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qvid-pro-qvo · 4 years ago

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headcanon: “what your first kiss with the SVU boys looks like”

these got a little... out of hand. hence the “read more.” i guess it’s just my way of saying happy thanksgiving.

gender neutral reader. created in conjunction with @hurricanejjareau.

rafael barba -

it’s a couple of dates in, and you’re on cloud nine. being with rafael barba is as easy as breathing.

after all, the tension has come and gone, at this point. you’ve seen the uptight rafael barba, the one that pushes and pushes the squad to do more, do better, do what he needs. you’ve seen the crazy rafael barba, the one that takes a belt and loops it around his neck because he knows he’ll get the win. you’ve seen the distraught rafael barba, the one that squeezes the back of squadroom chairs because the pieces just don’t line up.

but so has everyone else. so has amanda, and liv, and nick, and fin. they know that rafael barba. that rafael barba is a little snide, a little sharp around the edges. everyone gets the wit, the charm, the little smiles.

but little does the squad know that this rafael barba... is all for you.

no one else gets this. no one else gets the rafael barba with an open button-down collar and blazer. no one else gets the dinner and a walk to pass the time. no one else gets the little smiles across the table, the gentle feeling of his hand in yours, or the tug as he loops your elbows together and settles on a destination that you’ll find together.

no one else gets that grin - the way it softens his face, makes his eyes a little half-lidded.

it’s safe to say you’re falling for him. and safe to say that by the time the second date is over, you think he’s falling for you, too.

you’re close enough to your place that a few stories and rounds of laughter has you walking up the steps, rummaging around for keys that are invariably at the bottom of your bag. you keep glancing up, which kind of hurts the hunt, but you don’t mind because each time you see him. that little smirk, the settle of his body against your doorframe. you almost wish he had a tie, so you could press your fingers against, smooth it down his front. just an excuse to touch him a little more.

“same time next week?” he asks, and it’s as easy as breathing, as smiling, as laughing with rafael barba to give an answer.

“i wouldn’t mind sooner,” you say, and when that brings out his smirk you can’t help your little laugh. “if we both can swing it, of course.”

“of course,” rafael says, and he’s pushing himself upright, leaning forward, and kissing you. the only hint was a glance to your lips, and you’re taking it, hand on his shoulder, curling a little around his neck...

oh.

oh, he’s kissing you.

it’s just as easy. it’s just as simple, it’s just as perfect. it’s like breathing, the way it comes out, and when he pulls back he looks just as shocked as you. blinks, like he wasn’t expecting to end the night on such a note.

“was - was that all right?” he asks. you can see his mind start to race.

you’re sure to quiet it with a grin. a nod. a “yes, that was perfect.”

and if he lets you, you’ll add another kiss.

sonny carisi -

where are you?

it’s the text you send for the third time, your foot tapping eagerly in the gallery. the jury’s back, after all. the jury’s finally fucking back, and sonny should be here. it’s your case, after all, weeks of work all for this.

barba turns around, raises a brow at you. asking the same question you are. but there’s no response, and you eventually sigh, shrugging your shoulders.

barba nods. turns back to judge barth, who settles into her seat. who looks to the two counselors, who both let her know.

they’re ready.

your phone hasn’t buzzed. and it doesn’t. not as you squirm, williams staring at you from his seat at the defense bench like you’re a meal.

but that smirk is gone once he turns to the judge. that smirk is gone as he stands, lifts himself up to face them. it’s gone as judge barth turns to the jury and smiles, genial, polite.

��has the jury reached a verdict?”

“we have, your honor.”

“proceed.”

the forewoman lifts the paper to her face. slides her glasses on, clears her throat. your hand is gripping the pew in front of you, and your knuckles are white.

“on the first, second, and third charges of rape in the first degree, we find the defendant, luke j. williams, guilty.”

your heart leaps. you see the way his face falls, even from the side, and the relief that fills you is almost crushing. you want to collapse, with the exhaustion, with the exhilaration. and then your phone buzzes.

im coming up the steps right now i swear to god

and you can’t stop yourself. you’re pushing past liv and amanda, pushing out the courtroom doors. your grin is unmatched as you sprint through the halls, shoes pounding against the marbled floors.

the outside is a downpour. you barely notice. you’re searching, hunting, and when you see him it’s because you can see the shine of his hair from rain, the gel.

god, sonny carisi.

he sees you next, like he was searching, hoping, praying you were there. and when you push into the downpour, out from under the overhang, the rain is but the background as you slam into his open arms.

“we did it?” he asks, over the sound of water against the streets, the slide of taxis through puddles. “we actually fuckin’ did it?” the exhaustion for you is eyes half-closed as he pulls you against his chest, while for him his words blend together in a mix of Staten Island and too little sleep.

“we did it,” you gasp out, and when you pull back it’s to place a hand on either side of his face. “we did it.”

and you kiss him.

you kiss him.

oh, god, he kisses you back.

nick amaro -

how fucking dare he. nick fucking amaro.

your hands clench into fists at your sides, the sides that ache after the hits you took just an hour earlier. your partner is glaring at you, eyes alight with frustration, and you can’t help the way your jaw clenches.

fucking gorgeous nick amaro.

if you had a choice you wouldn’t be in love with him. because nick amaro himself would tell you not to be. but you can’t help the way you stumble into caring for him, into feeling for him, into truly desperately wanting him.

“what the hell was that?” was the first thing he’d asked you, and you hadn’t had an answer for him. not one that’d make sense. after all, partners are supposed to protect each other, but it’s that desperation that had thrown you into him to take the hit, to get the bullet in your vest.

“i saved your life, and this is how you thank me?” you’d shot back. “you gonna give me a lecture in front of the whole damn squad room?”

and cragen had agreed. told you to sort it out, and so nick had rolled his shoulders, gritted his teeth, and the two of you had moved to the locker room to have it out.

and now you’re standing in front of him, watching him go at you for doing something so incredibly stupid —

“stop being a damn martyr, nick!” you snap. “say thank you and we can just move on!”

“i don’t want you getting hurt for me! i don’t deserve that, don’t you get it? you don’t deserve that!”

“i think i’ll be the fucking judge of what i do or don’t deserve! i think i’ll be the one who makes the call about which stubborn stupid detective i get a bruise for!”

“so you’re gonna get yourself killed? for nothing?” his nostrils are flaring, and he lifts a hand to run it through his hair, to turn away and then back to you, close, nose to fucking nose. “for me? no, i won’t let you.”

“i can handle it,” you mutter. he’s close enough you don’t have to yell, close enough that it makes your voice a little weak.

“you almost didn’t,” he pushes, and this time your hand reaches out to poke him in the chest. your fingertip digs into his skin a little, right above his heart.

“but i did. and i’d do it again. however many times it takes, i’d do it again.”

“how many times it takes to do what?”

there’s a beat. he looks at you and maybe, just maybe, he sees you. sees you. “what?” he asks, and you swallow.

when your eyes meet his, they’re shining, just a little. “you know damn well what, nick. you fucking know—“

it’s a collision, your lips. it’s nothing dainty, it’s barely even breathing. it’s an unstoppable force against another force of his own, and when your hands lift to his hair it’s to grip and never let go.

mike dodds -

he’s your sergeant, you tell yourself. you remind yourself, you almost have to. he’s your superior, he gives you orders, he can’t be the one you want to...

anyway.

so you move on. you try to. you try to ignore the way he smiles at you, the way that he grins when the case goes well. the furrow of his brow, the slightest purse of his lips when he’s frustrated. he came to the squad a stranger, someone you can’t trust, and he’s here now like a friend. sergeant michael dodds. the son of william dodds was supposed to come and be the voice of reason, after all, a way to keep an eye on the manhattan special victims unit. but you just know him as mike.

as “mike, stop hogging all the creamer.” as “mike, i swear to god you better not lose my favorite pen.” as “mike, we’ll get him, we’ll get him.”

and you can’t ignore it, not really. not when looks get purposeful across the room, not when you find the two of you leaning into each other. touching, brushing, smiling, watching, waiting.

and you care about him. you really fucking do.

it’s a win that gets you in the end. emotions are high, and the day ends on a high note, too. you’re packing up, and mike sees you. reaches out to you, gestures to the elevator as his duffel goes over his shoulder.

“can i walk you out, detective?” he’s smiling. you smile, too. it’s easy, being with mike, and you can’t help but laugh a little at the formality. your laugh makes his smile a grin, and he shrugs. “finishing out the work day.”

“sure, sarge. i wouldn’t mind the company.”

it’s snowing, but the walk is... easy. it’s bundled up, and the two of you end up leaning against each other. shoulder to shoulder, his head leaned toward you as your laughter echoes down the sidewalk. walking out becomes walking home, and there’s nothing that either of you want to stop.

it’s snowing. snow in mike’s hair. in mike’s eyelashes. on the curve of his cheekbones. and you don’t even notice the two of you have stopped walking until his hand reaches for the crook of your elbow.

“i don’t want this walk to end,” he admits, and you look up at him with a blink. “i don’t want time with you to ever end.”

your laugh is shocked out of you. because home is still so far, and honestly, you don’t want to ever make it.

“so do something about it, mike.”

he has to bend down, and you’re pushing up. it’s sudden, but not quite a surprise. it’s a kiss with the streetlights on you, with the warmth of his breath on your nose after. and when he grins this time, you’re matching it.

peter stone -

amanda is a meddler. sonny carisi is a meddler. odafin tutuola and olivia benson are all meddlers, and you can’t believe them.

or, actually, you can. which is so much worse.

adjusting to peter stone was, in fact, an adjustment. in more ways than one. warming up to him took time, took a lot of moments where you think about the fact that he could be a lot worse.

and what makes it even more difficult is you want to hate him. you want it to be easy to ignore him. to not think about him. but you can’t. you can’t, not when he looks like that.

and amanda picks up on it, dammit. she sees the way you can barely look him in the eye, and sends you to his office anyway. and she lets you invite him out to forlini’s, and she lets you sit across from him at the table, and she nudges your leg as the two of you end up talking all night.

“you’re an enabler,” you sigh at her, when peter leaves, citing a work obligation in the morning. and she just smiles, tipping back her glass.

so you don’t know what you can really expect from the lot of them. not.. something like this. not texting you to meet them at forlini’s and then ditching the both of you. you and peter, standing at the door, looking in and seeing nary a squad member in sight.

“looks like we’ve been duped,” peter says, and you turn to look at him with a weary gaze. it says something that he can grin right now, can look at you and twist his lips up in that signature way of his. all-knowing, all-teasing. and that smirk settles in your gut, makes your own peek out.

“leave it to amanda, i suppose,” you reply. “and i was really looking forward to a drink.”

you peek back in. and then you hear peter’s voice behind you, his phone up to his ear.

“yeah, you guys got a table for two?”

he’s a smooth-talker, that’s for sure. especially when it’s just the two of you across an appetizer, the two of you with glasses of wine too big for your bank account. he makes you laugh, snort a little, and you manage to finagle a blush onto those cheeks of his. when the night is over, the two of you end up walking and talking, prolonging the evening until it can barely be called evening anymore.

it’s a park that does it. the two of you stepping over crunching leaves that makes you stop, stare.

“was this a date, peter stone?”

and his smile is sly when he stops himself, turns to you and bites his lower lip.

“might’ve been. is that okay?”

you think back on the evening. on the way that he’s looking at you right now. the way he has been all night.

“yeah, i’d say so.”

with a step towards you he grins. reaches for your hand and takes it. “how about this?”

“that’s all right, too.”

and when his other hand comes up to cup your cheek, the way the night is going is more than okay with you.

“and this?” he asks one final time, and your breath of a yes is against his lips, pulling him close so your grin presses into the way he kisses you.

tag list (people who might like this):

@averyhotchner // @crazyshannonigans // @joanofarkansass

#rafael barba x reader #sonny carisi x reader #nick amaro x reader #mike dodds x reader #peter stone x reader #rafael barba #sonny carisi #nick amaro #mike dodds #peter stone #gender neutral reader #my fic #law and order: svu #law and order svu headcanons

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ncssian · 4 years ago

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A Favor: Part Four

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: hey y'all. my new job has been draining the life out of me so i have very little energy left for writing, which is why these updates are taking so long. im still very passionate about this fic though, it just takes me more time to write :(

in other news, this chapter is saturated with descriptions of pain, both physical and emotional. i hated writing it but it was worth it.

***

Nesta, 14

Sometimes it all becomes too much. Feyre asking for help with homework and Elain begging for more money to go to the strip mall, and their dad ignoring them all as if they aren’t even there. Sometimes she wants to leave it all behind and pretend she isn’t anchored to three other people, wants to pretend she is a lone being in a lonely world.

When she needs to go away, she comes here.

Cherrywood House is quiet, as it always is this time of year. One of several expensive vacation homes in the Smokies, Cherrywood is Nesta’s favorite for a multitude of reasons— it’s empty for ten out of twelve months of the year, it’s the only house with a clear view of the nearby lake, and cherry blossoms bloom on trees out in the back every spring.

It’s early June, and she has a few more weeks left with the house until its owners return. The family that owns the place never leaves a trace of themselves behind when they leave each August, so Nesta returns the favor by never leaving hints of her inhabitance either.

She takes her worn Converse and socks off at the back porch and climbs in through the unlocked window barefoot. This is where she belongs. A ghost roaming the empty halls, with no one to care for and no one to care for her.

She makes her way upstairs to her preferred hideout spot: an airy bedroom with a bay window seat that looks out onto the cherry blossom trees outside. Cracking the window open to let the fragrance of flowers in, she settles into the bench seat with her book of the week and starts reading.

Absorbed in dreams of deep love and deeper kisses, Nesta doesn't notice the sun going down until she can barely make out the words on the page before her. Glancing up with sore eyes, she realizes she needs to leave soon if she doesn't want to take the wooded path back home in the dark.

“Damn,” she sighs, but she gets up and shuts the window firmly.

She keeps her nose in her book all the way down the hall and down the stairs, and doesn't sense anything off until a large shadow flashes in the corner of her eye. Her head whips up, and the face that greets her looks just as surprised as she is.

Nesta freezes.

“Um,” the guy says. He’s maybe a few years older than her, seventeen or eighteen, and tall with shaggy dark hair. The front door of the house is still cracked open behind him. “What the fuck?”

Nesta unfreezes. And then she runs.

All the way through the main hall and to the back door, while the boy’s shouts chase her through the house. “Hey, wait up!”

They weren't supposed to be here this early—

Her hand wraps around the back door handle and she flings it open, shoving through the second screen door and shooting right down the porch steps. Heavy steps behind her ignite a panic in her, and she gains a burst of speed.

“HEY!” he calls again. Soft grass becomes dirt and twigs beneath Nesta's feet, and she knows she's reached the tree line. Dark shadows fall over her as she darts into the safety of the woods.

Still standing on the back porch and waving a raggedy pair of Converse, Cassian tries calling for the girl one more time. “You forgot your shoes!”

Cassian wakes up at five in the morning to the sound of the house’s pipes creaking, a telltale sign that someone is using one of the faucets. Blinking his eyes open, he hears the distant sound of the shower running.

Who would get up in the freezing cold at this hour just to take a shower? He checks the time once more to make sure he isn't imagining things, and gets up to peek his head out of his bedroom. Sure enough, light leaks out from under the bathroom door.

Cassian walks up to the bathroom and listens closely for any sound beside running water. He knocks hesitantly. “Nesta?”

Her muffled voice calls back to him, but he can't make out a thing.

“Are you alright?” he asks. “How long have you been in there?”

There’s no response, and now he’s concerned. Raising his voice, he says, “I’m going to come in to hear you better, is that okay?”

A soft affirmative answers him, and he tries the doorknob. It’s already unlocked, which is odd, but he pokes his head into the steam-filled bathroom cautiously. “Nesta?”

From behind the curtain of the shower, a pale, tired face appears. She’s sitting on the floor of the tub, he realizes. “Hey,” she attempts a feeble smile at him.

Cassian fully enters the bathroom, the humidity dampening his skin. “Are you okay? When did you get up?”

“I’ve only been in here for an hour, maybe.” Her voice is weak enough that he has to move closer to hear her. “Don’t worry about your water bill. I’ll pay it, I swear.”

He shakes his head, confounded. “I don’t care about the water bill. You still haven’t told me if you’re okay.” He moves to crouch beside the bathtub, the opaque shower curtain the only barrier between them.

Nesta rolls her eyes, looking embarrassed. “It’s just cramps. I get really sick on my periods, and I would have warned you that they suck ass, but that would imply that my period could affect you. It doesn’t have to affect you— if you just leave me to myself for a few days, I won’t even be a bother.”

Cassian blinks, not really knowing where to start with that, so he just says, “But why the shower?”

Nesta shifts uncomfortably behind the curtain. “Sometimes hot water is the only thing that helps with the pain. I already tried getting out of the shower, but it hurt so bad— I had to go right back in. I’ll get out eventually, don’t worry.”

Cassian frowns. This all sounds incredibly worrying. “This is normal for you?”

She’s about to answer when her face pinches in a look of discomfort. “Cassian,” she says, strained.

He leans closer, wanting to help. “Yeah?”

“Get out.” She doesn't look like she has the energy to add anything else.

Cassian wants to defy Nesta and stay right there, but that would require arguing with her, and she clearly is no longer in the mood to hold up a conversation.

Reluctantly, he nods. “I’ll be right down the hall. Yell if you need anything.”

Nesta is already sinking lower into the tub, trying to get more fully under the burning hot spray. Her eyes drift closed and she hums in answer.

Cassian doesn't return to his room like he said he would, but heads downstairs instead. He spends a good ten minutes reading the drug labels of various painkillers from the medicine cabinet before carefully arranging a nonlethal cocktail of them on a tray. He adds a cold glass of water and various handpicked snacks before returning upstairs to set the tray by Nesta’s bedside, and turns the heat all the way up to combat the chill in her room, just in case.

Then he goes back to his room and waits. He tries to listen closely for the sound of the shower stopping, but he’s not used to being up this early on a Saturday, and his bed is so warm…

He falls asleep waiting.

***

Nesta stumbles out of the shower long after Cassian leaves her and downs a handful of pills without thinking too much about who left them for her. She already has an idea of how the next few days will go, and she just hopes Cassian will allow her the dignity to suffer through it alone.

She crawls into bed exhausted and shuts her eyes tight. The next time she opens them, sunlight is streaming weakly through the windows. Jarring pain lances through her abdomen, and she brings her legs all the way up to her chest and whimpers. From the edge of her consciousness, she notices the snack tray has been replaced with lunch— some leftover lasagna from the night before. Sneaking out her hand from her mountain of blankets, she goes for her phone. A text sent nearly an hour ago waits for her.

Cassian: please eat.

Nesta glares at the lasagna because she knows better. She might have spent this morning eyeing the bathroom tiles to determine if they were clean enough for her to curl up there and die, but she's not at a point to abandon her dignity just yet. The last thing her roiling nausea needs is solid food. Instead, she gathers the focus to text back Cassian: Leave me alone today.

It's only after she sends the message that she realizes it sounds harsh, but she can't bring herself to explain further or to soften her tone. Her pain always has a way of stripping her of any defenses and formalities and leaving only a primal creature behind.

Turning her phone off, she closes her eyes and inhales tightly through her nose. A wave of cramps that feels closer to what a brutal stabbing victim would feel like overtakes her, and— no, she has to get up.

During times like these, the bathroom is Nesta’s favorite place in the whole world. Cool tiles to rest her head on, hot water just a foot away, and a spacious tub if she ever feels like passing out. Heaven. Naturally, she escapes there first.

After maybe another hour of restless writhing and moving about, Nesta decides the suffering isn't worth it and hobbles downstairs in search of some Nyquil to knock her out. She’s got the medicine cabinet halfway open when a broad hand slams it back shut, and she turns to find Cassian standing behind her with a stern look. “You haven’t eaten anything all day. You can’t take meds on an empty stomach.”

Nesta wants to cry at the denial of pain relief, but she grips the counter behind her and manages a glare instead. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“I will absolutely tell you not to wreck your liver, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

A desperate whine escapes her, and she can’t believe Cassian has to see her like this. Even worse, she sees sympathy soften his face as his hand slips off the cabinet next to her head. “I made soup,” he offers. “Can you have soup?”

Nesta hesitates. Her insides don’t hate the idea of soup. She nods.

***

Nesta insisted on avoiding Cassian for the rest of the day, and Cassian graciously eased off her back once he knew she’d eaten. He kindly pretended he didn’t hear her running back and forth from the bathroom all day because she couldn’t sit still, and only interrupted her once to make sure she took more Tylenol before bed.

Now, long after night has fallen, Nesta is truly alone. Her medicine either hasn’t kicked in yet or isn’t strong enough to do its job tonight. She can barely think straight, and this is when the most primal part of herself comes out.

Despite her age, despite everything, she still cries. She cries as if anyone would bother listening, physical pain intertwining with the pain and humiliation of being ignored. “Papa,” she calls into her pillow, again and again.

She hasn’t trusted her papa in years, and yet she still expects him to rescue her. She still waits for him to show up and make everything better.

A hot tear leaks from her eye, and the catharsis of it distracts from her cramps. She curls up into a ball and cries harder, as if she can weep out everything that’s wrong with her body.

A soft knock interrupts her helpless whimpers, and Nesta hears the door open a moment later. “Nesta? Were you calling for me?”

Somebody came. No one’s ever come for her before.

A sigh of relief escapes her, and she forgets to put her walls up. “I’m just—” she tries to say, “so tired.”

She hears Cassian come farther into the room and curse. “Fuck, it’s an icebox in here.”

A hand nudges at her mound of comforters, giving Nesta’s shoulder a shake. “You should’ve told me the heater wasn’t working. Are you okay?”

That question sets her on edge. “Do I look okay?” her voice cracks. She wants to cry even harder now that he’s here, for some reason.

“Obviously not,” he mutters. “You’re staying in my room tonight. Get up.”

Nesta groans and burrows further into her freezing cocoon of sheets. “Don’twannamove.”

“It’s either that or I’m carrying you. I’m good either way.”

Nesta finally cracks her eyes open, glad that Cassian is only a tear-blurred figure in the dark. She doesn’t want to read whatever is on his face right now. Gathering her heavy comforter around herself, she gets up and lets Cassian lead her down the hall to his room.

Toasty warmth hits her as soon as she’s inside, and she makes an exhausted sound and drops the comforter. In a blur, she’s tucked into Cassian’s bed, enveloped by his scent and his lingering body heat on the sheets. Under the dim lamplight, Cassian seems to finally take notice of the tear tracks on her face. Clicking his tongue in sympathy and concern, he rubs his thumb over the sensitive skin under Nesta’s eyes. Her whole body shudders under the gentle touch. Who knew just the pad of his finger could combat this inescapable agony?

“This isn’t normal,” he murmurs. “I’m taking you to a doctor as soon as this storm clears.”

If Nesta was in the right state of mind, she’d tell him absolutely not. However, she’s barely comprehending his words as it is, so she watches him click the lamp off in silence. Darkness fills the room, but she can hear him moving.

“I’ll be right back,” his voice rumbles, and then she’s alone again. More tears leak at the feeling of abandonment. She’s so sick of herself.

After what feels like an eternity but is only a few minutes, she hears Cassian return. The mattress dips behind her as he climbs under the blankets with her, and then Nesta feels something hot and dry being pressed to her side. A towel. “Does this help?” he murmurs, his voice surprisingly close to her ear.

Wordlessly, Nesta reaches down and takes his hand holding the hot towel, dragging it beneath the hem of her sweater so the heat burns against her bare skin. She sighs and allows her tensed body to sag, leaning back into the hard cradle of Cassian’s chest and arms.

In her ear, Cassian’s breathing has gone shallow. His hand slips from her side, only to find her back and start rubbing up and down.

Her eyes flutter shut.

“My mother was a Muslim immigrant from Algeria,” Cassian whispers out of nowhere. “And whenever I felt sick as a little kid, I would crawl into her lap and she would rub my back just like this, and say some prayers and blow on my face, and I would feel better.”

Nesta makes a weak sound of acknowledgment. That sounds nice, nicer than anything she ever knew growing up.

“I’m sorry I don’t know any prayers,” Cassian says. Then, Nesta feels a whoosh of breath tickle the side of her face. “Does that help?”

It feels weirdly good, and Nesta's shoulders start shaking. She doesn't know if she's holding in a laugh or a sob. Cassian’s hand stills on her back. “Nesta?”

A sharp wave of pain sets her straight. After she breathes through it, she tells him, “You don't need to pray. Just… keep talking to me.”

His hand resumes drawing circles on her back. “Alright.” And he whispers stories into her ear for the rest of the night, until she's fallen asleep and long afterward.

The next morning, Nesta is feeling much better. Cassian knows this because she’s sitting in the living room when he comes downstairs, straight-backed instead of hunched over in pain, and she’s regained the energy to glare at him.

Cassian’s relief at seeing Nesta okay hesitates at that glare. He slows on the bottom step. “How’re you feeling, sweetheart?”

“Don't call me that.”

He blinks, not sure what he did wrong. Before he can ask, Nesta says, “You didn't listen to me.”

“Excuse me?” He strolls deeper into the living area.

“I told you to leave me alone while I'm on my period, and you didn't listen. You dragged me to your room and made me spend the night with you.”

“You were crying for help,” Cassian says in disbelief. “What was I supposed to do? Ignore you?”

“Yes.” She looks even angrier. “It’s humiliating for me to have you see me like that. It's humiliating to have my own family see me like that.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, but you’re—” He almost says overreacting, but some deep instinct tells him that word won’t fly well with Nesta. “You’re wrong,” he decides. “Whatever you think I’m thinking of you after last night, you’re wrong.” Cassian has no problem going into caretaker mode for Nesta; it's his natural state of being most of the time anyway. Besides, last night was… a new experience for him. For a multitude of reasons. “You can't tell me you go through that every month and have never had anybody take care of you.”

“I haven't, and for good reason,” Nesta seethes. “You had no right to see me like that.”

Cassian leans on the arm of a chair and crosses his arms, considering her. “Have you ever seen a doctor about your period?”

“That’s none of your business,” she snaps. Here is the Nesta that Feyre is always talking about: quick to anger and always on the defense, to the point that she comes off as unreasonable. Nothing like the helpless woman in tears from just the night before.

It brings out a rougher side of Cassian, one that wants to nip and bite at her boundaries instead of letting her be comfortable all the time. “That’s no way to talk to someone who stayed up all night to wait on you hand and foot, you know.”

“Don’t you dare hold that against me.” Nesta’s voice is dangerously cold.

“I’m not holding it against you. I’m taking you to a doctor.”

“No.”

“I already made an appointment.”

“Cancel it.” Her voice is brittle and she’s now trembling with restrained rage. Cassian doesn’t know if it’s because he’s refusing to give her a choice or if she just really doesn’t like doctors. Either way, it doesn’t change how Nesta ran out of bed at four this morning to puke her soup up. If it wasn’t for all this snow, he would have dragged her ass to the ER by now.

“I don’t have health insurance,” Nesta admits when she sees that Cassian won’t back down. “And I’ve made it this far without any cause for concern; there’s no reason to go.”

“Then I’ll pay for it,” he says simply. Her lack of care for her health astounds and angers Cassian at the same time. How is it that nobody, not even her family, has looked at this woman before and said You’re not okay, do you need help? How many times has she cried in pain with no one to listen?

Nesta has now stood up and is turning red in the face. “Absolutely not. Stop it.”

“Stop what?” Cassian smirks and straightens up.

“I’m not going to the doctor,” she barks. “Cancel the appointment.”

“No.”

“DO IT!”

In that moment, Cassian sees it. He sees how beneath the adult manner and adult words, the carefully crafted facade of cool, there is an explosive, tantrum-prone child. And he’s about to reveal her for good.

“It’s this Wednesday. I hope you don't mind skipping class.”

An enraged shriek shatters the air in the room, and before Cassian can even be shocked Nesta is verbally pouncing on him, yelling, “How fucking dare you, you complete shithead—”

“Nesta.”

“You have no right to— You’re so useless, this is why I didn't want to stay with you, this is why I never talked to you—”

“Nest—”

“You egomaniacal manipulative bastard— just because you let me stay in your house doesn’t mean you can tell me what to do—”

“Damn it Nesta, can you just shut up and LISTEN TO ME FOR ONCE!”

Nesta freezes and blinks, taken aback. Cassian immediately snaps his mouth shut, wondering if he’s finally crossed that line he’s been so cautiously toeing this whole time.

He watches her face closely, looking for signs of upset— or worse, fear. She only says, “Fine.”

He’s confused. “Fine, what?”

“Fine, I’ll go to the doctor’s.” Just like that, her fight is gone and the facade is back in place. She sets her jaw, but a hint of surprise and newfound discovery lingers in her eyes. “But I’m not letting you pay for it. It’ll have to come out of my own pocket.” She doesn't look happy about that part.

Cassian wants to argue her, but he knows how to pick and choose his battles. For now, he’s just baffled that he demanded Nesta to do something, and she listened.

He raised his voice at her. God, he yelled at her in anger and she only blinked in response, and now she’s listening to him. What kind of sick alien shit is this?

***

a/n: i love talking about these characters so if you ever get sick of waiting for part 5 just shoot me an ask and ill gladly discuss nessian with you

tagging: @ladywitchling @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @sensitiveillyrian @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx

#a favor #nesta archeron #cassian #nessian #ncssianwrites #nessian fic #nessian au

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gourdgirlmagazine · 5 years ago

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Criminal Minds FanFic- The Interview

You step into the elevator and press the button that says 9. You take a step back as the doors start to close and you take a deep breath to prepare yourself for the jolt when the elevator starts to move. The box slowly starts moving to the 9 floor of the FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit Headquarters.L, 2, 3 The screen shows as the elevator slowly goes up. Today is the interview you have been waiting for ever since the presentation that was held at your college about the bau. You shift awkwardly and adjust your bag, 5,6,7. Ever since then you wanted to become a profiler and today you are finally gonna get a shot at making you dream come true. Although it's not the exact job you wanted, it's the closest you will get. Deep in thought you are alarmed by the ding of the doors before they slowly open to reveal the BAU floor.

You quickly step out before the doors get called to the next floor. You sigh in awe of the sight of the place that you could possibly work at. As the doors close behind you, you start to walk up to the big glass doors that separate the elevators and hallways from the hussle of the offices and cubicles. You pull open one of the glass doors with the bau logo on it and you are hit with the beautiful sound of work. A printer is printing something in the distance. A phone is ringing. People are typing on their computers. An agent is laughing while talking to another agent. And the strong smell of sweat and coffee. You knew you just had to work here.

You were so immersed by the smell, sounds, and sights that you don't see the guy, whose head is stuck in a book, quickly walking to the doors. And you take a step forward, you clash right into him.

“Er um sorry,” he mumbles.

You didn't pick up what he said out of surprise from the impact “Huh? Oh I'm so sorry. I should have watched where I was going. Are you ok?”

“Yah I'm fine. The projectile of our collison was slow enough that it's isn't possible for either one of us to have any physical harm, just embarrassment.” He says. You make eye contact with him and you glance at his id which says, Ried, Spencer which a picture of him slouched and his hair moved to the side. He looked nothing like his picture. His hair was parted down the middle with volume and he was wearing glasses. No to mention the fact of how innocent he looked in the picture compared to the man who you were standing in front of.

“Wow. Way to throw me under the bus.”

“No No No i didn't mean it like that i'm just saying that i am physically fine and you should be too but bumping into someone leads to embarrassment. I know that I am not embarrassed because this has happened to me many times before but from your body langued, I can tell that you are embarrassed or uncomfortable. Can also tell that you are new here”

“How did you”

As he starts to go he touches your lover back to move around you and whispers in your ear, “i can see it in your eyes” And walks away. You inhale and smell aftershave and something sweet but you can't quite put your finger on what it is. “Oh and by the way newbie, Hochners room is 2011”

In shock by your encounter, you recollect yourself and take a deep breath in and out and walk to the room number that was that the mysterious man said- room 2011. You walk up the stairs while being on high alert to not bump into anyone else. Once you reach the room, the door reads, Aaron Hotchner. You knock three times and wait for the sound of approval. Aaron you thought.

“Come in”. A muffled voice says.

You slowly open the door and walk in, closing the door behind you. “Hi Im y/f/n and i am here for the interview to be your new communications coordinator.”

“Ah yes. Please take a seat. Did you bring your resume?” He asks while he pushes the send button on his computer and turns to face you. He was wearing a blue shirt and a green tie. On the shirt there was one spot that wasnt all the way unwrinkle. No wife you thought if he leaves the house like this. Single.

“Yes sir, I did.” you fumble through your purse and pull out the file which you slide over to the agent. “I just finished academy training for the FBI and I am a graduate of Yale with a major in cognitive science and phycology and sociology and I minored in forecnics and was at the top of my class.”

He cuts you off “Okok no need to show off. I can tell you are very ambitious and that you are a hard worker. That is something that the BAU wants. Our last coordinator was ambitious just like you. She sadly had to be transferred so our digital analysis has been taking over but i feel as though we need an experienced communications coordinator, but i don't see anything about communications on your resume. Tell me more about that.”

“Well I originally was hoping to be a profiler but there were no spots so when i heard that you needed a communications coordinator for a little. I knew i had to try it out because maybe after you can see my skills, you would make an exception to add me to your team.”

“y/l/n, we are looking for someone with experience in talking to the press and police, not a young just out of the academy woman who is successful in school. No disrespect to your desire but if you don't have the experience for this job then you are wasting my time.”

“Wait, I do have experience, i took classes in public speaking and you know by my quick learning and adaptability, that i will do just fine in this job...”

He cuts you off and says “But fine isn't enough at the BAU. Thank you for your time Ms y/l/n.”

“Can you just try?” you fight back the pilling tears and stand up “You said yourself that you had a digital whatever who has been taking over for her and she is a F*CKING TECH LADY. I feel like I can do a lot better than that. I am experienced in so many other things that it would be a big opportunity to pass up.” then the tears release and you start to cry.

Hotchner is speechless and has no clue what to do now. He awkwardly passes over a box of tissues and clears his throat. You reluctantly grab a tissue and wipe the stream of tears away and grab another one to blow your nose. You take a second to catch your breath before making eye contact with Hotchner as he straightens his tie in discomfort. “Not an emotional one, are you?” you smirkingly say sarcastically.

“Most people say i have an aloof, grim or distant personality.” He says.

“Oh sh*t Im so sorry.”

“Watch your profanity, Ms y/l/n”

“Sorry. Um but anyways, I apologize for crying, I am just a very passionate person who strives to reach their goals and i didnt want this opportunity to pass. I am 100% sure I have ruined it all for yelling at my potential boss and then sobbing. What a great first impression. Way to go y/n”

“Well beside that fact that you were yelling, you did make some valid points. I was being a little bit biased and unfair for letting our digital analysis take the spot for a while and not giving you a chance. I too am very passionate about my dreams and one of my dreams is to have a working team and I too don't want to have my opportunities slip. How about we make a deal because I like your work and your passion. Tomorrow we have a briefing for a new case, you can sit in and watch but try to keep it low-key. After you give me a profile on the unsub and how you will address the press and police on what things to look out for. If all goes well, I would like it if you come along with us. You and our digital analyst will work together to notify the press and police and so on. Does that sound good?” Hotchner says.

“That would be better than anything. Thank you for giving me a second chance and giving me this wonderful opportunity. I promise I won't disappoint you.” you say.

“I hope not. In the meantime i think it would be helpful for you to meet our tech analyst, Penelope Garcia.” Says Hotchner as he stands up from his chair and you follow him out the door of his office.

Thank you so much for reading. You can probably tell that this is my first time but hopefully it wasn't that obvious! I will work on part 2 if you want but this is also the beginning of something new so I think this sort of needs a part 2 and the story is a long way from finished. We haven't even meet our favorite techie, Penelope Garcia! Good Night.

#criminal minds #Spencer ried #fanfic #ssa hotchner #aaron hotch hotchner #cm #matthew gray gubler #hehe #akward

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ladywinterwitch · 5 years ago

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Run Away (One - At the beggining)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Avenger! Reader

Summary: You and Steve complete each other. Your love is that strong and devoted kind of love that pushes people to things like marriage, making a family. You couldn't imagine that a baby would be something you really wished, until the possibility wasn't your choice anymore.

Warnings: mentions of sex, swearing, pregnancy talk, sadness, LIKE A LOT, badly written medical diagnosis, FLUFF, cheesy af, feels (im sorry this one's a little emotional k)

Word Count: 3316

A/n: I don’t know why this idea came to me, honestly. One day I just stopped and asked myself, why do actually people decide to have kids? At first I didn’t really understand, I always saw around that parents made a big deal of the idea of it. The whole pregnancy, having a baby to ‘show’ around and such without realizing that said baby will become an actual human being that you’ll have to educate. Which I still think is the case for some people, I’m not gonna lie. But then, thinking a bit more about it, seeing people really in love, and that want to spend the rest of their lives with each other wish to form a family because that’s something that they want to kind of experience and grow together. But honestly Idk, I mean, I don’t have any experience so I could be saying a lot of bullshit. Something that did inspire me tho is the song ‘Run away’ by Ben Platt, so being a little undecided on how to name this, I decided to pay tribute to this beautiful song. But still, I hope you’ll enjoy this. Also, making a multi-chapter series it’s a first for me, keep that in mind.

(gif not mine)

Steve will always remember the first time he saw you. You were a new recruit for the avengers team, you came from SHIELD and were one of the best, so Fury decided to add you to the heroes’ team.

You didn't need any superpower because you already were a force of nature of your own. Skilled in combat, a perfect spy, spoke eight languages, could aim a target and get the middle of it with closed eyes.

That day Steve was going to the gym with Bucky and when they arrived to the gym, they saw you. There you were. You wore a catsuit like Natasha's, all black and tight. Damn tight. Your fit but shapely body wrapped around that leather like it was made for it. And that's what Steve saw first, mainly because you two girls were moving in a sort of quick but graceful dance, shooting at simulation targets around the room.

And then all of a sudden you stopped, the simulation ending, and started to laugh. You gave Nat your guns and turned around. That's when Steve knew, he just knew that he was doomed. Your smile was the most beautiful thing that he'd ever seen. Your sharp but sweet features, your hair hair tied up in a ponytail with just a few strands of hair down in the corners of your angelic face.

When you saw them you stopped laughing, not having realized their presence, and smiled shyly. Steve was literally melting.

-Hey fellas. I'd like to introduce you to one of my best friends and best agents I know, Y/n. She's the new recruit sent by Fury.- Natasha came back without the guns while the two men edged closer.

-Hey there. Welcome to the team, i'm- - Bucky offered his hand, which you took gladly.

-Bucky Barnes, yeah not exactly a stranger.- you joked smiling, he returned the smile.

Steve was still looking at you, not realizing that it would've probably scared you off, but instead you offered your hand to him too, locking eyes.

-Y/n. I guess you must be Captain Rogers.- you teased with a smirk. He cleared his throat and shook your hand.

-Uh, yes. It's a pleasure Y/n.- he breathed out giving you a little smile.

-All mine.- you responded, he chocked on his spit widening his eyes for a moment. Bucky was trying not to burst out laughing for how awkward his best friends was being, meanwhile Nat was looking at him like he was an alien.

-P-pardon?- he coughed out. You frowned a little biting your lip to stop smiling.

-The pleasure to meet you, captain. All mine.- you explained.

-Yeah, obviously. Uhm, alright see you, uhm.. later I guess. Welcome, again. Oh, call me Steve, please.- he blurted scratching his neck with his hand. You smiled sweetly.

-Thank you, Steve.- his name rolled on your tongue so perfectly that made him think of a few different scenarios, but before he could embarass himself further he gave a slap on Bucky's back, making him jolt forward in surprise.

-What the f-- he looked at the blonde with confusion.

-C'mon Buck, we have to take take of that business.- he basically dragged him towards the door.

-What business?- he furruwed his eyebrows.

-Fury's goddamn business, now hurry the fuck up.- he smiled through gritted teeth and whispered the last part.

And like that they left the gym. The two girls looked at each other and bursted out laughing.

-They seem nice.- you commented, cossing your arms.

-They are. But i'm gonna be honest, i've never seen Steve so flustered before. You must have left him quite, interested.- she marked the last word. You looked at her confused and she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

-Oh, for god's sake, Nat. He just met me, and i'm really nothing special. He's fucking Captain America, c'mon.- you rolled your eyes. She rose an eyebrow.

-Okay, if you say so. But it's true, what I said before. Also, you're a bomb, so shut it.-

Yeah. You gave that day exactly a month before you found yourself pressed against the wall, with Steve’s lips on your neck and moans spilling from your mouth.

-I've wanted to do this since the moment I saw you in that goddamn suit in the gym.- he muttered in between kisses. You smiled, taking his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you.

-Well, i'm glad you finally took a stand, cap.- he groaned and kissed you feverishly.

You ended up spending the night together, and when in the morning you woke before him, you started to dress yourself up, but he grabbed your wrist gently, making you turn to look at him.

He was really a sight. Dirty blonde hair a mess, bright blue eyes still sleepy, mouth curled in a smirk and his features soft. And cherry on top, he was stark naked, the sheets covering just above his groin. It really took all your mental strenght to not jump on him right then and there.

-Hey handsome.- you said lowly before continuing to get dressed. You put on your nude lace bra and panties before slipping on the simple dress that you wore the evening before. Tony had organized a little get together, nothing too fancy luckly.

-Where are you going?- Steve said, getting up. He put his boxers on, walking close to you. You looked down.

-Back to my room?- you asked rethorically. Steve stayed silent for a couple of minutes. You looked up again and saw that he looked a little hurt.

-You regret...tonight?- he muttered and your heart sank.

-What?- you asked.

-Did...did I do something wrong?- you shook your head. You were kind of confused by his behaviour. He just wanted a one night stand right? Or that's what you thought.

-No!- you exclaimed quickly -No, no, why do you say that? I mean..you don't- you don't want me to go?- this time it was his turn to be confused.

-What? No! I..I mean if you regret it or just consider it a one time thing, then I'm never gonna talk about that again, but-

-Was it, for you?- you interrupted him. He looked at you.

-Not for me, no. But if you want we can forget ab- you interrupted him again, this time with a kiss. You latched your arms aroud his neck and he hugged your waist tight. You kissed for a few seconds and then parted to breathe.

-I take it as a no?- he smirked and you chuckled.

The team almost threw a party when you said that you were officially together a copule months after. They all saw the chemistry between the two of you, plus Bucky and Nat were finally free from both your rambling about the other. Months passed and you and Steve became closer and more in love every day, so exactly one year after, he proposed to you. Needless to say that you said yes.

After a few months from the wedding you had some things in your mind. You and Steve always used protection in the first six months of your relationship, but then you just stopped. At first it had been a silly and quite risky decision, but then you noticed that no problem had come up, so you didn't thought about it anymore.

But now, you were actually married, in love, and you both wanted children. You didn't actually decided to try, but it was in the air. And the fact that neither of you came up with the prevention stuff actually confirmed it.

So while doing a little reckoning you realized that it was a bit more than a year that you were having unprotected sex, and nothing happended. Sometimes all it takes is just one time to 'fuck up', but...you didn't knew what was bothering you. So one day you decided to ask Bruce for advice. He was a doctor after all.

So you did just that. You went to the labs’ floor in the avengers tower and asked Friday in which one he was.

-Doctor Banner is in the biology lab with mr. Stark right now, mrs. Rogers.-

-Thank you Friday.- you headed to the biology lab and knocked, then came in. The two men smiled at you.

-Hey Y/n. Friday informed me that you wanted to see me?- Bruce asked sweetly. You nodded, stepping closer. They were busy with some papers and Tony was handling some files in hologram form.

-Yes. Uhm, can we talk alone? Or maybe I can come back later if you want.- Tony closed the files with a swirl of his hand and shook his head.

-Don't worry sugar, it's nothing that can't wait. I'm gonna grab a coffe in the meantime. Banner?- he squeezed gently your shoulder before heading to the door. The doctor shook his head, removing his glasses.

-I'm okay.- Tony nodded and closed the door after him. Bruce invited you to sit on a stool near him. You did and then took a deep breath. He was waiting, and also a little worried from the look you had on your face.

-Okay, first of all, I know that it's not your field and I actually came to you for medical advice so, uhm..if you're not comfortable- you started to ramble a bit, and that's when he placed his hand on yours. You looked up at him.

-Y/n, I am a doctor, but first, I'm your friend. Also, in the last years I dealt with many things that weren't exactly in my field, so there's a little left to surprise me.- he gave you a lopsided smile.

You bit your lip nervously. You weren't this shy and awkward usually, quite the opposite actually. You trusted Bruce with your life, but speaking with him about your sex life wasn't really on top of the list. Also you wore a sort of armor made of irony and cold minded decisions, but the truth is that when things came to a more personal level it made you uncomfortable. That's why you were going to leave Steve after your first night together in the first place. To try and protect yourself before others made you.

-Okay. Uhm.- you swallowed hard before talking. -I'm starting to wonder if there's, you know, something wrong with me.- he frowned.

-A little more specific, please.-

-I'm starting to think that I'm infertile.- you said just above to a whisper. Bruce remained quite surprised. He didn't really know what to expect, but he didn't expect that. His features softened and he concentrated, trying to remeber the few lessons that he attended in college.

-Oh. Okay, first of all, how are things between you and Steve?- he asked, knowing that you would understand what he meant.

-We are fine. We were using uhm.. condoms until a few months before the wedding, but since then we stopped. I made a few countings and it's a bit over than a year, circa.- he nodded, narrowing his eyes a little, thinking.

-Okay. And nothing happened? Like a false alarm, symptoms of some kind? Your periods are regualr?- you shook your head.

-No, nothing happened, and that's actually the reason that I'm here. And no, I'm quite regualr, I suffer a lot the first cuple of days, but that's normal.- you shrugged. He nodded again.

-But, are you two actually trying to have a baby? Or it's just a doubt of yours?-

-Well, we did talk about kids a long time ago, and it's kinda why we stopped taking precautions, but no, we are not organized or nothing.-

-But you want to.- he says, more like a statement than a question. You bite your lip, realizing that you might cry.

-Yes.- you confess.

-Okay, listen Y/n. You're right, it's not exactly my field, but I can ask to a trusted person that I know for advice. I know already that we'll have to do at least a couple of ecographies, and It must be while you have your period.-

-It should arrive in a few days actually, next week maximum.- you say, looking at your hands in your lap. You were already feeling a little pain in your lower belly and you were hungry all the time, so it was quite certain.

-Alright. I'm gonna make a call, and then I'll tell you what we have to do.- you nod and raise from the stool.

-Thank you, Bruce.- you smiled a little, trying to hide your worry.

-Of course. If I can ask, does Steve know?- you feared that he would ask, but you shook your head anyways.

-No. I want to know first. It may be just a preoccupation of mine and I wouldn't want to upset him. Also, please, this stays between us.-

-Don't worry, this is safe with me.-

Bruce asked you to come in the infirmary five days after your conversation. You were in the first couple of days of your period, like he asked. You came down from your room to the lab and Friday let you in.

-Hi.- you saluted Bruce that turned from the ecography machine and smiled.

-Hey sweetheart. You okay?-

-Yeah, just feeling a little shitty. Usual pain.- you shrug.

-I'm sorry.- he said softly -Please open your hoodie, raise your shirt and unbutton your pants.- he asks calmly. You do as he says while he puts on latex gloves. You hop on the medical couch and wait, hands resting on your chest.

-Okay. So, I spoke to this old colleague which is a gynecologist. She told me that, like I said, we have do to two ecographies. The first at the beggining of the period, and the second at the end. Then I will send her the results, and if there's something else to do, we will. Or it may be that everything's fine and it will end there. At that point you should talk to Steve about an ovulation schedule, that doesn't sound romantic at all- he chuckled a bit -But it could help.- he explained. You nodded, silently.

-For now let's stick to this. Sorry, the gel's a little cold.- you didn't really felt it when he applied it though. A trained spy sure isn’t scared off by some sold gelatine. He started to examin your lower belly, remaining silent. A few minutes later he cleaned the tool and put in his place.

-Here are some paper towels, clean up and you can dress up.- he palced his hand on your shoulder for a second. He had a calming effect, and you couldn't be more greatful for it.

You cleaned yourself from the gel and stood to button up your pants. He was writing something on the laptop, but then he directed to you his attention.

-You okay?- you nodded.

-Good. Well, that's it. We'll have another in...four days?- you responded with an okay, thanked him and went out.

While you were going towards the kitchen, you heard a few laughs and considered to turn your heels, not in the mood, but a voice stopped you.

-Hey doll, how you doin'?- Bucky jogged towards you smiling. He always called you that, for affection and also to piss Steve off, but you didn't mind at all. You loved Bucky. You became fast friends in the moment you arrived. That's why as soon as he was less than a few feet away you started to cry. His smile dropped and his brows knitted in worry. He came to you and enclosed you in his arms. You face on his chest, sobbing.

-What happened? Sshh, honey. C'mon, let's go somewhere a little private.- He looked around and you both stepped in the elevator and he pressed the button for the private rooms floor.

You arrived and he lead you to your and Steve's shared room, you press your hand on the handle and it opens automatically, thanks to your fingerprints.

Bucky closes the door and you sit on the bed. You hold out a hand for him and he takes it. You both lay down on the bed while he hugs you.

-What's wrong honey? Uh?- he asks softly. Someone could say that it's not that normal for you to stay that close to him, being married to another man, but it wasn't the case. You considered Bucky like a big brother-best friend, he cared too much about Steve and you to even do something bad. He even cried like a baby the day of your wedding. You all teased him for months for it and he just said that pollen was making him lacrimate. But he actually told you that he was happy, and that no one more than you two deserved to be happy.

-I'm just a little stressed. Also, my belly fucking hurts. I need to cuddle but my husband's away on a mission. Again.- you sniffed, and snuggled closer to his chest, he tightened his grip a little.

-I'm sorry sweetheart.- he said. After a few seconds he tried to move, and your head snapped up.

-Where are you going?- he got out of the bed.

-I'm just going down to grab a few things, It'll be a minute.- he kissed your forhead and headed out.

You took a deep breath and took off your shoes, changing in your sweatpants and Steve’s sweater. Then you procedeed to take off your bra, ‘cause your boobs hurt like hell. You played a little with your phone, upset that you couldn't call Steve.

The rule on mission was that the one away should always call first, that means they have time to talk. He had been away for two days and it was expected to return in three days along with Nat, Tony, Wanda, Thor and Sam.

You just needed to cry. You've never been one of those cry babies, it came to you just when you were really really upset and angry. And now you just needed a break from all the thoughts in your head.

Bucky came back knocking a few minutes later. When you opened the door you saw his hands stuffed with things. He had brought choccolate, some water, latte, knowing that you prefer coffe over tea, a few aspirins and at least four or five movies. You smiled at him fondly and when he had finally put down all what he had brought, you jumped on him, hugging him tightly. He just chuckled and reciprocated the embrace.

You both go on the bed, surrounded by all the food that he brought, sipping your drinks. You had taken an aspirin right away, so now you were feeling a little better. You had decided to watch Zeffirelli's Romeo and Juliet, but you weren't really paying attention to it. It was one of your favourite movies, you could basically play it by memory line for line, but right now you realized that you had to talk to someone or you would explode.

So you told Bucky about all the stress, the fact that Steve was often away, not by his choice, on missions, and that you missed him terribly. With a little of courage you even told him about your doubts and the exams with Bruce. He looked a little taken back by the reveal, and said that Steve never mentioned anything about trying to have a baby, but he said that he would accompany you to the next ecography. That's because you didn't want to tell Steve, even if he said that you should because he would want to know, but he didn't push you.

He was really understanding and sensitive about it. He told you that no matter what there wouldn't have been nothing wrong with you, and that anyway there are other options to have a baby. You cried a little more until you fell asleep on his chest.

End of part one. How is this so far? What do you think will happen? Could it be interesting? Please let me know. Even tho I sure hope y’all are bc I already have some more parts ready, but it’s not finished yet.

Also, I’m REALLY trying not to write the reader too affectionate with Bucky, but it’s making me literally sweat. I just love him too much.

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hiddenclawsof · 5 years ago

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aesthetic tag game

tagged by @yutopiada (one of my fav ptg writers out there still notices me to this day im emo--)

rules: bold the aesthetics you relate to and add twenty of your own aesthetic qualities for others to bold.

@yunwoo, @wookikun , @hojinhoe (hi no pressure in doing this but if you want to do this you are welcome to do so ((: )

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theculturedmarxist · 4 years ago

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Yves here. Reader IM Doc, an internal medicine practitioner of 30 years, trained and worked in one of the top teaching hospitals in the US for most of his career before moving to a rural hospital in an affluent pocket of Flyover. He has been giving commentary from the front lines of the pandemic. Along with current and former colleagues, he is troubled by the PR-flier-level information presented to the public about the Pfizer and Moderna vaccines, at least prior to the release of an article in the New England Journal of Medicine on the Pfizer vaccine: Safety and Efficacy of the BNT162b2 mRNA Covid-19 Vaccine. However, he did not find the study to be reassuring. He has taken the trouble of writing up his reservations after discussing the article with his group of nine physicians that meets regularly to sanity check concerns and discuss the impact that articles will have on their practices.

By IM Doc, a internal medicine doctor working in a rural hospital in the heartlands

Right off the bat – I am as weary and concerned about this pandemic as anyone. What my little rural area has been through in the past three weeks or so has been nothing short of harrowing. This virus has the ability to render patients about as sick as I have ever seen in my life, while leaving more than half the population with minimal if any symptoms. The patients who are sick are often very sick. And instead of slow and steady improvement like we normally experience, most of these patients are assigned to a long and hard slog. Multiple complications arise. This leads to very diminished throughput in the hospital. The patients literally stack up and we have nowhere to put the new ones coming in who themselves will be there for days or weeks. On top of that are the constant donning and doffing of PPE and intense emotional experiences for the staff, who are themselves becoming patients or in this small town have grandma or Aunt Gertrude as a patient.

To put it bluntly, I want this pandemic over. And now. But I do not want an equal or even worse problem added onto the tragedy. And that is my greatest fear right now. And medical history has demonstrated conclusively over and over again: brash, poorly-thought-out, emotion-laden decisions regarding interventions in a time of crisis can exponentially increase the scale of pain and lead to even worse disasters.

I am not an anti-vaxxer. I have given tens of thousands of safe and tested vaccines over my lifetime. I am very familiar with side effects and safety problems associated with all of them. That is why I can administer them with confidence. I am also an optimist, so all of the cautions I discuss below are the result of experience and the information made public about the Pfizer vaccine, not a temperamental predisposition to see the glass as half empty.

I know this piece is long, but I wanted to completely dissect the landmark New England Journal of Medicine (from now on NEJM) publication of the first Pfizer vaccine paper. I am replicating the method of my mentor in Internal Medicine, a tall figure in 20th Century medicine. He was an internationally recognized authority and his name is on one of the foundational textbooks in his specialty. He was a master and he taught me very well, including the fundamentals of scientific inquiry and philosophy, telltale signs of sloppy or dishonest work, the order in which you should dissect someone’s work, and the statistics involved.

When I have a new medical student doing rotations with me, I give them a collection of reading. At the very top is Drug Companies & Doctors: A Story of Corruption from the New York Review of Books in 2009 by Marcia Angell, MD. She was the editor-in-chief of the NEJM, the very journal that published this Pfizer vaccine paper.

Dr. Angell’s article is the Cliffs Notes version of much longer discussions she had about corruption, corporatism, managerialism, profiteering, greed, and deception in in the medical profession. Patient care and patient concerns and indeed patient lives in her mind have been absolutely overcome by all of these other things. It is a landmark paper, and should be read by anyone who is going to interact with the medical community, because alas, this is the way it is now. I view this paper the exact same way I view Eisenhower’s speech about the military industrial complex. What she said is exactly true, and has only become orders of magnitude worse since 2009.

And now the paper.

Unfortunately, this study from Pfizer in the latest NEJM, and indeed this whole vaccine rollout, are case studies in the pathology Agnell described. There are more red flags in this paper and related events than present on any May Day in downtown Beijing. Yet all anyone hears from our media, our medical elites, and our politicians are loud hosannas and complete unquestioning acceptance of this new technique. And lately, ridicule and spite for anyone who dares to raise questions.

I have learned over thirty years as a primary care provider that Big Pharma deserves nothing from me but complete and total skepticism and the assumption that anything they put forth is pure deception until proven otherwise. Why so harsh? Well, to put it bluntly, Big Pharma has covered my psyche with 30 years of scars:

• As a very young doctor, I treated an extraordinary middle-aged woman who had contracted polio as a toddler from a poorly tested polio vaccine rolled out in an “emergency.” Tens of thousands of American kids shared her fate1 • The eight patients I took care of until they died from congestive heart failure that had been induced by a diabetes drug called Actos. The drug company knew full well heart failure was a risk during their trials. When it became obvious after the rollout, they did everything they could to obfuscate. Actos now carries a black box warning about increased risk of heart failure • The three women who I took care of who had been made widows as their husbands died of completely unexpected heart attacks while on Vioxx. I have no proof the Vioxx did this. But when Vioxx was finally removed from the market, the mortality rate in the US fell that year by a measurable amount, inconsistent with recent trends and forecasts. Merck knew from their trials that Vioxx had a significant risk of cardiovascular events and stroke, and did absolutely nothing to relay that danger in any way. Worse, they did everything they could to muddle information and evade responsibility once the truth started to come out • The dozens upon dozens of twenty and thirty-something patients who have been rendered emotional and spiritual zombies by the SSRIs, antipsychotics and amphetamines they have been taking since childhood. Their brain never learned what emotions were, much less how to process them and we are left with empty husks where people never developed. The SSRIs and antipsychotics were NEVER approved for anyone under 18. EVER. While there are some validated uses for stimulants in children, they are obviously overprescribed, as confirmed by long-standing media reports of their routine use as a study/performance aid. It is all about the lucre. • The hundreds and hundreds of 40-60 year olds who have been hollowed out from the legal prescribing of opioids. All the while the docs were resisting this assault, the drug companies and the paid-off academics and medical elites were changing the rules to make physicians who did not treat any pain at all with opiates into evil Satan-worshippers. And they paid for media appearances to drive across the point: OPIATES ARE GOOD. WE HAVE MADE THEM SO YOU CANNOT GET ADDICTED. And here we are now with entire states taking more opioids than in the waning days of the Chinese Empire, and we all know how that story ended. All this misery so a family of billionaires can laugh its way to the bank.

I carry all these people and more with me daily. I would not be doing a service to their memory if I allowed myself to be duped into writing another blind prescription that was going to add yet another scar.

I will dissect the important parts of this paper exactly as my mentor described above taught me. He performed years of seminal research. He was a nationally-known expert in his field.

In medicine, especially in top-tier journals like NEJM, landmark papers are always accompanied by an editorial. These editorials are written by a national expert who almost always has “peer-reviewed” the source material as well. This is how the reader knows that an expert in the field has looked over the source material and that it supports the conclusions in the paper. My mentor did this all the time. The binders all over his office were the actual underlying data that he scrutinized to confirm the findings. There is no way on earth to print and publish the voluminous source material. Editorial review was one sure way all to assure that someone independent, with appropriate experience, confirmed the findings. This was onerous work, but he and thousands of others did it because this is the very essence of science. He was scrupulous in his editorials about findings, problems, and conclusions. It was after all his reputation as well.

My first lesson from him: READ THE EDITORIAL FIRST. It gets the problems in your head before you read the statistics and methods, etc. in the actual paper. It gives you the context of the study in history. It often includes a vigorous discussion of why the study is important.

Admittedly, over the past generation, as the corporatism and dollar-counting has taken over my profession and its ethics, this function of editorial authoring has become at times increasingly bizarre and too-obviously predisposed to conclude with glad tidings of joy, especially if pharmaceuticals are involved.

So I read the editorial first. You can find it on the NEJM webpage, in the top right corner.

And, amazingly, it is basically a recitation of the same whiz-bang Pfizer puffery that we have all been reading for the past few weeks. There really is not much new. Furthermore, it is filled with words like “triumph” and “dramatic success”. Those accolades have yet to be earned. This vaccine has not yet even been released. Surely, “triumph” is a bit premature. Those words would NEVER have been used by my mentor or similar researchers in his generation. They would have been focused on the good, the bad and the ugly. A generation ago, editorial reviewers saw their job as informing the reader and making certain the clinicians that were reading knew of any limitations or problems.

In quite frankly unprecedented fashion, two different events that were carefully reported occurred almost simultaneously with the release of both the paper and the editorial. Both of these events contradict and contravene data and conclusions reported in both the paper and the editorial and I believe they deserve immediate attention. They both belie the assertions of the editorial writers that [emphasis mine] “the (safety) pattern appears to be similar to that of other viral vaccines and does not arouse specific concern”.

First, a critical issue for any clinician is “exclusion criteria”. This refers in general to groups of subjects that were not allowed into the trial prima facie. Common examples would include over 70, patients on chemotherapy and other immunosuppressed patients, children, diabetics, etc.. This issue is important because I do not want to give my patient this vaccine (available apparently next week) to any patient that is in an excluded group. Those patients really ought to wait until more information is available – FOR THEIR OWN SAFETY. And not to mention, exclusion criteria exist because the subjects in them are usually considered more vulnerable to mayhem than average subjects. From my reading of this paper, and the accompanying editorial, one would assume there were no exclusion criteria. They certainly are never mentioned.

I reiterate, the paper is silent on this question of exclusion criteria, as is the editorial. Had my mentor seen something like “exclusion criteria” in the source material, and realized that it was not in the final paper, he would have absolutely included a notice in his editorial. This would have been after calling the principal investigator and directly questioning why there was no mention in the original paper. Patient safety should be foremost on everyone’s mind at all times in clinical research and its presentation to practitioners.

And now we know there were exclusion criteria, not because of anything Pfizer, the investigators, or the NEJM did but because of stunning news out of the UK. UPDATE: I will address this at greater length, but an alert reader did find the study protocol, which were not referenced in any way that any of the nine members in my review group could find, nor were they mentioned in the text of paper or editorial, as one would expect for a medication intended for the public at large. I apologize for the oversight, but this information was not easy to find from the article, not mentioned or linked to from the text of the article, the text of the editorial, in the “Figures/Media,” or in a supplemental document.

In the UK on day 1 of the rollout, two nurses with severe allergies experienced anaphylaxis, a life-threatening reaction to this vaccine. Only after world-wide coverage did Pfizer admit that there was an exclusion criterion for severe allergies in their study.

Ummm, Pfizer, since we are now getting ready to give this to possibly millions of people in the next few weeks – ARE THERE ANY OTHER EXCLUSION CRITERIA? Should I, as a physician, specifically not be giving this to patients with conditions that you have excluded?

Furthermore, NEJM, since you published this trial, have you bothered to at least put a correction on this trial on your website that it should NOT be given to people with severe allergies? I certainly see nothing like this.

Should someone from the NEJM or the FDA be all over Pfizer to ascertain the existence of other exclusion groups so we do not accidentally harm or kill someone over the next two weeks?

Unfortunately, Americans, you have your answer from the FDA about severe allergic reactions right from a press conference in which Dr. Peter Marks, the director of FDA’s Center for Biologics Evaluation and Research is quoted as saying:

Even people who’ve had a severe allergic reaction to food or to something in the environment in the past should be OK to get the shot….1.6% of the population has had a severe allergic reaction to a food or something in the environment. We would really not like to have that many people not be able to receive the vaccine.

Are you serious? Dr. Marks, have you ever seen an anaphylactic reaction? I live in a very rural area. Many patients live 30 minutes or more from the hospital. What if one of them had an anaphylactic reaction to this vaccine hours after administration, had no epi-pen and had to travel a half hour to get to the nearest hospital? There is a very high likelihood that a good outcome would not occur. Sometimes, as a physician, I simply cannot believe what I am hearing out of the mouths of our so-called medical leaders.

To the writers of the editorial accompanying this research:

Did you actually look at the source material? The existence of at least one exclusion criterion for severe allergic reactions had to be in there somewhere. If you did look at the source material, are there others that the physicians of America need to know about? If they were not in the source material, after the events in the UK, has anyone bothered to follow up with Pfizer about this omission?

Does anyone at NEJM or Pfizer or FDA plan to fully inform the physicians of America? Does ANYONE at NEJM or Pfizer or FDA care about patient safety?

Now for the second story that got my attention this week, an article from JAMA Internal Medicine, a subsidiary of JAMA, The Journal of the American Medical Association.

JAMA, like NEJM, is one of America’s landmark medical journals. I will assure you that JAMA is not the National Enquirer. This piece was written by a nursing researcher. It is very likely she is well-versed in all aspects of American medical research.

In her story, she details her recruitment and her experience in the Pfizer COVID trial, the same one we are dissecting here. She describes in detail her experience with the vaccine and the fact that she is concerned that many patients are likely going to feel very sick after the injection. She wrote up her own reactions, and included a very troubling one. About 15 hours after her second injection, she developed a fever of 104.9. She explained that she called her reaction to the Research Nurse promptly the next morning. The recounted the response of the Research Nurse to her information as “A lot of people have reactions after the second injection. Keep monitoring your symptoms and call us if anything changes.”

Thankfully, it appears this nurse has completely recovered. From the best I can tell, this encounter occurred in late August and early September, putting it well within the trial’s recruitment of arms as detailed in the paper.

This JAMA article impinges directly on Figure 2 on page 7 of the paper, a graphic that that lays out all the major side effects during in the trial.

It is very important to note that based on the trial’s own data, conveniently laid out on the very top of the figure in green, blue, orange and red, a temperature of 104.9F or 40.5 C is described as a Grade 4 event. The definition of a Grade 4 event is anything that is life-threatening or disabling. A fever of 104.9 can have grave consequences for any adult and is absolutely a Grade 4 event.

By law, a grade 4 event must immediately be reported to the FDA, and to the Institutional Review Board (the entity charged with overseeing the safety of the subjects) and to the original investigators. THERE IS NO EXCEPTION. One would think that would also be reported in the research paper to at least alert clinicians to be on the lookout.

I could not find any mention of this event in the text of the paper. NOT ONE. Let’s take a closer look at Figure 2 on page 7 where adverse events are reported in a table form. Please note: this is a very busy image, and in the browser version, with very low resolution graphics that are profoundly difficult to read (they are a bit clearer if you download the PDF). This is a time-tested pharmaceutical company tactic to obscure findings that they do not want you to see. My mentor warned me about ruses like these years ago, and finding one raises the possibility that deception is in play.

The area for the reporting of this Grade 4 reaction would be on the 2nd row down at the left of the set called B, titled systemic events and use of medication. The area of concern would be where the graph is marked with the number 16. Do you see a red line there? It would be at the very top. I have blown this up 4 times on my computer and see no red there. I am left to assume that this Grade 4 “Life Threatening or Disabling” event that was clearly within the time parameters of this trial was not reported in this study.

To those who say that I am making way too much out of one patient with a severe fever, let’s do a little math. There are 37,706 participants in the “Main Safety Population” (from Table 1), of which 18.860 received the vaccine.2 Let us assume that this individual was the only one that had a GRADE 4 reaction. Let us also assume that the end goal is to vaccinate every American a total of 330,000,000 people. So if we extrapolate this 1 out of 18,860 into all 330,000,000 of us, it suggest that roughly 17,500 could have this kind of fever. Now assume a 70% vaccination rate, and you get that would be approximately 12,250. I hope you now understand that in clinical medicine related to trials like this – a whole lot of nothing can turn into a whole lot of something quickly when you extrapolate to the entire targeted group. Does anyone not think that the clinicians of America should be prepared for anything like this that may be coming?

A couple more questions for NEJM and the editorial writers:

Were you ever made aware that this Grade 4 reaction occurred? Now that we have a reliable report that it occurred, has there been any attempt to investigate?

Did the Research Nurse actually report this event? If not, was she just simply not trained or was there deliberate efforts to conceal such reactions? How many more reactions were reported anywhere this trial was conducted and that did not make it to the FDA, the IRB or possibly the investigators? Is that not a cause for concern?

As if this is not enough, there is so much more wrong with this editorial. Now we are going to talk about corruption.

I want to reiterate my concern that over the past generation, as my profession has lost its way, its medical journals have turned into cheering sections for Big Pharma rather than referees and safety monitors. We all should relish the great things medical science is doing, but we should be doing EVERYTHING we can to minimize injury and death. Too often our journals have become enablers of Big Pharma deceiving our physicians and the public. Unfortunately, this paper and its editorial look troublingly like a case study of this development.

To provide context, I looked over the last month of the NEJM, the issues from November 12, 19 and 26th and December 3rd. Based on having read the NEJM over the years, I believe these four weeks are representative.

During this period, there were 15 original articles published in the fields of Oncology, General Surgery, Infectious Disease, Endocrinology, Renal, Cardiology, Pulmonary and Ear Nose & Throat. Of these 15 articles, the editors thought that eight were important enough to have an editorial from an acknowledged expert. I have read every one of these studies and the editorials as I do every week. All eight in the past month were indeed by leading experts in the field of the underlying studies. They included a COVID vaccine overview reviewed by an leading figure in vaccinology, and two COVID papers about Plaquenil and other approaches discussed by top infectious disease experts.

It was unlikely that those papers were going to get national media attention. All medical stuff.

But here we have our Pfizer vaccine paper. We have 300,000 fatalities in the USA alone and millions of cases. We have whacked our economy, we are in the depths of a national emergency. And we have a paper, the first, that may offer a glimpse of hope. Certainly this would be a landmark paper, and certainly it was treated in that manner? Right?

One would think that the doctors of America would have this study explained to them by a world-known vaccinologist? NOPE…..Maybe a virologist? NOPE….. Maybe a leading government official? Dr. Fauci? Dr. Birx? Dr. Osterholm? NOPE…..Maybe an expert in coronaviruses? NOPE…

We get the Pfizer ad glossy editorial treatment from Eric Rubin MD, the editor-in-chief of the NEJM. And Dr, Longo, an associate editor. Dr. Longo is an oncologist. Dr. Rubin is at least a recognized infectious disease doctor, but his specialty based on my Google search is mycobacterium, not virology. Again, one would normally anticipate for a paper of this importance, the editorial would be from someone with directly on point expertise.

Why would this fact been important to my mentor? (and I had the privilege of hearing him trash a paper in an open forum about a very similar issue, a paper introducing a drug to the world that later was the disaster of the decade, Vioxx) Why is this important to me and all the other physicians in my review group here in flyover country yesterday?

Because the choice of authorship of the editorial leads you to one of only several conclusions:

• Pfizer would not release the source data because of proprietary corporate concerns and no self-respecting expert would review without it • Pfizer knew there are problems and did not want anyone with expertise to find out and publicize them • The editors could not find a real expert willing to put their name on a discussion • Drs. Rubin and Longo are on some kind of journey to Vanity Fair and wanted their names on an “article for the ages” • This is a rush job, and no one had time to do anything properly, and so we just threw it all together in a flash

Readers, pick your poison. If anyone can think of a sound reason, please let me know. I am all ears.

But let’s open up the can of worms a bit more. Pfizer supports NEJM. Just a brief swipe through of recent editions yielded several Pfizer ads. A Pfizer ad appeared on my NEJM website this AM. I do not know how much they pay in advertising but appears to be quite a bit.

Americans, have we devolved so far in our grift that it is now appropriate for the EDITOR-IN-CHIEF of our landmark medical journal to be personally authoring “rah rah” editorials about a product of a client that supports his journal with ad dollars? And he has the gall to not present this conflict on his disclosure form? Really? Am I the only one worried about this type of thing?

Now we travel from the can of worms to the sewer. And this impacts every single one of us. I want you to Google the names of the people on the FDA committee that voted 17-4-1 two days ago to proceed with the Emergency Use Declaration. Go ahead – Google it. On that list, you will find the name Eric Rubin, MD. Why yes indeed, that is the very same Eric Rubin MD who wrote this editorial. Who is the Editor-in-Chief of the NEJM. A publication that certainly takes ad dollars from Pfizer. And he was one of the 17 to vote for the Pfizer product to be immediately used in an emergency fashion. Oh yes, oh yes he was.

Am I the only one who can recognize that Pfizer and other pharma companies may have some influence on Dr. Rubin thanks continued support of his employer, the NEJM? Am I the only one concerned that Dr. Rubin’s “rah rah” editorial may have been influenced by Pfizer? Is anyone else troubled that the Editor-in-Chief of the NEJM, supported by Big Pharma advertising dollars, is sitting on an FDA board to decide the fate of any pharmaceutical product? Is this not the very definition of corruption? Or at least a severe conflict of interest? I strongly suspect that a thorough evaluation of members of that committee will reveal other problems. As my grandmother always used to say, “There is never just one roach under a refrigerator.”

I looked in vain all day today for media discussions of conflicts of interest with Dr. Rubin or anyone else in a position of authority. I found nothing.

What I did find was the Boston NPR affiliate WBUR discussing Dr. Rubin’s Yes vote. You can listen yourself:

This interview left me much more concerned about Dr. Rubin’s role and what exactly he read in the raw data from Pfizer. In this interview, he admits that he as an FDA advisory member has seen no data from the Moderna trial coming up for a vote this week:

These two vaccines are fairly similar to one another, so I am hoping the data will look good, but we haven’t seen the data yet, so I reserve judgement.

Excuse me, but should not the members already have the data and be mulling over it to ask intelligent questions?

These statements left me more worried about the issues I have already brought up with the Pfizer vaccine:

We don’t know if there are particular groups that should or should not get the vaccine…We do not know what will happen to safety over the longer term.

When finally asked specifically about the UK allergic reactions and if they came up in the FDA meeting (emphasis mine):

It did come up and this was a bit of a surprise because in the trial, that trial was limited to specific kinds of participants, there were apparently no incidents like that, nevertheless this suggests it is something we are going to have to look out for.

There is absolutely not a word in the published data to suggest there was a limit to SPECIFIC PARTICIPANTS – what on earth is he talking about? Are there limited specific kinds of patients that we as physicians should be looking to vaccinate?

In a fine finish, toward the end of the interview Dr. Rubin states he is a bit relieved that low risk patients will be getting the vaccine later after we know more about the side effects with the first patients. I am really not trying to be a jerk – but are you kidding me? I thought this vaccine was a triumph with minimal side effects.

Dr. Rubin, kind sir, I really feel that you owe a clarification about your statements in the WBUR interview to the patients and caregivers of America. We are the ones with lives on the line.

First, I have the privilege of sitting on an Institutional Review Board (an independent entity that protects patient safety) and I know something about Grade 4 side effects. Just for 1 Grade 4 side effect in one subject, the accompanying documentation would often be a half a ream of paper. Because I agreed to do that job, it was my obligation to look through that documentation. That half a ream was for one side effect in one trial. Yet, you state unequivocally in this interview, that you, as a sitting member of the FDA committee that oversees the safety of the nation in this affair, have not seen any of the Moderna documentation for that upcoming meeting this week.

For readers to fully understand what I am saying, this Moderna documentation is going to be reams and reams of documents that need to be evaluated carefully to ask the right questions. And you have not yet studied this? For a meeting in just a few days? I find this deeply troubling. Your statements create the appearance the committee you are sitting on is nothing more than a rubber stamp for a decision that has already been made. This would be an absolute tragedy.

Second, Dr. Rubin, you in your position as the Editor-in-Chief of the NEJM and the editorial writer for this research, may be one of the few people on earth that have seen the original Pfizer research. Despite calling this a triumph, you state in the interview that you are relieved that younger people less likely to get the vaccine early so you will have time to wait to see if complications develop in the first patients. You have stated, despite your assertion in the editorial that the side effects were consistent with other vaccines, that “we don’t know if there are particular groups that should or should not get the vaccine”. Have you seen something in that “triumph” research that is concerning enough to you to make such statements? As a physician, I would really like a clarification on this statement, given that the shots are already rolling out today.

Now that we are past the editorial, a few words about the nuts and bolts of the paper.

I look for very specific red flags – usually making the data difficult to interpret. This study did not disappoint.

On page 5, in Table 1, the Demographic Description of the participants, go down to the AGE GROUP area. Note it is divided into only two cohorts 16-55 and >55. This is a real problem. My mentor said an honest paper should never deploy such a tactic.

You see, more than half of my patients are over 70. Why is this kind of obfuscation a real problem for my ability to trust the vaccine? Well, the intro papers to many pharmaceuticals that have gone down the drain in recent years have used this very same device. It is their way of hiding the fact that they did not put many older patients in the trial, certainly not representative of the population, and certainly not representative of who is seemingly going to get this vaccine in the first round. Do I know that 90% of the >55 group is actually between 55-58? I don’t. How hard would it be for them to do a breakdown in decades? 16-25 26-35 36-45 46-55 56-65 66-75 76-85? We have lots of computers in this country and the population breakdown is done this way on studies I read all the time. Why not do provide this information on a study that is this critically important, particularly one where elderly patients will be near the head of the line?

What are they trying to do here? Unfortunately, too often drugmakers resort to this practice to hide their failure to test their drug on the elderly to an appropriate or safe degree, knowing there would likely be lots of problems. Because of their past behavior, I ALWAYS assume this is true until proven otherwise and act accordingly with my elderly patients.

That is the world these companies have made for themselves.

Now for the tables on pages 6 and 7 about immediate side effects.

Just a brief look shows that local soreness and tenderness is very common, up to 75% with this vaccine. That is a bit high, but not that far out of range from my experience with other vaccines.

The tables on page 7 are the whoppers.

Headaches, fatigue, chills, muscle pain and joint pain appear to be very common, way more common than other vaccines I am used to, as in an order of magnitude higher. It is very clear from this table that about half the patients, especially the younger ones, are going to feel bad after this vaccine. That is extraordinary.

We are told nothing about how long these symptoms last or the amount of time at work lost. The “minimal side effects comparable with other viral vaccines” in the editorial and press releases is just not consistent at all with my experience of 30 years as a primary care physician. There was universal agreement with this assessment among my MD colleagues. They had great concern about this as a matter of fact: great concern that it will cause bad publicity and decrease administration and great concern that given this already high side effect profile, it may be much worse when it gets out to the public.

Given the fact that this virus is largely asymptomatic in more than half the people infected, what exactly are we doing here?

Furthermore, unlike other pharmaceutical papers that try to explain variances in symptoms like this, there is not a word offered about possible underlying causes of these outcomes.

The numbers of COVID cases in the placebo group vs the vaccine group have been widely publicized, from 162 cases in the placebo group down to 8 in the vaccine group, giving a relative reduction of 95%. It seemed to all of us in our review group that we do not have nearly enough patients to really make assessments. That is not a criticism. The researchers have done admirably in my opinion to get this many patients this quickly. That is still the problem: they are going to be using the first million patients or so in the general public to get a real gauge on numbers and side effects.

Another issue of grave concern to us all on Friday was the asymptomatic cases. The only subjects counted in the 162 and the 8 numbers above were patients with symptoms. Who knows how many in each cohort were asymptomatic.

This to me leads to the most important question of all, and it was again completely untouched….. How many asymptomatic patients are there? And how many who were vaccinated are still able to spread the virus? Not even an attempt to answer that question. This is critical, and is one of the ways a vaccine can backfire. If a vaccine does not provide sterilizing immunity, ie stop transmission, it is of limited use for disease control. It is great for the individual, but if they can remain without symptoms and still spread it all around it does not help from a public health standpoint.

I have described my concerns and red flags about this study. I would like to add one more thing. Pharmaceuticals that go bad rarely do so in the first few weeks or months. Rather, the adverse effects take months or years. It is a known unknown of not just vaccines but any kind of drug. Our pharma companies have become notorious for having inklings or indeed full knowledge that there is a problem early on, and saying nothing until many are maimed or killed. I will assume that this is the case in this class of drugs until proven otherwise. They are such deceivers I have no choice.

Due to sense of urgency my colleagues and Ifeel about this vaccine rollout, we had an ad hoc meeting of our Journal Club to discuss the NEJM article. Of the nine physicians at the meeting, three have already had very mild cases of COVID. Of the nine, only one is enthusiastic about these vaccines. I have a wait and see stance. I will not be taking it myself. I have too many scars, too many staring at me from the grave to take any other approach.

My patients’ feeeback on the COVID vaccine has been very different than the polls finding that 60% are ready to take it. About half my patients are in the professional/managerial classes and feature a higher level of the 0.1% than the US overall. They tend to be more blue. Most prefer to wait and thankful that health care workers were getting it first. The other half who are working class, more red, and they feel the whole thing is a hoax. They will not be getting the vaccine – likely ever.

The only enthusiasts I would call elderly Rachel Maddow fans. That really makes no sense to me at all since Operation Warp Speed was a Trump project and even Kamala Harris said she would not take a vaccine that Trump recommended.

I would say AT BEST 25% of my patients will be getting this vaccine shortly after being available. There is widespread skepticism that is not being acknowledged by our media. The pharmaceutical industry has worked tirelessly to earn every bit of that disrespect.

Please look at Dr. Angell’s seminal article from 2009. She predicted in her works, all of this and more. My profession has been captured by a cabal of corporatist MBA clones, rapacious and unethical pharmaceutical entities, and an academic elite addicted to credentialism and cronyism. They have over the years bought off and infiltrated all of our government health care regulating agencies and our public health system. And they are completely incestuous. I believe where we are now to be worse than Dr. Angell could have ever dreamed. Even more depressing, I see no way out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

1 As a special homage to the polio patient described above, a truly exceptional woman, let me underscore that the disastrous rollout of the this polio vaccine came at a time similar to ours. Panic and malaise were in the air. The children of America and the world were being stricken with polio at an alarming rate. Dr. Alton Ochsner, a leading figure in medicine of the day, vaccinated both of his grandchildren in public in an attempt to bolster confidence in the vaccines. Within 8 days his grandson was dead of bulbar polio. All the celebrities and politicians lining up to take this vaccine on national TV should remember this tragedy. “Stupid human tricks” like this have no place in this kind of situation, and can backfire in unexpected ways. Unlike that era’s polio vaccine, there is no way on earth this vaccine can transmit COVID. However, there are those of us in the medical profession who treat the plan to make population-wide use of messenger RNA, which before these trials had been repeatedly investigated but never reached the human trial stage save in a small scale Zika vaccine study. This is no time for machismo. This is also no time for anything less than complete transparency on the part of everyone involved in the quest for safe and effective vaccines. To behave in any other way is an affront to patients like mine who have suffered and died in the past.

2 If you read the paper, you might well have wondered about that 18,860 number and even checked Table 1 to make sure it’s accurate (it is), since the third paragraph of the Abstract, under the headline “Results,” has very different figures:

A total of 43,548 participants underwent randomization, of whom 43,448 received injections: 21,720 with BNT162b2 and 21,728 with placebo.

So how did the researchers get from 21,720 injected with the vaccine to the 18,860 in the “Main Safety Population”? This sort of thing confirms the impression that this is a very incomplete or sloppy study. It is really not clear where the difference between the 37,706 and the 43,548, or for that matter, the 36,520 total subjects in the Tables 2 and 3 (Efficacy) come from. I used the 37,706 and hence the 18,860 that went with it from Table because it gave slightly smaller numbers than using the Table 2 and 3 figures, but they would be close to each other.

My concern here is the 6000ish discrepancy between the figures in the main text compared to the tables. Were they excluded? If so, why? I could not make heads or tails out of this, and accordingly kept it out of the body of this post. This kind of inconsistency really needs to be hashed out with the actual source data in hand, and should have been explained in the article, even if just in footnotes.

#covid19 #covid #the rona #la rona #covid-19 #covid vaccine #fuck covid #coronavirus #medecine #health #medical pharmaceuticals #pharmaceutical industry #big pharma #pfizer #vaccine rollout #operation warp speed

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fairycosmos · 5 years ago

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ms cosmos there is something wrong with me in the brain i need to do my homework so bad and i very badly don't want to... i'm gonna scream a thousand times into the void it's already past midnight and i genuinely can't make myself work on this thing. i am thinking i might take a nap and then a shower and do it but i'm scared it wont work and i still won't be able to do make myself do it. do u have... any tips

hey, there’s nothing wrong with you man. dont worry about that. i get stuck in this exact same loop a million times a day, even for super simple tasks like getting out of bed, and i know that a lot of people do. it’s hard to break out of it and to get yourself moving, harder than it seems. but it’s not a matter of laziness or something you need to feel guilty about. even if you can recognize that but the shame remains, know that blaming yourself won’t get you anywhere and it is not a reliable emotion in this context. i think it could be a good idea to get a glass of water, take a few breaths and try to recenter yourself. dont spend too much time thinking about whether or not you should get up, just let your body move into action on it’s own. take a moment to examine your physical needs - how tired are you, have you eaten, have you stretched? do you honestly think you’re capable of focusing and making a start on the work right now? if not, that’s completely ok. i know it’s frustrating to accept that you’ve been planning on doing something only to push it off after worrying over it to such an extent, but ultimately your health and sanity comes first and the homework will always be there for you to return to. it’s better to start again with a refreshed mind when possible. i promise, it’s not the end of the world or of your academic career. i know the education system has conditioned you to push your own limits, but that’s a bullshit approach. point is, anxiety tends to amplify this sort of issue so it can be helpful to take the time to close your eyes and find some perspective. anyway, if it turns out that you do feel physically capable of attempting your homework, then i have a few suggestions to get you going (they’re not concrete, you can just try them on like a coat, see what fits) :

try to identify for a few moments what it is you’re trying to avoid by not doing it. whats the worst case scenario, and how likely is it to actually occur? how will you feel in an hour based on your actions in this moment? if you try and then decide to nap anyway, you’re no worse off, are you?

give yourself an incentive. make a deal with your productivity. like, if i start my homework i can sleep in a bit tomorrow. or i can buy that snack i really like. or i can take a mental health day later this week. whatever works for you.

then, break down the task into sizable chunks in your head. a job half done is always always always better than making no attempt at all in situations like this. even if you just get the outline done, or the first few questions, that’s a solid foundation and a great effort. it’ll also show your brain that it’s not as difficult as you’ve been fearing, which may encourage you to keep going.

there’s also the ‘123′ method - count to three and then just make a start in an almost robotic way, despite what your mind is telling you, just let your body guide you and get some of it done. the constant looping thoughts add fuel to a never ending fire, and the only way to put it out is to choose what you need to do and do it.

ask a family member/whoever you’re quarantining with for some support. i know it’s late, but if you end up doing it later - their encouragement and presence may make the whole thing feel like less of a chore.

when it comes to procrastination, more energy is spent on the build up than it is on the actual matter at hand. there’s no wrong decision to make here, you just have to make one so you stop feeling stuck. try to be gentle with yourself as you come to the conclusion that best suits you, ok? if you don’t manage to begin your homework now, it’s because it’s past midnight and you’re tired. after some rest, the workload will probably feel like a lot less to handle. just because you’re dealing with this cycle of anxiety right now, doesn’t mean you always will be. take it as it comes and do your best. that’s all you can ask of yourself, literally. im proud of you for caring about your education despite the stress that’s on your shoulders. if you need a friend or want to let out some stress, my inbox will be open!! take it easy.

#my entire day is spent in this loop but about working out.........when i finally do it i regret it for the first 10 mins then the relief is #palpable #anon #long post

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homeforchristmas-au · 5 years ago

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Character bios pt 2!!

Decided to continue the bios for the rest of the fam squad, the full extended family!! Might change things around a bit, we’ll see!!! Here’s part one in case you missed it :3

Emile Sanders (formerly Picani):

Age: 46

Pronouns: he/him/they/them

Height: 6’1”

Curly medium golden mahogany brown hair and sky blue eyes, subtly tanned skin covered in freckles, red framed rounded glasses, likes dressing like a cartoon character or just wearing cartoon merch (his prized possession is his Mabel pines jumper) but wears a brown cardigan over a white button down shirt with a pink necktie when he goes to work

A big goofball that has a lot of love to give, but he still knows when to be more subdued and calm and when to activate “serious picani”. He’s always loved helping people work through their issues which is why he’s a therapist

Like patton, he’s excellent at reading emotions, though he’s a bit better at it since he’s a professional

Has ADHD, but has developed the necessary coping skills to help keep his symptoms under control

Has two siblings; Catarina (Patton’s mother) and Leonard (Patton’s other uncle). Emile is the baby of the family while Leonard is the oldest

Emile met Thomas when they were both in college. They shared an ASL class and quickly began getting along, and frequently practiced sign language together and feelings developed from there

It was quite some time before they got married, but it was well worth the wait

Thomas Sanders:

Age: 43

Pronouns: he/him

Height: 5’10”

The standard character Thomas look; floppy medium brown hair, chestnut eyes, fair skinned, wears the same three shirts periodically for five years until he buys three new shirts, the usual stuff

He’s a sweet, down to earth guy. Loves cartoons almost as much as Emile does, has a passion for pizza, theatre, and the cats of the world he’ll never be able to pet without dying. He can be impulsive at times, but his heightened anxiety oftentimes outweighs that

Has three brothers named Christian, Patrick, and Shea, but I won’t describe them in depth cos I don’t wanna get any facts wrong since this is based on Thomas himself oop-

I’m literally just describing the canon character Thomas except slightly older im-

There’s like nothing else to add to make this fun and unique it’s just character Thomas welp

Thomas and Emile’s kids:

Anton Sanders:

Age: 16

Pronouns: any/all

Height: idk uh ??? 5’7” ???

Medium length wavy black hair, electric blue eyes, fair skinned with a beauty mark on his right cheek beneath his eye, usually wears fashionable clothes and declares himself an eleven, often wears scarves and turtlenecks (almost exclusively black) as well as his round mirrored sunglasses

Can and will kill you with a single look. Especially if you mess with his family. He’ll never admit it but he loves them with everything he’s got, even if he never acts like it for even a moment

Especially adores Remy and respects that they’re discovering themself and exploring new possibilities. He knows from experience how tough that is and how much of a challenge it can be

Was adopted at age three after his parents were busted for child abuse and heavy drug addiction. It took quite some time for him to come out of his shell but Emile and Thomas were nothing but patient and loving and kind. He still has a lot of trust issues but he knows he can trust his family

Will never admit it now but became insanely jealous when remy was adopted into the family. He did not want a brother because he knew that meant he was being replaced and he wasn’t loved anymore

Eventually Thomas and Emile sat him down and they all talked through it and assured Anton that he was still loved and he was not being replaced

It still took a very long time for Anton to trust Remy, even if he was only a baby

His heart was won over when Remy said his first word to him

All he said was “no” but Anton admired his defiant spirit

also yes this is the Critic how did u know

Remy Sanders:

Age: 12 (birthday January 16)

Pronouns: he/him/they/them/it/its

Height: damnit how tall are 12 year olds

Shoulder length hair dyed dark purple at the roots that fades into magenta at the ends (hair colour changes periodically depending on what it feels like having), chocolate brown eyes, fairly dark skinned but not heavily so, gender expression changes at the drop of a hat but it often wears leather, skirts, beanies, and a heck ton of earrings (when it turns eighteen it starts getting a lot of different piercings like angel bites, nostril, and industrial piercings, etc) (that’s worth noting)

Almost always sarcastic but that’s its way of showing love really. It’s a helluva punk that can and will fight anyone to the death if they deserve it (or if they hurt someone Remy likes). It’s actually a huge nerd but doesnt usually show that side of itself. It loves reading, watching shows like doctor who, and doing puzzles with Logan

Was diagnosed with adhd after Emile noticed it experienced similar symptoms for quite a while

Was adopted by Thomas and Emile when it was a baby (and Anton was four), having been found by Emile when it was left in a box in an alleyway, which was a long and complicated process but one hundred percent worth it

It has a trio of male rats named Holmes, Watson, and Splinter. Thomas was a bit reluctant to let it adopt rats but they all went to a rat breeder and when Thomas saw them all and even held one he realised it wasn’t so bad and they were actually kinda cute

When it was nine years old, it nearly died in a nasty hit and run. A truck had swerved into it when it was by the side of the road. It was fine after a lengthy recovery except it had to use a wheelchair after some spinal cord damage left it immobilised from the waist down. The driver was never identified

It probably wasn’t a coincidence that this event occurred not long after remy started talking about how much it loved boys just as much as it loved girls, but that teas a bit too hot for this post

Logan’s sisters:

Ellen Adams-Waterson:

Age: 26

Pronouns: she/her

Height: 5’6”

Light auburn hair going just barely past the shoulders, honey eyes, fair skinned though mildly tanned, covered from head to toe with freckles, red framed rectangular glasses, usually wears clothes for comfort and especially likes turtlenecks

She’s a determined, steadfast kinda gal who fights for whats right and gives everything she has for her loved ones, especially her immediate family. Although she can be pretty blunt with her words she’s also kindhearted and wants whats best for everyone

She’s an avid writer, and has actually published a novel. She also dabbles in fanfiction and is unashamed about it

She’s married to a wonderful wife named Elizabeth and they have a daughter named Kaylee (15)

She’s also been trying to quit smoking but so far that has yielded no results

Ashley Fletcher (formerly Adams):

Age: 24

Pronouns: she/her

Height: 5’10”

Long light ash brown hair that reaches her tailbone that she keeps parted to the right, electric blue eyes, fair skinned and a face full of freckles, black rectangular glasses, tries to be fashion forward but mostly just wears T-shirts and denim jackets

She’s a trans woman and has been transitioning for a few years now with lots of support from her family. She’s a nice person but let’s people walk all over her a bit. She doesn’t like confrontation much because of her anxiety disorder, but she’s trying to get better with that

Loves acting and wants to pursue it as a career, but her anxiety makes it difficult to put herself out there

Married to a trans man named warren and they have a son named jack (11) and a daughter named Emma (6)

She met warren at a pride event with Logan and Patton, and it was actually Patton who met him first (although at the time he went by a different name and didnt know he was trans yet) and then introduced him to the others

They actually talked about adopting a child long before even considering marriage. Although they realised it would look better to adoption agencies if they were married, and that was the main reason they even went through all of that

Renae Adams:

Age: 21

Pronouns: she/her/he/him

Height: 6’8”

Short wavy hair dyed bright pink, amber eyes, fair skinned, a black *dabs* styling pair of Warby Parker’s, often wears high neck shirts and suit jackets, basically always business casual because she can, and loves wearing hoop earrings

There are two sides to Renae; either stone cold businessperson or happy go lucky memelord with a heart of gold. She’s a lot like Logan in that regard, although it’s harder to predict what side of her you’ll see at any given moment. She can either be a super soft bean or the scariest person on the planet

Has been dealing with OCD her whole life, and sometimes it gets particularly bad (especially the intrusive thoughts) but she has a therapist and psychiatrist she sees somewhat regularly

She runs her own coffee shop called Real Bean Café and it does fairly well. She’s always thinking about how she can improve her business

She’s aroace so she isn’t in a romantic relationship but she is in a queerplatonic relationship with a beautiful enby named Pigeon

They actually met in her coffeeshop. Renae saw Pigeon’s Attack on Titan T-shirt and was immediately compelled to talk to them

And that is it for part two of the character bios!!! Might make another post talking about Logan’s sisters’ kids and partners but idk we’ll see 👀

I just really like character designs man lmao

Lemme know if I need to tag anything else my brain box isn’t generating the required tags rn lmao

#ts home for christmas #thomas sanders #sanders sides #sanders sides au #thomile #thomas x picani #thomas x emile #emile picani #adhd picani #adhd emile #character thomas #remy sanders #critic sanders #it/its use #car accident mention #hit and run mention #injury mention #ocd mention #long post

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funsizedshawty · 5 years ago

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Ion have a title for this, i wrote this like when corona first started.

“My baby!”

Jade’s voice crack harshly, her vocal cords exhausted from the crying she’d been doing. She laid in the back seat of her boyfriend’s car, Derick was his name.

He sighed deeply as he drove down the boulevard. He looked into the rear view mirror at Jade. she continued to cry, holding her stomach and shaking.

He put his attention back on the road, turning on to the street Jade lived on.

“Come on and stop all that crying shit. You home now.” Derick rolled his eyes as he pulled up to the front of Jade’s house.

Jade sniffed and open her watery eyes, the bright light from the sun and sky seeped through the windows of the car, making her squint and blink to regain her vision.

“Could you spend the night? Please?” Her voice was broken and small.

Derick turned around and looked at her. “Jade get tf out my car, yo”

Tears began to flow again.

“This is your fault Derick! You made me kill my baby!” She held her stomach.

“I told you, i never wanted a kid but we fucked up, it had to be done babygirl.”

��You dont want a kid with me Derick. you want a kid but not with me, why?”

Derick rolled his eyes, she was right. At that very moment, one of his side hoes across town knocked up, 6 months pregnant with his son.

“Like i said...i dont want kids, period. Now get the fuck out of my car before i drag you out Jade!” He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I hate you, Derick.” Jade sat up and opened the door, stepping out.

“Well i hate you too, jade no one told you to get pregnant.” He shrugged his shoulders and looked through the windshield.

Hot tears continued to flow down Jades face. “I fuckin hate you!” She slammed the door, casing the glass of the window to crack.

She rushed to her front door, struggling to unlock the door before hurrying inside.

Derick looked back at the window, and then rolled down the passenger window. “You fuckin bitch! Imma get that ass handled just watch jade!” He put the car in drive and sped down the street, his loud engine roaring through the block.

Jade sat on her couch, tears still falling down her face and on top her shirt. Her phone began to vibrate in her pocket, she pulled out her phone and saw that she had an incoming facetime.

“M5🥰💙” read boldly across the screen, she took a deep breath, wiped her eyes and answered the call.

“Yo Jay, wh- you crying, jade?”

“N-no im fine Mir” she sniffed slightly and tried to put on a fake smile.

“Jade what happened? Matter fact, I’m on my way over” Mir sat his phone down, a flash of a white shirt quickly moved across the screen.

“Mir im fine, ok? Y-you dont have to come.” She heard the ring of keys in the background.

“Naw fuck that, im on my way.” Mir hung up the phone, ending the FaceTime.

Jade sighed deeply and slumped back on her couch.

15 minutes had passed before Jade heard her front door being unlocked, the door opening letting in the warm air from outside, then shutting it out as the door closed. Light footsteps came closer to her.

“Jade.” Mir looked at her, towering over her as she laid on the couch in the fetal position.

He came around and kneeled in front of her. Poking her arm that shielded her face.

“Come on jay, what’s wrong? what happened?”

Jade shook her head. “Nothing happened.” Her voice cracked slightly. Smothered tears began to fall again.

“You’re crying, so something must have happened.” Sitting on the floor, Mir faced the tv.

Moving her arm, she peaked out from her shield. She saw the back of Mir’s head and the smooth black hair that grew on it, brushed down into waves, and the slight glint of the gold chain that laid hidden under his white t-shirt.

“I know you’re looking at me Jay.”

“How?”

“I can feel it” he turned around the face her.

Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot, sensitive to touch. Her face glistened from the tears that ran down it. He reached up and kissed her cheek, a slight smile appeared on her face.

“Now, what happened? Was it Derick’s dumb ass?” As she sat up and moved over, he stood up slightly and sat next her, pulling her close to lay her on his chest.

“Yeah...” she got comfortable laying on him, grabbing his hand and holding it tightly.

“What homeboy do now? Start an argument? Hurt your feelings by talkin bout how you like to watch gameplays? Or-“

“I was pregnant...”

He stopped his thoughts and looked at her, confused and concerned.

“You...were...pregnant? What you mean you were?” He sat up from his slumped position, causing jade to sit up.

She looked down and began to play with her fingers. “I was pregnant. And i told him but he didnt ‘want a baby’ w-wit me.” She began to sniff as she started to cry again.

“ so he took me to the clinic, told me to them that I needed an ‘emergency’ abortion. I told him no but he dragged me in there and told them and said that I was too emotional to admit that I needed it.” Fully crying now, she was pulled into a hug. Mir held her tightly and rubbed her back as she cried into his chest.

“ he made me kill my baby! My own blood!” Her screams were muffled by his chest.

“Ill kill him” A dark look grew in Mir’s eyes, he had an unspoken love for jade, the same she had for him. And he never liked Derick to begin with, all he needed was reason.

“No dont do that he not worth it, and plus you’ll go to jail. I dont wanna lose you i’d go crazy” she tighted her grip around him. He rocked and swayed her slightly while continuing to rub her back.

“Ok, i wont.” He kissed her head

“ thank you..” she looked up at him, he kissed her nose and she rested her head back on his chest.

“For now.”

I hope you like this part, imma try and add more.

@l-auteuse @muse-of-mbaku

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dvp95 · 6 years ago

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quiet on widow’s peak (3)

pairing: dan howell/phil lester, pj liguori/sophie newton/chris kendall rating: teen & up tags: paranormal investigator, youtuber phil lester, dan howell is not a youtuber, online friendship, slow burn, strangers to lovers, nonbinary character, trans character, background poly, phil does some buzzfeed unsolved shit and dan is a fan word count: 3.1k (this chapter), 9.5k (total) summary: Phil’s got a list of paranormal experiences a mile long that he likes to share with the world. Abandoned buildings, cemeteries, and ghost stories have always called his name, and a particular fan of his has a really, really good ghost story.

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

Interviews used to be Phil's least favourite part of this job. The research was always captivating, the filming was always fun, the editing was always challenging, but talking? To people? About things? Absolutely not.

He still doesn't love doing it, but he's long past the point of begging Martyn or Ian to pretend to be him on the phone.

The curtains in Phil's room are open for once, letting natural light in so he doesn't look as dark on the Skype screen. His eyes keep drifting to himself, distracting him as he tries to fix his hair or laments not getting out of his pyjamas. This is his fourth interview of the day, and he's starting to hate the process with a renewed fervour.

"Okay, thank you," he says, clicking out of the screen record window. "Can I message you here if I have any further questions, or would you prefer this to be your final statement?"

"Oh, um," the girl says, her eyes round with some kind of emotion that Phil can't be bothered to parse. "No, no, that's... that's all I saw. I don't have anything else. But you can still... message me, if you like."

Ah. Phil makes a face that he hopes reads as apologetic and not panicked. "No, I - sorry. Gay. Just interested in your ghost."

"Oh!" she says again, looking more puzzled than Phil thinks she has any right to after a forty minute conversation where he mostly just asked her clarifying questions that she kept dodging. She tucks some of her long hair behind her ear and shakes her head. "Sorry, that's just - you haven't said that online."

Phil isn't very good at knowing when people are lying to him, but now he's definitely suspicious of the half-assed testimony he'd gotten from this girl. He sighs. "Okay, you know who I am, then?"

"I mean, I looked you up when you messaged me about a video and all," she says. "Wanted to know if you were a creep or, like, legit."

Okay, that's fair enough. Phil supposes that if he were a girl in uni and a stranger asked to video chat, he'd also do a little digging first. He still doesn't quite believe her story, though - most of it matches what she'd written on Facebook, word for word, and she didn't go into detail on anything she claimed happened.

"Right, of course," says Phil, feeling awkward and exposed.

Her eyes are wide and blue and she can see into his room, into his life, and she's giving him this look like she thinks she knows something about him. He hates this feeling.

"That a secret, then?" she asks.

"No," Phil says. "It's just not relevant to my job. I don't have a lot of ghouls asking me out."

She doesn't laugh. Phil is getting more and more uncomfortable by the second, and he's wondering if it's worth it to hang up on a potential lead - no matter how dubious her claims - when she says, "Well, alright. I won't tell anyone anyway."

"Thanks," Phil says automatically. He doesn't particularly care if she does or not, but he does want this call to end as soon as possible. "And thanks for your time. Message me if you think of anything else you forgot to mention about the Wilkins place or if you know of someone who's seen something."

Before she can even respond, Phil hits end on the call and groans, resting his forehead on his thumbs for a moment.

Unsurprisingly, this is giving him a migraine. It doesn't take much to make the twinge of a headache turn to insistent throbbing, because Phil's body hates him and overreacts to everything.

Phil takes a couple of deep breaths before he comes out of hiding. He attaches the final screen recording to the email he's already got open and ready to send to Martyn. After a moment's thought, he CCs PJ and Sophie in and adds, Nobody sounds credible except the second person to me, so... it's not looking good lol, before hitting send.

He takes off his glasses and rubs at his eyes for a moment. Interviews are still draining for him, especially when they don't go as planned, and Phil's starting to get the impression that there's nothing to even find at the Wilkins place.

But. Phil pauses, considers his options. He hasn't interviewed everyone, has he.

Before he can talk himself out of it, Phil shoves his glasses unceremoniously back onto his face and opens Tumblr. Winnie hasn't said anything to him so far today, so Phil feels only a little like he's bothering them when he shoots off a quick, Hey! I just finished interviewing the sources you gave me and most of them aren't very promising. Would you consider letting me ask you some questions to round out the video?

me?????, Winnie replies almost immediately. i didnt even see anything?? like im happy to answer questions but idk how much use ill b in an INTERVIEW

I know! And you don't have to lmao so don't feel pressured or anything but you know so much more about the place than they do. Everyone claimed that they didn't know other people were having paranormal experiences.

oh bullshit, Winnie says. Phil is surprised into a huff of laughter.

There's a part of Phil, fuelled by anxiety and uncertainty, that worries Winnie is just pulling an elaborate joke on him. That part of him feels a little more at ease every time he actually talks to Winnie. They just seem... genuine. And maybe Martyn would disagree, would blame Phil's desperation to see the best in people, but there's a reason Phil doesn't tell Martyn everything.

Before Phil can agree with Winnie's colourful derision, his laptop beeps again. i look like an ogre rn but i can voice chat if you rly think itll help

It would!!, Phil assures them. The tender spot behind his eyes twinges again, serving as a reminder. Can I call in like an hour? I've got a headache from the screen lol

sure i really have nothing else going on today

So it's later in the day, late afternoon light still streaking through Phil's window, when Phil sits back down at his computer and adds the Skype username Winnie gave him. His head still hurts a bit, but it isn't all-consuming now that he's had another coffee and some painkillers. The padded headphones feel good to put over his ears, blocking out most of the typical noises from such a full house and a busy street, and Phil just sits in the blissful quiet for a moment before he sends a voice call request.

It gets picked up almost immediately, and Phil presses a smile into his palm before he says, "Hi! Can you hear me alright?"

There's a beat. Phil waits, in case Skype is lagging as usual, but he's opening his mouth to repeat himself by the time he gets a response.

"Yeah," says Winnie. "I can hear you."

Phil isn't really proud of himself for being surprised by Winnie's voice. It's just. He knows his viewer demographics, okay, and he has a rough grasp on Tumblr demographics, and the name - alright. It isn't his proudest moment, is his point, because he's expecting a much higher pitch for absolutely no good reason.

In addition to that, his brain automatically tries to classify Winnie's voice as very obviously masculine, and Phil has to push back against that.

"I can hear you, too," Phil says cheerfully, not allowing his anxieties to spill over into the conversation.

"That's good, probably," Winnie says. There's another beat of silence, and then a huff that might be laughter or a sigh comes through Phil's headphones. "Sorry, I - I'm not trying to be fucking weird, this is just surreal."

"Is it?" Phil hums. "But I haven't even asked you about ghosts yet."

A snort - definitely laughter, this time - follows, and Phil is so glad that he's able to put Winnie at ease even if his brain is betraying him. "That's true. I guess it's gotta get weirder from here."

"That's kind of, like, the subtitle of my whole channel," says Phil. After a moment, he frowns. "Subtitle? No. What's the thing, on the poster -"

"Tagline," says Winnie. They sound so amused and warm and, okay, they've got a nice voice. That's not gendered. Phil can think that. "You're thinking of a tagline, you buffoon."

"Tagline," Phil echoes gratefully.

"Don't you," Winnie starts, then stops abruptly. They don't finish the sentence, but Phil can kind of guess what they were going to say. There's the sound of some rustling, like Winnie is getting comfortable, before they change tacks. "Again, I didn't see any of this alleged ghostly activity with my own eyes, but I know the hot goss."

Phil opens the recording program out of habit, nodding even though Winnie can't see him. "That's still really useful at this point," he says encouragingly. He clicks a couple of buttons. "And, yes, I do have an English degree. Thank you for not asking."

Winnie laughs, the sound of it filling Phil's headphones and making it feel like they're in the room with him. It's warm, like everything else about their voice, and absolutely contagious.

"I didn't want you to think I was, like, a big stalker," Winnie says, and Phil can hear the grin in their voice.

"Eh, I know you watch my videos," says Phil. "So I figure you know some stuff about me. You probably know that I'm going to ask this, too, but - is it okay if I record our conversation? I don't need to include it in the video if you don't want me to, but it's still useful for me if I don't so I can, like, actually remember the things you told me."

"Yeah, sure," Winnie agrees easily. They hesitate, for a moment, and Phil waits for whatever the caveat will be. "Uh, can I still swear?"

The question surprises Phil into laughing. "Yeah, you're fine. I can bleep them out."

"Then I am all for it. Ask me the ghost questions, ghost man."

Phil presses record and glances down at his notebook, where he's scrawled some disjointed questions alongside his usual doodling. "Uh, okay. Yes. I am totally a professional."

"If you say so, mate," says Winnie.

"Hush. Okay." Phil finally gets his brain back on track and taps his pen against a question near the end of his list. "So, Winnie, you did all this research into the Wilkins place on your own downtime, but you mentioned that you've been hearing murmurs about it for a while, right?"

"Not that long, actually, I've only been hearing about it since term started," Winnie says, and Phil is struck by how comfortable they suddenly are now that there's a guideline. Or, maybe, now that there's a non-Phil audience. "Which I thought was pretty weird, since I'd been there a couple times since I moved here, and it's a spooky fucking place but nothing to write home about."

That's more or less exactly how Phil feels about the situation, except that he doesn't remember the Wilkins place to be scary at all. Maybe it's gotten worse in the years since, or maybe he's just got a higher threshold for empty, decrepit homes than Winnie does. Either way, he's not sure if he should be relieved or suspicious that their thoughts on it mirror his own so well. He starts a spiral in the corner of his page as he considers the answer.

"So, you never got the impression that it was haunted before?"

"I - can I be perfectly honest?" Winnie asks, and then doesn't wait for a response. "I don't get the impression that it's haunted now. I dunno if people are just making shit up or if they're doing too many drugs, but we all know that ghosts don't actually exist."

Phil snorts. He does have a fairly large number of skeptics who watch his videos to argue in the comments about logical explanations for his findings or to just enjoy watching him fail so much, but he hadn't really expected that from someone who sent him a sourced essay on the topic of ghosts.

He's recording right now, so he's not about to give away the fact that, yeah, he kind of does agree with Winnie on this one. Instead, he keeps his tone neutral and says, "You don't believe in ghosts."

"I don't believe in most things that can't be explained by science," Winnie says, so matter-of-fact that Phil has to smile.

"I don't really believe in science," Phil says, mild.

A beat. "Excuse me?"

"I said I don't believe in science," Phil repeats, doubling down on the joke so he can hear that incredulous pitch of Winnie's nice voice again. "I mean, isn't it all just as made-up as anything else? People just tell us stuff exists and we have to believe them?"

"We believe them," Winnie says slowly, "because it's a fact."

"How do I know that?" Phil asks. He knows how off track he's already gotten, and he decides to cut this part out before he sends the file to Martyn or his friends.

"Because you can. See it. With your eyes." The genuine bewilderment in Winnie's voice is very funny. "Like. What the fuck, Phil. If someone drops an apple and it hits the ground and they're like, 'oh that's gravity', how are you supposed to say, 'uh, no it ain't'?"

Phil leans back in his chair a bit, his spiral turning into an apple. "Because, what if that's just what the apple wanted to do? It's not like we know any of this for sure, Winnie."

"You're fucking with me," Winnie says, but they don't sound very certain.

"I am," Phil admits happily. "Do you remember the first incident that kicked off the Wilkins place rumours?"

"You," Winnie says, and then cackles. They lean away from their mic as they do, but the sound of it still makes Phil feel some secondhand giddiness. He wonders if their laugh has a volume limit, or if it's just going to keep getting louder the funnier Phil is. He is so tempted to put that to the test. "Fuck. You little fucker."

Phil hides his own giggle in the palm of his hand and clears his throat, trying to get back into the professional mindset he'd forced himself to be in for the four earlier interviews.

"Do you need me to repeat the question?" Phil asks. He can't resist teasing, just a bit.

"No, fuck off," Winnie chuckles. They take a deep breath and let it out on a hum, low and thoughtful. "So, there was this shindig during fresher's, which I obviously didn't go to because I'm not a fresher and I'm too old to go to shindigs, but people were talking about how the house was making weird noises. A girl I know - I linked you to her Reddit post - said she saw someone just standing outside the window watching them, but, like, is that really a supernatural occurrence in Rusholme?"

"It's not. And she hit on me as well, so I'm not sure her judgement is trustworthy."

"Sounds like her. Sorry. Anyway, nobody really thought 'ghosts' as much as they thought 'rats in the walls and a pervert on the street', but then - this one didn't get spoken about online. I don't even know how valid it is."

"Word of mouth is how most ghost stories get passed," says Phil. "I'm not going to hold you to citations on rumours."

Winnie huffs a laugh. It's soft, quiet, and Phil almost wishes he could say something ridiculous to make them cackle again. Unfortunately, he has a job to do.

"Fair enough. Well, some idiots spent the night there to see if anything weird would happen," Winnie says, and Phil feels a bit attacked, "and three separate dudes had sleep paralysis."

Phil hums and jots some messy notes down. "In the same night?"

"At the same time," Winnie corrects him. "The other idiots were trying to wake them up for a long time, apparently. They're convinced that the guys who fell asleep were just pulling a prank on them, and maybe they were, but that's when the ball really got rolling."

Out of everything Phil has heard today, this is the most compelling story so far. Maybe that's a good indicator of the Manchester students being full of it - maybe there truly is nothing to find in the Wilkins place - but it piques Phil's interest anyway.

"For someone who only believes in cold, hard science, you're good at telling ghost stories," Phil says.

"Thanks," Winnie says, sounding pleased with themselves. "Learned from the best."

Phil is suddenly very, very glad that this isn't a video call, because he can't stop himself from smiling like an idiot. "Oh, is that what they're calling me?"

Another cackle. Phil doesn't remember the last time he made someone laugh so much without tripping over his own clown feet.

"I never said I was talking about you."

"Uh huh."

"Oh, shut up," says Winnie, and Phil can still hear the laughter in their voice. "Don't you have a bunch of questions to ask or something?"

Phil does. He has a whole list of questions that he should be following. He chews on his pen and looks at the doodle-covered list of things he's meant to ask Winnie. His head still hurts - maybe the extra caffeine didn't help after all - and all he really wants to do is take a nap.

"Yeah," Phil says, reluctant. "I've just got, like, a migraine. Can I call you back another time? This was a really great start."

"Oh, yeah, sure," says Winnie. They've dropped their voice down to something soft, like they're worried that they'll make Phil's headache worse.

"I'm actually going up to check the place out this weekend." Phil isn't sure what makes him say that. He meets up with sources in person, sometimes, but usually only if they've seen something with their own eyes. He just feels comfortable talking to Winnie, far more than he'd felt talking to the other students he'd interviewed today.

Phil doesn't actually extend the invitation, and Winnie either doesn't pick up the hint or doesn't care to.

"That'll be good," they say, still soft. "Get some rest, Phil, you can call me back when your brain stops trying to drill a hole through your temple."

After Phil says goodbye and hangs up, he sits at his desk for a long moment. It feels too quiet, all of a sudden, his padded headphones blocking out all the ambient noise around him. It's good for his head, but Phil is still weirdly disappointed.

#phan #phanfiction #phanfic #dnp fic #words words words #quiet on widow's peak

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