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myhauntedsalem · 4 years ago

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30 Doctors, Nurses and Paramedics Describe their Most Disturbing Medical Stories

1. The Guessing Game

“I work as an ICU nurse. A mid-20s female came in with some serious cardiac abnormalities and then went into respiratory distress. Never had any medical history at all. We had to put her on the ventilator, but she was on just enough sedation to keep her lucid. She could nod/shake her head yes and no appropriately to questions.

One night, the patient in the room next to hers died, but the body was still in the room about to be taken to the morgue. The female patient’s door was closed with curtains drawn, so she couldn’t have seen what was going on next door. When I went in to check on her, she had a look of sheer panic on her face, trembling. I asked her a series of questions to see if she was cold/hot/in pain/etc. and she denied all. I asked her if she saw something—she started to aggressively nod her head YES. She wasn’t on any drugs that would make her hallucinate. I went on to get details on what this thing looked like. After playing 20 questions I got this: a man, pale white, left arm missing, heavy, bald, standing still, behind me. This was the man who had just died next door.

I spent the rest of the night consoling her.” – whites42

2. Life After Death

“When I was on an ER rotation during med school we got a call about a 23-year-old woman who was shot in the head, and who was already completely gone, but was reportedly five months pregnant so they were doing CPR until they got her to the hospital to see if the baby was viable. They got her to the ER and did an ultrasound and turned out the baby was full-term so they did a C-section in like under a minute and got the baby out.

I don’t think it’s so incredibly uncommon but it was pretty surreal to see a baby delivered from a dead person with their brain exposed and she was pretty close to the same age I was at the time.” – bluegraypurple

3. The Last Goodbye

“When I was a student, I got called in on a stroke patient. She had coded and they were doing CPR. They worked for 45 minutes, but she died. They cleaned her up, and called on the family to say goodbye, but by that time the family left. She had been both brain dead and without a pulse for more than 45 minutes. Blood had filled her brain, and she was completely grey and started to smell. Suddenly, she sat up, and called for her family. The nurses rushed to get monitors and equipment back on her. They started working on her again, she stabilized, said goodbye to her family, and promptly died a second time.” – simplesimon6262

4. Miracle Man

“When I was in trauma surgery in upstate by, got a notification about a man who was shot 3 times in the head. He comes in, literally one eye hanging out of the socket, blood everywhere, and he’s slumped forward. Apparently, he was shot in the temple, exited out his right eye socket, in the nose exited from the roof of the mouth, and In the cheek one with exit from the side of the head.

At this point, I’m thinking they just brought him in so we can pronounce him in the ER because he looked dead. I go to examine him and tilt his head back, and he says ‘Yoooo be gentle!’ I jump back and scream like a little boy, as did everyone in the room. Literally, the bullets missed his brain in every single shot.” – Noimnotonacid

5. Bleeding

“One of the aides I work with said she was doing postmortem care on a patient who had been on many, many anticoagulants before death. She said when they turned her on her side she started bleeding out of every orifice—eyes, nose, mouth, and ears. She said her and the nurse went home and had nightmares for a week.” – sparklingbluelight

6. The Haunted Hospital

“My town has two really old hospitals. One no longer functions overnight, and the stories are unsettling. No one cleans the old ER alone because all the lights and call bells go off. On other floors, there’s a kid with his ball, a lady in a white dress, etc. A coworker was cleaning an entire floor utterly solo (the norm) and bounced between rooms because the cleaning solution stays wet for a few minutes. Upon returning to a freshly wiped bed, hand prints were clearly visible.” – Sapphire_Starr

7. Eyeless

“I used to do home care for an elderly lady with learning disabilities and no eyes (they were removed due to a congenital condition). She was lovely but prone to wandering around her flat at night in total silence, which led to several horrifying situations where I left my room at 2 am only to encounter her standing silently in the hallway, turning her eyeless face towards me.” – NovelistResearcher

8. Lonely

“One call that will always haunt me was on an unresponsive female at around three in the morning. We get there and do some pointless CPR along with the fire department… She had been dead for a while; no shock-able rhythm, and clear rigor mortis. The most disturbing part was that the original caller was her 11-year-old daughter, who had just spent three days with her mother’s corpse and called 9-1-1 because she was ‘lonely’. It also didn’t help that the victim was completely naked when we arrived.” – CupofJoe776

9. Clear Waters

“I have quite a few stories, most of them are hilarious and then there are those you never want to think about. What fucked me up the most was when I saw how eyes change at the moment of death. Imagine you are looking at clear water but that clear water changes to foggy in an instant. In my 8 years here I’ve only seen this once, and I’ve personally seen well over 250 dead or dying people.” – ImCuden

10. Night Lights

“I work nights in a long-term care facility as a nurse’s assistant. I have two men under my care and both of them are unable to use their call lights. They have severe dementia and debilitating Parkinson’s disease but still, their lights are looped around their bed rail. One night their light came on and I went to answer it already confused and creeped out. I turned it off and left the room. Before I could get two doors up the light came back on. I went in there and both lights were unplugged from the wall and thrown under their beds. I fished them out, plugged them back in and left.

I’ve seen shadows standing over the dying and felt a tap on my shoulder while doing chest compression’s so I knew that lady had passed.” – beeoakly

11. Holding Hands

“I’ve had a couple of weird calls. One was a major MVA-head on many, many years ago when we played M.E. as well. We had 2 DOA (husband and spouse) that were killed instantly in a head-on collision. They had a 12-year-old daughter that was in between them and they actually took the impact, saving her life.

While en route, we noticed the husband’s arm had come loose so I went back to re-strap it. As I was doing that, the wife’s arm suddenly fell out as well, and her hand fell into her husband’s. My boss was watching in the rearview mirror and helped clear the way as I ran back into the front. It spooked both of us. Apparently, the couple (mid 30’s), had just found out he was cancer free after his last treatment.” – Anonymous

12. Last Meal

“I had an old lady come in by ambulance, near death. She was a DNR (do-not-resuscitate), so we weren’t going to do much for her. She didn’t have any family that we could find. The hospital was full, so we had to keep her in the ER for the night.

Again, she was near death. When you’ve seen enough people die, there’s no mistaking it, and she was almost there. Barely responsive; pale, cool, breaths were really irregular, heart rate was up and down, too. We just turned the lights down and kept an eye on her monitor, basically waiting for her to die.

About an hour later, she’s standing at the door of her room. She’d gotten up and put on all her clothes. We were all like, ‘WTF?’ One of the nurses went to check on her, and she said she was hungry. Not knowing really what to make of things, we got her a chair, a bedside table, and went to the cafeteria and got her a tray of food.

She sat there, ate all her food, talked with the staff a little. After about an hour, she told her nurse that she was tired and wanted to lie back down. We helped her back into bed, and within 30 minutes she was dead.” – Anonymous

13. “Don’t Let me go Back there”

“When my mom worked as an E.R. nurse a guy came in from a car accident and was losing blood. In the midst of resuscitation, the man jolts awake and screams ‘Don’t let me go back there! Please, please, please don’t let me go back!’ A few seconds later they lost him.” – JeremyHowell

14. The Rusty Old Saw

“This woman was clearly struggling mentally. She went into her basement and started sawing at her wrists horizontally with a rusty hacksaw, bleeds a good amount, and then starts walking around the house. She wasn’t dying quick enough, so she sat down in a chair in the middle of the living room, and started going at her wrists again, this time with a pair of scissors.

I was the second person inside the house. It looked like a massacre. We searched the house top to bottom, fully expecting to find multiple dead bodies in there. I’ve never seen so much blood in my life. Every single room had a trail of blood in it.

The woman was found on a chair in the living room. Rigor mortis had contorted her body into a really strange, unnatural pose, and her face was haunting. Literally the stuff of nightmares. Her wrists had huge chunks of skin/veins/muscle missing from them. Saying she slit her wrists is inaccurate. She ripped them to pieces.” – anoncop1

15. Visitors

“I work a stroke/telemetry floor on the bought shift. Most of our patients are elderly. Apparently, there are two things that patients see before they pass away. Some will say that two men are walking in their rooms and telling them to get ready to leave. The patient will call and tell us that these men are big and abrasive in their demeanor. They are either terrified or annoyed when they see the two men. The other thing they will see is a little boy who will go into their rooms and try to wake them up. The boy is usually loud and runs around their rooms. The patients will call and ask who’s letting children just run around late night. Several nights or even that same shift we’re coding or cleaning the patient for the funeral home to pick up.” – pokfynder

16. The Handsome Man in Black

“I used to work in a skilled nursing facility, usually assigned to the Alzheimer’s ward. One night I’m in the linen room stocking my cart, and I heard someone shuffle up behind me, then I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned around and there was no one else in the room. The door was still shut too.

Another lady started to complain that a man was coming into her room at night (again, Alzheimer’s so I didn’t think much of it) so to reassure her, I told her I’d check on her throughout the night. She complained of this man for every night for two more weeks when I asked her to describe him to me.

‘He’s real handsome, and wears a black suit. Oh. He’s right behind you now, honey.’

That freaked me the f*ck out. Of course, there was no one behind me. She died the next night in her sleep.” – Anonymous

17. The Blender

“We got a call for a male in his early 30s with ‘heavy groin trauma’ (exact words of the dispatcher). We roll up lights and sirens and the guy is waiting for us on the front step with a towel over his crotch. We barely come to a stop and the guy is already running towards the rig holding this towel. I asked him what was wrong and he moved the towel and this guy’s dick was just barely hanging on. Apparently, he had ‘lady problems’ so he decided to fornicate with the food mixer he had in his kitchen and accidentally turned it on.” – YayShinny

18. The Charred Skin

“Motorcycle driver, accident, third-degree burns, arrived DOA. Had to transfer him from ambulance gurney to ER bed. As we were moving him with a transfer sheet, the liquefied/cooked subcutaneous fat caused the charred skin on his back to separate and his body slipped onto the floor (despite several of us trying to ‘catch’ him).” – Doc-in-a-box

19. Dead Man Moaning

“Worked security through college at a local hospital. The only ‘creepy’ thing I remember is when a dead man moaned. One of my duties was to help wheel patients who had expired down to the in-house morgue. Once we were wheeling an older man from the ER down and halfway down the hallway he let out this low moan. I started to panic, thinking that he was coming back to life but the RN explained to me (newbie) that sometimes the air in the lungs doesn’t come out until sometime later or is delayed for a bit.” – ill_do_it-later

20. Otherworldly Screams

“I have had fellow coworkers swear that strange things have occurred in the ER. Two people that I work with were charting at the nurse’s station when they both heard a scream followed by incoherent words come from one of our open bays. There were three patients in the room and they denied screaming or hearing anything. I have also had fellow coworkers talk about hearing strange voices especially after really bad codes and one person states she felt someone grabbing her shoulder after the doc pronounced a trauma code. These are all respectable people and I do not think they would lie.” – Anonymous

21. Blank Stare

“We got a call to go out to a scene for an elderly woman with chest pains. I arrive at the house, front door is open. We knock, hear the old woman calling out from the back ‘I’m in the back room�� in a very monotone and calm voice. My partner and I go to the back of the house looking for this woman, and that’s when we smelled it. Nothing prepares you for the smell of rotting corpse. I’ve smelled it a dozen times, and it never gets any less disturbing. We radio for police and ALS backup as we move through the house.

We opened the door to the master bedroom, and there is our patient. She is approximately 80, and she is staring at the master bathroom with these cold, dead eyes. She never once looked at us as we approached her and began talking to her. I got to the bedside and got in front of her gaze, and she just looked right through me. I turned around to see what she could possibly be looking at, and there was the source of my smell.

A man, about the same age as my patient, is on the floor with very little left of his head still attached to his body. A shotgun lay on the floor next to him, and most of his head was strewn about the walls and bathroom counter. We loaded the woman up in the ambulance, and our police backup pulled up.

I don’t think that woman blinked once the entire time she was in our care.” – TheFilthiest

22. “Bill’s Here”

“I’m an RN and while I was a student I was caring for a lady who had an end-stage renal failure, had a DNAR (do not attempt resuscitation) and was shutting down. We were having a little chat when she stopped, looked over my shoulder and said ‘Bill’s here love, I’ve got to go,’ and swiftly stopped breathing. Read her old notes and Bill was her deceased husband.” – Jesspandapants

23. The Body on the Floor

“The call was for an older woman, lying in bed. When we get there, the smell is horrendous of a dead body. There are millions of flies everywhere and a little old lady in lying in the bed, alive. About five feet away, there is a body covered up by a sheet. The lady was a dementia patient, and her husband (the deceased) was the primary caregiver. Based on the number of flies and state of decomposition, the police estimated the guy had been dead for about three weeks. The woman must have been getting some food out of the refrigerator, but it was totally empty by the time we arrived.

The creepiest part happened on the way to the hospital with the woman, she said, ‘I hope that nice man on the floor is OK’.” – Tools4toys

24. The Fallen Cross

“I responded to a call where a janitor was dusting quite a large stone cross in the middle of a church. He had been up on a ladder cleaning, when he slipped off, and proceeded to try to hold onto the cross to keep from falling. Unfortunately, the weight of the 200-pound man was too much to support. The cross fell towards him, landing on his left arm, with a part of the horizontal stone of the cross, pushing his muscles and tendons out of his wrist like a squeezed toothpaste tube. Then the cross fell completely on him splattering his brain across the floor. Quite disturbing, and definitely the most horrific and gore filled call I had ever witnessed.” – UpboatOarKnotUpboat

25. The Headless Nurse

“I used to work in St Barts Hospital in London, which in parts is over 1,000 years old. One of the buildings had 2 floors (with massively high ceilings), and so the floors were taken out and rearranged to make into 5 floors. The nurses working night shift would often tell us of the ghost of a night nurse who wandered silently doing her ’rounds’ at night—but due to the new floors, only her head would be visible drifting down the ward.” – jenthejedi

26. Monsters

“I was still a nursing student at the time, but this was from when I had my psychiatric clinical placement in my 3rd year.

I was assigned to a young male patient with schizophrenia. He had been a voluntary admission because he heard voices telling him to hurt people around him, and he admitted himself because he was afraid of actually going through with it.

Anyway, I went into the room alone, as usual, and did the usual introduction and asking how he was doing. He was at a desk drawing creepy, hideous monsters—each monster had its own page, and there had to be at least half a dozen of these pages scattered around him. I asked him what they were. He answered that those were the monsters he saw. They were the monsters that whispered to him and told him to hurt people and do awful things. Guarded, I asked him, ‘Are they telling you to hurt me?’

He answered, ‘Yes.’

I didn’t stay very long in that room.” – duckface08

27. The Man in Black

“People turn batshit crazy and creepy as hell when they get really sick. There’s even a term called ICU psychosis…and trust me, it’s real. Anyway, the creepiest that takes the cake for me is this (am an ICU nurse, btw): Had a patient who was admitted for overdose. Very long history of mental health problems. She was thrashing around in bed, very combative, kicking people’s asses for days, totally incoherent.

Well, the night I had her, she started making decent sense, but still not oriented at all. She was extremely paranoid and kept talking about the man in black in the corner. I’d hear her talking to him and screaming, all night long. So I’d go in there and try to calm her down, but you could see the fear in her eyes. she was talking other nonsense about how she was in space and shit, and with certain patients, you try to redirect their ‘reality,’ but what I did didn’t help. She said ‘that man in black! Don’t you see him!’ and pointed to the corner. I said ‘there’s nobody here.’ I stepped in the corner she was pointing to and waved my hands around. While I’m waving my hands around in the air, she had the most horrifically terrified look on her face that actually scared the shit out of me, like I had just assaulted the man in black. I said ‘see, there’s nobody here’ and she said in a matter-of-factly that’s what you think.’ I promptly got the fu*k out of there.” – HeatherTakasaki

28. Eyes Wide Open

“I work in palliative. Most deaths I’ve seen have been more or less peaceful, though the ones that are not, stick with you. One guy was silently screaming through his last few hours of life. Another guy (who up until this point had been unresponsive) reached up and grabbed me when we attempted to lower his bed to turn him.

One time while doing post-mortem care I walked into the room and thought ‘that’s weird, how come nobody has closed his eyes yet?’ He had that movie-perfect dead look, with pale blue staring eyes and slack jaw and greyish, waxy skin. I closed his eyes and started the care, and when I looked again those eyes, still staring at me, were slowly opening, one slightly slower than the other. He groaned when we turned him to wash his back and his hand managed to clamp onto the bed rail and we had to pry it off. When we finally got him onto his back again, there was a foul-smelling, oily black, viscous liquid on the pillowcase. I cleaned his mouth again thinking it must have come from there, but his mouth and nose were clean. The best I could figure the stuff had come from his eye. I couldn’t wait to get that bag zipped up.” – draakons_pryde

29. Crawling up the Hallway

“I used to work as an STNA in a nursing home. Worked third shift throughout university. During the night we turned half the lights off so it was darker for the evening and didn’t get a lot of light in the residents’ rooms. We had one resident who was younger (70s) and was mostly in for mental reasons. She had long, dark hair and was very thin.

I was sitting at the nurse’s station at the top of the hall and heard a call light go off. I stood up, looked down the dark hall, and on all fours—straight out of The Ring—this resident was crawling up the hall toward me. The other STNA had forgotten to put the bed rail up and the resident was VERY good at climbing out of bed.

Needless to say, I needed some new britches and my heart was racing a mile a minute.” – blameitonthewookie

30. Heaven

“Had a young woman in full liver failure. She was orange in color and she was still conscious. She asked me what I thought it would be like to die. I told her I didn’t know but I hoped it wouldn’t be painful. She then asked me if I thought I would go to heaven. I told her that I believed I would. She asked me if I thought she would go to heaven, and I told her I wasn’t able to answer that question.

She then told me ‘I am going to heaven and I know it,’ and I asked her how she knew that and she told me something that I will never ever forget. She told me ‘I know I am because that man over there told me so.’ I asked what man and she said the man sitting on the end of the bench. I asked her what he looked like and she said ‘he looks just like the Jesus on the windows of my church.’

Well, to tell you I was pretty well affected by that statement. She then went on to say ‘And he says that you are going to go to heaven too.’

We then prayed and I will never forget that interaction between the two of us. About a week later she passed away. I hope she made it to heaven.” – Anonymous

#30 Doctors Nurses and Paramedics Describe their Most Disturbing Medical Stories #shared stories #paranormal #ghost and hauntings #ghost and spirits

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pulpwriterx · 4 years ago

Text

A SHEEP AS BLACK AS MIDNIGHT IN SPACE

It is a dark time for the Galaxy. General Enric Pryde and Supreme Leader Snoke have unleashed a reign of terror, dealing the New Republic a terrible blow with the Hosnian Cataclysm. But all is not lost. General Organa has discovered a New Hope from the desert of Jakku, who will become the Last Jedi. After Rey, Han Solo, Chewbacca, Poe Dameron and Finn, the former FN2187 undertook a daring raid that led to the destruction of Starkiller Base, Rey has gone to Ahch-To, to study under the reclusive Jedi Master Luke Skywalker. And he will tell her a secret. There is another.

I: THERE IS ANOTHER.

Luke Skywalker sighed, heavily.

“Master Luke, what is it? What’s wrong?”

“I destroyed my own family, Rey. And the Galaxy is paying the price. Did you ever wonder why Han and Leia don’t live together? Why I’m in exile, here? There is another. Or at least, there was. My nephew. My paduan. The best and worst student at the Jedi Temple. Ben Solo.”

“Ben Solo! Didn’t he die at the Jedi Temple?”

“In a way, he did. He doesn’t use that name, anymore.”

“Then he’s alive? Do you know what happened to him?”

“A great many things. First? There were his mother's expectations. She had his whole life planned out. His Royal Highness, Prince Benjamin Skywalker Organa-Solo. He was going to be the perfect Jedi, the perfect young leader, the perfect fair-haired son of the New Republic. He wasn’t supposed to be a giant behemoth of a man, who was too much like his father and his grandfather to fit in any mold. Han and I pretty much figured that Big Ben was going his own way by the time he was six. His hair was down to his waist, and he’d scream and break the scissors with the Force if you came near him to cut his hair. He wouldn’t wear clothes. Just a pair of underwear, if you took him out. He wanted to be a Wookiee. He wouldn’t speak Basic. Just Shriiyywook. We worked it out. But Ben never really changed.”

Luke sighed.

“As he grew to manhood, I started seeing my nephew as a monster. His obsession with his own duality, and that of his grandfather. His heretical leanings toward the Grey Path. And his vows? Forget vows. Not my nephew, the king of taboo. Jedi are supposed to take vows of chastity, and honesty. To have control over their emotions. Ben sold cigarillos, wine, and rubbers from his father’s smuggling operation out of my father’s TIE Fighter, his personal vehicle. He lost his virginity when he was 14 to his best friend, Talia who was 13. As usual? Han was the best worst father, ever. He took her to get an implant, and kept Ben supplied with rubbers. Which he needed, because any of my female students who were curious about their resident Rebel Angel? Let’s just say, Ben never failed to satisfy their curiosity. He didn’t listen to me when I tried to stop him. He really thought he meant something to these girls. After all, they meant something to him. It took Talia telling him she was going to rent him by the hour out of her Wookiee foster father’s garage in Mos Eisley, because he laid more pipe to more satisfied customers than any spaceport gigolo. I mean, how do you teach a six and a half foot tall Force of nature who has been using the Force since he was a toddler in a crib to open the cupboard and get the cookies?”

“He likes cookies?”

“Ben? He eats like a Wookiee. Literally. Chewie taught him to cook.”

“But he likes cookies?”

“Eats them by the box."

Master Luke laughed.

“Now I see that all of it was so very minor. I used to get so angry with him about the TIE Fighter, and the smuggling, and Talia, and the other girls. He didn’t trust me to tell me how the Dark Side, how Snoke was stalking him. It had been a terrible day, for Ben. I disciplined his little group of girls, and all four of them blamed everything on him. Not Talia, though. She spoke up for Ben. But the other three girls? They didn’t take his side. They gave him up. He sat in his hut and cried, all day. He really cared. He did. The poor kid cried himself to sleep. I went to check on him, that night and I felt the Dark Side all around him. While he was sleeping. I thought he had given himself over to it. I attacked. I almost cut off his head, but Ben defended himself. He blocked my lightsaber with his and punched me in the face as hard as he could. If I wasn’t a Jedi Master who can anticipate my opponent's movements. It would have broken my neck. But he didn't mean to kill me. Ben was just scared. As it was, I was unconscious until the morning. By then? It was all over."

Rey couldn’t believe the enormity of the act that he had just admitted to.

Trying to murder his own paduan, his own nephew!

“What happened to your nephew after he brought the building down on you? Did he join the Dark Side.”

“No. He packed up his gear and walked ten miles to the spaceport, and made it there by morning. He left Yavin 4 on a Mandalorian freighter with a business associate of his father’s, Din Saxon, under an assumed name that he had identity papers for. Now he’s partners with Rotta the Hutt, Jabba’s son, Din Saxon, the Mandalorian, and Han Solo. They revived the old Galactic Black Market, and now there’s a war on, not only are they making a fortune? They’re the only game in town for a lot of little things that people find it hard to live without. They do sell arms and coaxium to both sides, but they only sell the low-grade junk to the First Order and at three times the price they sell to the Resistance. I hear that Ben’s doing well. He hasn’t realized his ambition to meet the girl the Force has bound him to, but he still has his friend, Talia. I trained her as a Jedi Healer, and she's since gone to the Republic Medical School. She's Ben's personal doctor. As reckless as he is? He needs to travel with a farkling doctor. Pardon my language. The point is, my nephew renounced the Jedi and the Sith, the Dark and the Light, that day. He wants no part of it. He follows the Grey Path. As it was laid out by Master Qui-Gon Jinn. He also wants no part of this war. His name is Ben Solo, but the name he does business under, the name you’ll have heard of is his alias. Kylo Skywalker. The Arkanian.”

“Ben Solo is Kylo Skywalker, the Arkanian?”

“Yes. And he and Han are looking to add a good scavenger to their operation, because Kylo just bought the salvage rights to the site of the Battle of Yavin-4. And he’s the new owner of the ruins of the Second Death Star. You were the best scavenger at Niima Outpost. I’m sure you're the woman for the job.”

***

Kylo Skywalker was truly a man larger than life.

He wore a black oilskin duster, caped and hooded, festooned with grommets, pockets, and epaulets over a black pair of pilot’s coveralls, tucked into tall black jackboots.

He also wore a huge pair of brown leather and Beskar chrome goggles, with shatterproof mirrored lenses.

And he was the tallest, burliest man that Rey had ever seen.

He sat down across from her at the table she had picked out at the Niima Cantina.

The man had a quiet air of undeniable menace about him.

It put Rey on edge.

“You should try to hide that you have that much strength in the Force. The Sith are real, and the First Order take who they want.”

“Not if I work for you, Jedi Temple dropout, right?"

“I picked a good time to leave. I hear you're the best scavenger at Niima Outpost.”

“I am. Can you take those goggles off? I feel like I’m talking to a man with no eyes.”

He lowered his hood, and took off the goggles.

Time stopped.

And it wasn’t just because Kylo Skywalker the man had grown up to be a black swan with dark, saturnine good looks out of the ugly duckling of a boy that Master Luke had described to her.

It was because Rey was fairly sure it was him.

The man with whom she had shared a bond in the Force, for as long as she could remember.

She never knew his face, or his name, but now that she saw him, she somehow recognized him.

“It’s OK. I feel it, too. The Force brings people together for all kinds of reasons. Look at it this way? Now you’re sure to get the job. You’re hired, Rey…”

Rey shrugged.

“Just Rey. My parents left me when I was a little girl. I never got a last name. I don’t have identity papers, either.”

“That’s OK. I can get you some, if you need them.”

The doors opened.

Rey was excited to see Han and Chewie, again.

Kylo laughed.

He had a beautiful smile.

“My father. And my godfather. But you knew that, because my Uncle sent you here to recruit me. But I get the feeling you might decide to stick with me and the Old Man, instead. Keep that quiet, though.”

Han and Chewbacca sat down.

“She really is a scavenger. A friend of Poe’s. He got her into this mess. I got her out of it. So, you hired her, right, junior?”

“I hired her.”

“How you been, princess? You don’t look so good.” Han asked.

“You can tell us. I used to be you, after all. The Galaxy’s only hope.” Kylo joked.

“It was awful, mostly. Really awful. Master Luke was nothing like I thought he would be. Sometimes, he was very kind. But sad. As if he forgot that he was supposed to be terrible. But some of the things he taught me just confused me. Or scared me. I’m afraid of myself, now. What I might do.” Rey admitted.

“Forget it. Forget everything he taught you. It’s meaningless. The Force has no Dark Side, and no light. That dualistic nerfshit thinking? People made that up. As an excuse to control each other. And make war. You shouldn’t be afraid of what you’ll do, like it’s not up to you. You make your own destiny, Rey. Look at me. I made mine. I’m no Jedi. And I’m no Sith. There is another way. The Grey Path. I can teach it to you, if you want. Think it over. But as for all that poison Uncle Luke poured into your ears? Look what it did to him. Forget it.” Kylo advised her.

“Sounds like Luke is in bad shape, junior.” Han mentioned.

Casually.

“When Rey reports back to him? We’ll send him some supplies.” Kylo said.

“Rey, do you really want to be a Jedi?” Han asked her.

Nobody had asked her that, yet.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, try working with us for awhile. If you don’t want to go back? I won’t send you. I learned my lesson on that. With junior, here. Even after that Snoke bastard burned the Temple, Luke tried to get me to send my kid back to him, one more time. I said no. Since then, I get to visit my wife, but we don’t live together. And the kid and her aren’t on good terms. But Ben’s alive, and doing good, and the Sith and the First Order didn’t get him. It’s worth it. Don’t go back if you don’t want to. Let ‘em have their farkling war, without you. Fuck ‘m.” Han told her.

Kylo raised his pitcher.

“Dark side? Light side? Fuck it. My side.” He said.

He motioned to the Rodian barman.

“Rey works for me and Solo, now. If there’s trouble with her? You’ve got trouble with all of us.”

“I never had trouble with Rey. You made a good choice, Rey. These guys are the real deal. Order what you want, kiddo. The Arkanian has deep pockets. The deepest in the Galaxy.”

Rey was very hungry.

She ordered a lot of food, and a cheap half bottle of red wine.

“Don’t bring her the cheap stuff.” Kylo told the Rodian.

“Why are you so rich, Kylo?” Rey asked.

“He gets dressed up like another Darth Vader. Red lightsaber and all. And we raid First Order ships with full cargo holds. Or Crimson Dawn freighters. Sometimes First Order warehouses and depots. All he has to do is show up and…say it, Vader junior. Say your thing.” Han suggested.

“I am Kylo Skywalker, Lord Vader. All of this belongs to me. Surrender to me all that I ask for. Or you will die. Quickly! I find your lack of haste disturbing.”

Rey shivered.

But, much to her shame, not entirely in fear.

“That’s why I call him junior. Because I ain’t calling him Kylo. I didn’t name him Kylo. You should see these assholes give up. They usually just kneel and grovel. Sometimes, we have to get tough? But most of the time? It’s all money, it’s all for the taking, and it’s all ours.” Han explained.

“I also liberate Stormtroopers. Snoke takes them from their families, when they are children. And he brainwashed, humiliates, tortures, and enslaves them. The First Order takes their faces and their names, and makes them kill. For Snoke. It’s what he did to me. It’s what he meant for me. I didn’t deserve to live that way. No one does.” Kylo added.

“What happens to them?”

“If they have a home to go to? I help them return to it. Or find a job. Some of them work for me. They are my people, I am their Chieftain. No one else cares about them. Not my mother. Not the Resistance. Not the New Republic. I care.” Kylo told her.

Rey nodded.

The idea that Darth Vader’s grandson, the Galaxy’s only Grey Jedi Master, a ruthless pirate with unlimited money, was the self-styled Arkanian-style Clan Chieftain of a small army of loyalists with military training was a little unsettling.

And that’s why the General wants him. She wants not just her son, but his people, and the influence he has over not just them, but potentially the First Order.

When Rey thought that, Kylo turned to her.

“The Old Man and I are dangerous, ruthless men. But compared to my mother? We’re baby Ewoks.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Han agreed.

And just like that, Rey was working for the Outer Rim Cartel.

Her food and wine showed up.

“So, junior, I talked to the guy? The guy about identity papers for Rey. You object to her being a Solo?”

Kylo smiled at Rey in a way that let her know she wasn’t the only one thinking what she was thinking.

“As long as she isn’t supposed to be my sister? It’s fine by me.” Kylo replied.

"Nah. It says I'm her legal guardian until she's 21. So, that way, nobody can steal you, from me, Rey. I also put you down as Junior's common law wife. Then, after you're 21? Nobody can steal you from him. Considering the way you two keep looking at each other? I figure you don't mind."

"So, this is my wedding night?" Kylo asked

"Watch it, kid. They're just papers. It's not like I bought her from Unkar Plutt and I'm giving her to you."

"Yes, Kylo. This is our wedding night." Rey told him.

Chewbacca made a comment.

"It was not fast, Chewie. Rey is her. The girl of Ben's dreams. It's the Thunderbolt. Didn't you know, when you first met Mala, that she was the one for you?"

Chewie said something about how he wasn't talking about that kind of knowing.

"Yeah, well, it's none of our business. They're probably just kidding around. Come on, old pal. Let's not be the extra dicks at the wedding."

Han got up.

Chewie said something, sternly, to Ben that Rey didn't understand, and Ben replied earnestly.

Rey decided she was going to have to learn better Shriyyywook.

After Han and Chewie left, Ben opened the bottle of wine.

"Since we've suddenly found ourselves married? I should make you some kind of vow. Think about the loneliness you felt on this desert, Rey. The longing for someone, something to come for you. Think about it, and let it go. Because you'll never be that alone, again." He told her.

"You have nothing to worry about, Ben. You're every bit as strong as Darth Vader. And just as much a man as Han Solo. You may think you're the ugly duckling. But you've transformed into a beautiful black swan. What happens, now?"

"We'll eat our dinner, and drink this bottle of vintage Corellian red. And then? We'll start doing whatever the fuck we want. And we'll keep doing whatever the fuck we want, until death comes for us. And the son of a bitch is going to have to sneak up on me."

Kylo poured two glasses of wine.

Rey began to think this might really be where she was meant to be, after all.

Happy fanfiction day!

#reylo #ben solo lives #ben solo smuggler #reylo au #reylo romance #tros fix it #han solo lives #rey x kylo ren #reylo fanfic

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treatian · 5 years ago

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The Chronicles of the Dark One: The Dark Curse

Chapter 46: Beyond Their World

And so it began.

Regina was married. And as he'd watched her walk down the aisle, escorted by her father, and take the King's hand in her own while Snow White beamed, he'd had a vision. A beautiful vision. It was one that he hoped was not the doing of his own imagination but rather the result of the Seer that still lived in his very skin. The vision was of Regina, but not the scared little doe-eyed girl that was marrying the King if only to keep herself safe from persecution, no, certainly not. This Regina was older, darker. The white smile on her face was not one of true happiness but rather a smile of a trickster. She'd been dressed in black, her clothing showing off shapely curves, her hair twisted high into a knot on her head. In her hand was a heart, glowing red and beautiful and the name, the moniker that came to mind as he watched the priest pronounce them Man and Wife was not Queen Regina, but rather, The Evil Queen.

How reassuring.

And yet, there was still a long way to go before that vision was achieved; he simply knew it. The lessons that followed it confirmed it.

Regina was different than Cora in several ways, some good and some bad. Her strength, the magic that flowed through his new student, was powerful, far more than her mother's. But getting her to use it…now that was a tricky task. Cora had had such a difficult life she'd been determined to do anything she could to get ahead. That determination was her motivation, and Cora had taken in every lesson he'd ever taught her, taking it upon herself to quickly master what she'd never had access to before.

Regina had no such motivation. True, her childhood with Cora had not been an easy or enjoyable one. But where her father, Daniel, and even her horses were concerned, she'd had a much better life than Cora. The good had outweighed the bad. And now with Cora secure in Wonderland, the guards searching the Kingdom hopelessly for her after Regina had told them she'd stepped out and never returned, there was very little he had to work with. Her father was with her, happy and healthy, getting along splendidly with the King. Her horses were safe and at her disposal. And Daniel…he, or rather, his body was a problem. Still kept protected by Regina's preservation spell, she was often distracted by that body. It gave Regina hope, and he realized after a short amount of time that it wasn't for power or even protection she was learning magic, but rather with the hope that one day she might bring her love back to life. She was wrong, of course, in many ways. She needed hate and devastation to fuel her as he'd seen thus far. Not hope.

All he really had to work with after Cora's banishment, was Regina's current marriage. Being married to the King was not something Regina was happy about. There were perks, and what came with the union was why she'd ultimately followed through, but it wasn't what she'd hoped. And how could it have been? Married again barely a year after his wife had died?! Leopold was too attached to Snow to really care for his new wife the way a husband should. Regina knew it. And she felt it as well. He encouraged those emotions, not only because he knew what would come, but because it helped egg her on now.

Cora's spell over the mirrors turned out to have been sealed using blood magic, and he was quick to convince Regina that it would be smart to undo it, but the actual act had been something of a challenge.

"But then…if I do this…won't people be able to see in to me? Dressing or…or bathing?!"

"The answer to that is simple…" in midair, he conjured a blanket and threw it over the mirror they were working with. "No sight…no sound…but as it is, if you ever found yourself with a need to get in communication with someone, say…your teacher…you'd be able to see, but not hear…very poor way of communication if you ask me.

"But then…" he removed the blanket quickly. "What does it matter? If it makes you uncomfortable? It's not as if you're not already watched constantly by the King…by Snow White…the servants even…"

"But…I am watched by them. Constantly, it's as if they don't ever stop looking in on me."

Indeed, it was getting more and more difficult for them to find time and places to practice for even just a few minutes before someone stormed in to demand her time.

"So…wouldn't it be nice to have the upper hand, to give them a taste of their own medicine? To watch the King as he works? To overhear every last word dear Snow White says to everyone?"

A sneer grew over Regina's mouth. "Show me how!"

And with that, Cora's spell was undone. Sight and sound into Regina's life was restored. But it wasn't always easy. One problem Regina had that Cora never did was time. Engaged to her Prince in his castle, she'd always managed to find time for magic. But as the acting Queen, step-mother to a young girl, and wife to the King, her schedule was packed tight. In the end, the mirrors were helpful to communicate even if all they had was ten minutes or so. The rest of the time he spent back at his castle, waiting for the next summons, plotting his next lesson…and listening to Jefferson.

He had to admit that his own education was growing considerably as well, thanks to the boy. He was becoming something of a regular occurrence in his life. He never returned with news of the curse, but at least he never came back from an excursion empty-handed either. He often brought him strange and interesting items from other realms that he visited. Useless to him or not, money was never a concern, so he bought them from him just to hear the stories and absorb as much information as he could about these other places. Some of them had such strange customs and items.

"Stethoscope…" Jefferson explained as he sat upon the table, allowing him to examine the odd object in his hands now. "Pinched it from the Doc when he wasn't looking in the Land Without Color."

"A doctor, you say…"

"Yeah, about the only interesting part of that world if you ask me. He's trying to resurrect the dead. But I don't go there often; it's difficult to blend in during the daylight."

"And why might that be?"

"Well, I didn't name it the Land Without Color for its rainbows," he retorted from his place on top of the table. "It's without color…black, and white, and gray all over, and I'm…well, not without color."

"Yes, yes, I see, you needn't have added that last little bit," he growled as he paid him for the object.

On and on, he could talk about realms far from this singular one he lived in. Realms without end it sometimes seemed, though he did promise him that there was an end, an edge. One realm in particular, where time stood still and the sun hung in the sky in eternal sunset.

"Or maybe it's sunrise? Ah well, I don't like to go there either really so it doesn't really matter," he commented. "It's bad for my health! Time moves differently in all these realms and there especially it's incredibly fast. I spent a week there once, laying low after stealing a ruby from Agraba, I was really after some scissors, but it was a nice consolation prize. Anyway, when I went back to try and sell the thing they nearly killed me again, it was still the night I'd stolen it!"

"How curious…" he muttered absent-mindedly. On and on, Jefferson could talk about realms when he wanted him to and when he didn't want to. He was attempting to test the potion he was working on while Regina was out touring the Kingdom with her new family, and Jefferson was chattering on and on by his side. This was one of those times he really would rather have concentrated than listen. "Tell me, Jefferson, you don't like Wonderland, you don't like The Land Without Color, and you don't like this Edge of Realms…where do you prefer to go?"

Jefferson stared at him blankly for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders. "Oz isn't bad. And the Land of Untold Stories is pretty interesting, not to mention all it requires is a key and not my hat to get there. London is quite profitable too. To be honest, I like anywhere I can make money easily!"

Cities of emerald, Wonderland, and at least three different realms that each had a very different copy of a city called "London", where magic was different in each one; he'd never admit it, but sometimes thinking about the realms made him dizzy. It was all fascinating, truly it was. He welcomed the information. What wasn't always welcomed was Jefferson's long stays at the castle between trips. He wasn't sure how the boy had gotten the invitation to stay at his castle like he was some kind of teenager who didn't want to go home to his parents, but he knew that he was growing accustomed to being at work and seeing Jefferson sudden appear seemingly out of nowhere and haunt the halls of his castle before he suddenly disappeared just as mysteriously as he'd arrived.

In truth his yammering was only a problem for his sanity. The boy did seem to recognize some boundaries, though he did have a habit of testing his luck.

"Any sign of my curse?"

"Nothing on that," he sighed, sounding disappointed himself. "I ask everywhere I go, but mostly all I get for it is blank stares. If you had more information…"

"If I had more information, I wouldn't need to send you out looking to and fro now, would I?"

"Just a suggestion. It's not like looking for curses is in my typical wheelhouse. I usually specialize in rare items that glitter and make me money. But I'll keep looking. Never know what you might find out there. Last week I actually discovered a world where pigs fly. If that's possible, anything is!"

As Jefferson muttered his last word his head snapped up. Someone had just come onto the castle grounds. Two souls, one human and the other...at the speed the individual was approaching it must have been a horse. The Seer said nothing about the unexpected visit. It was probably a nobody coming to make a deal. He hoped they were more interesting than Jefferson, or at the very least less annoying. They'd be to the door any second now.

"Wait here and stay out of sight!" he snapped at the boy when he finally heard the knock on the door. With a wave of his hand, the objects he had on the table in the great room vanished back up to his workstation.

"What you think I'm not used to the rules of your business by now?!" Jefferson hollered after him as he left the room. He didn't panic. Annoying as he was, Jefferson was a smart man and knew better than to stay around when he wasn't wanted. When he returned to the room with his "business", as Jefferson had called it, he knew the boy would be gone from sight. Or else he'd find someone else to work that hat for him.

#Rumbelle #Rumple #Rumpelstiltskin #Regina #Evil Queen #Jefferson #Mad Hatter #ouat #ouat fanfiction #fanfic

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abandonedinthesouth · 5 years ago

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Japan's SUICIDE FOREST

At the entrance of the forest, a sign reminds visitors that "life is a precious gift" from their parents.

"Quietly think once more about your parents, siblings or children," the sign says in Japanese. "Please don't suffer alone, and first reach out."

Aokigahara’s reputation as a place of death goes back hundreds of years, as the forest was often associated with legends of Y��rei, aka ghosts of Japanese mythology. According to legend, the spirits of those who were lost or left to die haunt the forest.

The area’s modern association with suicide goes back to the publication of Seichō Matsumoto’s 1960 novel Kuroi Jukai (translated to The Sea of Trees), which featured a pair of young lovers taking their lives in the forest. In the decades since, hundreds of Japanese have killed themselves in the area, drug overdoses and hanging accounting for a majority of the deaths. The area is strewn with the clothing and belongs of those who’ve gone in, never to return.

While exact statistics are hard to come by due to the authority’s sweeping the forest for bodies only once a year, the most recent released numbers – from 2010 – show in that year over 200 people attempted suicide in the Aokigahara Forest, with 54 succeeding.

A Story....

A girl whom was very miserable with her life 23 years old her mother smoked drank did drugs brought random guys home off the street. Her father beat and verbally and physically abuse the girl he left thinking her mother would take care of her and herself he left in the middle of the night without saying goodbye. He left because he thought he wasn't good enough he later killed himself because of his doings to the girl his only daughter. The girl wasn't schooled she dropped out of high school she didn't really pay attention anyway and dropped out due to the bullies had been raped,beaten,moulted,bullied badly,drug addict,cutter. She would do anything for that little piece of metal that made big cuts and scars even if that meant selling her body to anyone for money for pencil sharper and drugs. One day she got tired of her worthless life and planned her suicude she would go to the nearest forest and make a noose of barbed wire and rope. Write a letter and fold it up and using a safety pin pining it to her wrist carefully doing something to her wrist for the blood not to get all over the note. Then grabbing the scissors out of her pocket while the noose is around her skinny pale neck rubbing against her scarred skin before jumping she was cutting something in her face using the blood to wash down the pills she overdosed on. Waiting about 30mins thinking how happy she would be after taking the pills she jumped...as the metal points piercing her neck blood flows down her skin and bones her body she saw a boi across the river and he looked back in fear he cries uncontrollably they have never met before but some how he screams her name and runs and climbs the tree to get her down. Still crying he says "why? Why? I love you.. Just why?" He got her just in time but she was still bleed out and had still overdosed. He didn't get up though so he took her to the nearest hospital. One few days later he visited her and brought her flowers red roses. The doctor came to talk with him and told him "I'm glad you brought her here she would have die if you hadn't". Feeling proud of with he did he was still upset that she wanted to that to herself. He went in her room at her house. He looked at pictures the nicnacs she had Pon & Zi plushies and the one picture she had of her childhood. Of her sitting next to a river of the forest he took the picture and looked alittle bit more he found a box under her broken bed her pillow was covered in black makeup from crying herself to sleep everynight. But in the box was a teddy bear she had forgotten about and hadn't seen in years all tore and sewn up he took that too and left. He went back to the hospital lied the teddy beside her with the picture when she woke she asked "where am I and why is this picture of me here and this bea-" she stopped in shock she was so sure the bear was throw in the river in the picture. "Where did you get this?" He replied "under your bed". She asked "you know where I live?" "Yes I live right beside you. I have for years I used watch you come home getting off the bus always crying but you stopped coming to school and also you're so beautiful why did you cut a smile ear to ear in your beautiful face? it's all sewn up now but it's gonna left a scar" she sat up and she replied "because I wanted to smile for once and forever because I have never had a reason to smile" he smiled "well, now you do". Confused she started to ask "why wou-" surprised she smiled. He kissed her they dated for a few years and he propose "will you marry me with beautiful smile?" She said "*smiled* yes" later after they were married she stopped drugs cutting everything she stopped and later they had twins one boi and one girl she loved them more than anything and she lived happily ever after smiling :)

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phaedrecameron · 6 years ago

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House of Fraser, Chpt 4- Un Dono

“Jamie! The Randall fiancée is here.”

“Her name is Claire, Marsali. Send her back would ye?” Asked Jamie.

Jamie turned back to his table. He had several fabrics laid out in various colors. He began his mental checklist as his eyes scanned his workspace: satin, taffeta, silk, charmeuse, brocade, sheer, lacy, ivory, light gold, neutral.

His fingers tapped a tattoo on the table as he sought to calm his nerves. He hadn’t been this nervous since his first runway show. He fiddled with his collar. He was wearing well worn jeans, a burnt red v neck sweater atop a white Oxford, both rolled up at the sleeves, and his lace up boots. He was sporting a few days stubble.

After several minutes, Jamie looked toward the entryway. He walked into the foyer. Marsali pointed to one the siderooms. There he saw Claire speaking on her mobile. Her back was to him, but from the set of her shoulders and the movements of her arms, he knew she was angry.

Her hair was in a low ponytail. She was wearing a leather jacket, a fuzzy knit beanie and light weight wool trousers. He knew he should leave and give her privacy, but he felt rooted to the spot. Abruptly, she turned and saw him. He meant to apologize, but he caught sight of her face. Jamie pushed the door fully open and was at her side in an instant.

“Claire, are ye alright?”

“Ah, Mr. Fra—“

“Call me Jamie.”

Claire brushed an escaped curl from her face. She looked up at him, smiled, and slowly backed away. Jamie realized he was all but on top of her and had lightly gripped her elbow. He immediately took two steps back. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didna mean.. I thought…”

“It’s alright,” she readjusted her cross body purse, “my job.” She shrugged. Claire expected him to drop the matter, but he stood his ground, waiting to see if she truly was okay. “I…one of my patients is very sick,” she explained, “his only hope is an expensive experimental drug, not approved in the U.K.”

Her face was like quicksand, he could read all her emotions as they formed, coalesced, and dissipated. He saw her fear, hopelessness, anger, and determination.

“The hospital is trying to convince the family that conventional treatment is the best course, but they’re wrong. Just bureaucrats more interested in cutting costs and forms in triplicate!” Claire’s fists curled.

Jamie took one step closer. He noticed a small cluster of silver hair near her right temple; the strands threaded through her curls, hiding and peeking through like a swirl of cream through coffee. “Dinna doubt yerself, I’m certain ye’ll persuade them.”

She looked somewhat shocked by his statement. “You have a lot of faith in someone you just met,” Claire replied.

“I know things and I’m a good judge of character,” he gave her a half smirk and bumped her shoulder.

She couldn’t help but smile as she looked into his face. He smelled earthy…sandalwood maybe. He’d grown a bit of facial hair. He really could model his own clothes. She quickly looked down when she realized she was staring.

“Have ye always wanted to be a doctor?”

“Yes. Always. It’s the only thing of which I’ve ever been sure. And to help children…. to see them endure such horrible pain when their lives have just begun,” she shook her head, “I was born to it I suppose.”

Jamie watched as the same stubborn curl fell to her eyebrow. He fought the urge to brush it from her face. “It must take a lot out of ye, to give so much of yerself to help. The bairns are lucky to have ye.”

“Well, it’s my job. No different than anyone else’s, really.” Claire tried to brush off his implication.

Jamie scoffed, “the skill to save a child‘s life? ‘Tis a gift Claire, truly.”

Her face seemed to light up at his words. Jamie realized, inexplicably, that she wasn’t used to being complimented. She smiled and looked away. When she looked back at him, Jamie knew he had been staring longer than could be considered polite. He turned and grabbed a clean sketchbook and pencil that was sitting on a table. Seeing Claire’s curious gaze, “I keep em lying around. Ye never know when inspiration will strike,” he gave her one of his half smiles. He sketched for 30 seconds or so while Claire tried in vain to see his work.

“Shall we?” Jamie moved to the door.

Claire began to follow. “Will I see those?” She pointed to the now closed sketchbook he held in his hand.

“Possibly,” he teased. Jamie couldn’t show her the sketches. The sketches were designs for the spring line, not her gown. Looking at her had dislodged him from the rut he’d been in regarding the line’s direction.

Claire shook her head at him, freeing more curls, “Alright, this will be a good distraction,” she said without thinking. “Oh god.” She cringed and closed her eyes. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean that this,” she motioned to his studio, “isn’t important…that what you do—?

“Dinna worry. I understood yer meaning. I may not be saving children’s lives, but I’d like to think I bring a bit of joy into the world.”

He turned and Claire followed him down the hallway.

Claire was soon distracted by his studio. It was enormous. There were huge windows and skylights. She saw long tables covered in fabrics, scissors, measuring tape, pins and that was just what she could identify. There were large standing boards covered with clothing designs. Some were hand drawn, others computer generated. There were mannequins and cameras. The back wall contained a row of large screen desktops.

“Claire, you remember John? He and Marsali will be assisting periodically.”

“Um, yes, hullo.” Claire’s head continued scanning the studio.

Jamie felt an unexpected pride at being able to impress her. She started to wander between the tables, Jamie carefully following behind. “Did you design all…of this?” She waved her hand in the air, her engagement ring glittering in the natural light.

“Mostly, but it’s a team effort. I oversee everything. Set the theme.”

“It’s amazing.” Awestruck, she turned to face him.

It was the first time he’d seen her true smile. He swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat, “thank ye.”

She stopped at the table where he had laid out the fabrics.

“Is this..?” She looked at him for confirmation.

“Aye, feel them.”

She ran her fingers along the fabrics. There was the cool smoothness of satin, the rough snag of embroidered lace, and the uneven bumpiness of an embellished bodice.

“I don’t know where to start,” her voice low.

“That why I’m here. Come.” Jamie winked. Or she thought he winked, it was more like he blinked both eyes. She laughed as he directed her to a wooden step placed before a floor length mirror.

She stepped up and Marsali removed her jacket, revealing her plain black t shirt. Jamie came by her side. While on the step, they were at eye level. His deep blue eyes swimming with mischief.

“I think the color is the first decision,” Jamie stated as he brought the fabrics near her arm, “look at these.” Claire looked at the fabrics in the mirror as he brought each close. “Yer skin is fair…almost pearl like. This would suit ye best.”

She shyly touched her neck. “Oh? And which color is that?”

“It’s a shade of ivory, called ‘forever’. Though... light gold and champagne are also options.” He stepped back to grab more fabric. She peeked at him in the mirror. With his jaw set in concentration, he was completely in his element. She could easily imagine him spending his days and nights here, lost in a frenzy of creation. That passion and calling to a vocation was something Claire understood well.

“Also yer quite tall,” he was saying. He was walked behind her and raised his hands. “May I?”

She nodded. He gently grabbed her ponytail and deftly pinned her hair up; his fingers grazing her neck as he did so. Claire felt the hair on her arms raise at his touch and wondered how many models he had done that for.

“Ye’ll want to show off yer neck, maybe?” He didn’t wait for her answer, but grabbed a sketchbook and began scribbling. He’d look up every so often, furrow his brow, and keep on scribbling.

Claire thought she would dislike being stared at and fussed over like a toy doll, but she felt…excited. A sudden energy hummed throughout her body. She twisted her hands and sighed with relief. She knew Frank worried about her lack of enthusiasm for the ceremony. She assured him she wasn’t a ‘big wedding ceremony’ type, but secretly she worried also. The pressure Frank was under was enormous. He needed her to be present for him on their wedding day; be what he required. She owed him that. Perhaps with Jamie’s help, a little piece of the wedding would be hers also. That would make it easier.

Jamie held out his sketchbook. “What do ye think? Would these suit ye or…Frank?”

She gasped as her hands swept over the pages.

“Yes, yes, they’ll suit.

#house of fraser #outlander fanfic #outlanderprompts #thekingparrot

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bee-kathony · 6 years ago

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Fraser Memorial | Ch. 8 “Bear This Pain”

As always, thank you @sassenachwaffles for being my beta! And I went for colored pics this time to see that lovely Fraser red hair! ;)

March 2016

Planning a wedding with Jamie Fraser proved to be more difficult than I thought it would be. I had wrongfully assumed that he wouldn’t care about the small details, but he had an opinion on everything. And God - did he let me know.

“I dinna like the taste of that,” He stuck his tongue out after the fifth cake we had tasted.

“What’s wrong with this one?” I asked, cheerfully taking another bite.

Rubbing a napkin over his lips, he looked down at the chocolate fudge cake in front of him, eyes narrowed as if it was out to get him. “Too much chocolate, Sassenach. I say we go wi’ the carrot cake.”

“I love carrot cake, Jamie, but I don’t think everyone loves it. It’s not exactly the most popular of choices.”

“Tis our weddin’,” Jamie crossed his arms, looking like an impatient child.

I set my fork down, and looked over at him, “Why is this so important to you?”

“Is it no important to ye, mo nighean?”

I slid my hand across the table to grab his hand, and he reluctantly took it. “Of course it is, Jamie. I guess I’ve just never seen you this passionate about cake is all,” I laughed.

“I’m verra passionate about desserts, Sassenach.” Jamie leaned forward, licking his lips, “Especially when some of it is on the corner of yer mouth.” He pressed his lips against mine firmly, then flicked his tongue across my lips, collecting any remaining frosting.

Blushing, I wiped my mouth with my napkin, and Jamie laughed. “Pick whatever cake ye want… so long as it’s no the chocolate.”

“Fine,” I smiled. “How about the vanilla lavender with buttercream frosting?”

“Aye, that one was bonny.”

“Thank God,” I let out a deep breath. “That’s one thing crossed off our list. You know, if we’re going to be getting married in three months, then we better hurry up!”

“Well how much more can there be to do?” Jamie looked at me seriously.

“Jamie, my dear.” I shook my head, “There is so much to be done.”

“I’m no in the mood to be doin’ anymore of it today, Sassenach. I’m happy to come along wi’ ye and help pick out stuff, but one decision a day please!” He held up both hands, exasperated at trying so many cake flavors.

“We don’t have any other appointment scheduled until next week anyway,” I laughed and stood up, and headed off to tell the baker our decision.

I joined Jamie outside, wrapping my arms around his waist and stood on my toes to give him a kiss. “We’re going to Jenny and Ian’s right? To see the baby for a bit?”

“Aye,” He twisted a curl around his finger, “Wee Maggie has been a handful she tells me.”

“Fraser blood,” I smirked and smacked his bum before climbing into the car.

++++++

I held Maggie in my arms, rocking her slowly back and forth. She had the cutest pink cheeks, chubby as most babies are, and the smallest little fingers. I couldn’t stop looking at her, even when Jenny would ask me a question about the wedding — I kept my eyes locked down on Maggie.

“If ye’ve got her for a bit, I’m just goin’ to take a bath,” Jenny said, rising from the bed. “Havena had a proper soak in what feels like forever.”

“Aye, we’ll watch her,” Jamie smiled and came to join me on Jenny’s bed. He slid his arm around my shoulder and I leaned my head against him.

“Do you want children, Jamie?”

He touched Maggie’s small hand with his finger and she latched onto it, taking the tip of it into her mouth. “Oh aye, Sassenach. I’d love to fill our house wi’ bairns… Hand down the good Fraser name.” He smiled at me but his eyes were a million miles away - picturing what our future might look like one day.

“Jamie…” I looked at him and then quickly back down at Maggie. “I may never be able to give you a daughter as beautiful as wee Maggie. I don’t know if I can have children,” I said softly.

Sooner or later I knew this topic would come up, and I should have mentioned it before we got engaged, but everything with Jamie happened very quickly.

He was silent, his hand squeezing tight on my shoulder, urging me to continue. “When I was engaged to Frank, we discussed having children. My mother had two miscarriages before I was born, Jamie.”

“Mo ghraidh,” Jamie placed a kiss on the top of my head.

“And so we went to the doctor to check if everything was alright. That’s when I found out that I have less eggs than a woman should at my age.” I felt a tear slid down my cheek and rushed to wipe it. “Christ, I’m only 25. I should have told you, Jamie.”

His grip tightened around me and I leaned into his chest, tears silent falling down my face. Little Maggie barely stirred, her chest rising slowly. Jamie pushed my curls back behind my ear and tilted my chin up to look at him. “Perhaps it’s for the best, Sassenach.”

“What?”

“It’s just, so many things can go wrong with a pregnancy, even with today’s modern medicine. I wouldn’t want anythin’ to happen to ye or for ye to suffer.”

“I wouldn’t mind the pain,” I cried.

He kissed my forehead, “I would. I can bear pain myself, but I couldna bear yers. It would take more strength than I have.”

Jamie let me cry as much or as little as I needed to as we both watch Maggie sleep peacefully.

With Frank, when I had learned that it would be hard for me to become pregnant, I wasn’t exactly disappointed. As our relationship progressed, there were traits I saw in him that I didn’t like and so I was secretly glad I might not be able to pass those along to my future children. That should have been a warning sign for me to leave him, but it took me being cheated on to come to my senses.

Now being with Jamie, all I wanted was to be able to give him children — as many as he wanted. The thought of small red haired children running around our house one day made me smile and I prayed that it would be possible for us.

“Jamie,” I said after awhile and he looked over at me. “Promise me we won’t give up? Trying to have children?”

He smiled, and leaned in to kiss me, “Aye, we’ll try, Sassenach. I would verra much like to try.”

Present Day - November 2018

“FUCK!!!”

My eyes were shut tight, and I was seeing spots, but the light was too bright in the bloody hospital room. I could hear Jamie scooping more ice chips into a cup, and I wanted to hurl it at his face.

“Just a few more minutes, Claire, then we’ll be ready to push out baby number one,” my doctor said and I nodded quickly, taking deep breaths.

“Sassenach, ye can do this.” Jamie kissed my sweaty forehead, grabbing one of my hands to let me squeeze.

“You’ll bloody fucking pay for this, Jamie!” I let out a scream as another contraction came.

“Christ,” Jamie muttered and I looked at his hand, which was turning white. He only gripped my hand tighter.

“Who do you think will be first, Malcolm or Lilidh?” He smiled and wiped my forehead with a cloth.

“I’d like it to be Lilidh,” I panted. “So that she can be the older one. Have something to hold over her brother’s head.”

Jamie laughed, holding up a ice chip to my lips. I sucked on the chunk of ice, and leaned my head back against the pillow.

“Of course, if Malcolm is first he’ll always let her know. Stubborn Fraser men,” I started to laugh and then grunted as another contraction came.

“Okay, Claire…” my doctor looked at me, her hands on my ankles. “It’s time to push.”

I looked from her to Jamie, and he looked quite frightened. I suddenly wondered who this would be harder for, him or me?

Fuck. Me.

Women who tell you that pregnancy is a beautiful thing forget to mention the incredible pain you feel when you’re pushing something that feels like a watermelon out of a very small hole.

Bracing myself, I shut my eyes, gripping Jamie’s hand as tightly as I possibly could and pushed when the doctor told me to.

“That’s it, Claire. Come on, I can see the head.”

Deep breath. Push. Scream. Push.

A cry.

“Christ, she’s bonny,” Jamie said and my eyes sprang open to look at my daughter. She was beautiful, no matter if she was covered in amniotic fluid and blood — she was perfect.

“Lilidh,” I sighed, my body relaxing momentarily.

“Would you like to cut the first cord, Dad?” The doctor said, handing him a pair of scissors.

Jamie looked down at me, his eyes wide as he took them. Once the cord was cut, he picked her up, tears filling his eyes and brought her to me. I pulled back the front of my hospital gown and Jamie laid her against my chest. Lilidh cried, her little eyes shut to the new world she had just arrived in.

“Our lass,” Jamie cried, stroking her back. A couple of minutes later, I felt another contraction coming, and so Jamie helped give Lilidh over to the nurse to be cleaned and swaddled.

“Ready for another one?” Jamie smiled, kissing me quickly.

I nodded and prepared myself to go through it all over again.

At last, after several more contractions and what felt like an hour of pushing, Malcolm Fraser came into the world. We repeated the same steps we did with Lilidh — cutting the umbilical cord, and placing him on my chest, breathing together.

“Just as ye said, Sassenach,” Jamie laughed. “Lilidh is older by twenty-three minutes.”

“As she should be,” I chuckled, then stared down at our beautiful boy. I could tell already that both our children were red headed - purely from Fraser blood, no doubt about it. That thought made me smile, knowing that Jamie was so clearly the father and that our traits were mixed into them.

Another nurse came and took Malcolm to be cleaned and I let my head fall back against the pillow, drenched in sweat. Jamie rested his head into the crook of my neck, and I felt his body shaking. Slowly, I lifted one hand to the back of his neck.

“Christ, I’m so glad ye all made it.” He sniffed, “Ye were so brave, Claire.” Jamie pulled back, placing a kiss on my lips, “So brave and strong.”

“You bloody bet I was,” I laughed.

Jamie pressed his forehead to mine. “They’re cleanin’ the bairns, do ye want me to go and check on them? Ye can rest for a bit and I’ll come back wi’ them both.”

I nodded and smiled lazily, already feeling myself drifting off to sleep, my body fatigued.

Some time later - I have no idea how long - I felt someone nudging my side, and opened my eyes to see Jamie, holding both our babies in his strong arms. “Slide over a bit?”

I moved over in the bed so that he could come and lay beside me. He handed me Malcolm and I cradled him to my chest as he laid down gently next to me, holding Lilidh.

“She’s already got you wrapped around her little finger,” I smiled.

“Aye, I’ll do whatever she asks. Bonny lass,” he said softly, running his finger over her pink cheek. “And we’ve got our brave lad, too.”

I ran my hand over the top of Malcolm’s head, lightly covered with red fuzz. Newborn babies really did smell good. “He’ll grow up strong and kind…” I looked over at Jamie, “Just like his father.”

“I love you, mo nighean donn,” Jamie said softly, his voice cracking slightly, his eyes brimming with fresh tears.

“And I love you, Jamie Fraser.” He closed the space between us and kissed me. We stayed close together, our heads touching on the pillow and watched both of our babies sleeping in our arms.

Before we were married, I wasn’t sure I would be able to have children. Now I held the two most perfect creatures in my arms, and my husband was right beside me through it all.

#fraser memorial #bairns #jamie fraser #claire fraser #getting married soon #having babies #jenny fraser murray #jamie x claire #outlander fanfiction #chapter 8 #bear this pain #lallybroch

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inshadowofthegods · 5 years ago

Text

Journeymen

"Prazien is sick?" "Yeah," Solveig replied with a quick, sharp sigh. "She has been for... almost a week now, I suppose." "I just thought it was because she was going to lay eggs," Eldin - Sol's imperial son - added, peering down from above as the group walked together. Solveig started, then let out another huff. "No... no, nothing like this happened last time," they said after a moment. "And I already told you we weren't going to bring that up, Eldin." "We all knew anyway," Ila interjected, crossing her arms. "I didn't," Edan said flatly. "I told you in confidence, Ila," Solveig replied, scowling. "I didn't want to tell everyone until later, once we see how many hatch." "I - oh - what?" Ila stammered, blinking in surprise. "I - I'm sorry, in that case. I -" "Are we there yet?" Snow whined from behind them, dragging herself along at the back of the group. "I'm tired!" "Snowdrop, you take one stride for every three I do," Marshall scoffed, rolling his eyes. "You can keep up. It's not much farther." "But papa it's so hot," the gaoler groaned. "I can't stand it." "Take off your scarf, then!" "But I like my scarf - " "I know, I know," Marshall paused to pinch the bridge of his nose. "We'll... shear you later or something okay? Maybe Zuehal will have a good pair of scissors..." "I don't want my hair cut off," Poe stated, glowering down at the tundra. "You don't have to, it's an option." Edan cleared his throat. "We're near the edge of the forest now, folks," he said, fanning out a wing to block the group from going further. "Sit tight for a sec, I'll make sure we're good to go." Everyone slowed to a halt, standing ready or sitting down as Edan swapped to his second sight and continued on ahead. Snow flopped over with a dull thud shortly after. There were unfamiliar shapes amidst Zuehal's caravan, which gave the mirror pause. No pearlcatchers, at least - and none of them were lining up as customers would. Edan cautiously stepped out from the brush, taking a proper look at the dragons wandering the perimeter of the outpost. Zuehal sat cross-legged in the middle, clearly unconcerned by their presence. Then, he looked up. "Edan! You're late! I was here end of Tidelord's month!" he shouted, sounding delighted in spite of his scolding. "Come on over!" "Alright everyone, come on out!" Edan called over his shoulder before stepping out into the open. "We've been busy, Zuehal. My apologies." He nodded to the two unfamiliar dragons patroling the area. "New mercenaries?" "Oh, yes," Zuehal stood, briefly gesturing toward the wildclaw and skydancer. "Meet Violetta and Bloom. I recently invested in long term contracts with them both. I thought it might be best given I'm headed out here more often." The skydancer bowed, and the wildclaw offered a vague sort of nod. "Hm, probably a good bet," Edan mused, nodding back before turning back to Zuehal. "Anyway, we've got some more stuff for you to look at today." "Excellent," Zuehal clasped his hands together, watching as Edan's group came out from the forest. "You have... some new members again, I see." "Yep. Poe and Snowdrop," Edan replied, turning to watch as the young giants wandered out with the rest of the group, following Marshall's lead. "We were kinda hoping you'd be able to tell us what they were, honestly." "Oh, those are gaolers," Zuehal replied with a chuckle. "They started showing up not long ago. I don't suppose you've heard any of the old legends about them?" "Oh," Edan blinked, watching as Snowdrop - once more - flopped over on her side, Marshall looking on in disappointment. "Well, yea, I have. Can't say they're what I pictured." "Well, yours seem quite young," Zuehal shrugged, then cocked his head to the side. "How did you manage to find a pair of them, anyhow?" "Well, you know how you told Mars to dig in our territory?" "Yes," Zuehal replied, clearly not following. "That's how he found them - or uh, their egg, I mean." "That's... bizarre," Zuehal blinked. "Were they around any ruins, or - ?" "Oh, I found lots of stuff," Marshall replied casually, dragging his own pack and Snow's as he ambled over. "But they weren't near anything that looked dragonmade. I have ore, and their shell. Interested in buying?" "I'd like a look, certainly," Zuehal nodded, adjusting his glasses and peering over the tundra's shoulder as he began to lay out his finds. He briefly looked back to the mirror. "Oh, and Edan, feel free to browse my tent for what you need, alright? I'll just be tallying up the value of what's been brought... I'll come and speak with you afterward." Ila quickly placed the bag of clothing she'd brought at the wildclaw's feet, then followed after him. "I really do need to go first," Solveig said, pulling a tied sack from his satchels and holding it out as he stepped toward Zuehal. "This is pure coin. I need medicine." "Medicine?" Zuehal asked. "What for, exactly?" "Uh... she's been vomiting, delirious, lots of trouble breathing..." Solveig listed off the symptoms on his talons, one by one. "Horrible fever. We're both pretty positive it's pneumonia." "I mean, yes, it does sound like that," Zuehal replied, frowning. "But I don't carry pharmaceuticals. All I can offer you are vitamins." "That's not good enough!" Solveig shook his head, panic in his voice. "She's getting worse, and our eggs will be hatching soon - even if she could fight it off, they might catch it before then - " "I'd be happy to escort you to the nearest city," Zuehal offered. "You could visit a pharmacy yourself, or hire a doctor to come back." "How far is it?" "A few days, you could be back in four if we leave tonight," Zuehal replied, then turned to shout in the skydancer's direction. "Hey, Bloom! Start packing up what the customers aren't looking through, alright?" "I don't think - I can't be gone that long," Solveig stammered. "The eggs will hatch before then - I'll need to look after them, and Praz too - " "I'll go," Eldin volunteered. "I can help you carry your stuff too. It'll be faster." "Thank you, El," Solveig let out a sigh of relief. "I know Edan wanted you carrying lumber, but that'll have to wait." "I mean, we can't build right now anyway," Eldin shrugged. "I'll try and haul some on my way back." "Excellent!" Zuehal remarked, clasping his hands together. "I'll admit I'm quite eager to have the help - I've been missing having extra muscle around." He chuckled. "Maybe if you do well on this trip I'll consider hiring you on." "Picking off my clanmates, now, Zuehal?" Edan drawled, strolling back out from the tent with his packs full of nails and other building materials. "I'm not just raising up a work force for you, you know." "Hah, no - I was just joking, Edan," Zuehal dismissed, quickly looking through Marshall and Ila's collected goods before looking over what the mirror had gathered. "Mister Eldin will just be coming with me for a medicine run. Anyway, if you're just getting those raw materials, I'll give you some coin to make up the difference - or credit, if you prefer." "Credit's fine," Edan nodded. "I need scissors too," Marshall added quickly. "Big ones." "Oh, no, I got those already," Ila held up an impressively large pair of shears. "I assume these will work nicely for you guys." Zuehal quickly jotted down a few lines in his notepad. "All right, I've got you marked down for credit, factoring in the grooming shears..." he put the book away, then quickly pulled out a small envelope. "And... there is one more thing before you go." "What is it?" Edan frowned, noting the wildclaw's sudden change in demeanor. "It's a letter for Angie," Zuehal began carefully. "And to be clear, it's... not good news. I meant to meet you in the tent to talk about it, but - well, you were faster than I expected." Marshall snatched the envelope from Zuehal's hand, read the letter within, and swore loudly. "How did it happen?" the tundra asked, his initial anger immediately giving way to sorrow. "I'm not sure I should be telling you that - " Zuehal replied, reaching to take back the letter. "No, Zue, it's fine. He knows her better than..." Edan paused. "Any of us, probably. What happened?" "There's not much point in hiding it now, I suppose," the wildclaw sighed, wringing his hands together. "Her parents were nobility. There were rumors of a coup, confirmed by their home being burnt to the ground in the night. So they sent her to me, to keep her safe while they tried to regain control over their town. She's the only one left from that line, now, to my understanding." "Edan," Marshall interrupted. "Or... Ila, Solveig, even. Walk the kids back for me, okay? I'm going to fly back. I'll tell her."

#flight rising #fr lore #fr writing #fr nuzlocke #oc: edan #oc: ila #oc: marshall #oc: solveig #oc: eldin #oc: snowdrop #oc: poe #isotg

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im-hiding22 · 6 years ago

Text

The Art of Resurrection - 8:30 PM

“Hey, we’re here!” Buggy, Mari, Clive and Rascal descended down the stairs and into the lab. Rascal was wrapped up in Mari’s cardigan, shivering slightly as he stepped in.

“Ah, just on time.” Mendel looked to them and nodded, crushing up some agate. “Make sure to shut the door to the lab.” The sound of the door shutting was heard shortly after he said so.

“So how’s the defusing gonna work?” Clive asked.

“It’s rather complicated,” began Mendel. “I’m going to do the usual ritual, with the string and the water and all, but once it gets to sorting out the souls, it gets a bit difficult. Fortunately I have Oz to help me communicate with them and get them sorted out.”

“I mean, I can sure try,” Oz said, flying up to the table and looking down at the Juggernaut.

“Usually when I do this it is between fusions with only two spirits. It tends to be easy, since I just need to separate the two souls and let them out into their physical forms. This one will be different and more difficult, however, since I need to send some souls to rest and then some to their physical forms. And since there is so many...” Mendel slid the crushed up agate into a small felt bag and sprinkled some over the sleeping Juggernaut.

“And...what’s the deal with all this stuff?” Buggy sat down on the ground away from the table, peering up at Mendel as he prepared the table.

“Glad you asked.” Mendel smiled under his mask. “Basically, I have made a ring around them using saltwater. The saltwater is like a line that keeps the souls in, almost like snails. The moss agate serves to ground them to Earth and heal them more successfully and thoroughly.” He pointed to the candles at the corners of the ring. “The candles are placed down in each cardinal direction to help guide them, as tradition. The red string I’ve tied to their limbs is supposed to keep the spirits in. When I cut it and speak the words of the ritual, the spirits are let out. Next I’ll be placing petals of daffodils along the ring and over their eyes...” Mendel grabbed another felt bag and opened it up. He stood in thought for a moment. “...Well, as many eyes as I can find.”

“Do...you really have to do all this? Sounds like a bunch of decoration.”

“It ensures better results. Last time I did this without the salt circle it was an utter nightmare. Doing this without the agate tends to lead to wounds reopening. The daffodils? Not sure, but I would rather not test that one out. They stand for rebirth and helps assist the process of bringing them back. I always use them for resurrections as well. It is almost like a habit by now.” He gently tucked yellow petals over the Juggernaut’s shut eyes. Buggy, Clive, and Rascal watched Mendel curiously. Mari set down her potions by Mendel’s side and stood by, observing him as well.

Once he finished covering their eyes Mendel shut the little bag and placed it back on its respective shelves.

“I think that is all...” He wandered to a little drawer and pulled out some thin silver scissors. “Here comes the fun part.” He stood by the table. “Everyone stand clear. Oz, stay close by, but still back up a bit. Don’t let anything get into the ring.” Everyone stood back, watching with patient eyes. “Ophelia, turn off the lights. We need the candles to be our only light.” Ophelia nodded and stood. Her coat was on the ground next to her. She drifted around the room and blew out any candles on the walls that were still lit. It went dim, and the group’s eyes slowly adjusted to the lack of light. Mendel took in a deep breath and gently lifted the end of a string tied to the Juggernaut’s wrist.

“Alright,” he said. He began reciting a ritual speech, in a tongue only the rest of the Coven could understand. Everyone watched him with big, waiting eyes, Buggy hugging onto his flamethrower, Clive lying on his stomach with his head rested in his hands, Rascal holding Milky and leaning forwards in an attempt to see better. “Spirits of this vessel, awaken for me as I speak,” he drawled, briefly waving his hands in a quick motion. The ring of flower petals and saltwater faintly let off a red glow. Mendel wasn’t wearing his robe, so there was no eye pattern on his clothes to open, but when his eyes parted they shone the same shade of red as the ring. “Awaken yourselves, come closer, and once I cut these strings, you will come free.” He slid his finger tip into the meager space in between the string and the Juggernaut’s wrist. The silver scissors slipped in next to them and cut cleanly through the string. He did this for the rest of the string around its limbs, and once they were all cut Oz’s attention was caught. His head immediately tilted to look up above the Juggernaut, eyes wide. Mendel looked down at him and smiled under his mask.

“Are they there?” Rascal whispered.

“Looks like it. Look at Oz!” Buggy whispered back.

“How are the spirits faring?” Mendel asked Oz. He looked to the space where the spirits were supposed to be. “Do not collide with anyone, I must keep you separate.” He lifted his hand and did a slight motion, pulling a spirit away from another.

“Oh jeez, they’re going nuts,” Oz said. “They’re excited. They can’t get out past the salt, so that’s good.”

“Can you see anything?” Clive asked Rascal.

“No…” The spirits weren’t visible to anyone other than Oz and Mendel, it seemed.

“Calm down, you lot. I will have to divide you all into two groups: those who wish to come back to the physical world, and those who wish to rest in peace.” Mendel leaned over the table, yet never dared to move past the saltwater ring. “Oz, I cannot hear the spirits, can you communicate with them?”

“Uh... I can hear ‘em! Let me see if they can hear me…” Oz tilted his head and looked to the crowd of spirits darting around rapidly around the circle. “Hey, if you can hear me say hello!” A few moments of silence followed afterwards. He looked to Mendel. “Yeah, they can hear me.”

“Amazing!” Mendel jumped up a bit, restraining himself from clapping his hands together due to the fact it’d probably drag all the spirits with them. “Please help me pick out those who want to be brought back.”

“Okay, gotcha.” Oz turned to the ring of spirits. “Everyone listen up! Stop flying around everywhere! It’ll be alright!” He tapped his chin pensively. “Okay, uh… everyone who wants to come back to life come to my hand right here! Be sure not to run into anybody or else…” Oz glanced to Mendel. “...Or else what?”

“It would fuse them back together. It is an absolute pain in the rear to pull them back apart in their soul forms. It is possible, but I would rather make things easier for myself right now.”

“You heard the man! Steer clear of each other and come over here!” Oz raised his hand and held it near the edge of the ring farthest to the right. Mendel watched in awe.

“Thank you so much. They actually listened to you.”

Oz leaned closer to the spirits. “Huh? I can’t hear you.” He blinked. “Yeah, right here. Uh….This side over here is for whoever just wants to die and stuff. Like, for real. Whoever wants to rest in peace go to my left hand holding up the two fingers.” Oz held out his other hand to the far left and stuck out two fingers, just to clarify it a bit more.

“Who’s in which side?” Mari asked.

“For the rest in peace side it’s the Veteran lady, the Doctor, the Mafioso, and the Godfather. Everyone who’s up for living is...Gene, Apoccy, Farrow, Skuggy, the Sheriff, the Tracker, his daughter, and the Survivor.” Oz looked up to Mendel for confirmation.

“Alright. I’ll get the others sent out to rest first--ah, damn it, get away from each other!” Mendel struggled with a soul who was diving directly for another on the opposite side of the ring. He managed to separate them and hold them back.

“The heck was that about?” said Mari.

“These two are going for each other’s necks,” explained Oz, watching them carefully. “At the worst possible time, of course. Save it for another time, you two! Get back into your spots!”

“Thank god they avoided fusing. A terribly unstable one, that would be.” Mendel took one hand, the one to the left side, and raised it, fingers curling in towards him as he began to spiel another ritual in the unidentifiable language. His eyes averted to look down at the spirits, fluttering his fingers in thought as the words spilled from his mouth, and the ring of saltwater began to glow with a gradually brightening ray of red light.

“Let these souls rest in peace, let them finally cross the line separating us mortals from the land beyond, and may they have the undisturbed rest they have deserved from the start.” He stuck his hand into the ring of spirits, briefly grazing over the spirits with his finger tips, and then flicked his hand to the sky. A bright red light encompassed the room. Everyone shielded their eyes or turned away from the source. The sound of multiple souls letting out their final breaths chilled the air.

Finally the light cleared and it appeared that nothing had changed, but Mendel and Oz knew otherwise.

“Hey, it worked! They’re gone!” Oz exclaimed.

“Wonderful!” Mendel’s eyes squinted up, hinting at a big smile underneath his mask. “Now for the second part, getting everyone all distributed into their own bodies. This is...the more difficult part. Can everyone make some room?” Everyone watching retreated into the corners of the lab save for Mari and Oz. “Thank you.”

Mendel lowered his left hand and now lifted his right. The foreign words escaped his lips once more, but this one was more drawn out. He took the red string loosely into his right hand and graced his hand over from the spirits to the body, brushing over certain parts of the Juggernaut’s body as he murmured his spell, connecting them to the spirits. “Bring these souls back into the light, return to them the vessel in which they each individually arrived from safe and sound for me. Bless us with their presence once again, and may they continue to traverse the earth safely.” He cast a hand out and extended his hand, eyes widening. “The dead will walk once more under my words!” A bright flash of light shone out again directly following his last words, and everyone gasped and looked away. This one was brighter than before, and lasted for much longer. “Oh, God!” Mendel cried in the midst of the light. The sound of bones snapping and morphing together filled the air, along with a strange high pitched whine, like one you’d hear on an old TV.

When the light finally cleared after a period of waiting, there was a pile of townies lying in front of the table, all scattered amongst themselves. They were all fully clothed, although they were missing any accessories such as coats, gloves, or glasses. Mendel nearly collapsed over the table, but held himself up with his arms, still not allowing himself to cross the salt line. Mari ran to him and held him up as well, but her eyes were glued to the sudden abundance of people lying before them.

“Holy shit, it actually worked.” Buggy sat there awestruck, much like everyone else watching on.

“Mendel, are you alright?” Ophelia asked from the back of the room.

“I’m fine,” Mendel grit. “I have never used that much magic in a single go. It drained a lot from me.” He stood himself up and ran to the newly summoned survivors. He found Farrow first, and placed two fingers against his neck. There was a pulse. “Oh goodness.” He did the same to Gene, and to Apoccy, and to Skuggy. He checked up on the Survivor and the Sheriff, to little Sarah as well, and they all had steady pulses. “They are all fine. Just unconscious.” He looked to the small crowd of friends watching him. Buggy already began to stand and hurry to him, but Mendel held up a hand, eyes slowly reverting back from red to their normal white color. “I advise you don’t approach them yet. I will spread them up and they shall awaken on their own accord.” He looked down. “I think, however...I think that, if they would be comfortable with you doing so, you should make sure all of their parts are in the right place. We do not want any extra arms on a person.” He began dragging everyone away from each other, and Mari joined in.

Buggy, Rascal, and Clive exchanged bewildered looks.

“That really happened, didn’t it?” Rascal said.

“Wait.” Mendel froze. He set down the Sheriff he was dragging away and ran to the table. “There’s still more spirits.” The Juggernaut had shifted back to its original form, albeit a slight bit smaller. “Why are there still more spirits?” Oz tilted his head to listen to them.

“...They want to stay.”

“...Stay where? In their physical forms? I could do the ritual again.”

“No, no...they...they say they want to stay in the Juggernaut.” Mendel paused.

“...Why? They must know that if they were to stay in the Juggernaut, they would not be able to kill anyone. Ever. Unless it’s for the general safety of others.” He placed a finger to his chin. “...Well, the town would kill us if they were to cause any more deaths. They would just have to be...fused. Forever.”

“They say that it’s okay with them.”

“But...why? I do not think I understand…”

Oz sat and listened for a bit to the spirits. He looked solemn as he heard their words, and when they had finished he nodded.

“They say that they want to give it a shot. For their whole lives they were pretty much all solitary. Basically, their lives sucked. But while they were in the fusion...it took awhile for them to get used to it, but it felt like they had purpose. They felt like working together brought them together, I guess.” Oz tilted his head and rest it against his arms. “They were acting out because they were scared. But when you reached out for them, they felt loved. They don’t want to throw that away.” He looked up to Mendel, who stood silently listening to them. “And on the Plaguebearer’s side of the story, when they were alive they felt miserable all the time due to the plague that was slowly eating away at them, but when they were in the Juggernaut, they felt completely fine. They don’t want to die, but they don’t want to be alive in their old body, y’know?” Mendel nodded.

“Yes. I understand.”

“They want to know if they’d ever be able to unfuse later on if they end up realizing it isn’t for them, but otherwise, they’re fine with staying as the Juggernaut.”

“...Yes, yes. Yes, that’s...completely fine with me.” Mendel stood up straight, a spark of life reflected in his eyes. “I-I would be totally fine with that, yes. I just need to rebond the souls with the body and they would be all set.”

“Cool beans!” Oz smiled. “The four seem pretty happy about it.”

“Who are the spirits again?”

“The Werewolf, the Serial Killer, the Plaguebearer, and the Arsonist.” Mendel smiled.

“Alright. That sounds fun. I will begin that ritual right away.” He looked to Oz. “Help Mari separate the others while I do so. The lights will not come back on until I am completely one-hundred percent done with the ritual, okay?”

“Gotcha!”

#( i can't believe i actually managed to get to this part! )#( i'm so happy and proud of myself and proud of everyone else for managing to stick with me until the very end )#( this isn't the end though )#( it's more like falling action )#( you'll know when it's done )#( nothing else crazy is gonna happen though like deaths or whatever though so you can let out that breath )#txt #night #writing #art #img #( god i hope everything is written correctly here if there's any typoes i might as well die )#post

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midwifebeth · 6 years ago

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Day 2: Labour Ward

Today was my first day in the hospital, and the last day for one of my housemates, Miriam, (a 4th year medical student/volunteer), so we went to labour ward together. It was good for me, as she was familiar with the environment, and good for her as I was able to explain what was happening.

They are apparently quite strict at this hospital about volunteers only observing, and due to our last minute change of country (I’ll explain in a later post), we do not have a visa that allows us to be hands on. My style of practice is very different to what I saw today, so I think that is for the best.

The Ward.

See the picture for my rough drawing of the layout of the ward. Between each bed there was a curtain, this was left open until the woman was delivering, then it would be pulled halfway, so the woman next to her wouldn’t have a clear view, but the staff around the room could see what was happening. A curtain would also be slightly pulled at the end of the bed so the women opposite couldn’t see ‘everything’.

Staffing

The ward is staffed by a number of nurses and midwives, a few healthcare assistants (that do the cleaning and sorted equipment), and a sister. The nurses and midwives wear green scrub knee-length tunics, or short-sleeved scrub gowns that go over clothes/uniform like a theatre gown does (this is what volunteers and students wear). Shoes are supplied, with the role of the wearer written on them. They are white leather cloggs. I will try to get a picture when I return. Today there was also a male SHO present at all times on the ward, and a couple of female medical students (I think).

Routine Care

As far as I can tell, all women are kept on a CTG, Synto infusions are routine (5iu, I couldn’t read the amount of dilutant). Infusions are given through a bottle, rather than a bag (which is what I’m used to) and if drugs are added, a needle is stuck into the airspace at the top of the bottle. I think I also saw the active management synto dose given IV, there was about 5mls in the syringe they were using, I am not sure. All babies are given Vitamin K IM, it did not seem that maternal consent was required. The women are alone on the ward, with no birth partners allowed.

It is difficult to ask questions as very few of the staff speak any English, and those that do, speak only basic English. The doctors learn in English, so they will be my source of information when I can catch one having a free moment.

The Experience.

We were on the labour ward for 3 hours, and witnessed 3 births within an hour (2 within a minute of each other!), then another just before we left. The main thing I learned today is that at least in the hospital I’m based at, (I’m not sure if it’s country-wide), all women have episiotomies, this is done during second stage, when vertex is visible. Most, but not all, were done with a contraction. None were done with anaesthetic.

When we arrived there were 3 women labouring, and one postnatal, her baby was on a resuscitaire across the ward while she waited to be sutured. Only doctors do the suturing here. The SHO did the suturing, with me and the other volunteer, and the 2 medical students, observing, and a nurse/midwife assisting. The suturing method was the same as in the UK, commencing with infiltration of local anaesthetic (through a needle manually bent by the doctor). I have to say I’ve never seen someone suture so quickly! It was textbook style.

Afterwards, the mother was handed her baby, and she lay with her for a while. They were concerned about bleeding, so a tampon swab was left inside her vagina for about an hour. The doctor came back and removed it, and a few clots, then she was dressed while on the bed, and left to rest, with the baby back on the resuscitaire.

Soon after the suturing was completed, the lady in the middle bed on the left (see pic) was given an ARM with a pair of surgical scissors. Synto was commenced. All three labouring women were occasionally vocalising in pain, but were mostly left to it. When the staff feel that a woman is reaching second stage (they did not always do VEs), they get them into the ‘birth position’. This is like McRoberts, but with the legs held out to the side, and the woman holding her feet in a particular way to keep the position. It looks quite uncomfortable, and having tried it myself (at my host house) I know I would not be able to hold it for very long. They are then left to push with each contraction. Once vulval gaping is seen, or the staff feel birth is soon, the woman is attended by 2 midwives/nurses, one on each side. An episiotomy is given, baby delivered, covered in a small sheet, while one midwife gives the active management dose via IV (who then takes the baby to the resuscitaire), and the other palpates and massages the uterus, delivering the placenta quickly (I think the longest 3rd stage I saw was max 4 minutes). She then changes the sheet under the woman and takes the placenta, any swabs used, and the used linen out to the sluice/back room. Meanwhile, the midwife caring for the baby weighs it, measures length, head and chest circumference, gives Vit K, then dresses it in about 3 layers before swaddling and leaving on one side of the resuscitaire with a temperature probe attached to the resuscitaire.

While the first woman was pushing as described above, the two that delivered simultaneously had their bladders emptied with a catheter into a steel kidney dish that was then rinsed.

While the other 2 women were reaching second stage and starting to push, a 5th woman was brought into the ward on a wheelchair. Hearing the noises the ladies were making, and observing the environment, her fear was visible and Miriam and I both noticed her attempting to hide her tears as she climbed onto the bed. The woman pushing on the right was opening her bowels frequently, this was left exposed for most to see until each movement had finished.

The two women delivered within a couple of minutes of each other, directly opposite one another. The one on the left was given an epis, and we could see the scar tissue from her previous birth (P2), they have the bent episiotomy scissors here, with the guard on the side that goes inside the perineum, which we don’t have in my hospital in London (we use standard surgical scissors). Her perineum was then guarded with a swab, and the midwife encourage her right leg into McRoberts position. Once the head was delivered they did nuchal cord cutting.

The SHO assisted in the delivery of the lady on the right, doing forceful fundal pressure, which I have only seen once before and not to the same extent. Miriam and I were concerned as after the baby was born the right shoulder seemed lower than the left, and the arm floppy (indicative of Erb’s Palsy or another injury), however the baby was moving her right arm around freely by the time we left.

Soon after they delivered a 6th lady was admitted. The consultant came for his round soon after. He did a VE on this lady (with minimal if any communication with her), conveyed his findings to the SHO and promptly left. A couple of minutes later the lady started to haemorrhage, so all the nurses and midwives worked together to get her onto the gurney and rushed to theatre (which is in another building, up a ramp). I estimated about 600mls on the bed.

Reflecting on the experience

It was an interesting, and rather uncomfortable experience for me. I felt like I wanted to help. I have been trained and work with a woman-centred approach, and my team specialises in women with previous birth trauma, which I was concerned all these women could experience. Particularly when they were calling out in pain I wanted to be there with them to provide at least a little comfort. But I had to be careful, as I’ve said previously my role here is mostly observational, and I can only provide minimal assistance, and it has to be when given permission by the midwives or doctors.

After the first woman was left on the bed to wait to be sutured, with her baby by the resuscitaire, being examined and dressed by the midwife, she caught my eye, she looked so worried I went over to her. I said your baby boy is beautiful, to which she showed she understood by repeating ‘beautiful’, I said he looks big, while making hand gestures, and she said ‘big boy!’ with a smile. She then reached for my hand and held onto it tight until a midwife came up to the bedside to get her ready for suturing. It was one of those ‘warm midwifey feeling’ moments, a ‘this is why I do this’ moment. Just by giving this woman a smile, and holding her hand, I hope I’ve made the experience a little more positive for her. It was heartwarming to see the look of love and pride on her face as she cuddled with baby after her suturing had finished.

Picture key:

1: Drs/Sister in charge office

2: Labour bed

3: Resuscitaire

4: Staff desk

5: Door to sluice/back room

#midwife

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cj-jacobs · 7 years ago

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The Sex Elf

(Bechloe one-shot, 10k words)

Merry Pitchmas, awesome nerds! I didn’t do the official Secret Santa thing because I was so paranoid I wouldn’t get this done in time and didn’t want to disappoint anyone, but I’d like to gift it to the Bechloe fandom in general, and most especially as a surprise gift to @annakendrick4ever , because she’s been so supportive of my fics and is just an all-around sweetheart. I hope everyone who celebrates Christmas had a great holiday!

Not for the first time tonight, Beca finds herself wondering if it’s wrong to be this horny on Christmas Eve.

Because it feels wrong. Dirty, somehow. Not seasonally appropriate. After all, Christmas is supposed to be about wholesome, childlike, non-sexual things. Family things.

But then, the whole notion of family is precisely what’s put her into this situation, Beca muses, as she clumsily wields a screwdriver in an attempt to secure the wheel onto a doll stroller intended for her four-year-old daughter. Family, and the fact that in approximately five months theirs - hers and Chloe’s - is set to expand by two. And, most crucially, the fact that she’s the one carrying those two, and thus the one dealing with all the crazy, out of control hormones that pregnancy has brought in its wake.

For the ninth or tenth time in the past fifteen minutes, Beca finds her gaze drawn against her will to the other side of the master bedroom, where Chloe is wrapping presents, using their king size bed as her table. She’s got all her materials laid out on it; shopping bags full of gifts, ribbons, bows, tags, scissors and tape, boxes, and half a dozen rolls of wrapping paper, chosen specifically for color variety. But it’s not the paper or the presents that are drawing Beca’s attention, it’s Chloe herself. From here, Beca can only see her from the back. She’s dressed in a dark green romper printed with tiny red and white candy canes. In addition to this, she’s sporting fuzzy Christmas socks, dangly snowflake earrings, and a headband with a pair of perky cloth reindeer antlers. The fact that in spite of this ridiculous ensemble, Beca finds herself gazing at her lustfully says a lot about the current state of her libido.

Because no matter how hard she tries, her mind keeps sliding right back to sex. Her entire body is suffused with a kind of sensual energy like nothing she’s ever felt before, and it’s never satisfied for long. The fact that she’s already partaken of some afternoon delight today means nothing, because that was hours and hours ago, and these days the urges cycle back around continuously, with no let-up, multiple times every day.

Idly, she finds herself wondering, Is this what Stacie feels like all the time? Is that why she-

No. Picturing Stacie’s sex life is not going to help. Dolls. Strollers. Christmas. Wholesome family things. That’s what she needs to be thinking about. Focus, she commands herself.

“How’s it goin’ over there, Mrs. Claus?” Chloe calls to her, as if sensing her distraction.

Beca surveys her work. “You know, I’m pretty sure the only reason my mom sent an unassembled toy is because the thought of me doing this in the middle of the night was hilarious to her.”

Chloe smiles. “Or,” she suggests tolerantly, “maybe it’s because that kind is cheaper, and that’s all she could afford.”

“Nah,” Beca rejects this idea. “This is payback, for all the Christmas Eves she didn’t get any sleep. See, every year she tried to get us to celebrate Hanukkah instead, and we never would take the bait. I’m telling you, this is a revenge gift. She is one sadistic woman.”

Laughing a little, Chloe reflects after a few seconds, “I think it’s just, like, a law of parenting, though, right? That we have to spend at least one Christmas Eve trying to assemble a toy?”

“Maybe. Except we aren’t assembling it. I am.”

“Hey. I’m busy over here, too,” she chides her.

Indeed she is. Beca finds herself trying and failing once again not to look as Chloe bends over the bed to cut another segment of wrapping paper, the tightness of the romper clinging to and perfectly accentuating her curves. Beca watches as she runs a pair of scissors down the middle of a sheet of glittery silver paper in a straight line. Normally this sound is one that for no particular reason grates on her nerves, like fingernails on a chalkboard. But tonight it sounds almost lewd. At the moment everything seems specifically designed to work on her hormones, not her nerves.

The funny thing is, she’d never wanted to be pregnant. In fact, until just a few months ago, she would have been adamant that it was the one life experience above all others she was determined never to go through. But then she’d changed her mind. She’s still not entirely sure why.

Because after Violet, she and Chloe had basically accepted that they’d never have another one. The pregnancy had been difficult; Chloe was sick a lot in the beginning, then the end had come abruptly, six weeks early, and Beca had spent a harrowing few days at the hospital with a premature baby and an unconscious wife, wondering if her life as she knew it was about to end. By some miracle, everything had turned out fine. Fine, that is, except for one small thing. Chloe had been warned by her doctor that another pregnancy wouldn’t be a good idea. At the time, it had seemed like a small price to pay.

But yet, here they are. Expecting not just one, but - in the most shocking news of their lives - two more.

And to everyone’s surprise, no one’s more than her own, Beca has found that pregnancy agrees with her. Not only has she not been sick, not even once, and not only is she possessed of more energy and a better mood than usual, but her sex drive has shot through the roof. Actually, one might even say it’s starting to be a bit of a problem. Needing sex so many times a day has its downsides. It’s convenient that her studio is located here on the property, which means it’s easy to duck in for a brief tryst, but having a four-year-old who’s not yet in school makes things more complicated. Violet’s three mornings a week at daycare and her daily two p.m. naptime have become blessed interludes of carnal indulgence.

Beca finds her thoughts wandering back to this afternoon’s session, her body remembering just how it had felt to be pinned under Chloe and clinging to the headboard as she…. No. That’s not going to help either. Shaking her head a little to clear the lust fog, she forces herself to focus on the damn doll stroller. It takes every ounce of her concentration to make sense out of instructions like Squeeze the metal bracket on the wheel to open it, slip the wheel onto the end of the rod, and release the bracket. She’s not even one hundred percent positive she knows what the hell a bracket is, and the words squeeze and slip look like porn in her current state of mind. But she’s doing her best.

Finally, the last wheel seems to be locked into place. “Okay. Moment of truth.” She practically holds her breath as she gives the pink stroller an experimental push forward, then pulls it back, making sure it rolls properly. “I think it’s finished. Thank God.”

“No pieces left over?” Chloe asks.

Beca looks into the box. There are approximately nine pieces left over. “Nope.” She strategically covers them with the instruction sheets. “We’re good.”

Wincing as her stiff muscles protest, she pulls herself up from the floor. “But, um, just to be on the safe side, let’s make sure we never put an actual baby in this thing.”

Chloe has also paused briefly in her assembly-line gift wrapping. She’s sipping from a glass of red wine, looking at the bed as if measuring how much is left to do. Beca approaches behind her and presses herself up against her back, wrapping her arms around her. Chloe sighs a little and leans back into her, bringing her free hand up to squeeze Beca’s arm.

Though her stomach is only just beginning to pop out, the roundness subtle enough that if she wears a baggy shirt it’s not even that noticeable, standing like this, Beca can feel the difference. Odd to think that in another few months, she won’t be able to stand like this at all. She presses herself even tighter against Chloe, to take advantage of it while she can. Nuzzling up into the spot just behind her ear, she murmurs, “Have I ever told you how sexy you look in those reindeer antlers?”

“What reindeer antlers?” Then Chloe gasps, her mouth forming an O of surprise. She suddenly reaches up and yanks the felt antlers from her head. “Oh my God, I forgot I had these on!”

Beca gives a loud laugh. “Seriously?”

“How long have I been wearing these?”

“Like, all day.”

She marvels at the antlers, amazed. “No wonder the Fed Ex guy was giving me such a weird look.” She tosses them aside, jokingly accusatory. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought you knew. It’s not like it’s the strangest thing you’ve ever done on Christmas Eve. Remember the year you put jingle bells in your bra?”

Chloe giggles a little at the memory as she takes another sip of wine. “That was a good Christmas.”

With her arms still wrapped around her from behind, and using the subject as an opportunity, Beca now unfastens the top few buttons of the romper and slips a hand in, wondering, “Anything in there this year? Oh, wow. Not even a bra.”

“I know what you’re trying to do, and it’s not gonna work,” Chloe informs her with a grin, although she leans back against Beca and makes no move to stop her.

“I’m trying to feel you up. And, I think it already did work.”

“You know what I mean. I’m not gonna let you distract me. Not tonight.”

“Can’t you take a break? I need you,” Beca whines, trying to make it sound like joke begging instead of actual begging, which it is.

“Babe, look at the time. Santa’s on the clock, here.”

Beca glances at the digital clock next to the bed, shocked to see that it’s almost three in the morning. “We shouldn’t have waited until the last minute to do all this,” she mutters petulantly against Chloe’s shoulder.

“I know, but everything’s been so crazy. And a lot of my spare time lately has been taken up by someone demanding sex.”

“Really?” Beca asks. “Who?”

“That would be the person whose hand is currently in my shirt.”

“Oh, her.”

“Yes, her. And she’s not gonna be too happy about this, but I have to get back to work now,” Chloe sets her wineglass aside on the trunk at the foot of the bed and delicately removes the hand from her shirt, over Beca’s sad-sounding protests. As if to compensate her for the loss, Chloe turns to kiss her.

Sensing her opportunity, Beca tries to make the most of the kiss, but she’s distracted by another, non-sexual craving.

“Mmm, I can taste the wine on your mouth,” she murmurs against Chloe’s lips.

Chloe seems bemused. “You don’t even like wine.”

“No, but I like alcohol. And I miss it.” She pulls her back in for another deep kiss. She can feel Chloe actively trying to resist letting things heat up beyond a certain level, but at the same time Chloe is such a good kisser that it’s hard for her to fight her natural instincts. Beca tries to take advantage of her internal battle, using her tongue in a precise and practiced way that draws Chloe into being the aggressor. It works for a few seconds, but then Chloe seems to realize what she’s doing, and she uses all her willpower to pull back and break the kiss.

“Really?” Beca asks.

“Really.” Then Chloe cups Beca’s face in her hands, briefly leaning forward and pressing their foreheads together. “But maybe later, okay?”

Beca sighs, apparently giving in.

But just then Chloe jumps a little, turning to glance behind her and down toward her ass. “What was that? Did you just pinch me?”

“What? No. Why would I- ?” Beca makes a face of exaggerated innocence. Then she seems to think of something. “But, oh, you know what I bet it was? I bet it was the sex elf.”

Chloe tilts her head. “The what, now?”

“You’ve… never heard of the sex elf? For real? That’s insane. I thought everyone knew about this.”

Crossing her arms, Chloe plays along, waiting for her to explain.

“The sex elf is that little creature that goes around on Christmas Eve, pinching people. And when you get pinched, you become overwhelmingly aroused. And you have to get laid, like, right then. You have no choice.”

“Really. This is fascinating.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t know about this.”

Chloe narrows her eyes in mock seriousness. “Are you sure that’s not leprechauns you’re thinking of?”

“What? No.” Beca makes a disgusted face. “Gross. Leprechauns are, like, ugly little Irish dudes. Who care way too much about the color green. The sex elf is hot. And, frankly, she prefers it if you’re not wearing anything.”

“Oh, so the sex elf is female?”

“Well,” Beca shrugs. “Yeah. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Chloe agrees. She smiles and then leans forward for one more light kiss, getting Beca’s hopes up. “Well, it was really sweet of her to pay us a visit. It’s too bad she couldn’t have stuck around to help with some of this.” She gestures at the gift-wrapping mess.

“Yeah.” Beca grimaces. “I think she’s really just… more about the sex?”

Chloe nods, amused, but then looks regretful. “Beca?”

Beca waits, giving her an expectant, somewhat pleading look.

“It’s not gonna happen,” Chloe whispers, dashing all her hopes.

Momentarily accepting defeat, Beca sighs heavily and drops onto the bed, stretching out directly on top of Chloe’s present-wrapping workshop. “Fine,” she sulks.

“But, you know, if you’re bored, you could help me finish this up,” Chloe suggests.

“Uuhhh,” she moans. “You know I hate wrapping presents, dude. I’m carrying your children! Isn’t that enough?”

“Oh my God,” Chloe laughs at her. “Enjoy that excuse while it lasts.” But she doesn’t insist.

Beca tries to relax and coerce her body into a zone of patience, but now that she’s actually lying on the bed, the urge to touch herself is nearly overpowering. It hasn’t been this strong since she was sixteen and puberty finally slammed into her with the finesse of a car crash. She sits up again, crossing her arms and tucking her hands away to keep them out of trouble. Not that Chloe would mind. But she has a feeling that trying to get herself off while her wife ignores her and wraps presents for a four-year-old would be not so much sexy as pathetic.

Instead, she watches Chloe work, pondering the absurdity of being awake in the middle of the night wrapping gifts in paper that’s going to be torn off and thrown away in less than six hours. Being a parent is strange. But it’s pointless to question it.

Chloe has her own distinctive manner of wrapping presents, a way of folding the paper which is like nothing Beca has ever seen any human being do before. Somehow, the packages always end up looking great. But like so much else that she does, Chloe goes about it using a bizarre method she seems to have invented on her own, as if no one ever taught her the normal way to do it. Momentarily distracted from her lust, Beca finds herself watching with amused fascination as she finishes taping up the paper on one gift, then with a flourish adds a stick-on bow - not in the center, but in one corner.

Shaking her head with a fond smile, Beca mutters, “You’re so weird.”

Turning to set the package on a pile of already-wrapped boxes in a chair beside the bed, Chloe lets out a breath of relief. “There.”

Beca perks up, hopeful. “That’s it? You’re done?”

“Well, I’m not done done. I’m done with the big stuff. There’s still all the stocking stuffers.” She lifts a plastic bag from the floor near the side of the bed and turns it upside down over the comforter. Approximately thirty small items tumble out.

“What?” Beca looks at her like she’s crazy. “You’re not gonna wrap all those, are you?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Chlo, they’re stocking stuffers. The stocking is the wrapping. That’s the whole point.”

Chloe shakes her head. “No, because then when she dumps it out, she’ll be able to see all of it at once. Where’s the surprise, where’s the anticipation? I want her to have to open each one, individually.”

“Oh my God, that’s-” Beca digs her fingers into her own hair and vigorously shakes her head, making a clenched-teeth sound like “Mrrrmmm.” It’s the sound she makes when she’s trying to keep herself from saying something she’ll regret. After restraining her worst impulses, she drops her hands and settles for, “You know that’s gonna take forever, right?”

“I don’t care how long it takes,” Chloe says stubbornly. “We’ve got all day.”

Beca lifts one of the items from the pile. “You’re gonna wrap these socks?”

“Mm-hm.”

She picks up another item. “This roll of Sweetarts?”

Chloe nods. “Yep.”

“You’re gonna wrap this lip balm. This one, individual tube of lip balm.”

“That’s right,” Chloe confirms, and because there’s a slight edge to her tone now, Beca decides she should probably back off. She carefully sets the lip balm back onto the pile, suppressing an eye roll like a good girl.

While Chloe starts in on the stocking stuffers, Beca reaches over and grabs her phone off the nightstand to check her messages. There’s a handful of Merry Christmas texts from the Bellas, nothing out of the ordinary. The one from Aubrey, however, makes Beca narrow her eyes in suspicion. It reads Merry Christmas Beca! Hope this one leaves you satisfied ;) ;)

Setting the phone back on the nightstand, she ponders the meaning of this for a few seconds.

“Hey,” she says casually. “You didn’t tell Aubrey about my whole… horniness… issue, did you?”

“Of course not.” But Chloe doesn’t look at her.

“Because I just got a weird text from her. And, now that I’m thinking about it, I’m pretty sure I overheard you on the phone earlier saying something about a… what were the words? Crazy little sex fiend.”

Chloe shakes her head slightly and frowns, but still doesn’t glance up. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Beca studies her face for a few seconds, taking note of how hard she’s now trying not to laugh, and the continued lack of eye contact. “You did!” she suddenly gasps, letting her mouth fall open in pretend shock. “Dude, you told her?!”

“Beca,” Chloe protests, finally looking up at her. “Come on. Aubrey’s my best friend. I tell her everything!”

“About our love life?”

“It’s not like she’s gonna judge you. She’s been pregnant before, she knows about the hormones.”

“Okay, wow.” Beca plays up her mock outrage, a hand on her heart. “I can not believe that you would betray the sanctity of our marriage like that. Honestly? There’s only one way that you could ever make this up to me.”

“Hmm,” Chloe muses, snipping off a length of ribbon. “And what way would that be?”

“I’ll give you a hint,” Beca tells her. “It involves you taking off your clothes. Right now.”

Attempting to tie the ribbon around one of the stocking stuffers, Chloe responds only with a slightly pitying look.

“No? Damn it,” Beca mutters. “I thought the guilt trip was the way to go.” She thinks for a few seconds, trying to come up with a more effective angle. Then she suddenly asks, “Is it just me, or is it really hot in here?” As she says these words she slowly pulls off her shirt, leaving her in nothing but a pair of sweatpants and a lacy black bra.

“Nope.” Pressing her lips together to try to stifle a smile, Chloe shakes her head and concentrates on her battle with the ribbon. “I’m ignoring you.”

“Really? You can ignore this?” Beca cups her own breasts and pushes them together and up, trying to create some amplified cleavage.

As if to prove her right, Chloe glances up at her, again trying not to laugh.“Why are you wearing one of your sexy bras under your pajamas?”

“Because a girl needs to be prepared. Especially when her wife is resisting her seduction attempts.”

“Oh, is that what this is?” Chloe teases her. “A seduction? See, I didn’t get that.”

“Well, now you know.”

She snips out a small rectangle of paper, just big enough to wrap a toothbrush in. “You know what this is, Beca?” she says reflectively, pointing at her with the scissors. “It’s karma. For all those years I tried to get into your pants in college, and you wouldn’t let me.”

Beca widens her eyes with pretend dismay. “That is so twisted! For most of that time, I didn’t even think you were serious, I thought you were just messing with me.” She’s quiet for a second, as if considering how much she wants to reveal. A little awkwardly, she admits, “It’s not like I never thought about it. I had some pretty inappropriate dreams over the years.”

“Really?” Chloe looks intrigued. “You never told me that.”

Pursing her lips, Beca nods. After a pause, she adds, “First one was after the shower thing.”

“What? That was only the second time we met! Even I didn’t have a sex dream that early.”

“Yep. What can I say?” Beca shrugs. “Guess my dream self is kind of a slut.” She considers. “And, now, apparently, so is my awake self. Which could end at any time. So…” she holds her arms and gives a little shimmy of invitation, “you might want to get on this, while it lasts.”

“Well, that is hard to resist, when you put it so romantically.”

“Right?”

“But I think I’m still gonna have to finish these presents.”

Beca gives a dramatic groan at yet another failure. “You are killing me, lady.”

After another few minutes of watching her, Beca decides to try some props. She picks up a long tubular roll of wrapping paper and holds it so that it springs up from between her legs. “What about this? Does this do anything for ya?”

Chloe looks over at her, teasing, “If it did, it would be bad news for you.” She reaches out and snatches away the roll of paper. “Give me that, I need it.”

As it’s yanked away Beca hisses sharply and stares down at her left hand. “You bitch. You gave me a papercut!”

“Aww. Poor baby.” But she doesn’t sound particularly sympathetic.

“Ow.” Beca stares down at the shallow cut between her fingers, musing, “Why is this making me even more turned on? Am I into this? Maybe this is my kink.” She looks up at Chloe and asks in a flirtatious tone, “You want to give me another one?”

“Don’t tempt me,” she smiles, picking up her wine glass and draining what’s left of it, as though dealing with Beca’s current mood requires all the alcohol available. “Although…” she says after a few seconds, biting her bottom lip as an idea occurs to her. She sets the empty wine glass aside. “Speaking of kinks.” Now she bends forward over the bed, balancing herself with one hand on the mattress, her face coming tantalizingly close to Beca’s. She lets her voice drop into a breathy, lascivious register. “You know what would make me really, really hot right now?”

Beca watches nearly hypnotized as she approaches, staring first at her eyes and then at her mouth, only inches away. She tries to say the word “what?” but isn’t quite sure it comes out.

“The sight of you, in this bra…” Chloe coos seductively, actually running her fingertip down the bra strap and then along the edge of one of the cups as Beca follows its progress with rapt attention. Chloe pauses for dramatic effect, waiting until Beca looks up at her again, then concludes in a whisper, “Wrapping some of these stocking stuffers.” Then she leans back and straightens up, punctuating the performance with a quick wink.

“Hm.” This is the only response Beca can immediately manage as she tries to remember how to breathe. After seeming to consider the proposition, she says doubtfully, “See, I feel like that’s not one hundred percent true? I feel like I might be getting used, here.”

“Well,” Chloe tosses her a roll of tape, “guess there’s only one way to find out.”

Realizing there’s no point in continuing to fight it, Beca decides to give in and help. Even if it doesn’t actually make Chloe hot, it’ll at least mean they’ll be finished with everything sooner, which will still, hopefully, bring her closer to sex. It’s a no-brainer. So they divide the pile of remaining items up and get to work.

Wrapping things that aren’t in boxes turns out to be easier and more fun than Beca would have predicted, since it’s okay if it looks messy and there’s almost no way to get it wrong. Eventually, Chloe gets tired of standing and climbs onto the bed, sitting across from her. They trade the tape and scissors back and forth, losing them both every few minutes under the growing drift of wrapping paper scraps covering the bed.

At one point Beca seems overly amused with herself, and Chloe looks over to find her wrapping Scotch tape around the paper covering a plastic My Little Pony toy, over and over and over again, essentially mummifying the poor pony.

“What are you doing?” Chloe giggles.

“You wanted the anticipation factor. Let’s see how long it takes her to open this one.”

The piles of gifts keep diminishing until finally, finally, the very last box of sidewalk chalk is wrapped and added to the bag of finished items, ready to be crammed into the jumbo-sized stocking waiting downstairs.

Beca hardly dares to believe her own senses. “So, that’s it then? We’re done. With everything.”

Chloe looks around, considering. “What about the doll stroller?”

“Okay, we are not wrapping that,” Beca says firmly. “I’ll throw a sheet over it or something.”

“Then… yeah.” She looks back at Beca. “I guess that’s it.”

Trying and not succeeding very well at keeping her eyes from gleaming with pure lust as she stares at her, Beca offers, “Sooo, do you need like a bathroom break, or…?”

Chloe seems amused by this. “No, I’m good. I- “

But before she can complete this thought, Beca has pounced on her, with a kiss so forceful and bruising that both their mouths will probably be sore tomorrow. But she’s past caring. She pushes her back toward the middle of the bed, angling for the pillows, the wrapping paper crackling loudly underneath them. Chloe squeals in laughter, breaking the kiss to say, “Let me clear the bed off first!”

“Nope, it’s fine,” Beca gasps. “Leave it. We can knock this out in, like, five minutes.”

“God, that’s so sexy,” Chloe breathes against her ear. “Tell me again how fast you can be, it’s such a turn-on.”

“Shut up,” Beca laughs.

With Chloe now up against the pillows at the top of the bed, Beca climbs onto her lap, straddling her, almost undone by the instantaneous pleasure of even the light friction of this much contact. Oh God Oh God Oh God. She hasn’t even progressed as far as taking her sweatpants off yet, but even through the fabric the welcome pressure of Chloe’s body has her eyes rolling back in her head. In the past this would have been barely enough to register on her, but she’s so excruciatingly sensitive that any touch at all is already like a mini-orgasm. Immediately she begins rocking against Chloe in slow waves, trying to keep her movements sensual instead of desperate.

At the same time, she unbuttons the front of Chloe’s romper for the second time tonight and peels it off her shoulders, ducking down to return to the bare skin with her lips. She feels Chloe’s expected shiver as she tilts her head back to allow Beca easier access. Her collarbone is her secret erogenous zone, in the same way Beca’s ears are hers. It’s a surefire way to kick her passion up a few notches. As she kisses down the ridge of her shoulder and then along the top of her chest, she feels Chloe’s fingers working at the bra strap on her back. Without too much effort she unhooks it and Beca shrugs it off.

She continues working her way along Chloe’s collarbone and then back up her neck on the other side, but the fact that her breasts are now free is making her antsy, and she straightens her spine and lifts herself higher against Chloe’s body to put them nearer her mouth, hoping she gets the hint. She does.

The sensation of Chloe’s tongue tracing circles over one breast, followed not too long afterward by the enveloping warmth of her mouth clamping down on the other one sends a surge of heat blooming upwards from between Beca’s legs, and her thighs lock around Chloe’s hips in a preliminary spasm of pleasure. This in turn causes Chloe to press up against her and then to nip at her with her teeth, a feedback loop that jolts Beca with an even sharper stab of ecstasy and an increased frenzy to her writhing.

Suddenly she realizes that she’s too close. Way too close, for this early in the game. To try to slow herself down, she grasps Chloe’s head in her hands and physically pulls it up and away from her chest, signaling that she wants to kiss her. Chloe looks a little surprised, since Beca isn’t normally the type to want to go back to the preliminaries, after they’ve already gotten down to more serious business. But she happily obliges, sliding her hands up Beca’s bare back and pulling her even closer as she angles her head up and into the kiss.

As Chloe has gradually shifted further back into the pillows, Beca has worked herself lower down her body, and now Chloe’s pelvic bone is positioned directly between her legs, up against the precise spot that’s been begging for attention for hours. Still, this shouldn’t be enough contact, she knows it shouldn’t. And yet her lower body is behaving as if it is, almost as if it has a mind of its own, her squirming becoming more deliberately rhythmic, her hips rotating with purpose while her kisses gradually lose focus and then break off completely as her breathing grows more ragged.

Because it’s happening. All of a sudden she knows it’s happening, and either she can slam on the brakes completely or she can help it along and make sure it’s as satisfying as possible. She’s already past the point of no return. No sense in wasting it. So instead of fighting it she doubles down shamelessly, using every ounce of her strength to grind herself against Chloe’s lap, while Chloe assists her along by pushing herself up against her while simultaneously tugging downward on Beca’s hips.

Then she shudders and her back bows into a taut arc, her head practically upside down, and if Chloe wasn’t hanging onto her around the waist she would definitely fall over backwards. She hangs there suspended, waiting for it to spasm itself out. Every day the orgasms seem to be getting bigger, somehow. They’re more powerful, they take up more space inside her, and they last longer than she would have once thought possible. The bliss that floods through her now is so piercing that it brings actual tears to her eyes, and she has to make an effort to keep from screaming. Instead she makes a noise that probably sounds more like pain than pleasure, but it’s the most restrained she can manage.

Finally, feeling shaky and a bit lightheaded, still breathing hard, she steadies herself and rises back to vertical. The force of her grinding has pushed Chloe all the way back into a nearly reclining position, with Beca still straddling her midsection. Taking in gulps of air, mortification gradually settling in with the slowing of her pulse, Beca now looks down at her beautiful wife, at her messy hair splayed around her on the pillows, one strand caught in a snowflake earring, her lips swollen from the force of their brief but intense make-out session.

Chloe stares up at Beca, her eyes sparkling with mirth, stunned but also a little impressed. “Was that- ?”

Beca now covers her face with her hands as she realizes exactly what she just did. “Yep,” she confirms in a small voice.

“Wow. You weren’t kidding. That was fast.”

Beca only winces and shakes her head a little, hands still covering her face.

Chloe is enjoying this way too much. “I didn’t even touch you yet.”

“I know.”

“You’re still wearing your pants.”

“Oh my God, I know. Stop talking about it.”

Chloe giggles and pulls her down, and Beca allows herself to fall against her, laughing into the side of her neck, glad to hide her burning face.

“Jesus,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Chloe tells her, stroking her back. “It’s sort of flattering, in a… weird way. Also kinda hot,” she admits.

Beca takes a deep, shuddering breath, releasing it and feeling most of the tension drain out of her body as her pulse finally slows down. “I really needed that.”

“I shouldn’t have made you wait so long.” Chloe’s still rubbing slow circles on her back. “You need some time to recover, before the second half?”

She hesitates, but then accepts the offer. “Maybe just a few minutes.” Shifting off Chloe and onto her side, they lie facing each other, separated by only a few feet.

“Your face is all red,” Chloe smiles. She places the back of her hand against Beca’s cheek, as if checking for fever.

“That’s the color of shame,” Beca informs her, only half joking. She likewise reaches over and carefully extracts the hair that’s tangled in Chloe’s earring, then strokes it to smooth it out.

Inching closer to her across the pillow, Chloe nuzzles into a slow, lazy kiss. For a long while she seems content to keep it at this level, as if they have all the time in the world, and from the way she’s seeking out cuddles even in the midst of what’s supposed to be sex, Beca senses that she’s not in any big hurry, physically. Waiting for her energy reserves to return, she finds herself drifting into a kind of dreamy, hazy post-orgasm euphoria as they continue making out like teenagers. Beca’s fine with letting her set the pace, she just hopes she doesn’t fall asleep before Chloe decides she’s ready to kick it into high gear.

But suddenly Chloe stiffens and raises her head, like she’s listening.

“What?” Beca asks drowsily.

“I thought I heard something. In the hallway.”

“Maybe it’s Santa. Maybe he wants to watch, that old perv.”

Chloe gives her a distracted smile.

“That didn’t turn you on, did it?”

“Beca, shh. I’m serious, I hear something.”

Beca raises her head to listen as well, and confirmation shortly follows; there’s what sounds like a faint, feeble knock at the door, almost more like a scratch than a knock. Maybe one of the cats, Beca hopes. Please let it be one of the cats.

But then they hear just outside their door the one sound that no parent ever wants to hear in the middle of the night, especially while attempting to do what they’re attempting to do.

“Mommy?”

They stare at each other.

“What the hell?” Beca hisses. “Why is she awake?” Suddenly paranoid, she asks, “I wasn’t that loud, was I?”

“No,” Chloe assures her. “Maybe she’s sick.” In a loud, upbeat voice, she calls, “Just a second, sweetheart!”

Beca sits up and searches for her shirt under all the wrapping paper on the bed, then yanks it back on, not bothering with the bra. She starts toward the door but then suddenly remembers they have a bigger problem than just incomplete sex.

“Shit, the presents,” she whispers. “What do we do?”

“Um,” Chloe casts around for a solution. “Blankets!”

As fast as they can, they tug the comforter from the bed and cover the piles of presents on the floor. Beca grabs a knitted afghan to drape over the stack of gifts in the armchair in the corner, while Chloe snatches a spare sheet from a nearby laundry basket, tossing it over the doll stroller.

“Hold on, we’re almost there!” she calls again, trying to sound normal. She looks around, asking Beca, “Is everything covered?”

Beca smirks. “Not quite everything.”

Chloe looks down at where Beca’s gesturing, realizing that she’s still topless. “Oh.” She laughs and yanks the romper back up onto her arms, and is just finishing the last button when Beca reaches the door.

Checking to make sure Chloe is ready, she pauses, then swings it open.

On the other side, waiting in the hallway, they’re confronted with the face of tragedy. Violet stands there in her brand new blue and white snowman-printed Christmas pajamas, the one gift she’d been allowed to open tonight before bed, but the expression on her face is anything but festive. She looks wretched.

“Sweetie.” Chloe’s voice is drenched in pre-emptive sympathy. “What happened?”

“Did you puke?” Beca asks, getting right to the point.

Shell-shocked, Violet stares into the middle distance as if she’s barely aware of their presence. In a quiet tone of disbelief, she says, “He didn’t come here.”

“What?” They look at each other, uncomprehending.

Repeating herself, Violet emphasizes each word for the benefit of their challenged adult brains. “He. Didn’t. Come. To. Our. House.”

“Who didn’t?” Beca demands.

Violet finally looks up at her, her mouth a tiny O of surprise, flabbergasted that her mother could be so stupid. “Santa Claus!”

“Wait, did you go downstairs?” Chloe looks dismayed. “It’s not even morning yet.”

Ignoring this question, Violet shakes her head and walks a few paces into the room, then spins around and comes back, then repeats the process, wringing her tiny hands and looking distraught.

“Uh-oh,” Beca mutters. “She’s pacing. Where have I seen this before?”

“Violet, oh my God, this is just a misunderstanding, please don’t freak out,” Chloe begs her.

Without seeming to hear her, Violet continues her pacing. “I can’t believe this!” she rants. “This is the worst Christmas of my life!”

“Oh, man,” Beca winces. “Out of all four?”

“Beca.” Chloe shoots her a warning look. Then she takes Violet by the shoulders and gently guides her over to the trunk at the foot of their bed. “Honey, come over here, and listen to me for a minute.” She sits down and pulls Violet up to sit next to her, telling her, “Santa Claus is going to be here, I promise. It’s still early, there’s plenty of time.”

“No. He’s not coming. And I know why. It’s because I did something bad.” She’s really playing up the melodrama, sticking out her bottom lip in a pout that she must have learned from a sitcom kid.

“What? No, you didn’t,” Chloe tries to comfort her. “You’ve been really good this year.”

“I wasn’t good yesterday.” Violet looks at her, saying pointedly, “You don’t know, Mommy.”

“Ohhh.” Now Chloe’s catching on. “I see.”

Beca approaches, lowering herself to the edge of the bed a few feet from Chloe. Trying to sound as if she’s taking this seriously, she offers, “Is there something you want to tell us?”

It takes only a few seconds for Violet to decide that she does want to tell them, since she’s obviously suffering from a guilty conscience. “Okay.” She hops down from the wooden chest and comes to stand in front of them both, then takes a deep breath. “Yesterday…” she stares mournfully at her socks, looking for all the world like she’s about to deliver a eulogy. “I peed in the plant.”

Chloe and Beca glance at each other, baffled.

“What plant?” Beca asks.

Violet sighs, miserable but determined to press forward with her confession now that she’s started. “The big one. In the living room. With the red flowers.”

“My poinsettia plant?” Chloe asks, her voice strained as if she’s already trying to hold back laughter.

“In the dirt,” Violet specifies. “Not the flower part.”

“Oh.” Chloe nods slowly, but then clamps a hand over her own mouth.

“Because the Grinch was on,” Violet adds, warming to her narrative now. “And I had to go real bad. But I didn’t want to miss it, so I didn’t go yet. But then I couldn’t wait any more. So I went in the plant.”

Pressing her lips together hard, Beca glances once at Chloe and then looks quickly away before they make eye contact, certain that then they’d really lose it. Because they both know that their daughter is sensitive about being laughed at, it would be a bad idea. But this is one of those times when it’s practically torture to fight it.

Beca manages to master herself first. To buy Chloe some time to get it together, she comments, “I can see how that might be tempting. That white pot does sort of look like a toilet.”

This apparently doesn’t help Chloe, because now an odd stifled snort comes from behind the hand she’s holding over her mouth.

Beca adds, “And, I mean, who wants to leave the room when the Grinch is on, right?”

Violet nods, glad somebody gets it. “But it was still bad,” she points out.

Finally, Chloe regains her composure. She lowers her hand, saying sympathetically, “Sweetheart. That’s… I mean, yeah, okay, that’s definitely not a good thing. We don’t want to make a habit of… peeing in plants.” She’s forced to stop again, still avoiding meeting Beca’s eye. “But it’s good that you told us.”

“No,” Violet shakes her head tragically, refusing to be consoled. “It doesn’t matter. Because Santa already knows. Like in the song.” Suddenly she face plants onto the bed between them, uttering a muffled, plaintive wail. “I ruined Christmas!”

Chloe and Beca trade dumbfounded looks over her back, neither having any immediate idea of how to fix this mess. Beca still really wants to laugh, but she can read the Don’t in Chloe’s gaze as easily as if she’d said it out loud. Shutting her eyes for a second, she considers their options in this supremely ridiculous situation. She feels responsible, since if it wasn’t for her raging sex drive, they probably would have already had the presents under the tree. But there’s clearly no way to explain that to their daughter.

She opens her eyes again with an idea. It might not work, but it’s worth a shot. “All right.” She takes a deep breath. “Hey,” she nudges Violet. “Would you sit up, please? And stop being such a drama queen? There’s something we need to tell you. About Santa Claus.”

Though she drags out the process, Violet does finally pull herself up from the bed and turn around to face them, intrigued.

Chloe, however, looks confused, and more than a little concerned. She pulls Violet into her lap, as if to protect her from whatever Beca’s about to say.

“It’s a big secret,” Beca adds, “so you have to promise you’re not gonna tell any other kids.” She shoots Chloe a look over Violet’s head that she hopes conveys Trust me, but Chloe still seems nervous, obviously wondering where on earth she’s going with this.

But Violet is now hanging on every word. “I promise,” she says solemnly.

“Okay. Here it is.” She lowers her voice to a discreet level. “Santa Claus?” Here Beca takes a long pause for maximum dramatic impact, starting to enjoy herself a little. “He doesn’t actually care whether you’re good or not.”

She can sense the relief washing over Chloe as she realizes what Beca’s up to.

“Yes he does,” Violet insists petulantly.

“Nope,” Beca shakes her head. “He doesn’t. Parents just want kids to think that, so they’ll be good. But the truth is, Santa doesn’t give a crap. About anything you do. He’s gonna bring you stuff no matter what.”

“It’s true,” Chloe chimes in. “He really doesn’t care. The song is a lie.”

Mulling this over, Violet seems to want to believe them, but she’s not quite there yet.

“In fact...” Beca looks around as if she’s about to impart even more confidential information. “Did I ever tell you about the Christmas Eve when I stabbed my brother in the shoulder with a pencil?”

Violet looks shocked. “Why did you stab Uncle Chris?”

“I had to.” In her most serious tone, Beca explains, “Because he called Nicole Scherzinger a skank.”

Thinking about this, Violet wants to know, “Who’s Nicole…” she struggles to pronounce the name, “Scherrrr...zinger?”

“She was a Pussycat Doll,” Chloe supplies helpfully.

“Yeah,” Beca agrees. “Well, I mean,” she shrugs, compelled to add, “not just a Pussycat Doll. She was, like, the lead Pussycat Doll.”

Still seeming deeply confused, Violet asks, “Who were the- ”

“You know what, that’s not important,” Beca quickly interrupts her. “The point is, she wasn’t a skank. She was a superstar. And a very important part of my childhood. And I’m pretty sure that I was trying to kill my brother with that pencil. He still has graphite lodged under his skin, to this day.”

“He does,” Chloe confirms. “I’ve seen it.”

Looking back and forth from one to the other, Violet considers this.

Now Beca pauses, waiting until she’s sure her daughter is listening to every word. “But you know what? Santa didn’t even blink at that attempted murder. He still brought me every single thing I asked for that year.”

After processing this new information, Violet does finally seem to be reassured. But then another flicker of worry crosses her face as she glances at the clock. “But it’s almost morning. Maybe he just forgot.”

“He didn’t forget, I promise,” Chloe tells her. “Actually,” she throws out impetuously, “he’s on his way to our house, right now. We know that for sure.”

“How?” Violet demands.

“Because…” Unprepared to provide evidence, Chloe casts a desperate glance at Beca, but Beca gives her a tiny shrug; she’s all tapped out on bullshit. “Because, he just texted us!”

Beca bites the inside of her cheek, hard, just as Violet turns to her for corroboration. She nods, saying carefully, “Yep.”

“No, he didn’t,” she sulks, but it’s clear she wants them to prove her wrong.

“Yes, he did,” Chloe insists. “Right before you came in. He texted to say he’s almost here. What, you don’t believe me?”

“Let me see it.”

“You want to see the text from Santa? All right.” She seems to be racking her brain for inspiration. “Bec, give me your phone.”

Beca squints at her, dubious. “O-kayyy.” With an expression of You sure about this? she nevertheless retrieves her phone from the nightstand and hands it over.

Navigating easily to her message app, Chloe at first looks frantic as she taps through the threads, but then her face lights up with triumph as she reads something on the screen. She angles the phone toward Violet, pointing at a received message bubble in the left column. “Here it is. Right there, see it?” She reads it out loud. “It says, Almost there! Don’t give up on me ;)”

Violet studies the words for a minute, twisting a lock of her hair around her finger as she concentrates on trying to sound out the letters.

Chloe isn’t lying, this is precisely what the text says. Of course, what neither of them tells Violet is that this is actually a text from Chloe herself, sent yesterday afternoon during Violet’s nap, in response to one from Beca which reads How close are you to home? I’m in bed about to start without you.

After a few more seconds of scrutinizing, Violet reaches her verdict. “Kay,” she finally says, accepting their word for it.

“Okay?” Beca reiterates, trying not to look as relieved as she feels. “You believe us now?” She snatches the phone back before Violet can change her mind.

“See, silly? There was nothing to be worried about,” Chloe squeezes her reassuringly.

At long last, they’re rewarded by their daughter’s smile, which breaks over her face and lights it up with joy, like the proverbial rainbow after the storm. “I know,” she tells them, as if she’s been fine all along and they’re the ones who’ve been freaking out.

Unfortunately, now that her inner peace has been restored, Violet for the first time seems to notice the odd condition of her parents’ bedroom. Taking in her surroundings with perplexity as she slowly looks around her, she asks, “Why is there blankets on everything?”

“Um, because the roof was leaking,” Beca says fast, knowing that out of all the nonsense explanations they’ve cooked up in the last ten minutes this is surely the lamest. “And we didn’t want the furniture to get messed up.”

“Oh.”

To keep her from dwelling on this long enough to remember that it hasn’t rained at all in the last few weeks, Beca hurriedly changes the subject. “You know, you should probably get back to bed. The thing is… Santa might be a total pushover when it comes to the naughty thing? But he really does want you to be asleep when he gets here.”

“Yeah, it’s true,” Chloe nods. “That part is actually pretty important. We shouldn’t take any chances.”

“Okay,” Violet agrees immediately.

But Chloe doesn’t release her just yet. “So, do you feel better about everything now?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you excited about tomorrow?” She gives her a gentle shake.

“Uh-huh.” Violet is now beginning to squirm to get out of her lap.

“You’re gonna have so much fun,” Chloe promises her. “I bet you’re gonna get every present you asked for, and probably some that you didn’t even think of.”

“Yeah. But, Mommy,” she finally runs out of patience. “I have to go.”

“Oh, okay,” Chloe laughs, finally letting go of her. “You’re right, you should go. Kiss first!”

After she accepts the kiss with barely-concealed haste, Violet starts to run right out of the room, but Beca interjects. “Ah-ah-ah! Hey. Are you forgetting something?”

With a heavy sigh, Violet turns and comes back for yet another goodnight hug and kiss. “We already did this, before,” she can’t help pointing out to Beca.

Beca laughs. “Yeah, well, if you’d stayed in bed we wouldn’t have to do it all over again.”

Violet has no desire to argue, since time is of the essence. Released from Beca’s hug, she heads back to her bedroom at a sprint. Chloe waits in their doorway while Beca follows their daughter down the hall to her room, where she watches as Violet springs into bed. Giving her a last wave and a reminder to go to sleep fast, she gently closes the door. Then she comes back toward Chloe, smiling, both hands raised in the air for a soft and soundless high-five.

Chloe hangs onto her hands and tugs her back into their bedroom. After the door is shut behind them, they both lean against it, finally allowing themselves to laugh, but not too loudly.

“Did that really just happen?” Chloe asks in a low voice. “Oh my God, I thought you were gonna tell her about Santa Claus.” She gives Beca’s shoulder a playful shove. “I would have killed you.”

“I know,” Beca smirks. “Sorry. Nice save with the text, though. We should have just started with that.”

“Oh, yeah,” Chloe says modestly. “I guess it’s a good thing she can’t read too well yet.”

Beca laughs, then both are quiet for a few seconds as they bask in the relief of pulling the whole thing off.

“So, I don’t want to sound cocky,” Beca says, sounding deliberately cocky, “but I think we’re nailing this parenting thing.”

“Totally,” Chloe concurs. Then she winces a little. “I mean, except for the part where she might be traumatized for life after seeing a Christmas tree with no presents under it.”

“Right. Except for that,” Beca agrees. She looks around the room at all the mounds covered by blankets. “We should probably get this stuff downstairs. Before she wakes up and has another existential crisis.”

Chloe nods, taking a deep breath and looking ready for action. “Let’s do it.”

It takes five trips to get everything to the living room, five excruciatingly slow trips as they tiptoe down the upstairs hallway and the stairs, trying to make as little noise as possible. Beca makes a special detour out to her backyard studio to retrieve her own presents for Chloe, because it’s the only place that’s safe to hide them from her wife’s snooping habits.

On their last trip from the upstairs bedroom, as she sets her final load of presents down on the floor, Chloe suddenly asks, “So, I have to know. Did you really stab your brother to defend Nicole Scherzinger’s honor?”

“I mean…” Beca maneuvers a large rectangular box into an armchair next to the tree and then lifts her hands in a hapless gesture. “He called her a skank. What was I supposed to do?”

“Aw, baby,” Chloe gives her a sympathetic pout. “I can’t believe you thought you were straight for so many years.”

“I know,” Beca mutters sheepishly. “I’m an idiot.”

Once all the gifts are finally unloaded in front of the tree, they work on arranging them. But every time Beca puts a present in a particular place, Chloe moves it to a different spot. So she gives up and lets her handle the fine-tuning of the visuals, standing back to watch while eating the cookies left out for Santa. She’s earned them.

Eventually, her attention drifts over to the large, nearly tree-sized poinsettia on the floor near the window, in its gleaming white pot. “I don’t think I’ll ever look at that plant the same way again.”

Chloe gives a loud laugh, remembering the cause for this assertion, then claps a hand to her mouth to stifle it. She glances toward the doorway, as if to make absolutely certain Violet is nowhere in evidence, saying in a low voice, “God, I thought I was gonna lose it. She looked so guilty.”

“I know. That’s why I was trying not to make eye contact with you, dude. I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep it together.”

Coming to stand beside her and examining the plant, Chloe muses, “I guess I should probably change the potting soil tomorrow. But I mean, it could have been worse, right? At least she didn’t poop in it.”

They both stare at the flowers for a few seconds in silence.

“We have a weird kid,” Beca remarks.

Chloe smiles, nodding a little. “True. But I wouldn’t want any other kind.”

Unconsciously, Beca rests a hand on her stomach. Only after she’s noted her own gesture does her mind catch up, and she finds herself wondering what these two will be like, whether they’ll resemble Violet or whether they’ll have totally different personalities from their big sister, or even from each other. Wondering what kind of trouble they’ll inevitably get into, what they’ll be afraid of, what they’ll love, what kind of people they’ll become. Thinking about it makes her feel dizzy and out of her depth, so she stops herself. One day at a time.

She looks over to find Chloe watching her, a soft, thoughtful expression on her face, as if her mind is on the same track.

After a few seconds Chloe looks around, making sure the job is totally done. “Oh, hey, come over here a minute.” She draws Beca toward the doorway, positioning her so that she’s facing the room. “This is the best part.” Then she turns the lights out, leaving only the Christmas tree lights on.

Chloe comes back to stand beside her, and they look out at the room.

“Wow,” Beca breathes.

They gaze silently at the spectacle of their own living room transformed, the presents spilling out from under the tree, covering a large section of the floor, even stacked in the chairs nearest the tree. Violet’s stocking is too heavy to hang on the mantel, so it’s laid in front of the gifts, bulging and overflowing, some of the items scattered on the floor around it because they literally wouldn’t fit inside. Near the fireplace is the doll stroller, which Chloe has covered with a Christmas-themed tablecloth, so it mostly blends in with the other wrapped gifts. The effect of the entire room is impressive, to say the least. It looks like something from a magazine.

“Isn’t it pretty?”

“It’s beautiful,” Beca says in all sincerity. “She’s gonna freak out when she sees all this.”

“That’s the idea.” Chloe smiles with excitement. “Don’t let me forget to take some pictures, before she rips into everything.”

“You have to admit, though,” Beca can’t help pointing out, “that’s a lot of stuff for a four-year-old.”

“Some of it’s for us, too,” Chloe offers in her defense. “It’s not all hers. But yeah,” she acknowledges, “most of it.”

“You don’t think we’re spoiling her too much?”

“I hope not.” She concedes, “I know I might have gone a little overboard. But I just really wanted this Christmas to be special, for her. Because...” Chloe hesitates, almost as if she’s not sure she wants to say the next words out loud, or maybe she just needs a second to get her emotions under control. “Because it’s the last one with just the three of us.”

Somehow, as implausible as it seems, this is the first time such an obvious fact has occurred to Beca. Maybe, on some unconscious level, she’s been avoiding thinking about it. Staring at the Christmas tree, she’s stunned into poignant silence by the emotion that hits her as she contemplates this truth.

Chloe continues in a quiet voice. “Next year is gonna be so different. We’ll have a five-year-old, and two infants.” Noticing that Beca still hasn’t said anything, she adds quickly, “And it’s not that I’m not excited. I am. So beyond excited, and, just, over the moon. But at the same time…” she pauses. “It won’t ever be like this again. You know?”

“Yeah. I guess that’s true,” Beca admits softly, marveling, “She’s not gonna be the baby anymore.” Struggling to find the right words, she adds, “I mean, she’ll always be… our baby. But…”

“I know. I know what you mean.” Chloe takes a slightly shaky breath and lets it out. “So, anyway, that’s why I maybe overdid it, a little. I just wanted this one to be special.”

Beca finally looks over at her, then reaches out and takes her hand, lacing their fingers together and squeezing hard. “It will be.”

Chloe raises Beca’s hand and presses a kiss to the back of it, her eyes bright with unshed tears, thanking her without needing to say the words.

Looking back at the tree again, Beca shakes her head, just a bit overwhelmed. “God, it really is gonna be crazy, isn’t it? To go from one kid to three.”

Chloe starts to speak, stops herself, then forges ahead. “Are you scared?”

Not entirely sure how to answer, Beca thinks about it. She wants to be honest, but she can also feel a kind of vulnerability radiating from Chloe as she waits for her reply, as if she needs something from her.

“Nah,” Beca finally says, looking over at her. “We got this.”

The grateful, beautiful smile which lights up Chloe’s face pierces straight into Beca’s heart, and somehow makes her believe in the absolute truth of the words she’d just uttered.

“Yeah,” Chloe agrees, sounding as if she believes it too.

Drawn by an impulse too powerful to fight, Beca turns to her and pulls her close, holding her face with a reverent touch as she moves in and presses their lips together, slowly and softly. This time it’s not a lustful kiss, but one of pure love. They’ve been together long enough that Chloe instinctively knows the difference, and she lets herself melt into it with her eyes closed. There’s no mistletoe in this particular doorway, but they don’t need it.

After a few seconds Beca tastes salt, and realizes with mild surprise that Chloe is crying. She pulls back a little. “Hey.” Reaching up, she uses her thumbs to smudge away a few of the tears. “I’m the one with the hormones, here.”

“Sorry.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. That’s just it.” She looks down and places her palms over the subtle roundness of Beca’s stomach, in the same reverent way Beca had just touched her face. “I’ve never been this happy in my entire life, Beca. After last time, I honestly didn’t think we’d ever be doing this again.” She looks up and meets her gaze, but doesn’t move her hands. “I hope you know this is the best Christmas present you could ever possibly give me.”

As usual, this level of emotion makes Beca a bit uncomfortable. “Well, good,” she jokes with a little shrug. “Because I didn’t get you anything else.”

Chloe leans closer, grinning. “I know that’s not true, but even if it was? I wouldn’t care.”

Beca smiles too, wrinkling her nose into another kiss.

“I love you,” Chloe mumbles against her lips.

Now, as if her hormones are indeed living up to her comment from a minute ago, Beca feels an unexpected surge of emotion. She wraps her arms around Chloe and pulls her into a hug, since that at least allows her to hide her face. Waiting a few seconds until she trusts her voice not to break, she speaks directly against her ear. “I love you too. So, so, so much.” She swallows hard against the knot in her throat. “Like, it’s honestly disgusting, how much I love you.”

Over her shoulder Chloe makes a sound that’s halfway between a laugh and a sob, and squeezes her tighter. They hold each other like that for a while, barely moving except for hands stroking over backs or kisses pressed into hair.

Leaning her head against Chloe’s shoulder and closing her eyes, Beca loses track of time. She’s drifting in a pleasantly euphoric trance state, wishing they could somehow just teleport straight to their room and go to sleep, without actually having to walk up the stairs. She summons the energy to mutter, “We should get to bed.”

“Good idea,” Chloe agrees, sounding sleepy as well.

But then suddenly, out of nowhere, Beca feels a tiny but sharp twinge of pain on the bottom of her ass. “Ah,” she jerks a little. “What the hell was that?” Finally they separate, and she leans back and peers at Chloe. “Did you pinch me?”

“What?” Chloe’s face is the picture of innocence. “No.”

At first Beca’s genuinely confused. But then Chloe adds, as if just thinking of it, “Oh, you know what I bet it was? I bet it was that sex elf, again.”

A slow grin now replaces Beca’s puzzlement. “Really? You saw her?”

“Does she look a little bit like a miniature Pussycat Doll?”

“That’s her,” Beca widens her eyes. “Oh my God, you did see her.”

“Then, yep. She was here.” Chloe bends closer and whispers, “And I bet I know why.”

“You think?”

“Mm-hm. I bet she’s a little miffed that we didn’t quite... finish the job, earlier.”

The erotic tone of Chloe’s voice acts as a trigger, and in an instant Beca’s libido wakes from near-slumber and she’s flooded once again with a tidal wave of desire. It hits her with such unexpected force that she feels her toes clench on the rug under her feet. The orgasm from half an hour ago is suddenly as irrelevant as if it never happened. So much for going straight to sleep.

“Wow, those pinches really work,” she murmurs.

Chloe giggles and kisses her again. “I’m counting on it.” Now she takes Beca’s left hand and lifts it, staring down at it and turning it over, palm up, as she strokes a spot between her fingers contemplatively. “You know, I was just thinking, maybe I could get into that whole papercut kink of yours.”

Beca smiles, but then pulls back a bit and regards her with a curious look. “You do know I was kidding about that, right?”

Chloe only raises an eyebrow mysteriously and kisses the precise spot where the papercut had occurred, then turns in a seductive manner and begins leading her toward the stairs.

“Right?” Beca repeats, allowing herself to be pulled along.

Still no answer, aside from a coy smirk.

Beca teases, “Okay, see, now you’re scaring me a little.”

Chloe laughs as they start up the stairs, and then laughs even harder when Beca admits, “Still really turned on, though.”

#bechloe #bechloe fic #bechloe fanfic #merry pitchmas 2017 #hope it's ok if i use that tag even though it's not part of the official gift exchange #if not let me know and i'll delete it #i realize this fic feels almost more like sendrick than bechloe in parts lol #i've been watching a lot of interviews lately #but i do think that's kind of how beca and chloe would be after a few years of marriage you know?#i think beca would be more mellow and goofy #and chloe would be more centered and mature #oh and there's actually a lot more backstory as to why beca's pregnant #why she decided she wanted to do that and everything #but that whole saga is a little too serious for the tone of this story so i tried to limit the exposition to just what's necessary #if anyone wants i may eventually write those sections of their story as well #oh and i'll put this on the fic sites when i get a chance #and i forgot to say this takes place about a year after No Kissing if that's not clear

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myhauntedsalem · 6 years ago

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30 Doctors, Nurses and Paramedics Describe their Most Disturbing Medical Stories

1. The Guessing Game

I spent the rest of the night consoling her.” – whites42

2. Life After Death

3. The Last Goodbye

4. Miracle Man

5. Bleeding

6. The Haunted Hospital

7. Eyeless

8. Lonely

“One call that will always haunt me was on an unresponsive female at around three in the morning. We get there and do some pointless CPR along with the fire department… She had been dead for a while; no shockable rhythm, and clear rigor mortis. The most disturbing part was that the original caller was her 11-year-old daughter, who had just spent three days with her mother’s corpse and called 9-1-1 because she was ‘lonely’. It also didn’t help that the victim was completely naked when we arrived.” – CupofJoe776

9. Clear Waters

10. Night Lights

I’ve seen shadows standing over the dying and felt a tap on my shoulder while doing chest compressions so I knew that lady had passed.” – beeoakly

11. Holding Hands

12. Last Meal

13. “Don’t Let me go Back there”

14. The Rusty Old Saw

15. Visitors

16. The Handsome Man in Black

‘He’s real handsome, and wears a black suit. Oh. He’s right behind you now, honey.’

That freaked me the f*ck out. Of course, there was no one behind me. She died the next night in her sleep.” – Anonymous

17. The Blender

18. The Charred Skin

19. Dead Man Moaning

20. Otherworldly Screams

21. Blank Stare

“We got a call to go out to a scene for an elderly woman with chest pains. I arrive at the house, front door is open. We knock, hear the old woman calling out from the back ‘I’m in the back room’ in a very monotone and calm voice. My partner and I go to the back of the house looking for this woman, and that’s when we smelled it. Nothing prepares you for the smell of rotting corpse. I’ve smelled it a dozen times, and it never gets any less disturbing. We radio for police and ALS backup as we move through the house.

I don’t think that woman blinked once the entire time she was in our care.” – TheFilthiest

22. “Bill’s Here”

23. The Body on the Floor

The creepiest part happened on the way to the hospital with the woman, she said, ‘I hope that nice man on the floor is OK’.” – Tools4toys

24. The Fallen Cross

25. The Headless Nurse

26. Monsters

“I was still a nursing student at the time, but this was from when I had my psychiatric clinical placement in my 3rd year.

He answered, ‘Yes.’

I didn’t stay very long in that room.” – duckface08

27. The Man in Black

Well, the night I had her, she started making decent sense, but still not oriented at all. She was extremely paranoid and kept talking about the man in black in the corner. I’d hear her talking to him and screaming, all night long. So I’d go in there and try to calm her down, but you could see the fear in her eyes. she was talking other nonsense about how she was in space and shit, and with certain patients, you try to redirect their ‘reality,’ but what I did didn’t help. She said ‘that man in black! Don’t you see him!’ and pointed to the corner. I said ‘there’s nobody here.’ I stepped in the corner she was pointing to and waved my hands around. While I’m waving my hands around in the air, she had the most horrifically terrified look on her face that actually scared the shit out of me, like I had just assaulted the man in black. I said ‘see, there’s nobody here’ and she said in a matter-of-factly‘that’s what you think.’ I promptly got the fu*k out of there.” – HeatherTakasaki

28. Eyes Wide Open

29. Crawling up the Hallway

Needless to say, I needed some new britches and my heart was racing a mile a minute.” – blameitonthewookie

30. Heaven

Well, to tell you I was pretty well affected by that statement. She then went on to say ‘And he says that you are going to go to heaven too.’

We then prayed and I will never forget that interaction between the two of us. About a week later she passed away. I hope she made it to heaven.” – Anonymous

#30 Doctors Nurses and Paramedics Describe their Most Disturbing Medical Stories #paranormal #ghost and hauntings

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vanityrise · 7 years ago

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Family Matters: Chapter 21

Chapter 21 Vanessa arrived back at the hospital armed with clothes for both herself and Charity, some of Noah’s favourite things to decorate his hospital room and a bunch of flowers to cheer up her girlfriend. Walking into Noah’s room she was greeted by a massive hug from Charity. “Babe, I’ve been waiting for you to return for ages”, an excitable Charity said. “Sorry, I was as quick as I could be”. “He moved his hand, Noah moved his hand”. “That’s amazing news, what did the tests show”. “Still waiting to hear but the fact he moved his hand is really positive”. “This is the best news”, Vanessa replied passionately kissing Charity. “These are for you!” She said putting the flowers in front of her face, “ I’ve also got Noah’s favourite things, shall we decorate his room?” “Yes, I’d love that”. The pair decorated his room with family pictures, some of his favourite video games and last of all Moses had given Vanessa his favourite dinosaur to protect Noah from the baddies. “Noah, sweetheart... Moses has given you dippy the dinosaur to protect you. He’s going to be beside you at all times ok”, Charity said placing dippy by Noah’s side. “Thank you for this, it looks at lot less like a hospital room now”. “You are welcome. Right in that bag there are some clothes, go freshen up and change. I’m here I won’t leave his side, ok... I promise you”. “Yeah I’ll go get changed. Oh if Joe pops his head around the door, let him in. He’s desperate to see Noah”. “Are you sure? You hate the guy?” “I know I do, but this wasn’t his false.” “Okay, now go and take 5 minutes off.” “Yes boss”, Charity joked. Charity left to go and freshen up, take a break from staring at machines and grab them both a coffee. While Charity was gone Vanessa took the opportunity to talk to Noah. “Hey Noah, it’s me Ness. How you doing? We’re all worried sick over here, it’s time to wake up so your mum can see that beautiful smile of yours. Plus you still owe me that video game lesson.” Vanessa said to Noah whilst caressing his cheek, she felt such a strong connection with Noah and she knew that they had so much more to do together. *knock knock* “Only me, can I come in?”, Debbie said. Vanessa who was oblivious to the drama going on between Debbie and Charity replied, “of course”. “Where’s mum?” “She just popped out to freshen up and take a break, she won’t be long.” “How’s he doing?”, Debbie asked. “He moved his hand earlier, so that’s a positive sign”. “Hey little bro, I miss you. Can you come home already please, Sarah says she has no one to tease. I’m so sorry Noah. I really am.” “Debbie it’s not your fault, you didn’t know this was going to happen”, Vanessa said. Before Debbie could reply Charity walks in the door, “Babe I got us a couple of coffees, I couldn’t remember if yours was a skinny one or...” Charity stopped mid sentence as she saw Debbie stood next to Noah. “You’re not welcome here”, she said in an angry tone. “I know, but I wanted to come and see how Noah is?” “Tough, you don’t get to see him. Not after what you’ve done”. Vanessa stood there looking extremely confused. “Mum please, I know what I did was unforgivable but i just wanted to see my little brother”. “You are the reason he is lying in this bed in a coma. This is all your fault, now just get out and don’t come back”. Debbie rushed out of the room with tears streaming down her face. “What was all that about? Why is this her fault?”, Vanessa asked. “I wish I could tell you, but I can’t. Just know she’s not welcome here”. “Ok, but this isn’t her fault.” “If I tell you something you have to promise me that you won’t tell a soul, not even Rhona.” “I promise you, I won’t tell a soul. You can trust me ok?” “I know. Ok... you might want to sit down”. “That bad huh?” “The night Debbie went awol, she visited home farm. She wanted revenge on Joe once and for all, so decided to tamper with his breaks.” “The breaks?” “Yeah and speaking to graham yesterday the breaks didn’t respond properly when he went to break which caused them to crash”. “Wow, so basically what you are saying is the reason they crashed is Debbie”. “Yeah, hence why I don’t want to see her, hear from her. I cant stand the sight of her. Why would she be so stupid? I mean I’m all for revenge but not when you are putting peoples lives at risk. I don’t know the person she’s turning into? I thought I brought her up to know better”. “Hey, listen. This is not your fault, you would never do that to anyone, nor would you ever condone it. I cant believe she’s done this”. “You can’t say anything. As much as I hate her right now, I don’t want her to go to prison. It’s the worst place in the world”. “I won’t say a word. I promise you”, Vanessa replied. She couldn’t quite believe what she had just heard, she knew the dingles had a chequered past but she didn’t think that Debbie was capable of this. She knew that if she wanted a future with Charity she had to keep her mouth shut. “Going back to the coffees I’ll have which ever one you don’t want”. “I can’t wait to have something stronger than coffee.” “How about when Noah’s better and back at home, I take you for a nice romantic dinner and we drink lots and lots of wine. Then we can have lots of fun and lots of sex”, Vanessa said winking at her girlfriend. “Careful what you say, Noah can hear everything remember” “Oh yeah.. I mean we can have lots of fun and play rock.. paper.. scissors”. “That’s my favourite game”. “What time did the docs say they’d be back with Noah’s results?” “In about half an hour, I pray something, anything has improved”. “I’m sure it will have, especially if he squeezed your hand”. “Is this a bad time?”, Graham said peering around the door. “No, come in”. Graham helped push Joe into the room, placing his close to Noah. “Thank you for letting me come to see him, it means a lot”. “You’re welcome, do you want some time alone?” “Would that be ok? I just have some things I need to say to him”. “Take your time, well go get a bite to eat. If anything happens you’ve got my number” “Sure thing, enjoy”, Joe replied. Vanessa and Charity left Graham and Joe with Noah. Charity could hear genuine remorse in Joe’s voice for what had happened to Noah, she felt like she owed him the opportunity to spend time with him. “That was very nice of you, you know”, Vanessa said as she interlinked arms with her lover. “I owe him. Yes he shouldn’t have picked up Noah without my permission but he thinks this is his fault and it’s not”. “I’m proud of you, for being the bigger person”, she said kissing Charity. Back in Noah’s room Joe is shocked at how understanding Charity is being, maybe he has got her all wrong. Maybe she’s not the monster he thought she was. Taking full advantage of the time he has with his little brother he starts by giving him the best hug he can with his broken arm and Noah being led down. “Hey little bro, I’m so sorry that our adventure turned into a crash. I take full responsibility for your injuries and I promise you that when you wake up I will get you whatever video games or consoles you want. I wish we could rewind and stop you from getting in the car. I’d do anything to stop you getting hurt, but I’ve promised your mum that from now on we do everything through her. She loves you very much and we all want you to wake up so we can see that cheeky smile of yours”. Joe said trying to hold back the tears. “That was very sweet of you Joe”, Graham said. “Do you mind if we wait with him until Charity gets back?” “Absolutely not”. “He will wake up won’t he?” “They seem very positive and he has age on his side, so yes I think he will”, Graham said trying to be as positive as he could be. “I’m looking for Noah’s mum?”, Dr Noble said as he entered the room. “She just popped out for some food, do you have news?”, Joe asked. “We have some news yes, I’d rather wait for her return though” “Graham do you think you could ring her” “Yes I will do that now”, Graham said as he stepped out of the room in order to ring Charity. “Charity, the doctor has some news. He’s in Noah’s room now if you could pop back”. Charity dropped everything and rushed back to Noah’s room. “I’m here, I’m here, so doc what’s this news”. “Maybe somewhere private?” Dr Noble replied. “No they can stay” “So from the tests we took earlier we can see that the internal bleeding has stopped. His liver is responding well to the medication and hopefully all being well we can try and take him out of the coma tomorrow. Now he might not be ready to come out of it, but we will give it a shot”. “I could bloody kiss you right now! This is the best news ever”, Charity said giving the doctor a hug. “Like I said let’s not get too excited, but it’s progress and it’s all very positive. I’ll leave you guys to it”. “Thank you Doctor”, Joe said. “Yes thanks”, Charity added. “This is the best news ever!” Vanessa said embracing Charity. “We will leave you two to it! Thanks again for letting me see Noah”. “You’re welcome” Charity responded. Graham and Joe left the two love birds to celebrate. “He’s going to be ok!” Vanessa said to Charity. “I can’t believe it. The last day or so have been the worst of my life, but no matter what you were always there. I really don’t know what I did to deserve you but all I know is I am never letting you go. I love you”. Charity said grabbing onto Vanessa’s hand. “You love me?” A surprised Vanessa said. Did Charity Dingle a woman who doesn’t do feelings just say those three words?

#vanity #charity x vanessa #vanessa x charity #charity dingle #vanessa woodfield #emmerdale #love #lgbt #noah dingle #debbie dingle #joe tate #fanfic #new chapter

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it-is-bugs · 7 years ago

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TDBM Fic: The Pleasure of Your Company - 4

Finally! The next part rather got away from me... In case the thread was lost in the time passed, this is a series of scenes taking place before the Jean and Lucien wedding, from the POV of other characters. 4. The Bridal Party -

At first Celia didn't recognise Jean Beazley. It wasn’t just the new hairstyle and the shocking tendency to wear trousers to the shops. There was a confidence about her since becoming engaged to Lucien Blake that had changed her very carriage. Then Celia noticed the familiar tip of her head, furrow of her brow and she said "Jean!" before she remembered that Jean had deserted them--for that shocking man.

'Let's look at that tummy.' His voice had been kind and gentle, his fingertips soft. He'd smelled nice. Not like her husband, how he reeked of sour alcohol and stale cigarettes, and whose grip was clumsy and painful. Confused, Celia started to back down the narrow shop aisle, pulling her baby pram along.

Before she make her retreat, Benny echoed his mother's excited squawk from his pram.

"Celia!" Jean quickly dropped the pale ivory tulle that she'd been fingering. They were among the fine fabrics suitable for christenings, confirmations and weddings.

Celia shushed Benny. There was no avoiding Jean now, so she might as well ask: "Starting on your wedding gown?"

Jean didn't answer. She leaned over to tweak the baby’s plump cheek. "Benny's grown so much. The last time I saw him was before Christmas, of course."

Celia nodded, uncomfortable. She turned back to the fabric. "That'll be a lovely gown. Getting a bit of a late start though." She'd seen the announcement in the Courier and now the wedding was be in two weeks' time. It hadn't be in the church notices, of course.

"I'm not making a gown. I bought a nice suit." Jean smiled stiffly. Her gaze shifted back to the frothy silks. "I'm too old for such silliness anyway."

"Right," Celia murmured. Benny began to fret and she bent to soothe him.

"He looks just like his father," Jean noted.

"Thank God." Quickly changing the subject, Celia snared the end of a bolt of an ivory satin. "You've made so many lovely dresses for others, why not yourself?" She remembered that Jean had made her dress, had treated her like a real lady during the fittings. The future had seemed so bright in those days, Ben so in love and attentive.

"It's silly," Jean repeated, shrugging.

Celia gave Benny a teething ring to quiet his fussing.

Jean continued, as though reading her mind. "But considering the spectacle that we've been putting on for the whole town, me wearing a proper dress would hardly raise an eyebrow." Jean always was the sort to cut right to the meat of the matter. Cecia's laughter bubbled out.

Jean joined in, but then sobered. "Pa--a friend, a very good friend, recently told me that we need our triumphs. I haven't had many in life. Always worried about what others would think or say--but maybe it's time. Time to enjoy this day." Her smile turned impish again. "After all, I might as well give something yummy for the gossips to chew on."

Celia became practical. "Do you have a pattern?"

Jean tapped her temple. "Right here."

Celia motioned to a hovering clerk. "Let's get started then." She felt very daring for the first time in a long time...well, since she'd accepted an invitation for tea with Terrance Hampton, their insurance agent with the engaging smile. She still wasn't sure what she felt about Jean's abandonment, but she knew that she had to be bold once more, or lose herself forever.

"There's not time for me to finish--"

"Let us get started," Celia repeated firmly, even as her hands shook with uncertainty.

But it wasn't going to be that easy. Ben started his usual integration as soon as she told him that she was going out for the evening, and several more evenings in the future until the gown was finished.

"Jean Beazley? Bullshit!" he roared.

Celia covered Benny's ears. "Language!" she warned.

"That slapper's been tossed out of church. You're not going to associate with her."

Furious, Celia spat, "Decide which it is. Am I sneaking off to an affair or hanging around with another slut?"

Backed into a corner, Ben took a step forward, just to see her cower in fear.

She tried a softer approach. "Ben, truly. It's helping an old friend out. She can't tailor the dress herself."

"She's been tossed out by Father Emery! How's that gonna make you look?"

"She chose to leave of her own accord--"

"And then had some armed standoff in the cemetery!"

"Ben, don't be silly! This is Jean Beazley you're talking about! Christopher Junior was a mate of yours."

He was always much more dangerous when he lowered his voice as he did now. "You're not going."

"I promised," she whispered. "And Dorothy and Evelyn are going. It'll be perfectly respectable." In fact, she hadn't rung up the other ladies yet, and wasn't even sure her friends would be willing to visit the disgraced former member of the sewing circle.

It did take some convincing for Evelyn: "Celia, I was Father Morton's housekeeper and now I do for Father Emery three times a week. It would seem that I condone what Jean's done, and that's simply not the case."

"I'm surprised that you associate with me," Celia said, stung.

"But you have confessed your sins," Evelyn pointed out.

It was time to make a low shot. "You may have gone to jail for murder if it wasn't for Doctor Blake."

Evelyn had been quiet for a long time before saying, "Hate the sin, love the sinner."

"So I'll pick you up at six?"

Dorothy had been much easier, even eager. "It's been ever so long since I've seen Jean. I'll make biscuits."

Celia brought Benny, promising Ben some peace and quiet for the evening. He'd be drunk when she got home, hopefully passed out to give her some solitude of her own.

When the sewing circle arrived at the Blake house, every room was lit bright and people bustled everywhere. The dignified household of the senior Doctor Blake was gone.

"I'm so sorry," Jean said, ushering them through the house, "Lucien and his gang are setting up our new bed-edroom." She stuttered on 'bed' and flushed.

She quickly introduced everyone. Besides Lucien Blake, there was Chief Superintendent Matthew Lawson, nearly unrecognisable in civilian clothes; a young policeman, Danny Parker; and the Courier reporter, Rose Anderson. The two young people were in dungarees and worn shirts, and although Lawson leaned heavily on a cane, he seemed ready to work as well.

Jean settled the ladies in the dining room, her dress form at the ready, and the shopping sacks with the fabrics and notions in them. Lucien was fussing about though, his eyes bright and curious on the women. She made the situation clear, flapping her hands at him. "Your lot straighten out the studio." She called to Danny. "Bring the folding screen from the doctor's exam room. It'll shield this doorway." For the doorway between the lounge and dining room, she tugged the heavy curtains free from their holdbacks. "No peeking, Lucien."

"I'm not," he said as he peered over her shoulder and smiled greetings. They all murmured uncomfortable replies.

"Change your clothes before you ruin another pair of trousers." She gave him a brisk slap on the bum as a way of moving him along, but that got her a slow smile, and their eyes locked.

Celia couldn't look away as her friends did. Her lover had gazed at her that way. She'd believed him when he told her that she was special to him, that they'd be together someday--no second wedding for her, though. She didn't believe in divorce. Head down, she started to sort through her sewing box for her scissors and pins.

"Right. I'll be a good boy," Lucien murmured before heading to his bedroom. Her cheeks pink, Jean yanked the curtains closed and joined the other women.

She had several magazine photos for reference, and had done a sketch of a dress based on her favourite elements. She'd marked pages in her pattern books for a tea length satin skirt and a fitted bodice with a fine lace overlay. After rolling out paper, she quickly set the patterns and the women pinned them to the fabrics.

"Thank you so much for helping," Jean said, "it means alot to me."

Dorothy squeezed her hand. "I've missed you so much, Jean."

"I've missed you too."

Celia bit back, 'Then why have you left us?'

"Jean?" was at the curtain.

"Yes, Lucien." She didn't look up from the piece that she was cutting.

"I've changed."

She sighed. "And?"

"Do you want to check my clothes?"

She whispered to them, "He doesn't dress down much."

Flipping back the curtain just enough to see him, she looked him up and down. "That shirt!" she exclaimed. The other women craned their necks to see. He wore a white dress shirt but there was a faint but large stain on the left side of the chest. In the center of the stain, Jean had neatly stitched shut a large tear. His trousers were faded gray, the knees a bit shiny with age.

He was rolling up his sleeves, and snugged them at elbows. "Will I pass muster?"

She rested her hand in the middle of his chest, and rubbed a light circle. Tweaking the open collar down flat, she said, "You'll do," giving him a soft smile.

He planted a quick kiss on her cheek as to not muss her lipstick, and then dramatically swished the curtains closed.

After a moment, Jean turned back to her friends. Brushing a lock of hair off her flushed cheek, she smiled at them. "Right. Back to it."

At first, It was just like old times. But when their needles were flashing, basting together the pieces, the conversation turned to the wedding.

Jean kept her voice casual. "You've all received your invitations?"

They murmured back. Celia pricked her fingertip with a pin and quickly sucked it dry before the blood could stain the fabric.

Smoothing the lace out flat to cut it, Jean said, "I understand if you can't come. But you are truly welcome."

Before they could respond, there was a great crashing in the hall and the young policeman came barreling into the room, knocking over the screen. A massive walnut headboard was stuck crossways in the studio doorway. Benny started to cry.

Jean rushed forward to replace the screen. "Danny, what are you doing?"

"I lost my footing, Auntie Jean. That's a bloody big bed." Danny raised his eyebrows and she smoothed her hands down her skirt, avoiding his teasing grin.

Matthew stuck his head around the screen. "Danny, get the hell back over here. Lucien can't hold it up all on his own and I'm useless," he grumbled, irritated.

"I need a hand here," came a breathless male voice from behind the bed.

"Where's that girl?" growled Matthew. "Gave her a man's job to do and no sign of her."

"She's stuck in the studio,." Danny pointed out.

Jean gave the women an exasperated look. "I'd better go look in on all this. I'll put the kettle on afterward. Just about time for a tea break, I say."

Celia was settling Benny down a bit, giving him a bottle but his eyes were still wide and anxious as he looked around. Their house was much more quiet and dark.

Evelyn leaned over the table to hiss: "I'm not surprised by any of this. Doctor Blake is a bit--"

"I've brought my ginger biscuits," Dorothy said, cutting her off. "Could you find them in my bag?" she asked Evelyn, shutting off the gossip. She pushed herself up from the table and stuck her crutches under her arms before hobbling into the kitchen. The other women followed.

After washing their hands at the tap, the work crew joined them, ribbing each other for the lack of progress.

Jean poured out, shaking her head. "It won't matter if we have this dress finished, if there's no marital chamber to retire to after the ceremony."

"Here, here," Lucien said a bit too strongly for everyone's comfort.

"Time to call in reinforcements," said Matthew, and got on the phone.

Benny was still fussing, and Celia was having trouble juggling his squirming body and her teacup. While moving around the table with the teapot, Jean took the baby and went to pass him to Rose. The young woman looked horrified, so Jean settled him on her hip and finished her round.

Lucien came up beside her and cupped Benny's head. "It's all too much for you, mate?"

"He's teething," said Celia said shortly.

"I can get him something for that," Lucien said, his mood quickly brightening at the prospect at offering medical assistance.

As he bustled back with a bottle in hand, the front door rang. He opened the door as he went past. A woman with short, slightly untidy red hair was there.

"Oh hello, Alice. Come on in."

Alice's face blanched at the sight of all the people in the kitchen.

"Yes, Alice, join us," Jean said, beckoning. She introduced Alice to the sewing circle.

Dorothy asked, "Are you going to help us with the dress?"

Alice blinked in befuddlement, then said carefully, "I think that you'll find my stitching is a bit rough."

"Doctor Harvey is a pathologist," Jean said, her smile fixed. Dorothy looked confused. "She examines dead bodies. She and Lucien work together on police cases."

Dorothy shrank back in her chair.

Jean turned to Alice. "Do you have any trousers? Can't have you helping out in a skirt."

"Gosh, no," said Rose, crunching on a biscuit. "Uncle Matthew is working us like navvies."

"Come along then," Jean said smartly. "You can borrow a pair of mine."

After the two women had left the kitchen, Evelyn mused, "I could never wear trousers. They're not lady-like."

"What is means to be a lady keeps changing every day," Rose said cheerfully.

Evelyn looked horrified at the prospect.

"That dress isn't going to sew itself," Dorothy said, struggling to her feet with the support of the table.

"Do you want to get out of that dirty work?" Evelyn said to Rose, "and help us with the dress?"

Danny snorted. Rose glared at him. She said, "That's alright. I'm even more useless than Alice with the womanly arts. I'll stick with being dumb, brute strength." She flexed her arm and Danny laughed outright, but his gaze was admiring.

"Well, those boxes aren't going to shift themselves," Lucien said, slapping his thighs and rising.

"Auntie Jean, where exactly should we shift those to?" Danny asked Jean as she reappeared with Alice, now in a pair of trousers, and self-consciously tugging at the waistband.

"Goodness," Jean looked around. "We really should sort through those, but there's not time--"

"Just take them to Charlie's old room," Lucien suggested. Jean quickly looked to Rose, but she was just snagging the final biscuit off the plate.

"Hey, I'm sleeping there," Danny said, but the team was already moving to the studio.

"Ladies, back to our job," Celia said, tucking Benny on her hip.

By the end of the evening, Jean had had her first fitting. The gown was inside out, so there was no real way to see how it would look, but she still turned to and fro, critical of the length. "Perhaps a bit longer?"

"Skirt hems are moving up," Celia noted.

"Not on me," Jean said tartly. "I think a tea length would be appropriate for an afternoon wedding."

"But is the skirt a bit...bell-shaped?" said Dorothy, giving it a frown.

"You may be right." Jean smoothed her hands down her flanks. "Lucien does prefer a more fitted skirt for the backside, but I don't want to appear as though I'm going to a cocktail party."

Evelyn looked both confused and offended at the same time. Celia cleared her throat, not sure if she should be put out either. Dorothy just seemed vague.

Taking her sketchpad, Jean made a few quick lines. "We'll try some gathering tomorrow, and see if what looks best."

"It is getting late," Celia agreed, glancing at the clock. Surely Ben would be passed out on the settee already.

Everything was gathered up, and as they passed through, they found the moving crew had already given up and were scattered around the lounge with drinks.

After the exchange of parting, and Jean closed the front door on them, Celia felt as though they had been cast out into the darkness in more ways than the obvious.

The next day, nursing his sore head, Ben thankfully said nothing more about the sewing circle and Celia slipped away, feeling light-hearted in a way that she hadn't since she would make excuses to meet her lover.

Jean was in her dressing gown when they arrived, ready for her next fitting. The moving crew had been turned into a painting crew and were already at it, their voices echoing in the studio. It was Lucien's turn to shield his work from Jean and he closed the doors definitely in her face after a quick kiss.

The curtains were still closed, the screen up, and Jean dropped her dressing gown and held up her arms for the wedding dress to be slipped over her head by Evelyn and Celia while Dorothy waited with pins at the ready.

But first Dorothy stared at Jean's undergarments and remarked, "So there's your blue then?"

Once remarked on, Celia noticed that Jean's foundation garment weren't her usual simple Woolworth bought, carefully darned until it wore out. It was a satin corset with blue ribbons threaded along the hems and small blue bows set down the front. It was certainly purchased at one of the high-end shops, like so much of Jean's wardrobe these days.

"Yes, I suppose it will," Jean said.

The matter settled, Dorothy motioned for them to pull the dress on. "Pleats?" Dorothy suggest, beginning to pinch up the full skirt.

Jean looked down. "I think that'll make it look a bit too casual." She flipped to a drawing in her sketchbook. "What do you think of this? Just a pleat on each side. To give shape and definition without looking fussy."

"Oh, that would be lovely," enthused Dorothy as she pinned the fabric. "Really, you should do this professionally. Your gowns are always brilliant and so much more than the pattern."

Evelyn helped Jean out of the dress. "That is an idea. Although I suppose you won't need to work anymore." Her voice was a bit bitter.

"Lucien has said something about engaging a new housekeeper, but I've assured him that I'll simply go mad without something to do," Jean said with steely determination.

Celia looked around. "This large house will keep you busy. You'll have other obligations too, once you're married. As a doctor's wife, you won't have time for vacuuming."

Her words were weighty in the air and all the women were silent.

"Before I forget," Dorothy said, raising her chin. She fumbled in her handbag. "Here's my RSVP card. To save on postage."

"Thank you," Jean said gently, taking the card. "Let me pop that in with the others."

She slipped through the curtains, leaving them open a bit. Celia watched her open a box on the sideboard and flip through the cards to place Dorothy's in the right spot. Lucien passed through kitchen and spotted her. His face lit up.

"What's this about? In your dressing gown already?" He flicked the sash of her gown before his hand settled on her hip.

"It's important to try on your dress with the undergarments that you will be wearing," she explained huffily. "Assures a proper fit." Her fingers traces his bare forearm but she didn't push away his hand.

His voice lowered but Celia still caught what he said: "So you've got your pretty wedding undies on?"

Jean quickly glanced to the curtains so Celia lowered her head over her hand stitching. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched them, feeling guilty, but unable to turn away. Jean carefully held the top of her gown open for just a moment, but Lucien's grin widened.

"Bloody hell, Jean. You're--" Celia couldn't hear the rest as Lucien leaned in and spoke into Jean's ear. But the way her cheeks flushed and she slewed her eyes at him, Celia knew the sort of thing that he must have said. Her throat tightened in anguish.

Turning quickly, Jean rejoined the others and closed the curtains.

Determined to sort the matter, Evelyn said, "I'm sorry, Jean, but you realise that I can't come--"

Jean sounded exactly like a doctor's wife when she said, "I never imagined that you would," in the nicest possible tone. Then turned to Dorothy and asked, "Will you need a car, Dorothy? We'll be happy to send one for you."

When they came the next day, Dorothy asked to see the studio before they began.

"Perhaps it's like the dress, and Jean shouldn't see it yet," Lucien said, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Lucien!" Jean protested.

"I think that's a great idea," said Rose, obviously wanting to start trouble. "And romantic."

"Fine." Jean turned sharply on her heel, but she was smiling.

Celia wanted to see as much as the other ladies. They passed through the double doors and into a large room that smelled strongly of paint and wood polish. There was a large fireplace, and high wainscoting paneling around room. The wood was all dark, but the high walls had been painted a warm but bright color, like the best butter. A few rolled carpets were nestled by the massive bed draped in drop clothes.

"Oh, look!" Dorothy exclaimed, looking up at the ceiling. "It's gold!"

"My goodness," breathed Evelyn, "I didn't even notice that when I was here." She gave Lucien an unfriendly look. "It was so dark and crowded then."

"You're not going to paint that over?" Dorothy asked, leaning heavily on her crutches.

"That's still up for debate," Lucien said with a shake of his head.

"Do you have a cover for that large of a bed?" asked Rose, nonchalant. "Or do I just have the idea of a wedding present?"

"You don't have your pressie yet?" Matthew said. "Wedding's only a week off."

"Speaking of which, we need to get to work," Evelyn said, herding the two woman before her to the dining room.

They were nearly finished but Jean just wasn't happy about the neckline. "It's awfully...plain." It was a scooped neck of a lace overlaid on the satin bodice. "And this is plain," she grumbled, smoothing her hands down the high waist.

"Careful that you don't fix yourself right back into a new problem," warned Evelyn, peering over her glasses.

But Jean was already sketching. "I've seen this open collar on a few dresses. Sort of a Revers style--" She flipped through her magazines and stopped on a picture of Audrey Hepburn.

"But on a wedding dress?" Celia asked, glancing at the glossy page. "That's just a blouse."

Jean folded the lace and held it up to the top of the dress, showing them how the collar would look. "With pearl buttons like up the back, I think it would be dressed up."

Evelyn went through the bags. "I think there's enough buttons."

"And the V-neck would mean that I could wear the wedding gift that Lucien gave me."

"What is that?" asked Evelyn, her nosiness coming out.

"Just a moment," Jean said. They helped her out of the dress, and after pulling on her dressing gown, she slipped around the screen. She returned with a dark blue velvet flat jewellery box. Rose and Alice followed her, chatting.

"The boys are arguing about whether to paint the wainscoting or not. We put in our vote, but got shouted over," Rose explained, "so we're leaving them to it."

"How're things going here?" Alice asked, looking around with a curious gaze.

"We're just settling the final details," Dorothy explained.

Jean opened the box. "It's pearls," she explained. "He gave me black pearls when we were first engaged, but I think they'll be too dark with this color."

Evelyn and Celia exchanged raised eyebrowed looks.

"Those aren't the pearls that his Auntie gave you," said Alice.

"We decided to return those," Jean said carefully. Then she smiled. "And have a fresh start." Holding up her hair, she asked Rose to put the necklace on her. They measured where the lowest pearl settled on her breastbone, and went to change the neckline.

After putting on the kettle, Alice brought in a tea tray. Jean thanked her as she flipped through the magazines, looking for something to add to the waist.

"Not a wide belt," vetoed Celia, leaning over from the dress from where she was pinning up the hem.

At the increase of chatter, Benny woke from his nap and fussed. He was now excited and interested by all the activity of the Blake house. Alice was standing by his travel cot and looked down at him with curiosity.

"How're his gums?" asked Jean.

"The doctor's ointment has helped a great deal," Celia said. "Could you take him, Alice? I don't want to let go of this hem."

Her face full of trepidation, Alice cautiously reached into the basket and picked up the boy. She held him at arm's length under his armpits, his legs thrashing.

"Let me take him," said Jean, rescuing her friend.

Her relief palatable, Alice said, "Yes, right," as she passed along Benny. She tipped her head to Rose. "We should get back to it. We're no use here but we can fight to protect that lovely paneling."

The two women escaped and the others bent to their tasks. Jean had found a picture of Doris Day with a flat bow on the front of a gown, and decided that would be perfect to tie the lace overlay top of the gown to the skirt.

At the end of the evening, they stood around Jean in the dress and surveyed their accomplishment. A gown that was simple and elegant at the same time, with lovely details which spoke to Jean's taste and eye for style. On the other side of the curtain, Lucien was playing the piano, some romantic tune that Celia recognised vaguely as a favorite of her parents. Unconsciously, Jean was swaying to the music as she checked the way the dress moved. Celia felt tears pricking at her eyes, and swallowed the lump in her throat.

"I'll press it and steam out the wrinkles, but it's done," Jean said, satisfied. She hugged and kissed each woman. "I have something for you," she added, and ignoring their protests, presented them each with silver thimble, with the simple words thank you engraved on it. They murmured their own thanks, feeling somehow shy.

When they parted by Celia's automobile, Jean's goodbye to Evelyn sounded very final. But she had all smiles for Dorothy, and a reminder that she'd ring up with the time for the ride to the wedding. For Celia, she gave another kiss on the cheek and murmured, "Take care," with such sympathy that Celia had to turn away without a reply.

Jean seemed truly surprised when she opened the door to Celia, but ushered her into the kitchen.

"Let me put the kettle on," she said.

"I won't be long," Celia said, "Mrs Clayton is watching Benny."

"Alright," said Jean, sinking into a chair by Celia.

"I'd thought perhaps you don't have something borrowed yet."

"I hadn't thought much about it," Jean admitted. "With everything else to be organised."

Celia pulled a jewellery box from her handbag. "If you'd like, may I offer my bracelet? It matches your necklace."

Jean opened the box and admired the pearl bracelet. "I remember when your Mum gave this to you before your own wedding. This is very thoughtful. Thank you."

Next Celia removed the RSVP card and put it on the table, her fingers trembling.

Jean slowly turned it over and looked at the names. Celica had crossed out Mr and left it as just Mrs Lloyd.

"You'll come alone?"

"Yes," Celia breathed.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Jean said slowly.

"You sent me an invitation," Celia said, stung.

"And I can see that was a mistake. I'm sorry to have put you in that position."

"I want to come."

Jean put her strong fingers over Celia's white and clenched fists. "I know. But marriage means not always having what you want. I can't be responsible for causing discord with Ben."

"I'll deal with Ben," Celia protested.

"There's no need. Truly." Jean squeezed her shoulder. "This isn't the battle you need to fight with him. There's much more important things to stand for." Her smile was crooked as she held back tears. "Someday you'll have that triumph, Celia, just not this Saturday." She lifted the bracelet. "But you'll be with me."

"And you'll be the most beautiful bride," Celia promised her.

She'd never seen Jean smile like she did at those words. "I will, won't I?"

~ end

#doctor blake mysteries #lucien x jean #pleasure of your company

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