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Each specialization is crafted to provide in-depth knowledge and hands-on experience, preparing students for diverse professional pathways.

Eligibility Criteria

Admission into a BSc program typically requires candidates to have completed their higher secondary education (10+2) with a strong foundation in science subjects. While specific requirements can vary based on the institution and country, a minimum aggregate score in subjects like Physics, Chemistry, Biology, and/or Mathematics is commonly expected. Some universities also conduct entrance examinations to assess the aptitude and proficiency of prospective students.

Admission Process

The pathway to securing a seat in a BSc program generally involves:

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Counseling Sessions: Some colleges conduct counseling to guide students in selecting appropriate specializations.

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It's imperative for aspirants to stay updated with the specific admission timelines and criteria of each institution to ensure a smooth application process.

Course Structure and Curriculum

The BSc curriculum is thoughtfully designed to balance theoretical understanding with practical application. While the exact structure can vary based on the chosen specialization and institution, a typical BSc program encompasses:

Core Subjects: Fundamental courses central to the chosen specialization.

Elective Subjects: Courses that allow students to explore related areas of interest.

Laboratory Work: Hands-on experiments and practical sessions to reinforce theoretical concepts.

Research Projects: Opportunities to undertake independent or guided research, fostering analytical and investigative skills.

Workshops and Seminars: Interactive sessions with experts to stay abreast of the latest advancements in the field.

This comprehensive approach ensures that graduates are not only knowledgeable but also adept at applying their learning in real-world scenarios.

Fee Structure

The financial investment required for a BSc degree can vary widely based on factors such as the institution's prestige, location, chosen specialization, and available facilities. On average, annual tuition fees for BSc programs range from INR 20,000 to INR 2,00,000. It's advisable for students to research and consider additional expenses, including laboratory fees, study materials, and other ancillary costs.

Career Prospects and Opportunities

A BSc degree opens a multitude of career avenues across various sectors. Graduates are equipped with skills and knowledge that make them valuable assets in industries such as:

Information Technology: Roles like software developers, data analysts, and system administrators.

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Environmental Management: Roles like environmental analysts, conservationists, and sustainability consultants.

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The versatility of a BSc degree ensures that graduates can adapt to various roles and industries, making it a prudent choice for those passionate about science and its applications.

Top Institutions Offering BSc Programs

Several esteemed institutions worldwide offer BSc programs renowned for their academic excellence and research opportunities. Some of these include:

Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT), USA: Celebrated for its cutting-edge research and innovation in science and technology.

University of Cambridge, UK: Offers a rich tradition of scientific inquiry and discovery.

#edu #education #educate yourselves

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misty-lake101 · 2 years ago

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Live and Learn AU - Headcanons

Hey guys! I haven't updated Live and Learn for moment cause life has been so busy and now I have COVID which absolutely sucks! But I am trying to work on the next few chapters. I'm not sure how long it will be, but until then, I thought I'd give y'all some headcanons in the meantime! They mainly pertain to everyone's career choices and house habits so you'll get an idea of their dynamic.

Sonic - Major: Sports Communication

Sonic cannot cook. Period. All of his roommates agree that leaving him unsupervised in the kitchen is a fire hazard. He tends to order takeout more and microwaves leftovers. But as he got older and was forced to manage his money a little more, he did learn a few basic things at least. The fact that he’s on a meal plan with the college helps as there are some places that serve decent food. Given how athletic he is, It’s a wonder he’s managed to stay healthy this whole time.

He’s also a huge slob. His room is a disaster and he’s the type to just throw his clothes on the floor when he gets back, and then toss it in the laundry at the last minute. He's also that person who can easily find items in a messy room, but feels lost when the place is sparkling clean.

Sonic and Shadow were on rival sports teams in high school. They didn’t see each other for awhile after graduation, but then meet again when Shadow transfers to GMU and becomes their roommate.

Silver - Major: Pre-medicine

Grew up in foster care, and therefore not used to treating a place like his own home. He used to always have a mindset of ‘I'm in someone else’s house and have to follow their rules’. Moving in with Sonic changed that for the better, of course. But of all the inhabitants, he is the most flexible as far as habits go. Like Sonic, his own room can get pretty messy, but he's more conscious of others and therefore a little better at keeping common spaces clean.

He mostly relies on his college’s meal plan but over time, is trying to learn how to cook. He's pretty bad at it too, but it's more because no one taught him anything. Espio uses his restaurant job to his advantage to help him in this area.

His sleep cycle can be a mess since he works night shift for his job. Keeping days of the week and dates straight is often a challenge and he often has to be reminded that no, it's Saturday morning - not Friday night. His daily routine depends on his class/work schedule or what he feels like doing that day. Without that as some kind of structure, he can have almost no concept of time

Shadow - Forensics, but at some point, Undecided

Being in military school and having a strict guardian as well as a chronically ill and severely immunocompromised sister resulted in some extreme habits for Shadow.

He is the epitome of a neat freak. Every nook and corner of the house will be subject to a good vacuuming and mopping if he can help it. He’s an early riser and has a specific morning routine. Comically, these things end up being a source of conflict between him and Sonic when he first moves in.

Unlike Sonic and Silver, Shadow is very good at cooking and becomes the de-facto chef of the house. He's very adept at everything from basic to gourmet meals and knows how to tailor in dietary restrictions of all kinds. He also won't allow anyone but Amy to help him out in the kitchen.

Amy - Nursing, but is thinking of changing her career

At the start of the story, Amy's life was a bit of a mess before she moved in with Sonic and Silver. She lived with three girls in another house and they were generally pretty awful to her, as was her boyfriend. After thirteen months of that, she moved out early when the stress reached a boiling point.

Yet in terms of house habits, she (and to a certain extent, Silver too) is the obligatory "how am I the most normal one here???"

She generally gets along with everyone. Though she and Sonic dated briefly in school, there's no bad blood between them and they're good friends. She bonds very quickly with Silver since they're both in the medical field and can understand each other's struggles that are unique to that career. Silver also looks to her a lot for dating advice. Amy has a pretty civil relationship with Shadow and they gradually become very good friends as well.

Her house habits don't really have anything too extraordinary about them. She's pretty good with cleaning up after her self and is flexible with others. Amy's expectations aren't very high beyond, "please clean up after yourself" and "don't do the nasty in shared spaces and leave 'evidence' of it".

When Shadow first moved in, he and Sonic would bicker a lot. Amy did her best to stay out of it, but there were times she had to intervene. When this happened, she and Silver would take turns deciding who would be the one to break them up.

#silver the hedgehog #sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #sonic headcanons #sonic fanfiction #sonic roommate au

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crookedkingdomruinedme · 1 year ago

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Please do not skip ‼️

I would like some advice please.

I don't have many aspirations but Ive just finished highschool. I think I would like to take up forensic science as a major and literature as well. What I want to be in my dreams is a literature professor, but for practicality, I think I'll choose a forensic job.

I don't know how I can do it. I don't come from a very well off family, but we are good enough that they can send me abroad.

My parents wants me to study nursing in Germany, as it's one of the courses I can join easily and promises a job and good money right after graduation, not to mention many perks while studying. But my mom's a nurse. I don't want to study nursing. I absolutely loathe it.

If anyone can tell me what all I need to do in order to enter forensics as well as how hard it is to get a job that pays well under it, it would truly help me so much. Same for the job of a professor, I've tried Google but they all give such varying answers.

Also someone please tell me how and where I can study forensics? I do not care about the place, Germany, Canada, Scotland- anywhere. I wish to get a scholarship in forensics and/or literature. A university is what I'm hoping for since I can choose multiple majors.

Please do not ignore this and help me, my family is breathing down my neck about the nursing course. If I do that, I'm afraid I'll lose myself just like my mother did.

Please help.

#studies #university #help needed #please read #please reblog #asking for help #advice needed

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practically-an-x-man · 2 years ago

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surprise! your OCs are required to attend Professor Barbara Allen's forensics lectures for a semester! what's the ratemyprofessor review they give her and how do they do?

oooh bestie you have NO idea what's coming, I literally WAS a forensics major before I switched to trade school :D

some long answers here, so they'll be under the cut. thank you so much for the ask!

Ophelia: 5 stars. Loves the lecture, takes exceptionally detailed notes and ends up with curve-breaking high grades. Her only problem would be missing class due to late night hero work making her exhausted in the morning, but... well, she feels like Professor Allen's very familiar with that.

Jasper: 4.4 stars. They're a nursing student, so they don't mind gruesome pictures or high-intensity anatomy discussions, but they feel like Professor Allen just goes a bit too fast in the lectures (lol). They'd pull good grades, and probably end up with a bit of unintentional extra credit when Professor Allen lands in the ER with some unexplained cuts and bruises and Jasper's the one to stitch her up and send her on her way.

Kestrel: No rating. Probably didn't even show up to the first lecture. To be fair, pretty much all of their higher education has come from exploring and adventuring in the wilderness. They probably weren't even aware they'd been signed up for the lecture. (but don't take it personally, if they were there, they'd be sure to pay attention)

Rae: Originally rated 3.5 stars, but bumped it up to 4.5 after Prof. Allen was kind and understanding in offering her an extension. She did well enough in college the first time around (Masters in Foreign Language), but she also struggles with severe insomnia and some anxiety issues. At first, she probably say Prof. Allen as somewhat distant, but once she actually went up and talked to her and explained everything, she actually ended up with a renewed respect and finished the rest of the semester very well.

Robin: Hm... 3 stars. Not a bad class, but she's much more music-inclined than science-inclined, and having an ASL interpreter would've made the class a hell of a lot easier for her (that's not Professor Allen's fault, of course, but still wasn't the best experience for Robin). She'd probably end the semester decidedly neutral - not her favorite experience, but would also understand that it's probably a very enjoyable class for someone who enjoys the material a little more.

Madison: 4.5 stars. She likes psychology a lot, so she'd probably really enjoy a forensics class, and I feel like she'd like Professor Allen as an instructor. And I feel like she'd be able to keep up with the lectures pretty well! She's a quick thinker. If anything, she'd be a little irritated by the amount of studying she needs to do, but that's the only thing keeping her from a full 5 stars.

Quinn: It really depends. Either she'd get fed up with all the stifling structure and order of the class and end up dropping out (and rating Prof. Allen pretty low), or she'd actually find the material interesting and would end up at the top of the class. It's not really a matter of capability or intelligence, she's got plenty of both, but she'll only bother with the class if she enjoys the subject being taught. So... it's a coin flip.

Katherine: She wouldn't enjoy the class, but she'd rate Professor Allen highly anyway (4 or 5 stars). After all, she's a good professor, Katherine just isn't really a fan of that sort of subject. She's plenty smart, but she's much more artistic-minded than forensics would imply. The only reason she'd take the class to begin with is for the promise of forensic sketch artistry, but even that's only a week and a half out of the full semester.

#my friends!!!#answered asks #ask game #my ocs #ophelia octavius #jasper wilson #oc kestrel #rae mckinney #robin cassidy #madison douglas #oc quinn/aces #oc katherine johnson

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candiedspriteee · 2 years ago

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2k23-2k24 School year!!

It’s that timeee again! It’s back to school time and of course it’s my finally year of high school ૮꒰ ྀྀི ɵ̷̥̥᷄ ♡ɵ̷̥̥᷅꒱১! Honestly I’m excited and also a little sad! I’m going to collage so I can study to become a forensic nurse.

૮꒰⸝⸝> ̫ <⸝⸝꒱ა━━━━━━━━━━━━━━୨♡୧

What are my goals for this year??

Get a 5 on my Ap Bio exam

Get my cumulative higher

Get proper sleep

Get my license

Apply for College

૮꒰⸝⸝> ̫ <⸝⸝꒱ა━━━━━━━━━━━━━━୨♡୧

Things that need improvement or tweak?

My sleep schedule

Discipline

Inner peace

૮꒰⸝⸝> ̫ <⸝⸝꒱ა━━━━━━━━━━━━━━୨♡୧

Y’all! It’s my final year in high school, and honestly I still cannot believe it! It literally feels so surreal to me. I going out with a huge bang this year. Of course I’ll be sticking to my goals and pushing forwards. To all of my darlings in school I hope y’all accomplish your goals and have a fabulous time!

Xoxo, Sprite <33 ૮꒰ིྀ˶꜆´˘`꜀˶꒱ིྀა

#pink #dream girl #pink academia #academia barbie #hello kitty #hotgirlsarenerds #it girl #goalsetting

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aporatael · 1 year ago

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“Fuck,” I say. “You bastard.”

——————————————–

I accept the job and promise to have it done in 48 hours. Leader tells me he knew I’d take it.

“It’s right up your alley,” Leader says. “Dramatic and shit.”

“Oh yeah,” I say, phone pressed too tightly to my cheek. “This script? Genius.” The paper crinkles in my hand, the words “dead weight” warping.

“Thought you’d like it,” Leader says. “The spouses are always the best writers. Send me details when it’s done.”

“Will do,” I say and hang up. I toss the burner phone, like usual, and head back home. I need to nurse my wounds before I do anything else.

—————————————–

I mope for twenty-four hours. During a normal job, I’d be using this time to scout the location and to get a feel for the target beyond what the client includes in the file. Obviously that’s not necessary in this case.

At the 24 hour mark, I get to work.

Contrary to popular belief, faking your death is extraordinarily easy. I’ve done it before, more than once, and all it takes is some signs of struggle, a little blood, and a time when having no witnesses doesn’t raise any flags. Since this is going to look like a professional hit, it’s even easier, especially considering that all this client wants is a photo. Maybe some video if I’m feeling generous, but no body.

The client is very sure that they don’t want a body in their house when they return.

Vi has always been a little squeamish. Nearly sprints out of the room any time a gory commercial comes on and can’t stand the sight of blood. I used to think it was cute, used to appreciate that he was so different from this part of my life.

Now his delicate stomach just annoys me. Hire a professional? To kill me?

I don’t think so.

I’ll admit that I get a little…artistic with the photos because of it. I’ve seen enough pained/terrified expressions that they’re easy to mimic, mouth drawn wide, tears in the eyes, a little bit of blood on the face. The blood’s fresh, forensics being able to tell when it’s frozen, and I have to use a pack or two from my secret store to compensate. It makes me sick, but it’s worth it. No one will doubt I died here.

(And if I splatter the walls with arcs meant to look like arterial spray, it’s for the realism. Not to freak him out more. Obviously.)

I scatter a dozen photographs on our marriage bed, lead them into the bathroom to the tub. There I wash the blood off, taking my time, and drain the tub without washing it down. It leaves nice streaks of red and brown on the sides like I was dismembered in here.

I want Vi to really enjoy my death. At least while it lasts.

For my finishing touch, I record my “death.” Scream and beg for my husband, for this to stop, for someone just to make it stop. Not loud enough for the neighbors to hear, of course. Just loud enough that he’ll be able to hear my voice as soon as he steps into the house. I leave the tape recorder on the bed, playing on repeat, and make one last sweep of the house.

At the 47 hour mark, I kick the front door in and then close it so the neighbors won’t call the police. I tip over some of our furniture on the way upstairs, wrinkles the carpet on the landing, and saunter leisurely into the bedroom.

There’s a secret panel behind the bookcase, of course, that leads to my arms collection. I sit in the middle of the room, surrounded by my guns, and wait for my husband to arrive.

—————————————————-

It takes ten hours, but finally there’s the sound of a car pulling into our driveway, something bigger than the little coup that Vi drives. With a frown, I flip on my surveillance system. Six screens on the back wall of my little armory turn on. One camera shows our backyard, empty. Others shows the kitchen, the living room, the stairs, and the bedroom. The one at the front of the house catches my eye.

There’s an SUV parked in our driveway, black, plates obscured by the flowering bush the homeowners association insists we attend. As I watch, the driver’s side opens and a bald man steps out, dressed in a battered leather jacket and jeans. He’s armed, two guns that I can make out on the grainy footage and, possibly, a knife.

Bald guy comes around the SUV and opens the backseat door. Another man, similarly attired with dark hair, slides out. This one is also armed, but his gun is out and pointed back into the car. He growls something I can faintly hear outside, but can’t make out, and reaches into the car.

He yanks out Vi whose hands are zip-tied in front of him. He’s got a dark bruise on his cheek, impressive considering his russet skin usually doesn’t show bruises, and he’s wearing the clothes I saw him leave in three days ago.

“Oh no,” I say out loud, eyes widening. At the same time as the horror sets in, my heart thaws. He didn’t call a hit on me. He was forced to, obviously, but why?

Bald guy grabs my husband by the elbow and steers him to the front of our house, Dark hair following closely behind. I switch the camera to the front porch just as they reach it.

“Ha,” Bald guy says, voice tinny over the audio. “Door’s broken in. See? He was here.”

“Here and gone,” Dark hair says. “The Viper does fast work.” He sounds admiring, which is flattering. I do fast and good work.

Vi shakes his head disbelievingly and tries to jerk away. His eyes linger on the broken jam as they yank him inside, lips pressed into a tight line. He looks so upset and tired that I grimace, heart stinging. I feel bad about the show now.

It’s–it’s a doozy.

An actual moan leaves Vi’s lips as he sees the inside of our house. There’s a smear of blood on the stairs and the armchair in the living room is knocked over.

“He chases her,” Dark hair says, glee in his voice. “Dragged her up the stairs. See the blood stain? Ooh, maybe not as painless as you hoped, huh?”

“Perle,” Vi says. He looks on the verge of a breakdown. “Perle.”

Alive, well, and horrified in my armory, I cover my face with my hands. “Ooh, babe, I am so sorry.”

“We told Viper to do it upstairs,” Bald guy says. I watch on the next screen as the two men begin dragging my husband up the stairs. They have to drag him as his knees seem to have given out in grief. “Just think, Larson, all this could have been avoided if you hadn’t given that flashdrive to the FBI.”

“Shame really,” Dark hair says. “She looked like a hot piece.”

Vi takes them both by surprise at the top of the stair, lashing out, fury etched on his face. “Don’t you dare talk about my wife.” He gets a good elbow in before Bald guy puts him down with a right hook.

I reach out for my semi-automatic, fury erasing the horror. They did not just punch my husband in front of me.

They did not.

“Don’t talk about my wife,” Bald guy mocks as his partner gasps for air. Vi, while a pacifist, at least knows how to defend himself. He’d gotten a good hit in. Bald guy heaves Vi up off the floor. “Where was this passion before you ordered the hit on her?”

“You–” Vi starts. He’s shaking with rage, I can hear it through the wall now as they come closer and closer to the bedroom. “You made me. You made me.”

“Sure,” Dark hair says, breath regained. There’s a mean look on his face that tells me he’s ready to hurt Vi and that he’d enjoy doing it. “But she died thinking you did.” He cocks his head, the faint strains of my recording reaching them. “Oooh, do you hear that?”

“Yikes,” I say through my teeth. I owed Vi so much after this. How could I think he would ever order a hit on me? I mean there was the fingerprint, but–well, it was an honest mistake.

He’s going to be so mad, I think, loading my weapon. I shove an extra clip in my waistband, just in case. Soooo mad.

They pull my husband into our bedroom. I feel guilt and shame course through me as he takes in the pictures, the blood, the recording.

“No,” Vi whispers. His voice is so close, right through the wall, but I can’t comfort him, can’t tell him the truth. Not until I have a clear line of sight. “Perle!”

“Oh my god,” Dark hair laughs, stooping down to pick up a picture. “Viper is sick. I’ve never heard him doing shit like this, have you?”

Unease flashes across Bald guy’s face, gone as quickly as it comes. “Yeah, well, it’s what the boss wanted. He must have slipped in some extra orders before we sent the contract.”

Vi is silent between them. His eyes are very far away and I think he might be going into shock. “You–I can’t believe–”

Dark hair follows the pictures to the bathroom. “Holy shit, dude, I think he dismembered her in the tub! Oh my god, you’ve got to see this!”

“Please turn off the recording,” Vi says. He sags to his knees, the very picture of a broken man. And I put him there. “Please.”

“Something’s not right,” Bald guy says slowly. He lets go of Vi and takes a step away, frowning as he takes in the whole picture. “I’ve seen Viper’s work.”

If I wasn’t currently in kill mode, I’d raise my eyebrows. Not many people have “seen” my work since I specialize in “disappearances.”

It looks like Bald guy might survive this. For a while. Just until I got my answers.

“What’d you say?” Dark hair asks, coming out of the bathroom.

“I said,” Bald guy says, walking away from Vi, “that something’s not–” He turns his back on Vi, pointing his gun down “–right.”

I kick the panel open, ice running through my veins, and raise my weapon. Vi, already looking my direction to avoid looking at the pictures on the bed, chokes, eyes widening.

Bald guy and Dark hair are much, much too slow.

My first shots kneecap them, sending them to the ground with screams of agony. My next shot takes out Bald guy’s gun hand as he instinctively tries to shoot me. Trained then, but not as well as me.

“Perle?” Vi asks, voice trembling. He stays where he is, twisted around on the floor. “How are you–?”

“Now, babe,” I say, smile too sharp, “what did I say about bringing your work home with you?”

Vi stares at me for a beat longer and then promptly passes out.

I blink down at my husband, honestly thrown. “Huh.” I turn my attention to the bad guys, raising my weapon as I move towards them. Bald guy is watching me through his tears, but Dark Hair is still clutching his knees like that’ll make them un-explode. “That does make this next part easier.”

“How did you know we were coming?” Bald guy asks. He’s a smart one, even with the amount of pain he must be in. “Viper tends to avoid women and children. Did he warn you?”

“Yes,” I say simply. I wait until he nods, resigned, before I continue. “She did.”

Bald guy freezes. “She…?”

“She,” I agree. Neither of them look like they’re going to attack me, so I take the risk and squat down. “And now she has some questions for you.”

Bald guy shakes his head, instinctively trying to crawl away. “That’s–that’s impossible–”

I shoot Dark hair in the head without looking. When Bald guy shouts, I grin. “As I said. I have some questions.”

——————————————-

By the time Vi comes around, Bald guy (Leo Hill) and Dark hair (Anthony Castillo) are gone. I’ll have to move the bodies later, but I feel comfortable enough for now.

“Wha–” Vi says from our bed. He sits up and seems to notice that he’s no longer handcuffed. The photographs are missing from the bed, most of the blood gone.

I’m a fast worker.

“Morning, babe,” I say from across the room. He jerks, head swiveling to where I’m sitting against the wall, computer in my lap. I’m trying to stay calm, but my heart is beating so fast in my chest that I know he can see my nerves. “I’m trying to get someone to come fix our door. Will you be around Tuesday?”

“Perle,” Vi says, holding very still. “I–the men–” He focuses on me. “You’re not dead. Did I– did that really happen?”

I think about lying to him. I could spin it so that “Viper” really did warn me and then gave me the tools to defend myself. But I don’t want to lie anymore, and by the look of it, Vi is already putting the pieces together anyway.

“Next time you want me dead,” I say lightly, “I’d try not hiring me to do it.”

Vi’s eyes lose focus. “You’re a–an assassin? I always thought you were a spy or a–” He jerks. “Hill and Castillo! Where did they–?”

“I took care of them,” I say. I open my mouth to say more and stop, drumming my fingers against my thigh.

“So you killed them,” Vi says. He still hasn’t moved, but his eyes refocus on me. I can see the gears turning as he chews through recent events, connecting it all together. It’s his intelligence that made me fall in love with him in the first place.

It’s that same intelligence that might spell the end for us now. (Or me being a serial killer. That could factor into it too.)

“Yep,” I say and laugh nervously. “And sort of called out a hit on your boss? I know the FBI is moving in, but they went after you and–Vi? What are you–”

Vi yanks me up, causing my computer to fall to the ground, and wraps me in his arms so tightly that I can’t believe. “I’m so happy you’re alive.”

I hug him back, hardly daring to believe it. He’s real and he’s hugging me and he didn’t call out a hit on me. “Y-you’re not mad? I killed them. I’ve killed a lot of people.”

Vi pulls away just enough so he can meet my eyes. “I am furious. We are going to be talking about it.” He crushes me to his chest again. “I love you.”

I laugh, breath hitching it suspiciously. “Oh you want to talk? I should be saying that to you, what was on that flash drive that made them want to kill me to get to you?”

“Nuclear missile plans,” Vi says into my hair.

“…what?”

—

(Patreon(X))

You are an anonymous professional assassin with a perfect reputation. You lead an ordinary life outside of your work. You’ve just been hired to kill yourself.

#story #cool

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