#he's been sick since Sunday & hasn't been able to keep anything down

[closenotenough]

over it tbh

[xf-cases-solved]

i made more x-files words with my brain, wrote them down, and then put them on the internet for you to read and process into meaning with your own brain, if you're so inclined. cancer arc angst for those who are always sluts for s4 like me

click on the following link to consume my words: She Still Has Her Hair

[cw: suicidal ideation and descriptions of illness/hospitals/ivs/pain medication]

here's a snippet:

She hasn't lost her hair, and that's so much worse.

If she had lost her hair, maybe he would have noticed how bad things have gotten before now. 

Because that's what you think of when you think of cancer patients, right? You picture bald heads and missing brows above sunken, darkly circled eyes. You picture tears in the bathroom as the buzz of a razor shears away the remaining tufts among the patchy surface of a scalp. You picture each fallen strand as another inch marched toward a headstone. When you see a cancer patient with no hair, you know that they are Sick with a capital S. When a cancer patient with no hair shows symptoms of their illness, it doesn't come as a surprise.

However, Scully hasn't lost her hair, and so when she calls him at eleven fifteen on a Sunday night—voice a cracked windshield about to shatter into a million pieces, and a sob lodged in her throat like a chicken bone she can't cough up—he's taken by surprise.

He shouldn't be, but he is.

She still has her hair.

But "Mulder, it's me" has never sounded so frail before, and it terrifies him almost more than the voicemail she left on his answering machine two, nearly three years ago; the one that ended with the sounds of a physical fight filled with cries for help before being abruptly cut off, leaving nothing but horrible questions and no answers.

"What's wrong?" he asks. He'd been dozing on the couch with the lights of a muted infomercial dancing over his face, but at the sound of her voice he is instantly upright and alert. When she doesn't answer right away, he presses, more firmly, "Scully? What's wrong? "

"I was prescribed a new medication at my appointment Friday afternoon, and I can't..." Through the receiver he hears her take a steadying breath. "Supposedly this medication is meant to have a less nauseating effect on patients, but in roughly seven percent of cases, it has actually been shown to increase nausea in certain individuals, leading to severe emesis which eventually culminates in dehydration, presenting with symptoms such as dry mouth, lightheadedness, infrequent or oddly colored urine, confu—"

"And are you one of these patients in the seven percent?" Mulder asks, interrupting her clinical recitation that he suspects is her way of keeping herself detached from her own experience. Scully's silence is answer enough. "When was the last time you were able to keep something down?"

"I don't know," she says quietly.

"More than twelve hours?"

"Yes."

"More than twenty-four?" Nothing. "More than thirty-six?" She's silent. "Scully, you haven't been able to keep down food or water for over thirty-six hours?"

"It started early yesterday morning. Before sunrise, I think."

"Is it just vomiting? Is there anything else going on?"

"I..." She trails off, and Mulder suspects her innate desire to never show a shred of weakness to anyone (but especially him, for some godforsaken reason) is currently at war with the part of her that's spent the better part of two days all alone on the bathroom floor. 

"Tell me, Scully. Don't try to lie or sugarcoat it, just be honest."

"The medication, in conjunction with the physical act of vomiting, has led to a fairly severe case of myalgia—muscle pain—that began and is most prominent in the neck and upper back, but which has since spread to... to... oh God, Mulder"—the crack in her voice is heartbreaking—"it hurts everywhere. Everywhere . I'm in so much pain and I haven't taken a piss in over a day and every time I throw up my head pounds so hard my vision goes white. That's not hyperbole, Mulder, these headaches are quite literally blinding, and what if it's not the pain causing it? What if there's new tumor growth affecting my optic nerves, and this is just foreshadowing for what's yet to come? I don't want to go blind, Mulder, what am I going to do? I can't work if I'm blind. I can't do anything. I don't like the dark, and everything in my body hurts, and I just want it all to stop. Please help. Please help make it stop, Mulder, I hurt so bad." 

By the end of her venting, the sob that had been stuck in her throat has been set loose, and she's crying freely now, pouring out her heart in a way that would probably sound like full-blown bawling if she were strong enough. As it is, her weeping comes out in a strained wheeze, like the squeaky whistle of air sneaking through a small crack in the window when the car is speeding down a highway. 

"Please," she begs again, and the way she speaks reminds him of what it was like to wake up with a stomachache in the middle of the night as a kid and cry out for his mother. It reminds him how desperately afraid and alone he'd feel until his mother was finally roused by his calls, and padded into his room with sleepy eyes and a soft voice so as to not wake up his sister in the room next door.

Maybe, he thinks, it doesn't matter how old you are—that no matter what, being sick by yourself will always be your loneliest moment.

"I'm grabbing my keys right now, Scully, I'm on my way out the door." He jingles the ring of keys in his hand by the receiver of the phone so that she can hear their little chime and hopefully be comforted by it. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Okay," she whispers, no longer crying, but Mulder suspects it has more to do with a lack of physical strength than anything else.

"I'm gonna have to take you to the hospital," he warns. He's sure she expects as much, but it would be easier to get the fight out of the way now if she's going to be resistant.

It's a testament to how utter dogshit she must feel when she says nothing more than another melancholic, "Okay." Somehow, her agreeing to seek help scares him more than if she were refusing. 

"Hang tight, Scully," he tells her gently. "I'm coming."

[creek-cryptid-deluxe]

Welp it's 430 am on a Friday & I've not yet slept due to pain so... let's do a life update with Dr.M!

Where to begin... I guess with how things are with L & The House Gremlins.

Things between me & L are still really great. Honestly the last month has been crazy stressful starting the week before Thanksgiving. He got a chest infection & was down Friday thru the Monday of the week prior to Thanksgiving. The kids started their 2 week holiday visit that Friday so I handled EVERYTHING. Then Sunday night I felt sinus junk & the next morning woke up with 102°f fever & full on pneumonia. I apparently ran myself down & then a cold front happened. He tried to handle stuff on Monday but kept falling asleep in the kids' rooms & since they couldn't wake him they came to me. I was down til Thursday. Really should have been longer but Ari got his chest infection, so I had to take care of her while he worked. Kids left for the weekend (Ari with very explicit instructions on what she needed to kick the infection) & when they all came back Monday, Ari was still sick & so was Zel. So Monday & Tuesday I took care of them because they asked for me specifically every time. Wednesday I realized how burned out L was, so I handled everything til Saturday when the kids were gone again. Wednesday was baking & prep, Thursday was Thanksgiving proper, which I cooked for (because L was legit just going to order a pizza), Friday was clean up & general kid nonsense. L got 3 days of video games. The following Monday, I was down due to an upcoming cold front & he learned at the beginning of work that a coworker he was close with took their life the night before. I was down until Thursday because on Tuesday the front was serious enough that the temp dropped 20 degrees in an hour. He basically did the bare minimum to get by, going to work then coming home & making sure we both ate. Since then I've been ok, and have been able to help him through his grief & keep him going til Christmas break (which starts the end of next week).

Despite ALL of that (plus me suspecting I am having a hormone issue due to the fact that my body/emotional state has resembled my severe PMS for 2.5 months now without any period action; so I'm overly sensitive, overly emotional, & hornier than I've ever been in my life) we've still not had any fights or anything like that. We both just make sure that we openly communicate with each other about how we are feeling & what we need or have the capacity to handle, then act accordingly to ensure we are supporting each other & both our needs are met to the best of our ability while treating each other with kindness & understanding.

This is like an actual healthy relationship and it's fucking dope. But also neither of us is accustomed to such a thing so it's been an adjustment & a learning experience.

The House Gremlins... so you might remember that at the start of their 2 week stay, Vin was still basically attempting to bully me. He legit asked L if he was getting rid of L's old couches & when L confirmed it, this child looked me in my face & asked L what he is gonna do when we break up because Ex1 or Ex2 scares me off with threats. (I acted like I didn't hear him & L basically laughed & said that due to my life experiences, people don't frighten me. The subtext was that the exes specifically don't frighten me... because I grew up with people so much worse than them tbh.) Well, since that first Sunday afternoon when he turned it around, he's been great. Hasn't given me any trouble when I ask him to do stuff, has volunteered to help with things, & has been talking to me about Pokemon Go since he got his smartphone back. He even called me a few nights ago to ask if his dad had dress shoes he could borrow for an event.

Zel is happy as a clam with my existence. Out of the 3, she's been the least resistant to my presence. She took to manners & such really quickly. Plus, if I lay out clear rules about using certain stuff I have (like [Dr. M's] Special Markers) she follows the rules to the letter so she can keep using them.

Ari... has been a butt when she doesn't like what I say or gently call her out for doing something she shouldn't but beyond that seems all good.

So I'm fully integrated into the house. Still the first choice when there's a problem. Still the one who gets asked about baking, dinner, or doing ridiculous jazz.

All in all, super dope.

The Spawn situation is... not dope. She's basically started peddling her pity party "it's so hard to be broke at 18, trying to learn to be an adult without parents" to all my friends now in addition to family... while living for free at my Dad's, basically acting like it's her fucking house, while he pays the bills and her dog has become his dog in that she now sleeps with him & he is the one who walks her, plays with her, buys her toys, treats, and food. She's supposedly moving to Oklahoma with her 'bestie' (a guy she's known since freshman year) & The Bf (yep he came back & they scream at each other DAILY) for a lab tech job in an ER. However I doubt that will work out since she's already ranting to The Bf about not being able to work in a hospital because of 'classism'.

"Dr. M, why the quotes around the word classism?"

Oh because she's misusing the term and is deeply misinformed but ignores or screams at anyone who attempts to correct her. She is referring to her hearing second hand from a person who hasn't ever worked in healthcare that doctors & nurses look down on techs and treat them like trash. Multiple people who have actually worked in healthcare have told her that is not commonplace anymore, as most know that lab techs/phlebotomists are an indispensable part of the healthcare system in that they are diagnostically necessary.

But she isn't ever mistaken so... she ain't trying to hear that.

I've not spoken to her but have heard things from friends & Dad. Oof. I really hope she grows out of this.

Oh! Also I've regained all but 5 lbs of the weight I lost the month before I came here despite my multiple illnesses & bouts of pain puking in the last 2 months. That and my energy levels remind me that I made the right choice. I love her dearly but I warned her repeatedly that once she hit 18 I wasn't going to put up with the abusive disrespectful bull anymore. She didn't believe me. Her bf warned her. She didn't believe him. Dad warned her. She didn't believe him. Hell, the oldest of my younger cousins warned her. Kid still decided to fuck around over and over and over & is continually shocked and 'doesn't understand' why she's finding out.

Also you know stuff with her is bad when my Dad (who has the patience of a saint & endless kindness for people he loves) is going on at length about being stoked to have them move tf out. In contrast, he was sad I was leaving but also happy that I was finally putting myself first & not letting her just straight up kill me.

Plus he really likes L. They text CONSTANTLY about hockey & the nerdass shit they both are super into that I only have knowledge about by being in proximity of my father most of my life. Like 2 days ago, L went on for like 20 mins about... idk some hockey shit. He suddenly looked at me (because I will listen to him talk about anything forever, but get a sorta glazed over look if I have no clue what he's on about) and said "This is a conversation for your dad, huh?" I confirmed. Then yesterday I told my dad about it because I gave them each other's numbers for emergencies (plus I have his mom's number so...). He immediately asked what hockey nonsense he was talking about. I explained the bits I could remember super vaguely & he started laughing & knew EXACTLY what L was talking about. (I mean, I guess he did because he said a name & I threw up my hands and said "I don't fucking know! I guess?") I obviously relayed this interaction to L... who immediately said "Oh yeah! I have his digits!", picked up his phone & started texting my dad about Lord of the fucking Rings.

Goddamned nerds.

[midnightdevotion]

More Than This

Part one of the series

Iceman x reader

Warnings: ummm slow burn? friends to lovers talk of heartbreak- self depreciating a little bit? Fluff ICE

a/n: Ummmm trying a lip peel off stain while writing this, that is all. This was actually very hard for me to write, based off real events so um yeah #embarrassing

Siting at the bar in your kitchen with a full cup of coffee. You haven't moved in hours, just staring at the tan color of your coffee, that is definitely cold by now.

You haven't been able to eat a real meal in a week, no appetite and whenever you try, you just feel like you'll be sick. You feel used. Betrayed. Broken. Your mind just keeps replaying the memories.

-Flashback-

"I just don't love you anymore-- I haven't since you got back from Mexico"

"so you mean to tell me you've been lying to me and using me for six fucking weeks? For what sex? why'd you introduce me to your god damn friends then?" Your brain is spinning, how on earth did you go from meeting his friends two weeks ago to this conversation- over the phone no less.

"No I wasn't lying- I just love you like a friend-- like how I love kyle" This makes you scoff.

"then go fuck Kyle" and you hang up the phone.

__

The pizza you ordered last night left sitting on the counter, only one piece missing. You could barely get yourself to eat, or sleep for that matter. It's not that you wanted to do this to yourself- he's not worth this. You just feel used, and hurt. Emotionally manipulated and picking up the pieces of yourself slowly.

You haven't found it in yourself to do anything- you suspect people might start thinking something bad happened. You can't really find it in you to care though.

All you want is to hit rewind and never meet your now ex, or notice all the red flags earlier. You feel so stupid for not seeing how badly he was treating you, until now. Hindsight 20/20 and all. Maybe it's because you feel so stupid and foolish you don't want to make the call to the person you need. The one person who always makes you feel better, can always make you smile and laugh.

If only he'd loved you back right, then all of this would've been avoided. You wouldn't have said yes to getting set up, you wouldn't have dated this guy as a means to forget who you really wanted. You wouldn't have felt used.

The hardest part about feeling used, is that you can't get away from it. You can shower, you can scrub over and over and over and yet the feeling doesn't go away.

Realistically, you're glad it's over, you know you deserve better than some mediocre asshole. You know, but it doesn't make it any easier to let go of the lies and hurt.

Maybe you should just stay single. Clearly that's better than this feeling, and well if the man you really want hasn't made a move in the years of friendship between you two then he probably never will. Only seeing you as a friend, as he chases after other girls.

Sighing as you feel the tears start rolling down your cheeks again. You're tired, so unbelievably tired and yet every time you try to sleep you just replay every memory with Brandon in your head. They all feel like a kick to the gut. Either a realization of how bad he was, or how fake he was.

You are brought out of your thoughts by a knock on the door. You are confused, because it's a Sunday morning at 10 am so who would be here?

You drag yourself off of the bar stool, slow and sluggish movements as you make your way to the door. When you open it, that's when it all comes rushing back. It's SUNDAY. You always had standing brunch plans with Tom on Sundays. You're eyes land on him and you feel so bad, because you forgot and he's standing there looking so nice- when isn't he looking nice though. Yet you're here standing with an oversized tee- one of tom's actually- sweat pants and hair in what can hardly be called a messy bun.

"oh my god tom- I totally forgot I am so sorry" but he's not worried in the slightest about your forgotten brunch plans, not when he sees the tear streaks on your face.

"Honey, what happened?" with your exhaustion riddled mind you don't even process what he says.

"Let- let me just go get ready real fast and we can go anywhere you want my treat-" you stop when he steps forward and wraps his arms around you.

"Why are you crying" this time you do pick up on his words, hard not too as he mumbles them right in your ear.

"oh um- yeah I know i'm a mess" and a wet laugh comes out as you try brushing off the pain you are so clearly in. He just squeezes you tighter to him, and for the first time in what feels like forever- your nervous system settles. His cologne washes over your senses and you feel yourself relaxing into him.

"you are a beautiful mess" and you know he means it but you can't stop the tears that continue down your face- one of the issues that you'd had with your ex was he never seemed to compliment you-- and when you brought it up he'd just say 'well I say you smell good all the time' like that's supposed to be the same as calling you beautiful.

If you could see Tom's face you'd know he's panicking, is he making you cry? All he ever wants is to make you smile and laugh.

"Darling what happened- please tell me" and you know he's desperate- you also know it's not fair to keep him in the dark. So you spill, everything. Every nitty gritty embarrassing detail of what happened to you. The arguments you and your ex had this last week- the phone call to dumb you yesterday- the way you feel broken, used and left with no self esteem.

Tom is so glad your face is still buried in his chest for two reasons, one: you can't see the rage that passes through his face, two: you also can't see the hope that flickers in his eyes.

Tom- never quick with his emotions realized shortly after you started dating that asshole that he was actually quite in love with you, but he felt he missed his chance so he stayed the good best friend even if it was killing him softly.

He does feel like a little bit of an asshole for being a tiny bit happy at the news of your breakup- especially because he sees how hurt you are. Except, how can he stop the happy giddy feeling that pulses through him at the notion that he didn't miss his chance, and he wasn't going to let this one get away from him.

You two stand there in your entry way for what must be a good 30 minutes before he gently moves your face so that he can wipe your tears.

"C'mon, let's turn on some trash tv and waste the day" you crack a smile at that, you know Ice hates sitting still and yet here he is offering to do it all day for you.

He knows where everything is in your house- possibly even better than you do. He makes quick work of getting snacks and a few blankets to wrap you up in. He might be the one named Iceman but your feet prove you're the colder of the two.

"Is that my shirt?" you feel a little bit of heat rise to your cheeks at the question- hoping that he wouldn't notice you still dressed in one of his academy shirts.

"uh yea- you left it over here the last time you spent the night. I'm sorry it just looked so comfy and well it is but I-I'll wash it and get it back to you" You move to stand to go and change so you can start the washer with this shirt when you feel a hand on your wrist.

"don't, it looks better on you anyway" and if you weren't blushing before you certainly were now. It also brings a fresh wave a tears, the pain of not feeling good enough, or pretty, and being treated terribly for the last nine months making its comeback in your mind.

You just nod numbly and sit back down, thankful Tom doesn't say anything. You know he noticed the change in your face, the man reads you like a book on the easiest of days, let alone days like today.

He stays with you, a quiet lighthouse that guides you home every time the thoughts in your head are a little too hard to deal with. He makes you lunch and makes sure you eat the entire sandwich. He watches shitty tv with you until you fall asleep on his shoulder, then he sighs kisses your head and makes a silent promise that when he makes you his- you're never going to feel like this again.

He will make you feel beautiful always- and make you laugh and dance and sing. He wants every beautiful moment with you, and he's going to do everything in his power to make you see him like he sees you. If only he knew you already did.

Pt 2 coming soon!

Taglist:

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[beatleslsd]

temporary secretary chapter I

Chapter I

summary: Paul McCartney was a lawyer, and he always had trouble keeping a secretary due to a secret he keep behind closed doors.

(some requested for this to be a full fic, I’ll update when I can.)

"Love, look right here there's some opening for jobs!" I heard my mom say excitingly as she handed me the newspaper. I cringed, she's been trying to help me get a job since a turned 18, which was a few months ago. I told her I wanted to save up money to actually go to college, something my family hasn't done. "Oh look here!" She exclaimed, "you took the typewriting class right? Well there's a lawyer not too far from here who's in need of a secretary, one of the requirements is typewriting, why don't you apply for that dear?" I sighed and took the paper.

It said open interviews throughout the weekend from 12-5 for a lawyer; Mr. McCartney. The pay was decent for a secretary, but I could have sworn he already had one, I've seen his office plenty of times due to it being so close, I wonder what happened to his last secretary.

"I'll go on Sunday, maybe being the last impression will help my chances." I smiled up at my mom, as I got up to put my tea cup away. I took the newspaper with me and then headed upstairs to my room. Although it was only Wednesday I figured it would be no harm if I were to set out an outfit for my interview, I wanted to look professional. I haven't gotten a job yet, and I was starting to get desperate, I needed to get out of this house and start my own life. Although I loved my mother, she could be a bit overbearing.

—

Today was the day. I let out a shaky breath as I straightened out the pencil skirt I put on, and fixed my white blouse, making sure I looked perfect. I decided a little makeup couldn’t hurt, but I did the bare minimum: concealer, mascara, and a tinted red lipgloss. I grabbed my purse, making sure I had everything, before yelling a goodbye and I love you to my mother and exiting the door.

“I got this,” I said to myself in the car mirror, before driving off. I straightened my back once I got out of the car, and played with my hair a bit, I curled it for the occasion, I felt a bit silly for dressing up so much for a job interview.

I opened the wooden door, immediately greeted by a lady who looks like she’s been crying. She had a box of office supplies and photos, and she pushed past me, and I shivered slightly, weird. I gulped as I sat in the waiting room along with some other ladies, who looked way more professional than me, making me feel intimidated. I focused my eyes on the floor as I awaited my turn. I fiddled with the bottom of my skit, as I heard the other ladies talking.

I was the last interview of the day, once I realized it was my turn, I stood up from my chair, and made my way to the office at the end of the hallway, and knocked. “Come in,” I heard a soft voice say, and I let out one last shaky breath before entering. “Close the door behind you,” the voice added, and I nodded not yet making eye contact. I closed the door behind me and sat at the chair in front of the desk. “I’m y/n l/n,” I spoke with as much confidence as I could, as I got my resume out of my purse, handing it to him.

I finally made eye contact with the lawyer, he had beautiful eyes, not just the color of his eyes where beautiful, the shape itself was a beautiful sight. My breath hitched slightly, as our hands made small contact when he grabbed the papers from me. As he examined my papers, I took the time to look at him. His face shape seemed to be perfect, and his eyebrows were also a perfect shape, his nose was small, and fit his face perfectly. He was clean shaven, and he looked to be in his late 20s, meaning he was a new lawyer, but from what I heard, he was very good at his job.

“It says here you took a class for typewriting, and you graduated top of your class.” He said in a thick accent, and I just nodded, not knowing what to say. “Your resume is impressive, I don’t think this job would be fitting for you since you exceed all of the expectations.” He continued, looking up from the papers to look at me.

“I assure you this job would suit me, fine sir, I would love your work for you.” I could have sworn I saw him smirk, but it quickly faltered back to a cold expression.

“Is that so?” His voice stayed the same, and I nodded once again. “Alright, then you got the job.” He gave me a smile, and a tried to stutter out words, anything, a thank you, but I was too shocked. He had plenty of interviews, and to get the job on the spot was unexpected. “I’ll write you out a schedule, you’ll start this week. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Thank you, sir.” I was finally able to manage.

“Oh, don’t thank me, love.” He said with another smile and handed me my schedule. I smiled back.

“I’ll see you tomorrow sir.” I waved before exiting the building.

—

Paul’s POV

I bit my lip as I watched the smaller girl leave, my eyes traveling down a bit. This was disgusting, how long was this one gonna last? The poor girl just wants a job, they all just wanted a job. I had to stop doing this, what if I got caught? Of course, I did everything with consent, but I still couldn’t help but think how sick this was, how sick I am.

I sighed softly, as I opened the last drawer in my desk, locked of course. I pulled out the photo book, flipping through the pages of all the girls who have worked in this building, the last girl who left, Jane, held the most spots in the book, I held her for the longest. She went along with all the games I liked to play and didn’t ask questions. She was perfect. However, I couldn’t keep doing it, it was gross and unprofessional, I had to stop doing this.

My hands slowly dragged across one of the newer photos, a photo of Jane, her ass in the air as she was bent over my desk, her loose skirt hiked up, and her panties around her ankles. Her bare ass just out in the open for me.

I shut the book, I couldn’t do this. Y/n will be different, it will be professional. No games.