#glad shes at a hospital being taken care of. i still fucking hate cops.

[rainbowgothdisaster]

apparently no one liked how the cops were treating nana but didnt know how to tell the 3 able bodied 6'0" men with guns to not laugh at the mentally ill 62 yr old who was trying to fight them

fucking hate cops.

[elk96]

A Battle Of Ideals 1

Part One.

Pairing: Chris O' Doyle( Free Fire) x female OC

Warnings: graphic description of blood, wounds, some violence, swearing cause that's all they did in that movie, enemies to lovers kinda?, h/c, English is not my first language.

Word Count: 2287

After the gunfight ends, a woman comes out of the shadows, to take care of him even though they seem to belong in completely different worlds. Her goal turns out to be in high contrast with her actions.

This is a sappy, completely self indulgent story guys, you have been warned. Chris suffers, a woman is there to take care of him. They also hate each other some times, especially in the start. That's it

You’re being ridiculously loud right now, Chris thought, his breathing echoing amongst the dead. The building was empty now, but he somehow preferred the panic, the gunshots -even the fear. He was not afraid now. He knew that death was approaching-and but for his fucking leg maybe he could try to go to a hospital, ask for help.

He moved his head to rest it on Ord’s body-it wasn’t bad, having a more comfortable deathbed. He never liked the guy anyway.

“Goddamnit Stevo”, he groaned, trying to remain conscious a little while longer. Suffering like a wounded animal he was, covered in dirt and blood.

“God has damned all of us, a long time ago. I thought you knew”, said a voice-a female voice-, and Chris put his best effort to lift his head up.

“Who the fuck are you, eh��?, he rasped out. God he was hit everywhere, he might as well end up drowning in his own blood.

“Glad to see you’re still breathing”, the voice spoke again, and a woman showed up from the furthest corner, dressed in brown jeans and a bloody button-up.

“Who are you”?, Chris asked again, his voice mimicking pathetically a whine. She certainly wasn't with the police.

“That doesn’t matter now though, does it”?, the woman said and a gun appeared along with her. Chris reached instinctively for his own weapon, despite his being way too weak to even aim.

“Don’t worry, I’m here to help. The cops will arrive any minute now, we have to go”.

“Fuck off”.

“I will. With you. Put the gun down, before I cut your hand off”.

The woman knelt beside him, softly taking the weapon from him, and put it in her own pocket.

“My car’s outside. I’ll bring it in in two minute’s time. Don’t die, Irishman”.

“Fuck off and leave me alone, will ya”?

“Save your strength”, the stranger said and then she left him alone again, fighting to breathe because his chest felt heavy, and the blood was sipping through his veins on the floor.

He wanted it to end, to stop the suffering ‘cause it was all futile anyway, but she had taken his gun.

I only wanted a fucking beer and a nice dinner!, he complained silently, face scrunched in despair, but the sound of car tracks made him jolt upright. His loud groan covered the sound of the engine.

“The cops are on their way, we have to hurry”, the woman said and knelt behind him this time, pulling him upright despite his sounds of pain.

“Help me or I’ll empty your own gun on you, you bastard. Get up”! The woman poked him on the shoulder and the pain helped him stand, somehow.

Only half-conscious, almost too far gone to hear anything but his own heartbeat, he was thrown in the backseat of a black car.

“Frank. We left Frank here”, he murmured suddenly as the vehicle began to move. “I’d promised I’d take him home”.

“You’re not going home Chris, so….there’s very little you can do”.

“Who the fuck do you work for”?

“At the moment, your own good. And my name is Amara. Stay awake Chris. It’s for the best, I promise”.

“Fuck you and your promises”, he murmured under his breath, but he didn’t faint anyway. The dull, intense ache ran through his body keeping him grounded to reality.

After a short drive, the woman pulled over, and sat with him on the backseat.

“We’re getting close to the end of your hour and a half, Chris”, Amara murmured, opening a first-aid kit.

“Really now? A nurse? Can’t I go to hospital”?

“Dead or captive you won’t be of any use for us”.

“Who is ‘us’”?

“Take a deep breath”, Amara warned him and a moment later she removed the jacket off of his shoulders, ripping his shirt apart.

“Damn it”, she whispered on seeing the bullet wounds. She quickly pressed cotton soaked in rubbing alcohol on his shoulder, his arm, his ribs. Amara then cleaned the wounds with water, and covered them tightly in bandages. Chris tried to avoid her harsh treatment, but the woman pinned him against the backseat with her weight.

“Lay back. Lay back, now”, she said coldly, and after Chris obliged proceeding to take off his boots, his trousers following.

“Fucking hell”, Chris hissed, as the hard material scraped his wound.

“This is what happens when you go buy guns, pal”, Amara said, repeating the exact same process, not a tiny bit more gentle. The car’s seat was slippery from his sweat, but Chriss was proud enough not to make a sound. Or try to, at least. It’s not easy when you’ve been shot in three places.

Amara threw a heavy blanket on him, to keep him somehow warm, and Chris layed down during their pleasant ride. The road was bumpy, full of sudden turns and dips, and he then, more than ever, wished he could’ve stayed with Frank, and Stevo. Dead, calm, and still.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t bring painkillers with me, I’ll give you as soon as we get home”, Amara said in a haste, after a loud yelp escaped him.

Chris was fighting to keep breathing-should be the easiest of all his fights, and yet, there he was, begging her to open the window, craving some fresh air after all the dust.

“Don’t worry, everything will ease in a while”, Amara whispered as soon as they reached their destination. Wrapping Chris with the blanket, she helped him out of the car, and into a small house, but Chris collapsed on the first step of the yard’s starecase.

“Wait a minute…I need to-...catch my breath”, he uttered, making her heart clench on her chest.

“We have to get inside before the neighbors see us. It’s just four steps”.

“Wait a minute…wait”, he insisted but Amara pulled him up, ignorant to his loud groans.

Chris was too far gone to notice anything of his surroundings, but the bright light of a lamp made his eyes burn, so he didn’t make any effort to open them. He was splayed on a chair. He heard water running on a sink, and moments later, a hand came to hold his jaw high.

Amara held the cup for him as he drunk clumsily, spilling half of the water on himself.

“It’s okay, don’t worry”, Amara whispered, bringing a bottle to his lips. “Drink”, she said softly. “It’s whiskey. Irish”.

Chris half-opened his eyes, finding comfort in the burning tickle of the alcohol. He drank as much as he could bear, and the weight on his head lifted up immediately.

“You’re okay, eh Chris”?, Amara asked, holding his face between her hands. She pushed some stray hair behind his ear, looking at him in the eyes. “You’re gonna lay in bed real soon-just don’t go find Frank”.

“You bitch…”, Chris muttered but his whole body froze as Amara appeared with new bandages, needles, thread and pliers.

“You didn’t think I’d leave them inside of you, did you”?

Not today, please not today, Chris wanted to beg her but he kept his lips tightly pressed together as Amara freed his shoulder from the bandage.

She cleaned her hands with the alcohol, and put on gloves before picking up the surgical pliers.

“You’re lucky”, she said examining the wound. “It’s shallow. It will hurt like hell nonetheless”, she muttered and pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket, which she tied around his head.

“Just tell me if you can’t breathe, hm”?, she mocked him, shoving the handkerchief onto his mouth.

She picked up those damn pliers again, and with clenched teeth, began to pick on his wound, trying to get the bullet out. Her left hand instinctively grabbed his right as he fought to get her off of him. Amara found the bullet quickly and dropped in on the glass with a relieved sight and pushed the gag down.

“Wait….ahh….wait”, Chris begged, his face wet with unwanted tears, but Amara pushed the thread on the needle.

“Better finish quickly”, she said, gagged him and stitched his wound with practiced ease.

Chris growled, moaned, clenched and unclenched all of his muscles during the next two hours of Amara tending to him. The wound on his ribs was particularly bad, leaving him almost unconscious after a loud moan which not even the gag managed to suppress.

“It’s okay, we’re done, that’s it”, Amara assured him with a broken voice, almost apologetic for all the pain she had caused him. His head hung back, chest falling and rising slowly. Every breath Chris took came out as a groan, louder each time as he completely lost control of himself.

Amara tilted his head forward, for him to drink some more water, wrapped him in a clean blanket, and carried him to the bedroom which luckily was close.

Chris had passed out and so no snarky comment came out of him when they entered the bedroom, which Amara had turned into essentially a hospital room.

She let him fall on the soft mattress before transferring some blood to him. The piercing of the needle against her skin made her wince, but she had the blood type, compatible with all others, and the whole job was arranged only a few hours before terrorists and gun dealers met. She had to shed her own blood for him if she wanted the plan to succeed, the killings to stop.

Just as the precious red liquid started running through the tubule Chris flattered his eyes half-open, drawing in a shaky breath.

Amara didn’t take her eyes off the needle and the tubule once, hyper-focused on the blood transfer. Chris let out a whine instead of a groan once she removed the needle from his skin.

“Shut up, what are you, a fucking dog”?, Amara said harshly, clinging to the effort of believing her own false pretence.

“You still have…my gun in your pocket…”, Chris struggled, “so stop wasting…your fucking blood…and-and kill me”.

“The only thing I’m gonna use this gun for, pal, is wake you up”, she answered poking on his bad leg. Chris yelped, with a moan that faded into a long whine but Amara bit her lip.

Struggling to keep her own emotions under control, she wiped gently on the tear running down his left cheek. Her eyes suddenly narrowed in worry, and she put a thermometer into his mouth, only to find him burning with fever.

“Damn it Chris, Vern was right”, she muttered, and rushed to bring him an aspirin. “It’s not gonna do anything for the pain, but it will help with the fever. I hope”.

“I want a smoke”, Chris said, mouth almost completely closed.

“Yeah, and then go fuck yourself, no”?

Chris made an effort to open his eyes in her direction, but she only sat beside him on the bed, brushing her fingers over his batted face.

“Sleep. Sleep, you need it”.

Chris shook his head forcefully.

“Sleep, you’ll be fine”.

His eyes danced around the room, taking on the last thing he’d see of the world.

“I cleaned your wounds. The fever will subside. Sleep now, and if you’re early, you might see the sun rise in the morning”.

He’s not going to die, she thought to herself, taking in the pieces left of him. The night was almost as still as him, only the distant sounds of a lost kitten, or the chipping of the nightbirds echoing in the world.

The world. Her world, the place she’d come to call home, a small, empty apartment in the middle of nowhere. So far away from New York, or her family, or anything she’d ever known as a kid, really. She couldn’t remember what day it was, but she did have the vague feeling that Zoey’s birthday was close.

32, she smiled. A mature, successful woman-had she lived past 24. They wanted M16s, and not A40s, these are not good enough to kill people, they need the best. She missed her sister more than even her old self, the one that would never poke a man in his wound. Or swear on him for groaning in pain.-You’re being sentimental! Cut it off, now! He is a terrorist. Not a fucking kid.

It was Chris’s soft growls that pulled her out of her thoughts. She snapped her eyes on him, only to find him shaking uncontrollably, still asleep. His muscles tensed and relaxed, and the spasms tied his limbs together, made him ache to the bone.

Tired though she was, she knelt beside him, one hand on his temple and the other resting heavily on his abdomen, trying to steady him.

“Hey Chris”, she whispered so as to figure if he was awake, but she got no answer. “Relax Chrissy, relax. It’s just the fever rising, nothing more”.

Her hand started brushing on his hair, then under his wet eyes, then down her own cheeks because she couldn’t take it anymore. Chris was not groaning, he was crying, desperately and softly, sobbing beneath her touch unbeknownst to him.

There was nothing she could do but wait-or so she told herself, so she sat back on her chair, eyes on the moon outside the window. When his whines and moans became unbearable, she covered her ears, praying for the night to end.

She was doing the right thing, she knew it. They had to be stopped, in order for the killings to stop, in order for people to live happily and-

The muscle of the gun pressed against her thigh as Chris’s sobs continued to echo in the room.

“A terrorist. Nothing more”, she whispered to herself and finally closed her eyes.

@look-at-the-soul , hope you like it!!

If you read, please interact, it would be like the best thing ever, comments, or corrections in my grammar, or anything else!

[thatfanficstuff]

Impossible-13

Pairing: Eric Northman x reader

Warnings: Canon typical. Feelings.

A/N: A friendly reminder that I have changed Canon. Amy and Jason weren’t a thing. Therefore they didn’t take Eddie. Which means Lafeyette is not in Eric’s basement. Amongst other things.

***

Sam had already started to come around by the time Sookie knelt over him. He returned with her to check on you and you quickly averted your gaze. There were some things you were perfectly happy not knowing. “Clothes, Sam. Then go to Sook’s and call the cops. See if you can find my phone while you’re there. It should be in the living room somewhere.

He hesitated only a moment before nodding and hurrying off to do as you asked without argument. That was a nice change.

Sookie settled onto the ground beside you and took your hand in hers. “You saved me. Thank you.”

You hummed in acknowledgment not willing to expend the energy it would take to say anything else. Suddenly, you coughed and groaned at the pain that rolled through you with the action. You may be more resilient than the average human, but a bullet in the chest was a bullet in the chest. You could only be thankful that it had apparently missed anything vital. You assumed so anyway since you were still breathing. You kept your breaths shallow to keep your chest from moving too much. God, you hurt.

Sam returned with your phone about the time you heard sirens in the distance. “Thanks,” you said as he slipped it into your hand. You almost immediately dropped it. “Fuck.” There was nothing more frustrating than a body that didn’t work the way it was supposed to. You stretched your fingers and rubbed your hand against your leg trying to wake it up.

When you fumbled with it again, Sookie gently pulled it away from you. “What are you trying to do?”

You cleared your throat and winced. “Missed calls.”

Her eyes went wide as she looked at the screen and you chuckled. You figured. “27. They all say Eric or Pop.”

Before you could tell her to call Eric, your phone rang again. “Answer it. Put it on speaker.”

“Yeah,” you greeted when Sookie had done as you asked. Your voice was tight, pained.

“Y/N?” Eric’s frantic voice washed over you. “Are you all right? What the hell is going on?”

“We’re still a couple of hours from sundown. Someone needs to drive me to you.” You managed to get the words out through the pain. You weren’t certain how long you could keep doing so. It had been a long time since you hurt this bad. Fucking Rene. Drew. Whatever the fuck his name was. Asshole.

“What is her condition, Sookie?” His voice had taken on that hard edge it got when he was worried. Or angry. Probably both at the moment.

“How’d you know I was here?” she asked.

“I can hear you breathing. Answer the question.”

“I-I’m not sure. There’s a lot of blood.” Her voice trembled and Sam wrapped an arm around her.

“And the person responsible?” If this were a different situation, you would have been turned on by that dark, protective note in his voice. No one ever said you didn’t have your issues.

Sookie swallowed and grimaced as she glanced at the asshole’s body. “Dead.”

“You are certain?”

You huffed a laugh at the disappointment that colored his words then groaned in pain. “Fuck you,” you managed to get out and Eric chuckled in response.

Two police cars and an ambulance wailed to a stop on the road in front of the cemetery. “The ambulance is here. Maybe she should just go to the hospital,” Sam piped up.

“No,” you and Eric said in unison.        

The corner of your mouth twitched. At least the two of you agreed on something.

“Company?” he asked.

The other two looked confused so you answered him. “Ballentine.”

“Give me a moment.”

The EMTs knelt beside you as the cops shouted questions. You ignored them all, the edges of your vision going fuzzy. That’s no good. Hurry up, Eric.

You no sooner had the thought then he returned. “I’ll see you soon. And I’ll call your father.” Damn, he must be really worried if he was volunteering to call Roman.

He hung up and one of the EMT’s phones started to ring. After a quick conversation, he knelt down and looked you in the eye. “You’re all taken care of. Let’s get you out of here.”

An excruciating wave of pain swamped you as they lifted you onto the gurney and everything went black.

***

Awareness came slowly. Fingers sweeping strands of hair from your face. A low voice making promises and declarations, though you only understood about half of them. Arms holding you against the chest you leaned on.

“Awaken, mitt allt. You must drink.” Eric’s voice was a comforting buzz in your ear even if you didn’t care for the pleading note it carried.

You grasped onto one of his arms as you shifted to make yourself more comfortable. A hiss accompanied the pain motion brought with it. Eric sighed in relief and some of the tension flowed from his body. He wouldn’t completely relax until you were healed.

He bit into his wrist before holding it to your mouth. You pressed your lips to his skin and sucked the healing liquid into your mouth. At first you were timid, tender but as your body began to stitch back together you held his wrist against your lips. You drank deeply then, eager to rid yourself of the agony you’d been living in since the cemetery. Eric shifted beneath you with a moan and you smirked as you pulled away.

You maintained the grip on his arm and held it against your chest as you nestled your head further into his. The fingers of his free hand ran through your hair as the two of you just relished being in each other’s presence. “Better?” he finally asked, breaking the silence.

“Better,” you agreed.

His hand shifted so his fingers trailed down your spine and back up. “No more helping the riffraff unless I accompany you.”

You sighed but didn’t say anything not really caring to get into an argument at the moment.

“Do you have any idea how close you were to death? How much blood you lost? I could feel you growing weaker with every passing second and there was nothing I could do.” He took a deep breath. “I realize that you may be willing to sacrifice yourself to do what you think is right, but are you willing to sacrifice me? Because if you die, I will as well. My fate has been tied to yours from the moment I met you. As much as I tried to deny it, that is the truth.”

“Fine,” you said after a moment’s thought. “But the same goes for you. No secrets, Eric. Let me help you. What good is having Roman for my father if I can’t use it to our advantage?”

He laughed as you’d wanted him to when you said it. You tilted your head back so you could see his face. His gaze met yours for a brief moment, then he leaned forward and kissed you. You ran your fingers through his hair and held him to you. When you finally separated, he leaned his forehead against yours. “I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you, too.” You tugged on his hair a bit and his brow furrowed. “Can I cut your hair?”

He grinned. “Pam will have my hide, but you may do as you wish.”

***

After you called your father to check in, you and Eric showered together in silence as you washed your blood from one another. Even though his blood had healed you, Eric was still taking care of you as though you needed it. He dried you off with one of the fluffy towels from his warmer before helping you dress in a pair of your sweats and one of his t-shirts. While he poured you a drink and ordered dinner, you changed the sheets on his bed so it would be ready in the morning.

“I could have done that,” he said and you looked up to find him leaning in the doorway.

You shrugged. “I’m just as capable. Get me what I need and I’ll cut your hair while we talk.”

Once the two of you were ready, you started on his hair. It was a few minutes before you started to tell the story of what happened that day. You only paused when the doorbell rang signaling the food was there. You sat it on the counter and went to finish up Eric’s hair. It was pretty good all things considered. And he hated going to a salon.

“And what did our little telepath think about you decapitating your assailant?” It was the first thing he’d said since you’d started talking.

“Pretty sure she was just glad she wasn’t dead at that point, Eric.” You ran your fingers through his hair to make sure everything was even, touching up as needed.

“Don’t be surprised if she distances herself. Humans often have difficulty accepting the necessity of our actions.”

You rolled your eyes. “Seriously? You’re going to talk to me about people distancing themselves?” You took the towel from his neck and dropped it onto the one at your feet. You could clean it up later. You were starving.

He stood and wrapped an arm around your waist to pull you to him. His lips trailed up the line of your neck. “I just don’t want you to be disappointed if it should happen.”

You shrugged. You learned long ago that friendships were fickle things, even if you did save them from psychotic serial killers. “I’ll be fine.” You patted his chest. “Now, let’s eat. I’m so hungry.”

He laughed as he released his hold and followed you to the kitchen. The two of you sat at the table with your plates and you immediately dug in. “There is something we should discuss,” he said once you’d gotten some food into your belly.

You arched a brow and motioned for him to keep talking.

“Sophie-Anne contacted me yesterday to inform me that I would be assisting her in a new money-making endeavor.” He tapped his silverware on the table but didn’t continue.

Your brow furrowed as you realized he was bothered by whatever he had discussed with his queen. What the hell was Sophie-Anne up to now? It was no secret that she was in some serious trouble with the IRS after not paying taxes for years. Even death wasn’t an escape from taxes anymore. “What is it, Eric?”

His eyes darted up from the table to meet your gaze. “I fear what I tell you may be a death sentence for her. Sophie-Anne and I have had our differences, but she’s a decent queen, all things considered.”

“If it’s that serious, you shouldn’t be involved. She’ll hide behind her title and her denials while you pay the price for her scheming.” Vampire politics were messy at the best times and deadly at the worst. If it wasn’t for you, it would be Eric’s word against Sophie’s should something happen. And odds were, they’d accuse Eric of treason for speaking against her and he’d be killed while she got off scot free. It was one of the things you and your father argued about the most.

Eric nodded in acknowledgement of your words and took a deep breath. “She wants me to find someone to deal V for her.”

Holy shit. Eric was right. Sophie-Anne was dead. And it wouldn’t be the Magister delivering the sentence. No, your father would be visiting much sooner than he’d intended.  

[irenadel]

i wanna talk books so I made a meme

@doorsclosingslowly here’s the answers to your questions :)

6. If you read in more than one language, is there a difference between the experience of reading in your native language(s) and reading in other languages?

Virginia Woolf has a great quote in A Room of One’s Own where she says that women writers need to develop their own “sentence” and that this can only be developed through creating a tradition of female writing. She says that while reading male writers is pleasurable, it isn’t useful for the female writer, that she can’t learn from the way men write. Their “sentence” isn’t suitable for female writing. I’m.... unsure of how much I agree with her on this but I find the theory useful for describing how I approach literature in Spanish vs English.

Especially in terms of language, not so much in regards to narrative or worldbuilding or even themes, I find Spanish to be pleasurable but not useful. I very rarely find myself reading something in Spanish and thinking “ooooh, I wish I could do that! I want to steal that! How did they come up with this?” The “sentence” for writing in Spanish isn’t one I recognize or want to imitate... except maybe for VERY few exceptions like Carlos Fuentes and Borges. Whereas I can spend a lot of time reading English un-selfconsciously and then suddenly be struck by a turn of phrase that I must somehow or other make my own. That almost never happens to me when reading Spanish.

9. Fiction or non-fiction or both? In what ratio? Where do you draw the line between the two?

Oh god, this is embarassing. Erm... fiction to a fault. On 2020 and 2019 I did try to make a concerted effort to read more nonfiction, ESPECIALLY more popular science books. I still kind of childishly consider myself to not be “smart like that” and that science isn’t for me, because I don’t understand it. I used to think science fiction wasn’t for me, for similar reasons. When I do read nonfiction it tends to be history and literary criticism.

I’m finishing my degree on English literature and though I had a period of hating hard on literary criticism, I think it was mostly me rebelling against the French brand of it. I HAVE to admit I love reading new historicism, especially now that I’m working on my dissertation and I had to read a lot on Elizabethan and Jacobean theatre.

Hopefully 2021 will be the year I read a bit more science.

11. The worst book hangover you’ve ever had

Augh... I remember two in recent years. Let me see... in 2017 I finished the last book in the Realm of the Elderlings. I had read the first book in the series around maybe the mid 2000s. I devoured it in a single weekend, still hungry for more of the story. I did not have access to the rest of the trilogy for a couple of years after, but as soon as I got them I read them as fast as I could. I remember reading those books during class, pretending to pay attention to a lecture on Linguistics but actually fully engrossed in Robin Hobb’s world.

It’s a world that was with me for more than 10 years. Characters that I knew intimately from multiple re-readings for more than 10 years. My dissertationg is about the first trilogy for crying out loud! I hadn’t wanted to read the last trilogy and the last book on the trilogy because I didn’t want that connection to end. But finally I gave in...

It was a book hangover because I was reading late at night when I realized, halfway through the book, a character I loved deeply was probably going to die and I just HAD to know, I HAD to be sure. So I read through the night going from disbelief to anger, to grief, to grim acceptance. I wasn’t able to put down the book until 11 am the next day, by which point I was openly sobbing and would have thrown the book across the room except I think I was reading in my computer.

The second book hangover I remember was less because of sprinting through the book and more because of the circumstances. Last December I had decided to finish as many books I could in hopes of reaching my Good Reads goal (which I didn’’t) and I was going through His Dark Materials pretty quickly when on the 25th I got the news that my grandmother died. I wasn’t able to go see her at the hospital or at a funeral, or even go see my dad and uncles because she had died of covid-19 and the situation was still pretty dire in the city.

Then Philip Pullman decided to be an absolute asshole to me and the characters in his book arrived to the Land of the Dead. Being an atheist fantasy series and me having just recently come to terms with the fact that I’m not even agnostic... it was very tough to go through Pullman’s exploration of mortality and the importance of life on Earth. I agreed completely that materiality and the here-and-now far outweigh any contemplations of an afterlife... but my grandmother had died very suddenly.... she had still been a pretty strong old lady before she contracted covid... I had spoken to her a couple of days before and she was still strong enough to bitch about litter getting inside her room...

I finished The Amber Spyglass in a rush as well and somehow it got mixed with my mourning process and my anger at myself for having taken my grandmother’s life for granted... for not having cherished the materiality of her existence when I had the chance... I hadn’t finished writing my dissertation’s first draft yet and there were some heavy issues going on in my household.... I was exhausted from having to survive the year and I think I still am... and it all mixed up with the bittersweet ending of Pullman’s His Dark Materials and the inevitability of loss... all I remember from between the 25th and the 31st of December 2020 was exhaustedly reheating Christmas food, trying to write, and slogging through The Amber Spyglass... it feels like it was a week-long literary hangover...

14. The book that, in hindsight, really should have clued you in to the fact that you’re _________ (queer/in love/doomed to be an academic/etc)

So this is slightly NSFW but I should have known, and stopped being such a snob about it, that I had WAY MORE in common with the furries than I cared to admit given that my first impression of Smaug the Golden when reading The Hobbit at the tender age of 8 was “wow! he’s dreamy!” *facepalm *(also betraying a worrying tendency to crushing on irredeemable assholes and other miscellaneous villains...) I have accepted my status as a weird monsterfucker AND a weird alienfucker. Inhuman anatomy makes me hot, and I should have known it from DAY ONE!

23. The book you expected to hate, didn’t, and then got angry about not hating

The Hunger Games, which I’m STILL salty about and will probably remain salty about for the rest of my life.

I hateread it because a friend told me about how he hated it, given his bitter ex loved it and though I agree with all his criticisms and have a bunch of my own... I still cannot stop finding stupid Katniss profoundly likeable! CURSES! A pox upon your house Suzanne Collins! I still think your dystopia is a cowardly, white-lady-who-has-never-feared-state-violence dystopia, I still think your love triangle was absolutely unnecessary and I still think you tried to cop out of admitting you (and your character) like pretty dresses by making the pretty dresses compulsory. Be brave! Don’t give me this “I’m not like other girls” bullshit! Be brave! Make your violent spectacle reality show as a criticism of the USA’s consumerism and callousness a voluntary thing! Don’t wash your heroine’s hands clean of the sin of wanting fame and fortune and survival at all costs!

But... fuck... I... still like Katniss... I’m glad little girls in 2008 got a heroine who kicked ass, looked good and wasn’t a perfectly strong and powerful person all the time. I’m glad they got competence and vulnerability... Fuck my life...

31. Bonus question: rec me something!

This is hard... since I get the feeling we have very different tastes in reading material but... If you haven’t heard of the Vampire: The Masquerade roleplaying game (or even if you have) take a crack at the Baali Clanbook. Even if you don’t understand the game mechanics I think you’ll enjoy the history portion because it’s about a clan of devil-worshipping vampires who do their devil worshipping through implanting evil insects on people... and I suspect it might be up your alley...

[uh-drarry]

What happened before Wolfstar got custody of Harry? Requested by an anon way too long ago. I didn’t think it’d work as a soc media post so this is what you get. Also I am not a writer and sorry if this is terrible but here you are anyway 🤷🏻‍♀️

- When Lily and James die, Remus and Sirius get a call and they rush to the hospital and demand to know where Harry is. They’re told he’s being watched and it will be decided where he’s placed soon.

- Sirius goes off. Harry is his godson! It’s stated in the Potters will! But of course, no one can find the Will.

- 1 week later and it’s announced that Harry will go to live with the Dursley’s as his only blood relatives.

- Remus and Sirius ransack the Potter house to find their will but have no idea where it could be. And it gets harder and harder to look through all these memories but they need to save Harry. Lily used to talk about how awful her sister had become when Lily started dating James. Petunia is a racist bitch. They can not leave Harry in that house.

- They are trying to use this frantic searching to distract themselves from the fact that their best friends have died and they don’t have Harry like they had wanted and were supposed to.

- At least one of them visit number 4 just about every day to try and check up on Harry. The Dursley’s don’t want him but they do want the money that comes with looking after him.

- Wolfstar want to buy the house just down the road from the Dursley’s but they really can’t afford it rn (Remus has a lot of medical bills and Sirius has that house he hates but it’s rent free and it’s suitable for now and they’re saving what they can for lawyers)

- wolfstar got lawyers to fight and spent most of their saved money trying to get Harry to his rightful guardians. Minnie McG might’ve donated some as well when she heard what was happening.

- they’re getting nowhere without the will. And they can’t really prove anything. Child protective services are hardly even checking in on the Dursleys.

- It’s been a year and they hardly catch a glimpse of Harry when they knock on the Dursley’s door. Still nearly everyday. They’re still very worried. Eventually the Dursley’s stop opening the door to them.

- Sirius decides to try the Potter house again. Which nothing has been done with seeing as there is no will and James had just paid it off. So eventually it would go to Harry if it came to that.

- Wolfstar have decided once they get Harry and the Will that they will sell it for the money because they can’t stand to be in that home without them. So Sirius goes with the excuse of packing belongings for Harry to go through some day.

- he finds the fucking will, somehow. It was signed by both Lily and James, as well as a letter from them written by Lily to Sirius and Remus, and another written to Harry

- It turns out the Potters were planning on going into hiding until the crazed man who’s threatened them has been apprehended. She wrote that she didn’t know what was going to happen and that she just wanted them to know she loved them all just in case. She was very thorough in her explanations.

- The man hadn’t known they had a son and because Harry was sleeping upstairs he wasn’t there when the man killed Lily and James. The cops tackled him before he did real damage to Harry. Leaving him with his scar.

- This was all in the letter (except how they died) and there was the will finally. After a whole year of fighting for Harry and it going no where.

- Sirius left everything but the letters and will, crying as he got home to Remus as fast as he could. He yelled for him when he came home and collapsed into his arms when he got to him.

- Remus: “Sirius! What’s going on you’re scaring me! Is it Harry? What have they done to him?”

- “Re. Re I found it.”

- “Found what?”

- “The will! And these letters. Oh Remus I can’t believe it. We have a chance now!”

- Remus was shocked into silence. Just holding his hand out for the papers.

- They cried together for a long time. Then called their lawyer. Even though it was 10pm

- It still took another year however to get Harry back. Harry had been forced to lie. He was afraid of his uncle and said he liked living with them when the social worker asked him because Vernon had threatened him and said no one would care anyway. He was only 4 years old when that happened.

- The social worker made a surprise visit one day in the third year of Harry living with the Dursley’s. He had now just turned 5 years old. The Dursley’s were home but they thought it was a delivery man and told Harry to get it while they were at the dinner table eating.

- Harry answered the door. He had too big clothes on, a bruise on his cheek and wrist, and his hair was unwashed.

- She knelt down to his height.

- Hello Harry dear, do you remember me?

- Harry just nods.

- “Can you answer a couple questions for me before I come inside? I won’t tell your aunt or uncle what you tell me okay?”

- He nods again.

- She points to the bruise on his wrist. “Who gave you that?”

- “Uncle.” He whispered staring at the bruise.

- And this one? She points to his cheek.

- “Uncle.” He said even quieter.

- “Where are your aunt and uncle?”

- “Dinner.”

- “And what are you having for dinner tonight?”

- “They’re having chicken.”

- “And what are you having?”

- He looks at her in confusion, “Nothing.”

- Now even more in alert she asks, “Do you get to eat dinner usually?”

- He shakes his head.

- “How many times do you eat every day?” He just shrugs. And she gets an even worse feeling in her gut.

- “Can you... show me where you sleep?” At this point she was trying to find things to prove what she now was seeing was a horrible situation for Harry to be in.

- He nods and grabs her hand to pull her inside and closes the door. He walks a few feet to the cupboard under the stairs.

- “Here.” He says and opens it and she sees a little cot and a threadbare blanket. Horrified, she stares for a moment.

- Then Vernon yells from the dinning room “Boy! Who was at the front door! Get back in here now and no dawdling!”

- Harry is shaking. Eyes wide staring at her. Instead of going to his uncle. He latches onto her legs tightly. He looks up at her tears starting to form and just says “Please.”

- Her heart breaks right there.

- Out comes Vernon with a pan raised and Harry squeaks and buries his face in her thighs.

- Vernon freezes. Tries to hide the pan behind his back and says “Ms. Irvine. How lovely to see you.”

- Ms. Irvine just stares at him with tight lips while she clutches Harry closer and put the phone to her ear with the other.

- Vernon and Petunia Dursley are thrown in prison on charges of severe child neglect and abuse. Because of the Dursley’s, Remus and Sirius are vetted for weeks in order to see if they’re good fit for Harry, despite being his godfathers as stated by the will. When they are finally allowed to see Harry for the first time in three years they are horrified at how skinny he is and how small he is which they can now see as Harry has on proper clothes. They start crying immediately and are so relieved that he’s away from the Dursley’s even if he doesn’t come home with them.

- they were warned by Irvine that he wasn’t being fed properly or taken care of properly. That he’d probably be quite cautious around people in general, that he hasn’t been asking for what he needs because that fear has been instilled in him, and especially that it seemed that he wasn’t often if ever referred to by his name, only ‘boy’ so she’s been trying to say it as often as possible

- When Harry sees Remus and Sirius for the first time in three years he stares at them for a minute then says “Padfoot? Moony?” with a little confused look on his adorable face.

- Remus and Sirius fall to their knees crying and ask If they can hug him and tells him they love him. Harry walks cautiously over to them but stops two feet away. Remus then pulls a stuffed deer from his pocket and holds it out Harry, his eyes light up and he takes it from him and hugs the deer desperately, remembering the deer from when he was a baby.

- Harry then looks at the two of them with a little hope in his eyes.

- Harry looks back to Ms. Irvine and she comes over to whisper in his ear

- “you can hug them if you want but you don’t have to, Harry. And they won’t hurt you I promise.”

- Harry stares at them for a long couple minutes

- He then reaches out to touch the scar on Remus’ face and looks nervous but asks “okay?”

- Wolfstars’ hearts explode because how can he be so kind and worried and obviously nervous that they’ll be mad for him asking yet still want to make sure the Remus is okay.

- Remus smiles gently. More tears forming and says “yes pup I’m okay thank you for asking. Are you okay, Harry?”

- “Am now.” He whispers and looks between them and his social worker. He looks back at Remus and lifts the hair on his forehead to show off his scar, “We the same.” He says.

- Remus chuckles a bit while his heart aches and nods at Harry, “yes we are Harry.”

- Sirius finally clears his throat enough to talk, “we’re so glad that’s you’re okay, Harry, we tried very hard to visit you and take you home with us but your aunt and uncle didn’t let us come inside. We’re sorry it took so long to help you. We love you very much Harry. We only want you to be happy.”

- Ms. Irvine steps in then, “maybe we all ought to have dinner together. So we can talk more and get to know each other better? Harry are you hungry?”

- Harry looks shyly up at her and nods just a little bit.

- “Wonderful, what would you like to eat, Harry?”

- He stares at her for a full minute but she just keeps eye contact and waits for him. Eventually he says quietly, “pizza?”

- “That sounds like a good idea. What kind of pizza do you like?”

- Harry just shrugs.

- “How about a cheese pizza and we’ll see if you like that?” She looks at Remus and Sirius, “would you like pizza? I’ll order some now, and you can continue to get to know each other.”

- “Sounds like a wonderful plan,” Remus says and pulls out his wallet.

- “Oh no Mr Lupin, don’t worry about it, my treat. What kind do you two like?”

- “Hmm. I think Pepperoni tonight?” Remus asks Sirius and Sirius nods.

- “Perfect, I’ll go call it in.”

Part 2

Masterlist

[stardancerluv]

Eyes Can Decieve (For @queenofgotham800)

Warning: angsty then fluffy

You had gone home to metropolis. Your brother had taken ill and had been rushed to the hospital. To be a good sister, you went home to what was going on. You had told Roman, that you’d be home Sunday night. He had offered to go with you. But you had told him to stay, that the club needed him the most on Fridays and Saturdays but if anything changed you’d call him.

Relief had filled you, when you discovered it was simple issue with his gallbladder. That Friday, they removed it. You stayed with him and Saturday you helped him get used to being home after the operation. Feeling like he would be ok, after you helped him get settled. You even bought him a supple of his favorite snacks, extra pillows so he could be as comfortable as he could be. You decided it would be fine for you to head back to Gotham, back to Roman.

Another thing, was you were frankly tired of the remarks from your other relatives that decided now was the best time to chastise you for dating the infamous Roman Sionis, so you left! You and him had been an item for almost two years.

Somedays were easier then others. When the two of you first met, you didn’t even realize who he was. All he was..was an incredibly handsome well dressed man who bought you a drink. It was on your third date and quite a few chuckled later that you came to realize who he was.

By then you were smitten and couldn’t imagine being with anyone else. Some days, finding out about a person’a who’s face taken or something else that was rather dark, you ignored it. He took care of you. He loved you.

You saw a softer side of him. One not many saw. Roman, the man behind the image liked to sleep in, play scrabble since he loved words their meanings...their spellings.

He also was the man who when the demons of your depression and anxiety, sometimes tried to rule you, he’d chase them away with gloved hands. He wanted sunlight to shine down upon you and see a smile curl your lips.

So since you got to leave you did. You sped all the way back to Gotham. The cops, never saw you or perhaps they didn’t care but you made it back in amazing time.

Not wanting Victor to spoil your surprise you went in a special side entrance to get to Roman. As you walked up behind him, without thinking you nestled your fingers in his soft hair. Then you stopped when you saw and Victor saw you and stopped half away to Roman. He looked shocked to see you.

Looking down, you gasped when you realized he was sitting with someone. You drew your hand back. The girl gasped when she looked up and saw you. She practically leapt away from Roman’s arm that had been wrapped around her narrow shoulders. Complete surprise was splashed over his face as he looked up at you. His one gloved hand still held one of his handkerchiefs towards the girl.

You watched his Adam’s apple went up and down as he swallowed. “Y/N, you were not supposed to be back till tomorrow.”

You felt like someone punched you in the stomach, you didn’t know whether to cry, throw up or scream. Instead, you looked at both of them...you backed up, you stumbled on your heals, then you turned and began walking away.

Your blood pounded hard in your ears. You no longer heard as Dinah as her voice flowed and as people danced.

“Y/N, will you stop.” A gloved hand grabbed your wrist. You tried to pull your hand away but he was much stronger. So you turned to look at him.

His face was blank but his eyes were in turmoil.

“Obviously, you didn’t think I’d be here. Go back to your little bimbo and we can end things.”

He held up and finger, closing what little distance was between you. “Shut up.” His serious tone, and straight lipped look silenced you. You had never see him like this. “Listen Y/N, that bimbo is the first girl whoever worked here, five years ago. She had been...” He noticed people gathering. His eyes narrowed as he looked at the handful that gathered.

“What the fuck do you all want?” He turned his head to look at them all. “The conversation with my girlfriend is none of your fucking business. Drink and dance. Or fucking leave?”

The small crowd dispersed. He closed his eyes and exhaled. Opening his eyes he looked at you again. “She was picked up by a talent scout, two years after working here. I let her go and I even gave her some money to aid in settling in California.”

Roman, rubbed his temple, you knew that meant headache was most likely coming. He wasn’t due for one of his shots for two days. You grimaced, you hated that you would be the reason a headache would come over him.

“A week ago, she got mugged and assaulted on the way to an audition. The guy, had friends and connections, so he got a slap on the wrist. She is here asking if there was anything I could do.”

“Oh!” You covered your mouth. “I am so sorry.” Your shoulders slumped. “My brother is ok, but my family made my life hell. That is why I am back. That’s why...” You shrugged.

He pulled you closer so you were now against each other. He flashed you a reassuring smile. Above you, he twirled a finger. Moments, later a soft...a slow song filled the club. He soon was swaying and were swaying with him.

“My poor baby, forget all about it. You are back with me. They are faraway.” He gently rested his cheek against yours as you danced.

You pulled back for a brief moment. “I am sorry Roman.”

He looked at you earnestly. “It’s alright, I understand. But don’t ever doubt me again? Ok?!”

You nodded. “Never, I was in a bad place. I love you.”

“Places can get dark, but you don’t doubt your heart.” He drew your face up. “I’m glad you do baby, because I love you too, it took me alot to get there. You know my darkness.”

“I do.” And gently the two of you shared a kiss as you continued to sway to the music.

[samsexualdeancurious]

Thanks For Listening | Chapter Two

Square: Free Space

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Words: 1,576

Warnings: hurt!Reader, pining, eventual smut, dirty talk, voice!kink, unprotected sex.

Summary: Sam hosts two podcasts - a secret one for hunters called the War Room and a public one with fellow hunter Y/N called Criminal History. Y/N and Sam have never seen each other, let alone met, but that doesn’t stop Sam from worrying when Y/N suddenly goes missing.

Betaed by @manawhaat 

Written for @spnkinkbingo

Header by me and Mana

Masterlist - AO3

---

"The manager said she never checked out of her hotel room. Her bags and stuff are still here but her car is gone."

Sam leans his elbows on his desk. "Fuck."

Charlie keeps talking. "That Allen guy checked out, though. Think you can track him down through your network while I keep asking around here?"

Thank Chuck, something to do. "Yeah, I'll start making some calls."

"I'm going to head over to the police station. She used her FBI cover, right?"

"Yeah. Agent Warren," Sam says, recalling one of her texts from her arrival in the town. "And her partner Agent Sanders."

"Good to know. Go make those phone calls. I'll update you on what the cops tell me."

After hanging up with Charlie, Sam begins making calls to a variety of hunters. He starts with ones he knows fairly well, specifically those who tend to hunt in the western states, and works his way out from there until finally - finally - he finds someone who can give him the number he needs.

"Hello."

The voice is gruff but Sam gets the feeling that man is young - probably mid-twenties.

"Is this Allen Burton?"

"Who's asking?" The man is clearly cautious, a common trait among hunters no matter how young they may be.

"This is Sam Winchester."

He can practically hear Allen straightening up, snapping to attention. "Shit. Sorry. Hi. I, um. I didn't know it was you, sir."

Sam can't stop himself from rolling his eyes. Great. Another fanboy 

"What can I do for you?" Allen asks.

Sam gets straight to the point. "Where is Y/N?"

There's an audible gulp. "She, uh - she's in the hospital."

---

Charlie finds her in the ICU of St. Mary's Medical Center in Colorado.

"She's going to be fine," Charlie assures him. Sam has collapsed into a chair in the library, overwhelmed with relief. "She's in a medical coma right now but the doctor says she should be ready to wake up in a few days. I'm going to stick around until she does."

Sam's glad he's alone in the library right now - no one can see the way he frantically scrubs at his eyes, relief flooding through him. "Did the doctor say what happened?"

"He doesn't know for sure - top secret FBI stuff, ya know - but he said she lost a lot of blood and had a pretty nasty head injury. They actually transferred her here about a day after she was admitted to that hospital in Utah. That's why I didn't find her when I looked there. St. Mary's has a better trauma center and ICU, and the doctors in Utah wanted to make sure she was getting the best care possible. Ya know, with her being FBI and all,” Charlie smirks. “So they had her sent here."

That fact makes Sam feel better. He's still itching to grab the Impala keys and drive out there, even though he knows Dean would kill him for taking the car without asking, and Y/N probably wouldn't want him there anyway. After all, they haven't even met in person yet.

At least she'll have someone familiar around when she wakes up.

"I'll have her call when she's ready to," Charlie offers, oblivious to Sam's inner turmoil.

"Thanks, Charlie. I really appreciate you doing this."

"It's not a big deal. She's my friend, too. Plus, it's easier to keep her cover if I stick around. I can't believe Allen just left her."

At her mention of the young hunter, Sam grits his teeth. Allen had dropped Y/N off at the hospital, spouted off some story about her being injured on the job, and then left town without a backward glance or letting anyone know what happened. Apparently, Allen wasn't even there when Y/N was injured. They were separated once inside the nest and he found her unconscious in a pool of blood.

"I've been letting people know that Allen isn't a reliable hunting partner," Sam tells Charlie. "It's not that I want him to hunt alone or anything. I just want people to be aware."

"Smart. I'll let my own network know. I'm gonna go grab some food and find a room for the night. I'll text you an update in the morning."

---

Charlie keeps Sam informed on Y/N's condition over the next few days, including that the doctor has decided to take her off the medication keeping her unconscious. He has to fight to keep himself from pacing a hole in his bedroom floor, deciding to focus on editing a few bonus episodes of Criminal History to stay busy.

On day four, his phone rings in the middle of lunch. He snatches it up when he sees Charlie's name on the screen, ignoring Dean's curious glances.

"Hello?"

"Hiya, Chief."

The relief that washes over him at the sound of her voice is like a physical weight being lifted from his chest. "Y/N," he says, abandoning his sandwich and instead hurrying to lock himself in his office. "You're awake. I was so worried."

"I'm sorry for worrying you." Her voice is soft, a little embarrassed.

"It's not your fault. You're only human. What happened? Allen couldn't tell me."

Y/N sighs. "Allen and I were separated and a couple of vamps got the jump on me. I guess I hit my head pretty hard 'cause I don't remember anything after that. I'm sorry, Sam. I should've been more careful."

"Hey." Sam keeps his tone low and soothing. "It's okay. You're okay. Just promise me something?"

"Okay?"

"If you're ever facing a case like this solo again, please call me."

Sam doesn't try to hide the desperation in his voice and she clearly picks up on it. When she speaks, her tone is soft and genuine.

"I promise."

Sam nods, practically falling into his office chair. He finds himself staring down at the planner he left open last time he was in here - the one where he uses to organize and schedule everything that deals with Criminal History.

"How long does the doctor want you to stick around?" he asks.

Y/N huffs. "A few more days for tests and stuff so he can make sure I'm definitely okay. Then he wants me to take it easy for at least another week. I'm gonna die of boredom."

Sam smirks. "Not if Charlie brings you your laptop. We've still got a show to run, partner. That means research."

Y/N groans. Sam rolls his eyes. She would be perfectly content if Sam did all the research and prep and she just had to read his notes and record. 

"That head injury didn't change too much," he teases.

"Shouldn't being in the hospital excuse me from research?" Her pout is audible.

Sam chuckles. "Have Charlie pick you up a new phone so you don't end up stealing hers. I'll talk to you later."

---

You hate to admit it but Sam is right. You definitely would have died of boredom without being able to do research for the podcast.

The emails full of article and video links that Sam sends end up being a welcome break in the monotony, especially since he’s decided to do most of the research for you (this time). It's not the most exciting existence but it's definitely better than having nothing to do. Sam’s regular phone calls certainly don’t hurt.

Charlie heads back to Utah to make sure the vamp nest has definitely been taken care of but returns to the hospital once you're discharged and drive you to a nearby motel where she’s rented you a room. She hangs around a few more days after that - no one says anything but Sam probably asked her to. He can be a bit of a worrywart sometimes. You don't mind the company, though.

After Charlie leaves and you're given to okay to resume everyday activities, life pretty much goes back to normal. You take on minor cases, working solo or with hunters you're familiar with until you're feeling back to normal. You still talk to Sam on an almost daily basis - if not over the phone, via text - and ignore the happy butterflies in your stomach every time you see his name on your phone.

When you stumble upon a hunt that sounds an awful lot like a wendigo in Colorado, Sam's words from the hospital flutter across the back of your mind and you find yourself calling him before you even realize you're doing it.

He waves away all your insistence that he doesn't have to come help you, the sounds of a duffel being hastily packed clear in the background of his voice.

"Dean and I will be there in about 9 hours," Sam says. "Maybe sooner, with the way Dean drives."

Dean. Of course Sam would bring his brother. You've heard good things about Dean - especially about his hunting abilities - but a part of you really wanted this to be just you and Sam, and that part of you can't help feeling disappointed.

“I don't really want to bring Dean," Sam continues. "But wendigos are a pain in the ass, especially this time of year. The more hands on deck, the better."

Okay. Good point.

"I'll meet you in Aspen," you decide, ignoring that part of yourself that still wants to ask him to leave Dean behind. "We can head up to the campsite from there. Let me know when you're getting close?"

"Of course."

--

Like this fic? Support me longterm on Patreon HERE or make a one-time donation on Ko-Fi HERE

--Team Forever: @mrswhozeewhatsis @books-and-icecream @laughing-at-the-darkness @tumbler-tidbits @imsuperawkward

Team Sam: @saxxxology

Team TFL: @wonderfulworldofwinchester @kickingitwithkirk @muchamusedaboutnothing @ellen-reincarnated1967 @linki-locks11

[lovemesomerafael]

EL AMOR TODO LO PUEDE Chapter 2:  Life 2.0

See Chapter 1:  “The End of the Beginning” here

The ER at Chicago Med had a unique smell that Laura would always recognize.  That particular combination of strong cleaning products, antiseptic, hospital food, and ever-present coffee was unmistakable.  It was once an exciting smell; one that meant she was part of the most interesting, challenging, and rewarding place she had ever been.  Later, it became a frightening smell that meant she had to stay focused, think clearly, and try to hold it together at any cost.  Now, it was a smell that assaulted her with memories and feelings – good ones, bad ones, terrifying ones. She would rather have been anywhere else.  Yet here she was.  

She stood to the side of the sliding doors, hoping not to be noticed.  Maggie knew she was here, of course, but Maggie had promised not to pay any attention to her unless she needed rescuing.  Laura said yet another quick prayer of thanksgiving that, despite everything, Maggie was still there for her.

And then there was fucking Will Halstead who, of course, was the first to notice Laura.  He rushed toward her, cocky and judgy as always, as though he would throw her out into the street rather than let her soil “his” ER.

“What the hell are you doing here?”  He demanded, already in her face.

“Morning, Beelzebub. Nice to see you, too,” Laura said, trying to remain nonchalant.  All she had to do was get through a few minutes until Ms. Goodwin arrived for their meeting.  Just a few minutes…

“If you think you have a chance in hell of getting your job back-“

“You know what, Will? The reason I’m here has nothing to do with you.  So if you could just manage to fuck off, I promise I’ll be out of here as soon as humanly possible.”  

He simply stood there, in her space, glaring down at her as though she was Hannibal Lechter. Fortunately, Sharon Goodwin appeared behind him at that moment, smiling her gentle smile.  Laura’s raw nerves felt that smile like a warm blanket.  

“Laura, good morning. You look wonderful.”  Ms. Goodwin gave Laura a quick hug.

“Hi, Ms. Goodwin. Thank you so much for meeting with me.”    

Will exploded.  “Ms. Goodwin, you cannot be thinking of letting her come back here!“

“Thank you, Dr. Halstead,” Ms. Goodwin said softly but firmly, continuing to smile while leading Laura gently by an arm around her shoulders.  “If you’ll excuse us…”  

Ms. Goodwin and Laura walked through the ER and down the hall, leaving a fuming Will Halstead standing by the doors.  

 When they reached Ms. Goodwin’s office and had taken seats at the small conference table, Laura thanked her again for seeing her.

“Laura, I know you’ve been sober for a year now, and I want you to know how happy I am for you.  I know how difficult that has been for you, and I’ve spoken to several people who told me how hard you’ve worked.”  

“I’m glad.  I told you, you can talk to anyone at the rehab, or my sponsor, or anyone you need to so you can feel comfortable doing this.”

“Well, I have to tell you, I wish I wasn’t doing it.  I wish I was welcoming you back to Med.  You’re a hell of a nurse, and the state is woefully shortsighted in the way it treats its impaired nurses.  But, be that as it may, the Board of Nursing has made its decision, and here we are.”

“Thank you for saying that. I wish I was coming back, too. But I did what I did, and I accept that I’m not getting my license back.  That’s why I appreciate your help so much.  A lot of people around here rightfully hate me.  Thank you for not being one of them.”

“You’re talking about Dr. Halstead.  I know he’s been hard on you, but I hope you understand that what he’s really mad at you for is destroying a promising career.  And, as you know, he has his own demons.”

“I know.”

“And listen, I’m just as mad at you as he is for drinking on the job.”  Ms. Goodwin’s eyes bored into Laura’s before she continued.  

“I’m not helping you because I will ever excuse that.  I’m helping you because Maggie Lockwood hounded me until I agreed to look into it.  But more than that, I’m helping you because I understand that alcoholism is a disease.  You don’t get to choose not to have it.  You do get to choose what you do about it.  And everyone I talked to tells the same story.  You did everything you were told in rehab, and since then you’ve done everything your counselors and sponsor have asked of you.  You seem committed to staying sober.  I’m convinced you deserve a second chance.”

“Thank you, Ms. Goodwin.”

“So let’s go meet Hank Voight.”  

 Sergeant Voight really did have a legitimate position open for an office assistant.  He hadn’t created the job for Sharon Goodwin’s charity case.  But Sharon had called in a favor to get him to hire Laura rather than another, perhaps more experienced, assistant.  Voight knew her history and couldn’t have cared less as long as she stayed sober and got the job done.  He also knew that she had some experience running an office, having worked for her father’s excavation company for years, including running that office full time for the past six months.  So he was perfectly willing to give her a chance.  He’d never had an assistant before; anyone was better than no one.

Laura had no idea what to expect.  She had never even set foot in a police station before.   But Ms. Goodwin thought that working for the CPD, especially a unit like Intelligence, might be the perfect fit for her.  And, to everyone’s surprise, Laura adored Hank Voight at first sight.  

She couldn’t have explained it; it was much more than his willingness to give her a job as a favor to Ms. Goodwin.  It was his gravelly voice, and his pissed-off demeanor, combined with her sense that he was a man who, when he loved, loved fiercely.  She could tell he would be as good a friend as he would be a terrible enemy. More mundanely, she liked that his entire focus was on catching bad people who did bad things, leaving no room for day to day details like schedules, records, or paperwork.  His office was a shambles.  Which meant that Laura could actually contribute something to his unit.

And she did.  Working for her father’s excavation company in Bloomington had bored her to tears after spending her days and nights in a Chicago ER. She just didn’t have to do much to keep Parker Excavation running smoothly and efficiently, and she needed a challenge.  Not that her bonehead brothers weren’t a challenge, but they weren’t the kind of challenge she was looking for.  She needed to be in a high-energy, high stakes environment where the best of the best were working balls-out to get a job done.  So when she found herself working for CPD Intelligence, she was in her element.  

She quickly befriended the tech guy, Mouse, who had her up and running on the unit’s computer systems within a couple days.  Within a week, she’d restructured Voight’s entire world so that he had to do the bare minimum of paperwork and he could put his hands on any file he needed simply by asking her for it.  She taught him how to dictate, which he initially resisted but quickly came to enjoy when he discovered how much easier it was than scribbling or typing out reports, and how much better everything came out when she cleaned it up for him. Having Voight’s office running smoothly naturally translated into the whole unit running better, and the team soon learned to appreciate having Laura around.  Like Voight, they could rely on her to get them what they needed and do what they needed done so that they could go about the real work of the unit.

Laura’s overwhelming gratitude for the opportunity Voight had given her came out in the thousand things she did every day to make his life easier.  She learned fast.  Very quickly, she was familiar with the cases the unit was working, and how each member of the unit, particularly Voight, worked.  That allowed her to begin to anticipate their needs, and it became a routine occurrence that she would already have a file pulled up on Voight’s computer or in her hand when he asked for it.  She knew whose calls he wanted to take, and who routinely got a sweet apology and a promise that she would give Sergeant Voight the message as soon as he returned to his office.  She began to make friends around the CPD who could get things done, doing favors for anyone she could, in order to bank the return favors to use when needed.  

At some point, she realized she was having a blast.  The idea stunned her.  She shouldn’t have been happy, when hearing Maggie’s stories about what was happening at Med still caused a deep ache of loss, and the gnawing pain of missing Peter was ever-present.  Not to mention that she still went to at least two AA meetings a day.  But she found that a busy police station was just as exciting as a busy ER, and cops were as much her kind of people as medical professionals were.  Impossible as it seemed, she had begun a new life that was beginning to show signs that it could be as good as her old one.  The life she’d driven off a cliff.

[xxkellsvixen19xx]

Forget Me Not Jim Mason x Reader 50 First Dates AU Pt 9

@michael-langdon-appreciation

There was this itchy sensation at the back of her brain screaming it was past time for this to be over. Not only the baby's arrival, but all of it. Her family had taken control of the waiting room down the hall, but they still managed to hover. Between the anxious glances and the well-meant but annoying suggestions to make her feel better, she was ready to kick their collective oversized asses out of the hospital.

She was having a baby, damn it, not on her deathbed. There was too much going on now that labor had started. Too much, and yet not enough to distract her from thinking about what she wanted.

Or more specifically who she wanted.

"I can’t do this anymore." Y/N eased her way down the hall, holding tightly to Medina’s arm.

"I don't think you can cancel at this point, hon." Medina paced slowly, her head dipping closer as her volume went even lower. "Although, if you want me to encourage anyone to leave, tell me, okay? Anyone," she said pointedly as one of Y/N's brothers stepped toward them.

Here they went again. Y/N eased a hand over her rock-solid belly as she paused to deal with another contraction. "Oh damn, this hurts."

Her brother Alex wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "You're doing great."

She couldn’t answer for a moment. It was nice to know they cared, but really? Her brothers and her dad? Y/N blew out the final moment of pain and straightened to look into Alex's concerned eyes. "Thanks for the encouragement, but please. Go home, and we’ll let you know when the kid arrives."

"Take the other guys with you too," Medina suggested. "Because, dude, none of you are going anywhere near the delivery room when the actual event is happening."

"Ick, that is so true."

Y/N squeezed her brother's hand. "I'm glad you want to be there for me, but this is going a little too far, if you know what I mean."

Only, Alex wasn’t watching her, he was watching the nurses' station. "I don't mind hanging out for a while."

Jeez, good to know his reasons for being here weren’t all about wrapping her in cotton. "Go home, Alex. Or at least pretend to go so I don’t have to look at you. We'll call when there’s news." Y/N  stepped away and ignored him, easing through the next few contractions.

It wasn't her family she wanted around. She wanted Jim. She'd allowed him to be sent way, and she'd thought it was the right thing to do, but now that the moment had come she wasn't so sure.

Medina led her down the corridors in an endless loop. Her brothers had at least obeyed the part about getting out of sight, although knowing them, they’d probably only hit the coffee shop on the second floor and were tormenting people there.

Between contractions and pacing, she paused to look out the window. Spring had already passed, easing into full-on summer, and it was time for all kinds of new things.

Maybe a new chance as well.

Medina leaned on the wall beside her, arms crossed over her chest. "You want to call him?"

Was she that transparent? "Jim?"

Her best friend shrugged. "Honey, you love the guy. I think he loves you, and I doubt at this point anyone here at the hospital is going to call the cops if he shows up, restraining order or not." She made a rude noise. "I think we'd all lie our asses off for you two right now."

"I can’t...” Y/N thought really hard about what she wanted to say to finish that sentence.

She couldn't what?

I can't do this without him.

She lifted her eyes to her friend's. "Do you think he wants to be here? Even if it might get him arrested?"

Medina held out her cell phone, Jim's number already up on the screen. "I bet he'd go through hell itself to be here if you asked."

It really wasn’t that hard, hitting the button to make the call.

“Medina?" Jim sounded breathless. "Is she okay? Is the baby there? Tell me they're both fine."

His obvious concern had Y/N's throat closing tight, and she had to force out the words. "Jim, it's me. I'm doing good, but ..."

“Y/N? Thank God. You had the baby?"

"Not yet." She paused, wondering if it was right to even offer him the temptation. It wasn’t her who could end up in jail. But he'd told her once she should reach out and take what she wanted, and damn if she wasn't going to do exactly that. At least to offer him the option and let him decide if the risks were worth it. "This could get you in trouble, but do you want to be here? I mean, be with me when the baby arrives?"

"Oh, yeah." Loud clattering rang in the background, something like a door slamming. "Are you asking me to come to the hospital?"

"It might be a terrible idea, but yes, I want you here-oh, shit..." Another contraction hit, and she had to bend over and concentrate on breathing.

Jim's anxious voice blared from the phone as she held it against her thigh, his frantic questions getting louder and louder.

Medina somehow helped support her and at the same time grabbed the phone. "Stop shouting. She's busy for a minute." A pause, then Medina snorted. "Well, I don't know, sweetheart. Hold on to your knickers and I'll ask her." Her friend held the phone against her chest to cover the speaker. "What should I tell him?"

Y/N blew out a long breath as she found her feet, reaching for the phone. "Jim, me again. Sorry about that. I want you with me, if you still want to be here."

"You know I do."

Y/N twisted to the right in surprise. His answer had come not from the phone, but from the man himself who stood only two feet away. He was breathing heavily as if he’d been running stairs.

Y/N was breathing pretty hard herself. "Seven fucking hells, how did you do that?"

"If he's got a transporter and he hasn’t shared until now, I'm going to be pissed off." Medina held out her hand and gave Jim a quick handshake. "Now that you’re here for backup, I'm going to do a little distracting of the nursing staff and warn the people who will help us. I'll return in a moment to be an awesome baby catcher. I suggest you two hide out in the birthing room."

"Good idea."

They paused as Medina backed away, briefly flashing them two thumbs-up before she twirled and disappeared around a corner. Jim let Y/N guide him quickly into the private room she'd been given.

Only once the door was shut did he answer Y/N's question. "I was in the parking lot, waiting in my truck. Hoping that you'd call." He was there, the bruises on his face fading, his dark eyes taking her in from head to toe, and he reached out... And stopped. His hand fell to his side. His big strong body trembling as if he were afraid. “Y/N, I'm here for you. For you and the baby." His eyes-God, his eyes. Full of pain, and yet hope. "I promise with everything in me that’s true."

She was going to be bawling in a minute, which wasn't going to work great with the whole labor thing still happening. "I know."

Y/N caught him by the hand and tugged them together. She had to twist sideways to make room for her belly as she stepped into the warmth of his body, but he had his arms around her and that was all she needed right then. The solid assurance that he was there. That he was hers.

Jim stroked her hair as he held her. "I hate that we’ve had to be apart."

She nodded. "If you see the PVPD coming, hide in the bathroom.”

A reluctant laugh escaped him. "No more hiding. This is too important an event for me to spend it in the parking lot waiting for news."

"Were you really just going to sit there?" Y/N didn't want to let go of him, his touch soothing her more than any breathing techniques.

Jim stroked her cheek as he gazed into her eyes. "I was planning on sneaking in, but this is so much better than hiding behind a mask and staring through the door. And if I do get in trouble, it'll be worth it."

They had to pause each time a contraction hit, but the distraction of their conversation helped make the pain fade a little.

He rubbed her back before she even asked him to, touching her gently, supporting her. His strong hands that were capable of inflicting pain giving such tender care. And when he cupped her face in his hands and leaned in to kiss her tenderly, she lost it.

"It was bad enough that I had to lose memories, now I've lost these last weeks with you." She held his hand against her cheek. "Damn Rick to hell."

"Forget Rick, Angel Eyes. He doesn't matter, or he won't in a few days. What does matter is I love you."

She gasped out a laugh past the tears. "I love you too, Jim."

"Forever," he added, stroking her cheek and wiping away her tears. "I'm going to love you forever. And that's not going to change, and if I have to spend the next sixty years reminding you again and again, it'll be worth it."

"It'll be worth it," she repeated. There were still questions they had to answer, but right now, he was there and the kid in her belly was posing the most demanding request. "Ahh, Jim? I think it's time."

"Time for what?"

She wanted to laugh, but the pressure was building too fast. "The baby?" she reminded him.

His eyes widened. "Now?"

"Now."

[crossbows-and-moonshine]

Poetic Tragedy (Chapter 5)

(Chapter 1)

(Chapter 2)

(Chapter 3)

(Chapter 4)

Large helping of self-sabotage anyone?

------------------------

The next day Madeleine woke around noon to an empty apartment and a note, informing her the guys had to go to work and they would be back around 5pm. They said she could stay and make herself comfortable and help herself to any food they had. The silence unsettled her, and that in turn unsettled her more. She was used to silence, to being alone, and now the boys had barged into her life she found herself hating the silence. Her thoughts were turning on her and making her think of all the shit she had done in the past. She heaved a sigh and got herself dressed, deciding to rummage through the fridge to see what there was to eat. She snorted to herself at the lack of substance in the fridge, it didn't really surprise her much. A moldy half eaten sandwich, milk that looked about 50 years out of date, and a potato that had sprouts growing off it. Why the potato was there she didn't know, but she certainly didn't touch it, it looked like an alien. She opted then to look in the cupboard and she found a tin of soup, but as she was reaching for it, something else caught her eye. There was a half drank bottle of whiskey glaring at her and she felt her heart rate increase before she slammed the cupboard door shut and took a step back.

She knew the shot the night before was a bad idea, yet she had done it anyway because apparently, she loved to sabotage herself. Now the need for a drink was singing strong through her veins and it almost felt like a test having the bottle right there. Her appetite had vanished and she moved to sit on the beat-up couch, her leg bobbing up and down as she chewed her thumb anxiously. Her mood was rapidly going downhill. Why was she even here? She didn't deserve the kindness the boys were showing her, she was a petty criminal, a whore, a sinner by all accounts and the boys were some of the most devout people she had ever met. She felt like a fraud, like a leech, sucking them dry of their hospitality, whilst playing the part of a victim. She had done this to herself, she had chosen to run away from home, she had injected herself with that poison, no one had forced her to. She had chosen to sell herself in order to keep up her habit and she was the one who chose to drown her pain with alcohol because it was easier to cope when she was blissfully numb. She had to get out of here, she couldn't be around them, she didn't deserve it, they deserved better than her for company. She grabbed her backpack and stilled at the door, glancing back to the cupboard.

“Fuck it.” She muttered, walking over and grabbing the bottle, stuffing it in her bag before she left.

Hours later found her drunk off her ass, the bottle empty as she sat in the police station, taken in for public intoxication.

“I’m disappointed in you Madeleine, I thought you were done with this shit.” Detective Duffy frowned at her. She had become known in her years on the street but it had been a while since she had been arrested. She didn't say a word, crossing her arms over her chest and refusing to look at him. It didn't come as a surprise, she rarely ever spoke when they brought her in, she was stubborn, even when completely drunk. She had been found stumbling along the sidewalk when they had been called to bring her in. She wasn't as drunk now, they had given her coffee and donuts to help sober her up, but she was still a little out of it.

“Where are you staying? You're clean so I know it's somewhere, can I call someone to pick you up?” He asked, sighing as she still didn't speak. They didn't like bringing her in. She had changed her ways from the days of her stealing and selling herself, it had been hard to witness the first time she was brought in for soliciting herself when she was just 16. They all knew she was troubled. They also knew she had turned over a new leaf, apart from the alcohol it seemed. They still brought her in at least once a month for being piss drunk out in public.

He wiped a hand over his face before leaving the interrogation room where they had let her hideout, away from prying eyes. They were well aware people made her nervous. Madeleine slumped in her chair, resting her forehead on the table. She knew better than to do this, yet here she was. She just wanted to leave. The man came back after a minute and sat down looking at her strangely.

“Some Irish guy just phoned the department inquiring about a homeless girl. He and his brother are worried.” He stated, quirking a brow at her. She blanched a little, almost in shock that the boys had even bothered to call the cops, they must have been worried.

“They’re on their way to pick you up, alright?” He smiled kindly at her, but she stood up fast and shook her head.

He frowned then, standing up himself and holding out his hands in a placating gesture.

“Madeleine, are you in trouble with these guys? Tell me if you are and they won’t get let in.” He said firmly with a frown, noticing how panicked she looked. She furrowed her brow for a moment before scoffing.

“It's not like that. They’re good people, they’ve been taking care of me.” She said softly, wringing her hands. It only confused the officer more and he frowned at her.

“Then why are you so scared? Why did you leave?” He asked watching her carefully.

“I don’t deserve their kindness.” She admitted, the alcohol loosening her lips just enough to admit such a thing. He looked at her sadly, hating that this young girl had been through so much in her life that she would think such a thing. He heaved a sigh before scratching his face.

“Just...stay here.” He commanded, leaving the room once more. Madeleine huffed, plonking back into the chair and laying her head on her arms on the table, maybe she could just nap and pretend this wasn't happening.

Duffy stood near his desk waiting for the boys to arrive when they walked in, he noticed how they looked around frantically, almost like they were really worried about the girl. It made him feel a little better about the pair of them, if they really were looking after her. Another officer lead them to him and he shook their hands, telling them to sit down. They didn't seem too pleased, just wanting to get the girl and go, but he wanted to talk to them.

“She says you’ve been looking after her? Is that correct?” He asked firmly, making the brothers glance to each other. They felt like they were being fucking interrogated a little and they didn't like it.

“Aye.” They replied in unison, making the man nod.

“Look, Madeleine...she’s a troubled girl. I don't know how much you know about her past but I’m guessing it's not a lot.” He looked at them carefully and he could tell by their blank faces he was right.

“The first time we brought her in, she was 16, done for soliciting herself. She was high on heroin too.” He said, watching as the brothers' faces fell, they glanced to each other feeling mortified. They had known she was somewhat troubled but they hadn't expected this.

“As far as we know, she's been clean for a couple of years and she hasn't sold herself either. The only time we need to bring her in is when she gets wasted in public, it happens at least once a month. She's got an alcohol problem and it seems like that's the one thing she can't kick.” He sighed, leaning back in his chair a little. The boys looked to each other, guilt creeping in. She had an alcohol problem and they fucking took her to a pub and gave her booze. They weren't to know of course and she hadn't said anything, but maybe if they had been more careful they would have seen the signs. They weren't mad at her, they were mad at themselves. They hadn't realised just how deep the girl's troubles ran and it was no wonder if she was having to sell her body when she was still a young girl just to get by. And then there were the drugs. They were glad she wasn't using them anymore, they wouldn't have known what to do with her if she was. They really had not expected this.

When they got home from work to find her gone, they hadn't been happy, but they wondered if she would come back. She didn't though, and when Murphy looked for some food whilst they were waiting and noticed the bottle was gone, something just felt off about it all. They checked her usual spot near the pub but she wasn’t there either, there was no sign of her. They knew it was a slim chance if they rang the police, they most likely wouldn't know where she was, but they were worried about her, they wanted them to keep an eye out. They were more than shocked to find out the girl was already there, taken in for being drunk and disorderly in public. It didn't seem to fit with the quiet girl they had grown to know in the past few days.

“I’m telling you this because if you're serious about helping her, I think it would be good for her. She doesn't think she deserves your help, she told me that herself. She's been through a lot and she needs to know she matters to someone.” Duffy said seriously, making the brothers nod. They did care about her, even though they barely knew her, they did care and they would fucking help her get better. When the officer was pleased the boys understood what he was saying, he told them to wait there whilst he got her. He walked into the room and Madeleine was asleep, waking when he nudged her.

“Come on, the boys are here.” He smiled down at her. She groaned, rubbing her eyes tiredly as she stood and stretched a little. She didn't really want to face them, not when they knew now what had happened.

“You told them didn't you?” She asked with a sigh as she walked out of the room with him, still a little tipsy but no longer drunk.

“They have a right to know Madeleine if they’re taking care of you.” He admitted, glancing at her.

“Great. I didn't ask for their help.” She huffed, glaring at him. He felt a little bad but he didn't regret telling them. He needed them to understand just how bad the situation was.

She wouldn't look at them as she approached and they stood up, looking at her worried. She looked disheveled, her hair was all over and they were sure there were leaves in her hair.

“Alright Madeleine, you're free to go.” Duffy said softly, making her turn to him and squint.

“Awesome, thanks.” She scoffed, not waiting for the boys as she made her way out of the police station. She still wouldn't look at them as they fell into step beside her and the silence was awkward, making her skin crawl.

“Go on, I know he told you.” She blurted, unable to take the silence any longer. She heard them sigh beside her.

“We’ll talk when we get back home.” Connor said firmly, making it clear she was coming with them and she didn't really have a choice. That was the second time the boys had called it home like it was her home as well and she tried to ignore the stirring of emotions inside of her.

When they got there, she tossed her backpack on the couch and sat down next to it, resting her arms on her knees as she glared at the floor. The boys went and sat on Connors bed, looking at her warily. The silence was filling her with anxiety and she felt like she might crawl out of her skin, tugging on her sleeves as she shifted in her seat.

“Is it true? What he said?” Connor asked carefully, his eyes not leaving her.

“Depends what he said doesn't it?” She asked vaguely, an edge to her voice that the boys didn't like.

“That you were an addict, that ye sold yer body when ye were just a fuckin’ kid.”  Murphy stated blandly, his anger flaring at the thought of people even paying her for that, for doing that to her. Her cheeks flushed and she clenched her jaw, staring at her hands. Her silence was enough of an answer and the boys looked to each other.

“Why didn't ye tell us lass? Why did ye not say when we bought ye alcohol?” Connor asked sounding regretful, it only annoyed her.

“That's a joke right? If I told you then you wouldn't have bought me any, that's the point of addiction isn't it? I want it. I need it. If I told you, I wouldn't have got any.” She snapped, standing and grabbing her bag, slinging it over her shoulder. She made her way to the door but the boys jumped up out of their seats, blocking her way.

“No, ye don't get te walk away, not this time. We want te help ye for Christ sake, is that so hard to believe?” Murphy asked with a deep frown. She finally looked at them then with a scoff and they were shocked to see just how much pain was behind her eyes.

“Yes, it is. Because no one ever helps. You two scare me, you scare me because I know you don't want anything in return like all the others have. I don't deserve anything you do for me, I’m well aware I’m a bad person, so just let me leave.” She said firmly, her eyes suddenly ablaze.

“No.” The boys frowned, not moving to let her past.

“Yer not a bad person, ye’ve been through hell and back, but look at ye, yer still standin’ lass. We won't just sit here and watch ye give up, yer better than that. Ye kicked yer drug problem and that shows ye want more for yerself. Ye don't have te do this alone, not anymore.” Connor implored, making her look to the floor.

“You don't need to spend your time babysitting a drunk, I’ll deal with it myself.” She huffed, moving around them to to the door.

“What, like ye’ve been doin’ all this time? Ye kick it for a bit but then turn back te the bottle? Is that the kinda life ye want Maddie? ‘Cause I sure as fuck don't want that life for ye. God sent us yer way for a reason, and if ye think for one minute we’ll let ye just fuck off and we wouldn't follow ye, then ye got another thing comin’.” Murphy declared, making her stop just before the door.

She didn't turn to face them as his words sunk in. It was so hard for her to believe that these two just wanted to help her, that God had apparently sent them to her to guide her. But when she thought about it, why did they meet? Why did they bother with her? They eased the ache of loneliness that was permanently in her chest and she had been smiling and laughing for the first time in years when she was around them. But that's what scared her, because everyone always left, she didn't want to get comfortable with them just for them to turn around and tell her she was an unworthy sinner and leave her in the dust. Connors words spun around in her head, he had told her she wasn't a bad person, but she felt like one. She wasn't sure what these boys saw in her to want to help her when she felt like such a lost cause.

Most of her was screaming at herself to stay, that these boys were her salvation, the redemption she so desperately needed. But the more stubborn side of her won out, the side that told her she didn't deserve to be saved, didn't deserve to be helped. There was nothing they could do. She would just mess up like she always did and they would get sick of her. It would hurt her less now to walk away herself than to watch them leave her. She took a deep breath before her hand turned the door handle.

“Maybe you should just pray for my soul.” She said coldly, she slipped out of the loft, leaving the boys calling out her name as she ran down the stairs.

Taglist; @risingphoenix761 @daryldixonandfrogs @arlaina28 @divadinag

[inviictas]

⌜   CIS MALE, HE / HIM   |   heavydirtysoul by twenty one pilots, slytherin, entp   ⌟   ⏤   meet CRISTIAN RAMIRO DE LA CRUZ ; a THIRTY year old who kind of resembles MANNY MONTANA, don’t you think? they originally hailed from SAN FRANSOKYO where they lived with their adoptive parent, GOGO TOMAGO (   BIG HERO 6   ), but word is that they’ve been working a desk for much of this year. they’ve always been pretty STAUNCH & VALOROUS, but have gotten way more INJUDICIOUS & BELLICOSE since they woke up. maybe their power of N / A can help in taking down the dome. you can check out his stat page HERE and his pinterest board HERE.

ALL ALONE   /   whether you like it or not,                 alone will be ( something ) you’ll be quite a lot.

SECTION ONE OF THREE : BULLET POINT HISTORY trigger warnings for talk of chronic ill health, prison, sociopathy, serial killers

i dont have the energy to write a long bio. b glad.

anyone who knows cristian’s birth mother, mariana de la cruz, can agree on at least one thing - whether she SHOULD have or not, she always say the best in people. it probably had something to do with how little about people she actually knew. ana was born, it seemed, to suffer ; she spent her whole life sick, all of her time either in hospital, or at home. she was beyond sheltered, and she had very few friends because of it. her kindness could only get her so far in life when she was so separated from it. 

she started to write to PRISONERS in her late teens. it was a decision made out of loneliness, and she figured that was a feeling that the people she wrote to could relate to. as heinous as some of their crimes were, ana continued to feel empathy for them. if she had just a few more critical thinking skills, maybe she wouldn’t have fallen in LOVE. he was a sociopath, and a homicidal sadist. he was a serial killer. he was serving consecutive life sentences. and still, she got on his visitation list. STILL, five years after they initially began to exchange letters, she obtained a marriage license. and two years after that, cristian ramiro de la cruz, mariana and her locked up love’s child, came into the world.

back when he was just a baby, of course he visited the prison with his mother ; they would make the trek together once every six months, as this was about as much as she could MANAGE. his mother thought that he was their miracle, and at that, believed wholeheartedly that his father loved them both. when he got old enough for conscious thought, he’d REFUSE point blank. his mother was blind to the type of man that his father was, but cristian’s defining memory is from when he was six years old, and he was gazing back at his father through the bars of their visitation room. there was no love, in those eyes - eyes they SHARED, he would hate, later on. there was nothing in his expression, that even implied a hint of care. mariana was delusional, but cristian could see what she couldn’t. he would kick up a fuss ever after as his mother prepared to leave, and though it broke her heart - and her visions of a happy family - she would leave him with a relative.

outside of this delusion she had, however, mariana was the best mother that he could have ever wanted. she was the sweetest and most gentle soul ; she loved him with a real ferocity, this baby she had never thought she would have, and she was WICKEDLY over protective of him. mariana didn’t love that cristian had to grow up quickly, because of her health. it didn’t make her happy to have a son that could cook for them both when she was simply too weak, or that knew her exact medication dosages off the top of his head, or who had been taught how to place her into the recovery position should the worst ever happen. he should have gotten to be a KID, and he didn’t, because of her. it hurt, more than anything, and it was probably why the fact he wanted nothing to do with his father pained her so ; they shared EVERYTHING, in their home. they experienced everything, together. and the one thing that cristian couldn’t do was love the man he knew was a monster.

when he was ten years old, his mother collapsed the day before one such visitation. he found her at the bottom of the stairs, and he called 911 from her phone as he had been taught to. it wasn’t the first time that his mother had been to the hospital, over his childhood, but it was the first time that he didn’t leave with her. it was decided that mariana was no longer in position to take care of cristian, or herself. she was better off in assisted living, and he would do better in care.

it didn’t take long for him to be taken in by leiko tanaka, also known as go go tomago. and she was a good substitute, for a mother, though he told her many times that she would never REPLACE mariana. she didn’t want to, and she won his respect very early on for how she approached dealing with him. she was there, when he needed someone, and she never hesitated to help him, when it was required. but she brought him to visit his birth mother once a week, and when he was old enough, he was allowed to go and see mariana alone. she helped him buy presents for her, she didn’t STOP him from leaving school early, when his mother’s health seemed to have dipped. leiko didn’t control him or attempt to take a place she had no right to, and so, cristian didn’t form a grudge. it was as easy as that.

and what was more, as he got older and started to go through puberty - she stuck by him, even when he acted out. cristian had a huge capacity for anger - and when he lost his head, he would... break things, over yelling. she never lost her head with him. she always spoke calmly, even after he had punched a hole into his wall, or shattered his mirror. and when he asked, she didn’t HESITATE in sending him to counseling ; something he recognized he needed, all on his own, as he reached his sixteen birthday and realized that his BIGGEST fear was being his father, and he was very quickly turning into him.

cristian decided to become a DETECTIVE because he didn’t want to be the kind of hero that leiko was. he wanted to be law abiding in every way - almost to prove to himself, to his father, to everyone who had ever known him, that the blood that ran through his veins wasn’t EVIL. he started his youth group, recently, because he had been there. he had been angry. he had lashed out. he had made bad choices in his teens that he was lucky hadn’t come back to BITE him. but he’d gotten past it, for the most part, and he wanted to help others. that’s all he’s been trying to do.

SECTION TWO OF THREE : HEADCANONS trigger warning for mention of cancer

mariana is still alive today, and cris visits her once a fortnight. he still brings her a bouquet of flowers every time, though the gifts he gives are ever changing ; she goes through periods, and right now, she’s enjoying an embroidery hobby, so he brings her thread. 

his father, though he doesn’t think of him as such, is also still alive - though he TREATS him like he’s not. he was diagnosed a year ago with stomach cancer, and cristian’s mother has urged him almost every time he’s visited to do what she can’t, and visit. he’ll never want to upset her enough that he’ll tell her the only time he will is when he’s DEAD, but he certainly thinks it quite a bit.

the only reason cristian hasn’t taken on leiko’s surname, by now, is because there’s a part of him that thinks doing so would be hiding. he’s cristian de la cruz, and yes, he’s the son of a serial killer. it’s certainly something, and perhaps he would have had an easier time in life at certain points if he wasn’t who he had been BORN. but he’s pretty stubborn, so, here we are.

morals wise, cristian is a good guy. in every other sense of the words, he probably... wouldn’t be classed as so. he’s pretty arrogant, and he has a fairly bad reputation in the police department because of his tendency to kind of run with things, and charge ahead. they like to say he doesn’t THINK, and that’s why he makes ‘poor’ decisions - but cris is actually very conscious of everything that he does, and he’s very willing to... make the tough call, so to speak, so that no one else has to. 

he’s still very hot headed. he still goes to counseling. he still fucks up, from time to time. it’s all very human. 

he came to walt disney academy for school, and he never left. it’s not because he loves the town, cause he really DOESN’T, but he fell in love while he was at the university - and his heart may have gotten broken, but he had already sort of set himself up for life, here, so... what can u do. 

SECTION THREE OF THREE : WANTED CONNECTIONS 

you know the usual DRILL ! friends ( anything from best to passing ), enemies, hookups, exes, the very most. hit me up if you’re interested !

i’m going to send in wcs later but:

his enemy with benefits ! they’re just ... either, someone he’s booked multiple times, someone with villainous ties, someone who he’s just hated since he was a kid and who’s hated him right back. but they get p hot and heavy now and it’s just... fun ? can it b called that? prob not. should be 27+

cristian’s partner in the buena vista police dept ! they go way back to police academy, and they used to try and outdo one another at every turn before they realized they could work TOGETHER and be better than everyone. have become super tight friends even tho cris is def the bad cop in their good cop bad cop dynamic, and they get along.. real well.

work dynamics ! ppl he gets along with , people who think he’s horrible, people who love his methods, people that hate them. give me someone who hates him solely because one time he drank their whole carton of milk that they left in the work fridge

his ex fiancé ! they would have dated from when cris was about 20, up to when he was 23 ( so they shld be like... 28+ ). they were gross and in love and we can talk abt why they ended ! 

membeRS OF HIS GROUP FOR TROUBLE YOUTH . 

his oldest friend + current roommate. wld work really well for another older big hero 6 kid ! 

[rainbowgothdisaster]

apparently no one liked how the cops were treating nana but didnt know how to tell the 3 able bodied 6'0" men with guns to not laugh at the mentally ill 62 yr old who was trying to fight them

fucking hate cops.

[wooolfies]

Don’t want to hurt you.

Verse: Jurnex Superhero AU

Pairing: Jurnex

Prompt: “Just because you are a superhero, doesn’t mean that you are responsible for everyone who lives or dies.”

Warnings: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, severe injures, robbery

Characters/Parties: N. A. Jurow/Doctor Hope, John Kennex, Yekaterina Vashchenko

Word Count: 2376

Author’s Note: This story was based on the idea of @strangledbythestars

It was early in the morning. The rising sun tried to make its way through the thick layer of smog that was covering Los Angeles.

The shops were opening and the fist rush hour of the day was just starting. A teal coloured van slowly headed towards one of the skyscrapers downtown.

A young blonde employee opened the big glass doors to the the handful of customers inside who were already waiting. Slowly, the bank filled with people. An ongoing coming and leaving.

Suddenly a man yelled something, drawing an automatic gun. Most of the customers went to the ground instinctively.

***

Kennex sat in the cruiser, on his regular tour across the city when the chattet on the police radio went up again. There was a hostage situation going on and they were requesting all forces available.

He started to head towards the location. The coffee in the cupholder was getting cold, he didn’t care.

In front of the building a huge group of people had formed already, he supported his colleagues by holding the crowd back. The Swat team was still on its way, not to be expected in the next minutes.

They knew of four robbers who had taken at least two hostages. Suddenly a shot rang out inside the building along with the sound of shattering glass. 

One of the robbers, a first timer had tripped and accidentally fired his weapon.

The police outside reacted and started swarming the building.

The robbers backed up, deeper inside the building, taking two of the hostages with them. Three of them and the two hostages ended up in bathroom.

The other robber had to hide in a closet in order to don’t get arrested.

Kennex carefully walks down the hall, caching every room to his left and right, offices. No one is there.

Suddenly there were steps behind him, he spun around.

She is standing right in front of him, her gun pointed towards him, her face stayed neutral as she pulled the trigger.

There was pain in his chest, it seemed like the bullet has made its way through the vest into his chest. He falls to the ground, darkness is surrounding him.

***

When he gained consciousness he needed a quick moment to orientate.

“Hey. I’m glad you are awake.”

He looked where the voice came from.

It was Jurow. She was sitting next to him on a chair and held his hand.

He was feeling funny, like wrapped up into cotton wool.

“Nata,” he murmured.

He was not dead. He was not dead!

“You took quite a blow. They fixed you up quite well. You coded. twice. Don’t scare me like that again,” she said quietly.

“I hate this place,” Kennex looked around in the room. Since the ambush and the long time spent in the hospital afterwards he got anxiety from hospitals.

“I know honey. I talked to the doctors, as soon as you are fully stabilised were gonna take you home,” she paused. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there. And when I was, it was way too late.”

He squeezed her hand. She replied the gesture.

“How– How did it end?” he asked.

She nervously escaped his eye contact, and looked to the ground.

“So bad?”

“It was a massacre. The hostages were killed and the police shot the robbers. The only of of them surviving is the lady that shot you.”

Kennex let out a noise of discomfort. “What a fail…”

“No. Except you all cops are okay. And we all know that freeing hostages doesn’t work like on TV…”

He nodded in agreement, he was getting sleepy again.

***

Two days later. Kennex was at home with Jurow, still staying in bed but with way better food and more privacy. He felt much better psychologically being out of this place.

Jurow was happy about the pause in action Ava was doing at the moment, she could fully dedicate to caring for her love.

He could eat when he wanted and sleep when he was tired. Not like in the hospital where there was a strict schedule for everything.

On his first morning at home, Jurow had made Kennex a healthy breakfast.

When she entered the room, he was still asleep. She quietly placed the tray on the nightstand. She smiled and quietly approached his bed to read his oxygen values. She nodded, happy that they were normal. She quietly left again.

Vashchenko was working in her room over the fifth cup of coffee, the keyboard sounded like a machine gun, she seemed motivated. Jurow decided to get her a new, quieter keyboard.

Fifteen minutes had passed, Vashchenko could hear Jurow turn the key in the lock. Jurow went straight into the kitchen, then up to John. After she had talked to him and made sure he was alright alright up there, she started to prepare lunch. She still couldn’t get this on thought out of her head. She should have been there. What kind of superhero was she?The following night Jurow started having a nightmare, strange things evolving around the theme of losing Kennex. She woke up from it when the worst part was reached. Panting she sat up in her bed, looking the open door between her room and the room he was sleeping in. “Nata?” it was him, not able to get up, but he could tell that something was going on. Jurow silently cursed and stood up. Showing herself in the door frame, “What’s up?” she asked. “Are you alright?” he looked worried. Sitting in his bed, his face strangely lit by the tablet on his belly. One of her black earphones was in his ear. He had watched something because he had trouble sleeping.Jurow nodded silently. “Trouble sleeping?” she pulled her desk chair to his bed. “Yeah. Why don’t you come with me? Not like I’m sick and could infect you with something.“ “No, It’s just, I don’t want to hurt you,” she suddenly sounded very quiet, almost sad. “Oh, honey, I’m sure you won’t,” he smiled. He was missing her warmth, hugging on the couch and holding each other. “I can’t, I have something going on I need to attend to,” she said, making a reference to superhero stuff. When really she just wanted to curl up and cry without him knowing. She loved him with all her heart, and still she had put him at risk, too often. “I’ll be back. Need to go to the loo first.”She stood up and left the room. She had done it again, lied to him. Locked in the bathroom, not turning on the light, she let herself slide down against the door, hugging her knees. She couldn’t do this anymore. What if he actually died next time? Not like he already was deeply traumatized. The police had only kept him in because he could not be corrupted by any mob. She had a responsibility, there was always something going on in LA. The public was relying on her. Damn, why hadn’t she gone to this bank and helped. She was lucky that he survived it and didn’t go comatose again, like way back after The Attack when Kennex had lost his leg. 

Jurow ended up curled up on the floor sobbing. She had fucked up. She was the worst hero ever, not being able to protect the ones she loved. After a while being there like this, she returned into the living room, where Kennex had fallen asleep. She sat down on the uncomfortable chair again, holding his hand while he was sleeping, crying silently. 

When Kennex woke up, he saw her sitting next to him, fallen asleep sitting in the desk chair, her hand was still clinging onto his. 

He smiled, looking at the clock on the wall. It was five in the morning. Was she actually sleeping in this chair? He felt sore and his chest was hurting so much he felt like he had throw up. Seeing her that way made him very concerned, what made him not feel better in anyway. When he tried to pull his hand back. She woke up as if her sleep was not really deep. 

“Sorry…,” he murmured. 

Jurow went back to the kitchen to make a toast with butter. She made herself tea instead of coffee. The kitchen still smelled phenomenal. She let herself sink into the chair while she waited for the water to boil. She stared at the toast, she had taken only one bite from it. She didn’t feel like eating, the toast seemed like plastic. Like something no-one would try to eat.

She stood up to pour the tea. She took the tea and her phone. Suddenly she hoped that Ava was doing some shit again, just to stop her downwards spiral of thoughts.

Jurow went upstairs, to sit with Kennex. Playing some stupid mobile game where one had snip animals upwards, dodge traps and collect money. From time to time she sipped her tea.

She was focused on keeping her mind here and don’t think about what had happened; the fact that she had let him down and now his killer was still running around out there, free like a bird. Sure, the authorities where looking for her but she sure knew how to get off the grid. Maybe she had made her way over the wall already.

Jurow cleared her throat and started scrolling through social media. Not a good idea either. The robbery was trending. Everyone was saying how sorry they were for the victims and how much the police had fucked up.

Kennex began to stir, slowly waking up. Jurow turned off her phone and watched him wake up. When he opened his eyes, she was smiling.

“How are you feeling?” she asked. He hadn’t got a pain-medicine shot in hours, the last time at 3am when he couldn’t sleep because of the pain.

“Still like shit, but better than yesterday,” he reached for her hand and squeezed it. ”I’m glad, I’m with you now.”

“Me and your lead surgeon had a long discussion. In the end I practically had to bail you out. We might get an unannounced visit from a doctor, controlling my work,” she scoffed. “I bet I have seen more GSWs than them. Anyways, do you have something specific you would like for lunch?”

“Noodles?”

“Sure. But I need to buy a few ingredients for this… “

His face lit up. “Would be great. But before you leave, can you check? My chest really hurts…”

Jurow put both her hands into her neck for some time, to make them less cold. Then she started to open a few buttons on Kennex’ shirt. His chest looked like a chest looks that had been shot recently and then opened up to stop the bleeding. For good measure she went across the room to get her stethoscope. Lung noises were normal: “You are OK. But I’m going to give some pain medicine.”

Kennex nodded. “Thank you.”

Jurow was debating whether it was smart to go to buy some things for lunch nor not. Too anxious that something could happen to Kennex while she was gone.

Vashchenko had made clear that she was in danger of punching someone in the face, but she was willing to make a plan how to do this as fast as possible. Jurow told Kennex that she would be back soon, and that he should tell Vashchenko if he needed anything. 

Jurow was a bit disoriented at first.

“How long have you been sitting there?” he asked roughly and cleared his throat. He tried to sit up a bit, maybe that helped against the pain. At least it eased his breathing a bit.

“Since, shortly after we talked tonight.”

He frowned, tried to move over a bit to her, letting out a groan.

“Are you in pain?” she asked.

He just nodded.

Jurow got up. Almost tripping over her own feet, she walked to the desk where all the items she needed for his care were placed, and filled a syringe. She rose, after having done the injection. He looked up to her in the soft light that was filling the room.

“You don’t look well, honey. What is going on?” he asked. Not knowing another way to express his concern.

She sat down onto the edge of his bed. “Is just- ,” she broke off. She couldn’t tell him.

“Come on,” he said while padding the bed next to him. He moved over a bit, so she had space to lie down next to him.

She in fact now did it, very carefully, barely touching him. He lifted up his blanket to cover her. He carefully pulled her a bit closer to him, holding her.

Jurow was barely keeping it together. Her love to him was as strong as the fear to lose him. But even for her, it seemed to be great to be with him, being held close. Silently she began to cry. It took quite a while until he noticed that she her breathing was turning into a sobbing. “Would you like talk about it? You taught me that talking always helps,” he rubbed her back. “You can tell me everything, your secrets are safe with me.”

Jurow signed. “It’s not about that…” she paused. “I just failed.”

“What?”

“I should have been there. I almost lost you.”

“Oh Nata,” his kissed the top of her head. “Just because you’re a superhero doesn’t mean you are responsible for everyone who lives or dies. It is not possible that you are everywhere at the same time and in the end you are only human, after all. And look, even if I died, I still would have loved you. I still love you. You are doing a magnificent job nursing me back to health. There is nothing to be sorry for. Okay?”

She nodded silently, still crying. Kennex did his best to comfort her.

When Vashchenko came up a bit later to see why Jurow had still not called for her coffee she found the two, sleeping, clinging into each other. She let out an “awww”, smiled and silently closed the door again. 

Tagging: @grumpymedbae @homo-homini-lupus-est @donsdawn

Taglist

[1-800-letsgonap]

This is going to be a bit of a ramble of my thoughts

But I feel like I really need to type out how I feel in order to process some things. The first and most prominent thing is that im pretty hurt that a handful of people have kindve disapeared from my life. It’s literally never easy to swallow something like that and especially at a time when im going through so much. But im literally always going through things. bc like hello hi yes im mentally ill. The other day my therapist was telling me that when I feel like everyone woul be better off without me and that i burden them too much to remember that people are drawn to me for a reason and even if they dont stay forever I make impacts on peoples lives not just in negative ways but in positive ways too, even if I dont always allow myself to see that. So i guess when it comes to those people, if i think of it that way, its a bit easier to swallow.  I’m also insaneeeeely stressed about money, but im sortve putting my faith in god and hoping the money that im supposed to be getting comes before rent is due. I’ve been getting so stir crazy without a job and without a routine but there have been some positives. I’m eating decently well again, an i can tell how horrible it had gotten. I think thats the most difficult part about all of this. its like, leaving that job in that way wasn’t ideal, but im not being dramatic when i say it saved my life. the people who spent the most time with me had been BEGGING me to do something for months and they already see its changes. Its har to explain that to family across the country, bc they werent at work when I was losing my vision, they werent driving me home bc I was too dizzy to walk, and they werent guarding the bathrooms so i could throw up the only thing id eaten that day. So when people are like stressing me out about the next move and what comes next and should i go back to new york it really gets to me bc it took me sooo long to get to the point where i reached out for help again and its a big fucking deal.  when i was younger I used to imagine my death almost every day. Id imagine my funeral and how my family and friends would be sad but i wouldve taught them to love life and my life wouldve been meaningful. I never, ever,ever thought I’d live to be 26. I’ve come to this place where now i WANT to live....but i still see how everyones lives couldve been better without me, so i hafta remind myself of what my therapist said. and quite frankly its overwhelming. Its wayyyy too much on my heart to understand why and how so many people love me so much. I know im incredibly blessed and that god keeps his doors oepn for me no matter how often I leave him, but it consumes me and freaks me the actual fuck out. At the same time, it reminds me that there doesnt need to be anyone in my life who doesnt feel this way about me, who isn’t 100% rooting for me nmw. that doesnt mean i hate them, or even that I dont love them. i just really really really need to love myself. i thought about drinking alcohol about 4x today, and im really glad i didnt.  I thought about self destructing and just completely ruining my life in everyway about 6x today, but i didnt do that either. instead im trying my best to stick to what my therapist and i have come up with and realizing that this really isnt something i can overcome or even manage on my own. I cant get it out of my head, how she told me im gonna wind up dead. that sounds like a song, maybe i should write that....but regardless....shes right. i know it, she knows it, my parents know it, and honestly, at this poit, most of my friends know it. I wish so much that I had taken better care of myself when I was younger. I wish that while I had insurance i had taken advantage of the mental healthcare I couldve gotten. I wish that the day the cops found me in the middle of the road instead of letting them call meredith i wish they had taken me to the hospital.  but you cant live in the past, and I’ve never truly planned for a future. All i have is today. And well, im alive, and im fighting, and im forgiving, and thats all i can do <3

[chasholidays]

Bellamy/Clarke Bellamy is a florist, Clarke is a cop

If someone had asked Clarke to come up with a profile of Bellamy Blake, florist, she would have put them in their late fifties or early sixties, an older woman who wasn’t quite a grandmother but hoped to be soon, someone whose hair had gone white early, but in a fashionable way. She would have assumed Bellamy Blake made lovely floral arrangements and had candy on the counter for children who came into her store with their parents.

Of those assumptions, only one would be true: Bellamy Blake makes lovely floral arrangements. But he’s also in his mid twenties, with curly black hair and freckles, and she’s pretty sure that if he wasn’t pissed at her for arresting his sister, they’d get along.

Not that she knows about the floral arrangements the first time she meets him. The first time she meets him, she mostly just knows he’s fucking pissed.

“What the fuck?” he demands, and Clarke actually assumes that he’s talking to Octavia. “Why are you holding her?”

“She peed on a police car,” says Clarke. “Also she’s seventeen and intoxicated.”

“And you’re going to charge her for that? It’s dumb high-school shit.”

Privately, Clarke agrees, and she has no intention of charging her. But she thinks taking her in and making her hang out at the station is a pretty good solution, all things considered. She was hoping calling Octavia’s older brother, who’s apparently her legal guardian, would also put the fear of god in her, but Bellamy Blake seems much more interested in attacking Clarke.

“It’s illegal dumb high-school shit. Can we talk in private?”

His jaw works, but then he nods. Clarke doesn’t have an office, but there’s an empty interrogation room by her desk, so she takes him in there.

“I’m letting her off with a warning, but I would suggest you make it clear to her how serious this is. Public urination can land you on the sex offenders registry if you do it close enough to a school. We all do dumb shit in high school, but it’s better if it stays in high school.”

He considers her, arms crossed, irritation still radiating off of him. “Is there a bad cop who’s showing up, or will you just switch at some point?”

“No trick. Just a warning. It would help if you acted like this was a big deal.”

“I don’t need lessons from you on how to take care of my sister,” he says.

“Fine, then don’t take them,” she snaps. “I’m issuing the warning and you can take her home or back to the party or wherever. I don’t give a shit.”

“Pleasure doing business with you, officer,” he says, and once the paperwork is done, they’re gone.

The encounter sticks with Clarke in the way some encounters do. It’s nothing terribly special, really; she deals with plenty of drunk kids and annoyed guardians. But the file had stuck out because Bellamy was young to be taking care of a teenager, and she couldn’t help but be annoyed by his lax standards. None of it is a big deal, but it’s just enough to be memorable.

It’s enough that when she needs a flower arrangement for a coworker who was injured in the line of duty and he’s at the counter at the flower shop she goes to, she recognizes him, but she doesn’t place him until he says, “Officer,” in the same curt, disdainful tone he used a little over a year ago.

She came in after work, and she’s still wearing her uniform. She’s not exactly being subtle.

“Is there a problem?” he asks, and she thinks he knows her too, but she’s not actually sure. He could just dislike cops. He wouldn’t be the first one.

“No. A coworker is in the hospital, I wanted to get some flowers for him.”

“Of course.” His voice is still cool, but he straightens a little. “Did you have anything particular in mind?”

“Just a standard get-well-soon arrangement? On the smaller and cheaper side.” She considers, but his expression and manner still bother her, so she adds, “He’s kind of insecure about his masculinity, so if you can lean into that I’d appreciate it.”

He frowns, looking at least confused instead of actively aggressive. “Lean into what, exactly?”

“I don’t know, like a teddy bear, maybe? Something to make him feel kind of uncomfortable because it’s not manly enough, but he can’t get rid of it because it’s a nice gesture.”

He finally cracks a smile. “Yeah, that’s a more common request than you’d think. I can handle that. Thirty bucks okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Great. I’ll have that done in a minute.”

Clarke watches him work, feeling more relaxed as nothing bad happens. He probably did forget her and just doesn’t like cops. It’s not a position she’ll ever fault anyone for, and with his dark complexion, she’s guessing he gets more “random” harassment than someone like her would.

But she’s glad that he smiles when he rings her up. The arrangement is perfect; she’d like to come back.

She comes up with an excuse just over months later, because mother’s day is coming up and she never gets her mother anything, so now is clearly the time to start. She goes in out of uniform and Bellamy shows no sign of recognizing her at all. He has some pre-made arrangements for the holiday that can be customized, and he and Clarke talk through what she’d like. She pays extra for a delivery service, and it’s all very professional and civil.

She wears her uniform next time, just to see if he remembers her, and he seems to, but not as anything other than a cop he doesn’t hate. Which is what she wants, mostly. He seems like a cool guy, from what she’s seen, and she’d like him to think she’s honest and fair.

That’s definitely why she keeps going.

She’s been going in every few months for about two years when she stops by at the beginning of June and sees he’s put up big display of rainbow flowers outside, arranged around a cursive sign reading simply, Be proud. It’s cool, but she can’t help being a little, well–curious. If he’s expressing pride as a general concept or because he’s part of the LGBT community, and if he is, what part.

Even if she hadn’t already been planning to go in, she definitely would be now.

As usual, he’s at the register, but for the first time ever, his sister is with him, chatting at him from across the counter. They both look up at the sound of the bell, and Octavia narrows her eyes at Clarke.

“Why do I know you?”

“Because she arrested you for peeing on her car in high school,” says Bellamy.

Clarke doesn’t flush, but—she really didn’t think he remembered. It’s been more than three years since the arrest happened, and he never seemed surly at her. He certainly never mentioned it, not even that first time.

Octavia snaps her fingers. “Right, that was it.”

“I hope you don’t get arrested so often you can’t keep the cops straight,” Clarke offers, and to her relief, both of them smile. They have the same way of curling one side of their mouth in reluctant amusement, and it’s cute, seeing the family resemblance.

“I was pretty wasted.“

“Maybe don’t brag about your underage drinking to, again, the cop who actually arrested you for it.”

“She already let me off with a warning. It’s not like she’s going to retroactively charge me. She knew I was drunk the first time.”

Bellamy rubs the bridge of his nose. “You must have something else to do. Literally anything.”

“You don’t need help?”

“She wants flowers for her mom’s birthday, I think I can handle it. Go check on the greenhouse.”

“Yeah, yeah. Nice to see you again, officer. Thanks for letting me off with a warning, sorry I peed on your car.”

“In your defense, you were wasted.”

She grins. “I’m saying.”

Once they’re alone, Clarke doesn’t think she’s the only one who feels awkward. Bellamy rubs the back of his neck, discomfort written all over his posture, and it makes something warm curl in her stomach. At least she’s not the only one.

“I didn’t think you recognized me.”

“It took me a second, but your name’s on the credit card, and I had my note with your name and badge number, so I could check. I, uh–I am sorry,” he adds. “I got taken down to the police station for some bullshit stuff when I was in high school, but O deserved it.”

She leans on the counter. “Like what?”

“I was looking into my friend’s window to see if he was home and a policeman passing by put me in cuffs and took me to the station.”

“Did you get charged?”

“They were on high alert because my friend’s dad was the police chief. The officer thought he was going to get a commendation for finding some dumb kid trying to break into the chief’s house, and Captain Miller was just like, hi Bellamy.”

“So at least it was satisfying.”

“Once I stopped being terrified, yeah. I knew if I made it to the station I’d be fine, but I was always worried I wouldn’t.”

“I get it when people don’t like cops. But I was kind of hoping you were going to yell at your sister instead of me.”

“If it helps, I yelled at her when we got home.”

“It does.” She smiles. “So, the pride bouquet.”

His expression gives nothing away. “What about it?”

“It’s awesome. I was hoping I could get a custom one for my desk. It could hang out with my rainbow flag and alienate my asshole coworkers.”

He seems to be thinking over his phrasing, finally settles on, “What pride are you showing?”

“Bisexual.”

“Cool, that’s mine too,” he says, casual, and Clarke feels a strange surge of hope. She’s always a little wary about dating straight guys, but–bisexual could work. If he can get over the cop thing. And he’s interested.

Fuck, she hasn’t actually been nursing a crush for three years, has she? That would be so fucking stupid. But–he’s cute. And, perversely, guys who don’t like cops are kind of her type. Familiarity breeds contempt.

“So, you want blue, purple, and pink? I haven’t done that before, but I think I can come up with something cool.”

“Yeah, that would be great. And something for my mom for her birthday? She expects flowers now, apparently.”

“That’s a new development?” he asks, with a kind of casual curiosity that makes her flush. “Flowers seem like your go-to present.”

“I’ve never been great with gifts, so when I find something she likes, I just kind of go with it.”

“So now you’re on flowers?”

“They’re good conversation pieces. She’s a doctor, so she puts them in her office and her patients ask about them, and then she gets to talk about her police-officer daughter who sends flowers.”

“Glad I’m helping. So, one mom bouquet and one bi bouquet?”

“Yup.” She worries her lip, but it feels safe to add, “Thanks, Bellamy.”

His smile is soft. “Sure. Let me know how many fights you get in.”

“Yeah, I’ll keep you posted.”

*

She keeps the bouquet until it wilts, and goes to get another one when it does. It’s pretty and a good litmus test for coworkers, so she just keeps on getting them for a few months, until she gets shot in early September, the day before she’s planning to go to Bellamy’s.

It sounds a lot worse than it is, jut a grazing hit to her shoulder. It’s not fun, by any stretch of the imagination, but as bullet wounds go, it’s basically the best-case scenario.

Her mother still wants her to stay in the hospital for a few days.

“We need to make sure there weren’t any complications. Bullet wounds can–”

“I’m going to listen to my actual doctor,” Clarke says, making her voice gentle. “The one who has access to all my charts.”

Abby smiles a little too. “I suppose I can’t argue with that.”

“I’m off work no matter what. I’ll take it easy.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.”

There’s a knock on the door and they both startle, and Clarke startles again when it’s Bellamy, holding a bouquet of yellow and blue flowers, with a sheepish smile on his face.

“Sorry,” he says. “They told me visitors were fine, I didn’t think the doctor would���”

“This is my mother,” she says. “Mom, this is–my friend Bellamy.” It feels more accurate and less awkward than my florist. “Hi, Bellamy.”

“Hi. I can come back,” he adds, and she rolls her eyes.

“Mom probably has actual patients to see.”

“I do,” says Abby. “Let me know if you need anything. Nice to meet you, Bellamy.”

“You too.” He still lingers by the door, looking unsure, until Abby has to go by him, and only then does he finally come over to the cot. “Jesus. You really did get shot.”

She laughs a little. “Sorry, did you think it was a hoax? How did you even know?”

“I follow the police department on Twitter, they talk about incidents. I googled it to make sure it wasn’t you, and then it was.” His eyes dart over her, like he’s trying to remind himself she’s there. “Are you–okay? Relative to getting shot.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. They had to operate to get a fragment out, but they’re not worried. I’m staying for observation, should be out tomorrow or the next day.”

“Good.”

“Can I see the flowers?”

He frowns. “What?”

“You brought flowers. Which ones?”

“Oh, uh–you like yellow and blue,” he says. “Or maybe your mom does, but–when you’re not getting pride bouquets, you usually like yellow and blue, smaller blooms, lots of leaves. So I thought–”

“It’s perfect. Thanks.”

He ducks his head, pleased. “Cool, I’m glad.” And then, like a idiot, he stands up. “So, uh, feel better. Get–”

She grabs his wrist with her good hand. “Bellamy.”

“Yeah?”

“You came all the way down here. You don’t have to leave. Company would be nice. If you don’t have anywhere else to be.”

He sits again. “I told Octavia not to burn down the store, so I’ve got an hour or two before she gets bored and turns to arson.” He pauses. “I should probably stop making jokes about her committing crimes, huh?”

“I promise I will never arrest your sister unless she’s actively committing a crime in front of me. Again.”

“That seems fair.” He hesitates, and then takes her hand, smiles when she squeezes his fingers. “I’m hoping you’re going to see more of her. And me. I’m probably going to ask you out when you’re not, uh. In a hospital.”

“You can ask me out now,” she says. “We just can’t go anywhere until I’m discharged. And maybe a week after that.”

“Cool. So, you want to go on a date with me maybe a week after you’re discharged?”

“Yeah, I’d love to.”

He brings flowers for their first date too, and the second, and the third, and somehow they’re her favorites, every single time.

[wooolfies]

Don’t want to hurt you - Whumptober Day 18

Verse: Jurnex Superhero AU

Pairing: Jurnex

Prompt: Hostage[s]

Warnings: blood, gunshot wound, angst, psychological

Characters/Parties:  Natasha Jurow, John Kennex, Yekaterina Vashchenko

Word Count: 2346

It was early in the morning. The rising sun tried to make its way through the thick layer of smog that was covering Los Angeles.

The shops were opening and the fist rush hour of the day was just starting.  A teal coloured van slowly headed towards one of the skyscrapers downtown.

A young blonde employee opened the big glass doors to the the handful of customers inside who were already waiting.  Slowly, the bank filled with people.  An ongoing coming and leaving.  

Suddenly a man yelled something, drawing an automatic gun.  Most of the customers went to the ground instinctively. 

**

Kennex sat in the cruiser, on his regular tour across the city when the chattet on the police  radio went up again. There was a hostage situation going on and they were requesting all forces available.

He started to head towards the location. The coffee in the cupholder was getting cold,  he didn't care.  

In front of the building a huge group of people had formed already, he supported his colleagues by holding the crowd back.  The Swat team was still on its way, not to be expected in the next minutes.

They knew of four robbers who had taken at least two hostages.  Suddenly a shot rang out inside the building along with the sound of shattering glass.  

One of the robbers,  a first timer had tripped and accidentally fired his weapon.

The police outside reacted and started swarming the building.  

The robbers backed up, deeper inside the building, taking two of the hostages with them.  Three of them and the two hostages ended up in bathroom.  

The other robber had to hide in a closet in order to don't get arrested.

Kennex carefully walks down the hall,  caching every room to his left and right,  offices.  No one is there.  

Suddenly there were steps behind him,  he spun around.

She is standing right in front of him,  her gun pointed towards him,  her face stayed neutral as she pulled the trigger.  

There was pain in his chest, it seemed like the bullet has made its way through the vest into his chest.  He falls to the ground, darkness is surrounding him. 

**

When he gained consciousness he needed a quick moment to orientate.  

“Hey. I'm glad you are awake.”

He looked where the voice came from.

It was Jurow. She was sitting next to him on a chair and held his hand.  

He was feeling funny, like wrapped up into cotton wool.

“...Nata,” he murmured.

He was not dead.  He was not dead!

“You took quite a blow. They fixed you up quite well.  You coded. twice.  Don't scare me like that again,” she said quietly.  

“I hate this place,” Kennex looked around in the room.  Since the ambush and the long time spent in the hospital afterwards he got anxiety from hospitals.

“I know honey.  I talked to the doctors, as soon as you are fully stabilised were gonna take you home,” she paused. “I'm so sorry I wasn't there. And when I was, it was way too late.”

He squeezed her hand. She replied the gesture.  

“How--.How did it end?” he asked.  

She nervously escaped his eye contact, and looked to the ground.  

“So bad?”

“It was a massacre.  The hostages were killed and the police shot the robbers.  The only of of them surviving is the lady that shot you.”

Kennex let out a noise of discomfort.  “What a fail…”

“No.  Except you all cops are okay. And we all know that  freeing hostages doesn't work like on TV…”

He nodded in agreement, he was getting sleepy again.

**

Two days later.  Kennex was at home with Jurow, still staying in bed but with way better food and more privacy.  He felt much better psychologically being out of this place.

Jurow was happy about the pause in action Ava was doing at the moment, she could fully dedicate to caring for her love.  

He could eat when he wanted and sleep when he was tired. Not like in the hospital where there was a strict schedule for everything.

On his first morning at home, Jurow had made Kennex a healthy breakfast.

When she entered the room,  he was still asleep.  She quietly placed the tray on the nightstand. She smiled and quietly approached his bed to read his oxygen values.  She nodded, happy that they were normal. She quietly left again.

Vashchenko was working in her room over the fifth cup of coffee, the keyboard sounded like a machine gun, she seemed motivated.  Jurow decided to get her a new,  quieter keyboard.

Jurow went back to the kitchen to make a toast with butter.  She made herself tea instead of coffee. The kitchen still smelled phenomenal. She let herself sink into the chair while she waited for the water to boil.  She stared at the toast, she had taken only one bite from it. She didn't feel like eating, the toast seemed like plastic. Like something no-one would try to eat.

She stood up to pour the tea. She took the tea and her phone. Suddenly she hoped that Ava was doing some shit again, just to stop her downwards spiral of thoughts.

Jurow went upstairs, to sit with Kennex.  Playing some stupid mobile game where one had snip animals upwards, dodge traps and collect money. From time to time she sipped her tea.

She was focused on keeping her mind here and don't think about what had happened; the fact that she had let him down and now his killer was still running around out there, free like a bird.  Sure, the authorities where looking for her but she sure knew how to get off the grid.  Maybe she had made her way over the wall already.  

Jurow  cleared her throat and started scrolling through social media.  Not a good idea either.  The robbery was trending. Everyone was saying how sorry they were for the victims and how much the police had fucked up.

Kennex began to stir,  slowly waking up.  

Jurow turned off her phone and watched him wake up.

When he opened his eyes,  she was smiling.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.  He hadn't got a pain-medicine shot in hours,  the last time at 3am when he couldn't sleep because of the pain.  

“Still like shit,  but better than yesterday,” he reached for her hand and squeezed it. ”I'm glad, I'm with you now.”

“Me and your lead surgeon had a long discussion.  In the end I practically had to bail you out. We might get an unannounced visit from a doctor, controlling my work,” she scoffed. “I bet I have seen more GSWs  than them. Anyways,  do you have something specific you would like for lunch?”

“Noodles?”

“Sure.  But I need to buy a few ingredients for this… “

His face lit up. “Would be great. But before you leave,  can you check?  My chest really hurts...”

Jurow put both her hands into her neck for some time, to make them less cold.  Then she started to open a few buttons on Kennex’ shirt.  

His chest looked like a chest looks that had been shot recently and then opened up to stop the bleeding. For good measure she went across the room to get her stethoscope.  

Lung noises were normal: “You are OK.  But I'm going to give some pain medicine.”

Kennex nodded. “Thank you.”

Jurow was debating whether it was smart to go to buy some things for lunch nor not. Too anxious that something could happen to Kennex while she was gone.  

Vashchenko had made clear that she was in danger of punching someone in the face,  but she was willing to make a plan how-to this as fast as possible.

Jurow told Kennex that she would be back soon, and that he should tell Vashchenko if he needed anything.

**

Fifteen minutes had passed, Vashchenko could hear Jurow turn the key in the lock.  Jurow went straight into the kitchen, then up to John.

After she had talked to him and made sure he was OK up there, she started to prepare lunch. She still couldn't get this on thought out of her head.  She should have been there.  What kind of superhero was she?

The following night Jurow started having a nightmare, strange things evolving around the theme of losing Kennex.  She woke up from it when the worst part was reached.  Panting she sat up in her bed,  looking the open door between her room and the room he was sleeping in. “Nata?” it was him, not able to get up,  but he could tell that something was going on.  

Jurow silently cursed and stood up. Showing herself in the door frame, “What's up?” she asked.

“Are you alright?” he looked worried. Sitting in his bed,  his face strangely lit by the tablet on his belly. One of Natasha's black earphones was in his ear.  He had watched something because he had trouble sleeping.

Natasha nodded silently.  “Trouble sleeping?” she pulled her desk chair to his bed.  

“Yeah.  Why don't you come with me? Not like I'm sick and could infect you with something.“

“No…  It's just…  I don't want to hurt you,” she suddenly sounded very quiet, almost sad.  

“Oh,  honey, I'm sure you won't,” he smiled. He was missing her warmth, hugging on the couch and holding each other.  

“I can't, I have something going on I need to attend to,” she said, making a reference to superhero stuff.  When really she just wanted to curl up and cry without him knowing.  She loved him with all her heart, and still she had put him at risk, too often.  

“I'll be back.  Need to go to the loo first.”

She stood up and left the room.  She had done it again, lied to him.

Locked in the bathroom, not turning on the light, she let herself slide down against the door, hugging her knees.  She couldn't do this anymore. What if he actually died next time? Not like he already was deeply traumatized.  The police had only kept him in because he could not be corrupted by any mob.

She had a responsibility, there was always something going on in LA.  The public was relying on her. Damn, why hadn't she gone to this bank and helped. She was lucky that he survived it and didn't go comatose again, like way back after The Attack when Kennex had lost his leg.  

Jurow ended up curled up on the floor sobbing. She had fucked up. She was the worst hero ever, not being able to protect the ones she loved.

**

After a while being there like this she returned into the living room,  where Kennex had fallen asleep.

She sat down on the uncomfortable chair again, holding his hand while he was sleeping.  

When Kennex woke up, he saw her sitting next to him,  fallen asleep sitting in the desk chair.  Her hand was still clinging onto his.  He smiled, looking at the clock on the wall.  It was five in the morning.

Was she actually sleeping this chair?  

He felt sore and his chest was hurting so much he felt like he had throw up.  

Seeing her that way made him very concerned, what made him not feel better in anyway.  When he tried to pull his hand back,  she woke up as if her sleep was not really deep.  

“Sorry…” he murmured.  

Jurow was a bit disoriented at first.

“How long have you been sitting there?” he asked roughly and cleared his throat.  He tried to sit up a bit,  maybe that helped against the pain.

“Since, shortly after we talked tonight.”

He frowned, tried to move over a bit to her, letting out a groan.  

“Are you in pain?” she asked.  

He nodded.  

Jurow got up, almost tripping over her own feet.  She walked to the desk where all the items she needed for his care were placed and filled a syringe.

She stranded back up tall after having done the injection.  He looked up to her,  in the soft light that was filling the room.  

“You don't look well, honey.  What is going on?” he asked.  Not knowing another way to express his concern.  

She sat down onto the edge of his bed. “Is just… ,” she broke off.  She couldn't tell him.  

“Come on,”   he said while padding the bed next to him. He moved over a bit, so she had space to lie down next to him.  

She in fact now did it, very carefully barely touching him.  He lifted his blanket up to cover her. He carefully pulled her a bit closer to him.  Holding her.  

Jurow was barely keeping it together.  Her love to him was as strong as the fear to lose him.

But even for her,  it seemed to be great to be with him,  being held close.  Silently she began to cry.  It took quite a while until he noticed. “Would you like talk about it? You taught me that talking always helps.” He rubbed her back. “You can tell me everything,  your secrets are safe with me.”

Jurow signed. “It's not about that…” she paused. “I just failed.”

“What?”

“I should have been there. I almost lost you.”

“Oh Nata,” his kissed the top of her head.  “Just because you're a superhero doesn't mean you are responsible for everyone who lives or dies. It is not possible that you are everywhere at the same time and in the end you are only human, after all. And look,  even if I died, I still would have loved you.  I still love you. You are doing a magnificent job nursing me back to health.  There is nothing to be sorry for.  Okay?”

She nodded silently, still crying.  Kennex did his best to comfort her.

When Vashchenko came up a bit later to see why Jurow had still not called for her coffee she found the two, sleeping, clinging into each other.  She let out an “awww”, smiled and silently closed the door again.

Tagging: @grumpymedbae @homo-homini-lupus-est @donsdawn

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