#it smells like a pediatric ward

[hazeltail]

My HS has been flaring up really bad for the past week, and I'm starting to lose my mind. It's under my arm and any little movement feels like it's tearing open. I wish it would just fucking get on with it and open up. I have my gross medical grade soap the dermatologist prescribed, but it doesn't help the pain at all.

[midncghtxrain]

hey, isn’t that LEYLA OSMAN, who looks a little like HANDE ERCEL? i hear SHE is a THIRTY year old FEMALE who works as a PEDIATRIC SURGEON who has been in town for HER ENTIRE LIFE. they AREN’T a member of one of aspen creek’s founding families. you can usually find them at MAPLE GROVE or THE COZY NOOK CAFE. if you ask me, they remind me a lot of THE SMELL OF LILACS, FRESH BREWED COFFEE IN THE MORNINGS, A SMILE AS BRIGHT AS THE SUN. just keep an eye on them & see if their true colors shine through!

𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒 …

𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄: leyla osman 𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄(𝐒): tba 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄(𝐒): leyla 𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄: december 24th, 1993 𝐀𝐆𝐄: 30 years old 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑: female 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐒: she/her 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: heteromantic 𝐒𝐄𝐗𝐔𝐀𝐋 𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: heterosexual 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐍: kaya osman

𝐁𝐈𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐘…

december 24th. the day leyla was born. a month early which was a surprise to everyone. rushing to the hospital from a family celebration, leyla was born a few hours later. just ten minutes before midnight to be more exact. she was, in a way, a christmas surprise to her parents as well as her siblings. after a few days in the hospital, leylas parents were finally able to bring her home. what was pure joy at the moment was something that soon enough would fall apart. six years later, problems began to arrrise in her parents marriage. from arguments, to her mother or father not coming home till late. it wasn't until six months after her birthday that her parents got a divorce. with her parents now divorced, leyla and her siblings split their time between the two. with split custody, it was back and forth between their mother and father. when she was ten years old, her mother remarried, as did her father. when it came to her step father, leyla did grow close to him. and looked up to him as well. though in the end, he could never replace her own father. enter high school, leyla grew an interest in helping people. it all started when she volunteered to help out at the hospital during her junior year. helping out there, she opted to help out in the pediatric ward. to say it made her happy was an understatement. her love of helping people only grew as she entered her final year of high school. come graduation, leyla left for college.attending the university of michigan, the college became a home away from home. on breaks, she would return to her hometown to spend time with friends during her college years, she ended up dating a fellow medical student. to say she fell in love was an understatement. following graduation, and her now ex heading off to a different medical school, it left her upset. following the breakup, she soon found out that she was pregnant.in a way, it made her nervous. she knew she would be a single mother raising the child on her own. entering medical school, she navigated her way through her first year while pregnant. once her child was born, it being a girl as well, she did her best to juggle between taking care of kaya and attending school. four years later, leyla graduated on top of her class. after graduation, she moved back home. opting to live at her mothers home in the apartmen over the garage. it was big enough for her and kaya for the time being. getting a job at the local hospital, she soon enough started her residency. two years after her residency, leyla moved out of her mothers place and bought herself a house nearby. it was bigger than the garage apartment. big enough for both leyla and kaya in the longrun. flashforward two years later, leyla is now a full fledged pediatric surgeon.

WANTED CONNECTIONS…

childhood best friend/ her person: the christina to her meredith, the yin to her yang. the two had been best friends ever since they were children. growing up, it was almost always impossible to sperate them. in a way, they treat each other as siblings. always there to each other and so on. despite going to different colleges, they stayed close and would visit each other as well when they weren't home. in a way, they're each others person. high school sweetheart: leylas first love, her first everything. the two of them had thought at one point that they would end up being married but that never came to be. after high school, the two broke up on good terms. meeting up now, years later, those once feelings the two had come up again. this will all depend on the chemisty. and if they stay friends or not. work buddies - people she works with at the hospital. can be close friends as well family friends frenemies former friends childhood friends enemies

more to be added later on.

[givemearmstopraywith]

full article text under the cut

Just off the acacia-lined highway to the Qatari capital of Doha is a three-story, whitewashed apartment complex built to host visitors at the 2022 fifa World Cup. Until recently, the gated compound was unoccupied. Yet in the past several months, as part of a deal Qatar struck with Israel, Hamas, and Egypt to evacuate as many as fifteen hundred wounded Gazans in urgent need of medical care, it has begun to fill. The new residents are eight hundred and fifteen medical evacuees from the ongoing war, along with five hundred and forty-two of their relatives. Most are women and children.

One afternoon in February, a rambunctious swarm of thirty or so children raced around a large plot of AstroTurf. Some rode bikes and scooters. One toted a set of “PAW Patrol” golf clubs. Small children pushed larger ones in wheelchairs at worrying speeds, caroming off the green and brown beanbag chairs that dotted the plot of artificial earth. Many were missing limbs. As the boys began to squabble with the girls over who had more space to play, workers dragged what looked like a deflated rainbow into the square. A whoop went up. The afternoon’s entertainment had arrived: a bouncy slide, along with food carts offering ice cream, hot chocolate, popcorn, cotton candy, and falafel.

Among the children was Gazal Bakr, a four-year-old wearing a miniature maroon Adidas tracksuit, its left pant leg tucked up into the elastic waistband. She hopped along furiously on her right leg. Although Gazal’s name means “sweet talk” or “flirt” in Arabic, she was unflinchingly direct. “I don’t like you!” she shouted as she passed the wheelchair belonging to her eighteen-year-old neighbor, Dina Shahaiber, who’d lost her left leg below the knee. Gazal, who’d just awoken from a nap, had little interest in ice cream. Instead, she wanted to do what she did most afternoons: play soccer by kicking the ball with her right foot and hopping after it. “Stop talking!” she declared to the well-meaning volunteers clucking around her. “You’re making my head hurt!”

Gazal was wounded on November 10th, when, as her family fled Gaza City’s Al-Shifa hospital, shrapnel pierced her left calf. To stop the bleeding, a doctor, who had no access to antiseptic or anesthesia, heated the blade of a kitchen knife and cauterized the wound. Within days, the gash ran with pus and began to smell. By mid-December, when Gazal’s family arrived at Nasser Medical Center—then Gaza’s largest functioning health-care facility—gangrene had set in, necessitating amputation at the hip. On December 17th, a projectile hit the children’s ward of Nasser. Gazal and her mother watched it enter their room, decapitating Gazal’s twelve-year-old roommate and causing the ceiling to collapse. (Multiple news reports have described the event as an Israeli attack. The I.D.F. claimed the incident could have been caused by a Hamas mortar or the remnant of an Israeli flare.) Gazal and her mother managed to crawl out of the rubble. The next day, their names were added to the list of evacuees who could cross the border into Egypt and then fly to Qatar for medical treatment. Gazal’s mother was nine months pregnant; she gave birth to a baby girl while awaiting the airlift to Doha.

UNICEF estimates that a thousand children in Gaza have become amputees since the conflict began in October. “This is the biggest cohort of pediatric amputees in history,” Ghassan Abu-Sittah, a London-based plastic-and-reconstructive surgeon who specializes in pediatric trauma, told me recently. I met him in the waiting room of his plastic-surgery clinic on London’s Harley Street, and we walked to a nearby pub for a glass of water. Abu-Sittah, a fifty-four-year-old British Palestinian with an angular face and tender, deep-set eyes, has treated child survivors of war for the past thirty years in Iraq, Yemen, Syria, and elsewhere.

Abu-Sittah is the author of “The War Injured Child,” the first medical textbook on the subject, which was published last May. In October and November, he spent forty-three days in Gaza, conducting emergency surgeries with Doctors Without Borders. He shuttled between two hospitals: Al-Shifa and Al-Ahli, which is also known as the Baptist hospital. The casualty rate was so high that, during some intense periods, he didn’t leave the operating room for three days. “It felt like a scene from an American Civil War movie,” he said.

In Gaza, Abu-Sittah was performing as many as six amputations a day. “Sometimes you have no other medical option,” he explained. “The Israelis had surrounded the blood bank, so we couldn’t do transfusions. If a limb was bleeding profusely, we had to amputate.” The dearth of basic medical supplies, owing to blockades, also contributed to the number of amputations. Without the ability to irrigate a wound immediately in an operating room, infection and gangrene often set in. “Every war wound is considered dirty,” Karin Huster, a nurse who leads medical teams in Gaza for Doctors Without Borders, told me. “It means that many get a ticket to the operating room.”

To mark the gravity of these procedures, and to mourn, Abu-Sittah and other medical staff placed the severed limbs of children in small cardboard boxes. They labelled the boxes with masking tape, on which they wrote a name and body part, and buried them. At the pub, he showed me a photograph he’d taken of one such box, which read, “Salahadin, Foot.” Some wounded children were too young to know their own names, he added, telling the story of an amputee who’d been pulled from rubble as the sole survivor of an attack.

The number of child amputees carries long-term implications, Abu-Sittah told me, listing his concerns. Israeli forces destroyed Gaza’s only facility for manufacturing prosthetics and rehabilitation, the Hamad hospital, which was inaugurated in 2019 and funded by Qatar. The leading manufacturer of child prosthetics, the German company Ottobock, is working to supply the necessary components to children up to the age of sixteen, with donors in place to fund the project through its foundation. Procuring prosthetics, however, is only the first step. “Child amputees need medical care every six months as they grow,” Abu-Sittah said. Because bone grows faster than soft tissue and severed nerves often reattach painfully to skin, child amputees require ongoing surgical interventions. In his experience, each limb requires eight to twelve more surgeries. To track this cohort, Abu-Sittah is consulting with the Centre for Blast Injury Studies at Imperial College London and the Global Health Institute at the American University of Beirut; their goal is to create a cloud-based database of medical records that can follow these kids wherever they go. For the rest of their lives, these amputees will need answers regarding their medical history. Abu-Sittah knows how this works: for years, as a pediatric trauma surgeon, he’s fielded calls from his former patients.

Abu-Sittah, who’d recently travelled to Qatar to consult, recalled meeting a fourteen-year-old boy who’d lost his leg after being trapped under rubble. He’d spent a day beneath the debris holding the hand of his dead mother. “These are vulnerable people in the midst of the storm,” he said.

To fill the empty hours at the compound, volunteers and government employees from Qatar’s Ministry of Social Development and Family were creating art, music, and sports-therapy classes for children. Still, many residents spent late afternoons milling about the AstroTurf. Women shepherded children to a folding table where a face painter sketched Spider-Man masks and Palestinian flags on their cheeks. Then the women wandered over to the beanbags and pulled them into circles, where most sat staring into the distance, until a crying child arrived, demanding attention.

On a sunny afternoon, I reclined on the beanbags with Iman Soufan, a thirty-three-year-old Palestinian volunteer who was leading art therapy. To encourage the kids to connect to something positive, Soufan told me, she had asked them to draw their favorite place in Gaza. One eight-year-old girl drew her large, happy house, then, next to it, added a puddle of blood. Soufan showed me a photograph of the picture and the caption, which read, “The war is destroying Gaza. My father is martyred. My grandfather is martyred. My grandmother is martyred. My uncle is martyred. My cousin is martyred.”

As we spoke, curious children gathered around us. When a plane passed overhead, they held still, watching as it traced an arc across the sky. The response was common among children who’d experienced air strikes, a psychologist at the compound told me later. A pack of tween boys, who knew little English, poked into the conversation to pose political questions. They listed the names of world leaders and raised their eyebrows, asking me to offer a thumbs-up or thumbs-down. “Biden?” they asked. “Blinken?” I thought how unlikely it was that American boys their age would know the name of the U.S. Secretary of State, but, for these kids, such figures seemed all-powerful. Some didn’t feel like talking to an American reporter. “Masalama!” a boy named Ahmed, his face covered in shrapnel scars, yelled at me as he whizzed past on a scooter. “Goodbye!”

Smaller ones clambered into our laps, demanding in Arabic that Soufan translate their stories. They’d heard me asking other wounded children questions, and now they wanted their chance. Muhanad, who was eight, with two buckteeth poking out of his mouth, had rolled himself over in his wheelchair. He’d lost his right leg when a ceiling collapsed on him during an Israeli strike, he said, after following his dad on a trip to buy sugar. He mused aloud that he’d made a mistake by leaving the house. (His father, Muhanad said, had also been severely injured. He was stuck in Gaza, without permission to evacuate.) I asked him what his favorite thing was in Qatar. “I’m glad to be able to meet the people who helped me in person,” Muhanad said, smiling. He cupped his hands and brought them together in front of his chest, making a heart.

Dina Shahaiber, who was four-year-old Gazal’s long-suffering neighbor, sat listening nearby in her wheelchair. Clad in a matching velour tracksuit, which read “Perfect” down its sleeve, she swung her left stump over her wheelchair’s arm distractedly. “If you think that story’s sad, you have to hear mine,” she offered. Dina didn’t remember how she got injured, only that she, like Muhanad, believed that it had been her fault. “If I’d only stayed inside that day,” she told me. Before losing her leg, she’d been largely responsible for getting fresh water for her family, running up and down the stairs to refill a large tank on the roof. “I was my mom’s right hand,” she said proudly. “My uncle asked if he could trade me for his son. But now my cousin is dead, and I’ve lost my leg. I feel so useless.”

Later that afternoon, I met with Gazal’s mother, Ridana Zukhara, who is twenty-four with a childlike face, in the white-tiled living room of their pristine two-bedroom apartment. Ridana’s husband, Bilal, and her three-year-old son, Yusef, are trapped in a refugee camp in Rafah. To keep herself from constant worry, Ridana, who rarely leaves the apartment, scrubs the brand-new appliances in the modern kitchen. She is still devastated by the choice she made to evacuate with Gazal and her newborn daughter, Aileen, while her son remained in danger. “Yusef can’t understand why I took Gazal and left him behind,” she said. She tipped the dining-room chairs on top of the farm table to sweep underneath and made up the platform beds topped with fluffy white duvets.

Gazal played on the apartment’s immaculate floor with Aileen, now three months old, looking on from a car seat. Chubby and about the size of a loaf of bread, Aileen squawked good-naturedly from under a pink Hello Kitty blanket while Gazal jabbered to a wild-haired imitation Barbie doll dressed as a bride. She folded the doll’s plastic left leg behind her and marched her around the floor on her right. “This is Gazal when she gets married,” she announced. Ridana tut-tutted. She didn’t want Gazal fashioning the doll as an amputee. She reminded Gazal that soon she would have a new leg, although that seemed nearly impossible for the four-year-old to comprehend.

Sometimes, when Gazal got out of bed, she tried to use her missing left leg and fell. Such moments were hard, Ridana said, but Gazal cried less about her leg than about her father and brother. She asked her mother incessantly when they were coming to Doha. “They told us they could come when there’s a ceasefire,” Ridana said, of Qatari officials. “But when will that be?”

In Rafah, Bilal and Yusef are living in a tent near the Egyptian border. “They are freezing,” Ridana said. They have no phone signal in the camp, so, most days, Bilal walks for hours to send his wife a video of Yusef. In one that Ridana showed me, Yusef is filling his pockets with rocks, pretending they are money. In another, he lies on a muddy sleeping mat, unresponsive. “He has lost so much weight, and his face is yellow,” Ridana murmured. While we were watching, a message arrived on WhatsApp from her sister, who’d just given birth in the Rafah refugee camp. “Habibi, my sister I hope to God you guys are good. Please send me pictures of the girls. I miss them so much. Are you in touch with your husband?” Rafah is dangerous, but the family is most worried about the toll that separation from Yusef is taking on Ridana. When she brings black plastic trays of hummus and pita back from the food stalls, she leaves hers untouched. “How can I eat when my son doesn’t have food?” she asked me.

For separated families, as well as for those trapped in Gaza, the mental-health toll of the crisis continues to mount. During the first several months of the conflict, the Gaza Community Mental Health Programme (G.C.M.H.P.), the leading mental-health organization in the Strip, ceased operations. Two weeks ago, in Rafah, they re-started some of their programs. “We can’t wait any longer for a ceasefire to take place to deal with mental health,” Yasser Abu-Jamei, a psychiatrist and the head of the G.C.M.H.P., told me by phone from Rafah recently. Abu-Jamei is also displaced and living in a tent in Rafah. He and a team of mental-health providers go into camps to speak to families and perform psychological first aid. They work with traumatized children, trying to help them identify somewhere nearby that’s safe. “If we can’t find an actual place, we help children imagine somewhere safe,” he said. They also work with parents who are baffled by their children’s misbehavior, and, with the help of the World Health Organization, they provide psychotropic medications to adults—though such drugs, like most others, are scarce.

In addition to offering treatment, the Gaza Community Mental Health Programme has conducted clinical studies of trauma among children. Samir Qouta, a psychologist who founded the research department of the G.C.M.H.P., in 1990, and now teaches at the Doha Institute, has researched subjects such as children’s dreams and the relationship between trauma and maternal attachment, as well as the core aspects of building resilience. “Traumatic experiences don’t necessarily wound children,” Qouta told me one afternoon at his office in Doha. “There are so many factors that mitigate trauma—creativity, storytelling, and, most of all, a child’s strong bond with her mother.”

Although many of the compound’s residents remain glued to their smartphones and to the large flat-screen TVs that Qatar has furnished in their apartments, following news reports from Gaza to ascertain the fate of their families, Ridana keeps their television set turned off for Gazal’s sake. “She has already seen so many traumatic things,” Ridana told me. “I try to limit how much she hears and sees.”

Gazal rarely speaks of her experiences in Gaza. Ridana doesn’t encourage it. Yet her daughter does show signs of specific anxieties and aversions. She stays away from anyone dressed in white because they remind her of hospital staff. She demands that Ridana sleep in her bed, and, even in sleep, she won’t let go of her mother. “I can’t even go to the bathroom,” Ridana said.

For children who’ve experienced extreme loss, such hypervigilance is common, Salsabeel Zaeid, a psychologist working with children and families at the compound, told me. Many of the child amputees in Doha suffer from “depression, anxiety, trouble concentrating, restlessness, nausea, trouble sleeping, anxiety attacks, hopelessness,” she said. “They’re really tearful and guilt-ridden,” she added. The children suffer from a form of survivor’s guilt, because, unlike friends and family members, “they’ve walked into another country and their basic needs are being met.”

Ridana had taken Gazal to the compound’s mental-health clinic to see whether Gazal might benefit from speaking with a therapist. But, at the appointment, Gazal broke down, crying the whole time and telling her mom to answer the questions. “It caused her more pain,” Ridana said. She recalled what the therapist told her about attachment: that maternal bonding was integral to Gazal’s ability to heal. Ridana said, “For now, what she needs is her mom by her side.” 

[if you cannot access via link check reblogs for full article transcript]

[cynamonowo]

“I’m worried about you.” with date and mizuki :)

sparrow i am going mental innit

(aitsf res route ending spoilers)

---

The hospital bed, even in comparison to her own at home, is extremely uncomfortable; hard and bumpy and acrid-smelling. Sniffing, Mizuki tugs the thin blanket over her head, trying not to move her leg too much, and pulls out her phone. There’s a new NILE message from Iris, a quick update on her condition. It’s from three hours ago, so she’s probably already asleep in her own hospital room. While she wasn’t hurt in their encounter with Saito, the doctors wanted to keep an eye on her, in case the trauma would mess with her tumor.

Mizuki’s heart sinks. Iris’s cancer, Moma’s gunshot wound, Date’s eye… Her chest hurts. Swallowing hard, she opens a dumb puzzle game to try and distract herself from the bad thoughts. With the dull pain in her thigh and beeping of the heart rate monitor, she’s not going to get any sleep either way. When a nurse goes to check on her, Mizuki locks the phone screen and relaxes, pretending to be asleep. Ha. As if.

The ache throbs in sync with her pulse. It’s better this way. It makes her focus on the hole in her leg instead of the one in her heart. Gaping, empty, like someone peeled away her ribs and scooped out the inside. She bites her lip and, blinking furiously, returns to tapping at her phone. Between the game and the ache, she’s almost able to keep the bad thoughts at bay. They're like — sharks in murky waters, circling around, their grey bodies coming in and out of view. Mizuki tries her best not to notice their hungry maws, waiting for her to slip.

After a while, she hears footsteps coming down the hallway, ones she doesn’t recognize as one of the nurses, and then the door to her room opening. Curled under the sheets, she tenses, anxiety welling up. Her pipe’s away, and she's too sore to fight, but, but...

“Mizuki?”

For a split second, the voice is unfamiliar, but then it clicks in place. “Date?” she whispers back, sitting up and frowning in his direction. “What are you doing here?”

Closing the door, he walks to her bedside and takes a place in a nearby chair. “What do you think, twerp?” Date says in this weird new voice. “Checking on you, of course.”

“The doctors let you do that?” Mizuki says, dubious.

“Nah, I snuck out.”

“And decided to creep around the pediatrics ward, like the old pervert you are,” Mizuki mumbles out. She kinda expects him to get offended, but Date simply sighs and shakes his head.

There isn’t much light in the room, only a splinter of cold shine coming from underneath the room, a few blinking indicators on the machines surrounding her. Mizuki has to squint to make out Date’s features; he’s wearing his old coat over the pyjamas, and his left eye is taped shut. He looks awful, gaunt and tired, but she doesn’t really have the energy to needle him about it. They sit in silence for a moment.

Finally, Date speaks out. “Mizuki, I need to apologize.”

That throws her off the loop. She tilts her head, confused.

“Did you steal my pudding again?” She offers it as a joke, attempting to bring some normalcy into this off-putting conversation, but Date doesn’t laugh.

“It’s… God.” He drags his hand over his face, letting out a shaky exhale. “No, it’s… about Saito.”

Her throat clenches. “Ah.”

“Your parents are — are gone because of him. Because of me. If it weren’t for what happened six years ago, you wouldn’t have gotten tangled up in all of my mess. I am… so sorry, Mizuki. I’m sorry.”

“Stop it.” She squeezes her eyes shut to keep the tears from spilling out. When she opens them, she can make out the regret on Date’s new face. God, this is all so weird. It doesn’t even feel real. “It’s not... . You couldn’t have known. I’ll be fine.” He doesn’t seem to buy it.

“Still. I’m worried about you, Mizuki. You’re just a kid and had to go through so much shit because—”

“I’m gonna be fine,” Mizuki repeats, more forcefully this time, wiping her nose on the back of her wrist. “Yeah, Mom and D-Daddy are dead, but, but…I gotta be a g-good...”

“Oh, Mizuki,” Date whispers, painfully soft. “You don’t have to be fine, you know. It’s — none of this is fine. Absolutely none.” The sound he makes is way too sad to be a laugh, and maybe that honesty is the final drop to overflow the cup.

She cries quietly, to avoid bringing any attention. When Date reaches out to her, Mizuki grips his hand, white-knuckled, and doesn’t let go for a long time.

“I’m sorry,” she gasps out, “I-I am s-so so-orry-”

“Me too, kiddo.” The strange voice is tight now, strained, as if Date was also about to cry. That makes even less sense. None of this does. “Me too.”

[det-loki]

poison & wine pt. eight

You give me love, give me love Until it breaks my back

warnings: angst, blood mention

pairing: detective loki x fem reader

word count: 2,162

A/N: close to the end! sorry for the delay

 1  2  3  4  5  6  7 ⌽

The car ride over to Bob Taylor’s house was uncomfortably silent. David’s hands gripped the steering wheel till his knuckles were white, jaw clenched as he stared ahead. 

“When are we going to talk about everything? We can’t keep running on autopilot.” You broke the silence as Loki’s jaw ticked, his hands tightening around the wheel. 

“Let’s just focus on this case, okay?” You hated when he did this. He silenced himself, avoiding everything until it simmered over, emotions exploding out of control. You remained silent, deciding it was better to not add more fuel to the fire. 

You arrived at the house which was covered with various cars and forensic teams. You got out of the car quickly, tugging your coat tighter as the wind chilled through you, following David as he talked to Rich, who was a part of the forensics team and running point on the scene. 

The brown dying grass crunched under your boot clad feet as you walked up to a marked off area in the yard, two analysts working to uncover two kid sized department store mannequins that had been buried with their heads caved in from the frozen ground. 

Rich looked at Loki as he spoke, “I just talked to our lab guys, and they told me that all the blood that we sampled from the plastic containers- pig’s blood.” 

You moved from the yard to inside in the kitchen, mazes still littered across the walls. Multiple people were inside the home, taking pictures of evidence and booking it. Listening to Rich continue to speak, “It’s like he’s play-acting. I mean, case in point. Except for the few items I.D.’d by the Dovers and the Birches, all the kids’ clothes that we found still had the tags on them. And that maze book that we found, he made it. Photocopies, pictures from this book that we found in the attic. Ex-F.B.I. agent wrote that.” You wondered who would go through the trouble of doing all that, but you had to remind yourself of the case you were dealing with. Nothing was ‘textbook.’

You looked down at the red and black book in the evidence bag as Loki read the title out loud, fingers grazing over the cover through the plastic of the bag, eyebrows furrowed, ‘Finding The Invisible Man.’ 

“Yeah, it’s about a theoretical suspect that he believed was responsible for a bunch of child abductions. It’s totally discredited, I guess, but I read some of it.” Rich explained to both you and Loki as you rocked on the balls of your feet. 

Loki cut Rich off, “Taylor- Taylor was abducted when he was a kid. He ran away after three weeks. And the capture drugged him on some sort of LSD/ketamine cocktail.” When you and Loki learned of the use of the ketamine cocktail, your eyes darted to each other, a silent understanding between the two of you. Broken, forever; everything connected in this shit town you called home. Loki continued speaking, “He never remembered. They never caught the guy.”

“Okay, so...he read the book and decided he was taken by the invisible man. Now he’s doing his best imitation, right?” 

Rich stared at Loki, waiting for a response, “Yeah, he was doing his best imitation. He killed himself last night.” Loki turned away, walking away from you and Rich, stopping in the doorway to study the mazes on the wall as Rich turned to him, “How did he do that? I thought he was in custody.”

“It’s a long story.” Your response was short, voice cracking with exhaustion, details weren’t needed. Your hands were still stained with red, you constantly felt the need to scrub them raw under hot water until they bled. The urge hit you again last night at home in the shower, sending you into a crying mess on the shower floor, scaring David when he heard your sobs through the door. He was worried about you. And himself, you two were getting bad again, the feeling was familiar, similar to how you felt after the funeral. Indescribable pain. 

Loki turned to you, asking for the map Taylor drew as he stepped closer in your direction. You take it out of your coat pocket with a gloved hand, handing it to David who snatches it out of your hand. He pointed to it aggressively as he spoke to Rich, “Hey, Taylor drew this. It’s a map to the bodies. It’s a map to the bodies and we found the same design on a pendant that we pulled off that corpse the other day. There’s a connection, okay?” Loki spoke with growing intensity as Rich looked at him dumbfounded, obviously lost with Loki’s explanation. 

“The connection is that it’s the last maze in the book.” Loki scoffed at Rich, upset with him for not understanding the point he was trying to make. Rich continued, “I did it. It’s unsolvable. There’s no way out. Your corpse is another wannabe who read the book.” Loki had spent hours trying to find a way out of the maze, each failure feeling more and more doomed. 

Loki stormed away from him, “What are you saying to me, Rich? What are you saying to me? What are you saying? That-that this guy is a fake? You’re saying the girls are still out there somewhere?” Here was the one big difference between you and Loki. You had hope the girls were still alive, maybe you were ignorant, but you weren’t ready to accept the fact that two little girls were dead. Loki was coming to terms with the fact that they might be dead, his hope was dying out. Loki’s voice rose, your fingers digging into your palm as he spoke, “How did Bob Taylor get those clothes? How did-how did the parents positively I.D those clothes?!” At this point, Loki was yelling at Rich, looking at him expectantly. 

“That I can’t reconcile.” He walked past you and then Loki as Loki snaps at him, “You can’t reconcile that?”

“Just keep knockin’ on doors, lookin’ in windows.” At that, Rich disappeared through the doorway. 

Loki stood across from you, hand trailing through his hair, head snapping in your direction as you spoke, “Loki, maybe he’s right. The girls might be out there somewhere, we-” You stopped talking as Loki pulled out his notepad, flipping through pages quickly, obviously looking for something in particular. He flips to a page and stops, “The window.” That’s all you needed to hear before running to the car.

The car stopped abruptly in front of the Dovers, sending you lurching forward against the dashboard, Loki’s door already open, feet on the ground and running.  You followed him quickly, approaching the back of the house, staring up at the second story window that Grace Dover had said that had been opened the other night. Loki looked around before jumping the chain-link fence, crouching down under the window, looking for footprints or anything disturbed. He takes a pen out of his front coat pocket, balancing it in his fingers as he reaches into the bushes, pulling out a pink sock teetering on the pen. The same sock Keller positively I.D.’d as Anna’s. 

You were out of breath as you ran to the car for an evidence bag, your body too tired for the physical exertion. As you reach inside the glove compartment, your phone buzzes in your pocket. Answering it, your stomach dropped as Detective Chemelinski’s voice spoke in your ear. Joy Birch had been found. 

The hospital was cold as you entered, a chill running through your body, but not from the chill of the air. You hated hospitals. The elevator dings as you and Loki arrived the pediatric ward, doors sliding open and you wanted to puke, your throat raw and scratchy. It looked the exact same as it did when your little girl died here, same beige paint on the walls, the same as the rest of the hospital, only difference being the sickly bright yellow sun painted on the walls. The smell of antiseptic burned your nose, the fluorescent lights already starting a headache to pound in your skull. You pushed your emotions down as Loki exited the elevator, you trailing after him through the halls. 

“I said nobody’s allowed in that room but her family.” Loki barked orders to officers as you rounded the corner. Keller Dover came into view, David yelling out for him as he took off down the hall away from you. “Where you goin’?  

You stopped in front of Grace, “Where is he going?” She only shook her head, she had no idea. You took off running, multiple officers trailing you as bystanders stared at the scene unfolding in front of them. 

You and Loki took off down the hall after him, telling officers to not let him go. Bolting outside you see Keller’s truck slam over the parking lot median and on the highway, speeding down it. Loki and you turn back, sprinting for the car to follow him, your breaths coming out in clouds in front of you in the cold air. 

The tires screeched as Loki sped through the wet pavement of the parking lot; Loki pulled onto the highway, muttering to himself, “I got you now, fucker. I know where you’re goin’.”

The car pulled aggressively into the driveway of the old apartment building, Keller’s truck nowhere to be found. Loki slammed his hand down onto the steering wheel, “Fuck!” You jumped slightly at his outburst, adrenaline pumping through your views despite the feeling of pain in your entire body. He exited the car quickly, you following, your boots splashing through the muddy puddles as you advanced toward the boarded up building slowly.  

Above you, you could hear muffled screams, you and Loki reach for your guns as you near the door. Loki kicks the door open with a bang, entering the building with his gun drawn. Your heart was in your throat as you crept through the first floor, heading up the stairs towards the sound of muffles screams and banging. Your pulse was racing and your vision was blurry, exhaustion nipping at your heels every step you took, threatening to take you down. 

The screaming got louder as you got to the top of the stairs, wailing piercing the air. Your boots creak along the floorboards, you approach the room the screaming is coming from and the air escapes your lungs.

You see a boarded up area, the boards vibrated as whoever was behind it banged against it. You stood back, letting Loki enter as you reached for your radio and called for backup. Loki pries at the wood, it doesn’t budge at all, mocking you. The wailing continues, Loki calls out to the person, telling them to hold on. You clip your radio back onto your jeans and turn to look for anything to pry off the wood, not wanting to waste time by running back down to the car. 

You see a crowbar lying against a wall, and you thank god as you grab it, the metal heavy in your hand. Loki grabs the crowbar from you and begins to work his way through the wood. The minutes seem to drag by, each second longer than the last.

“Hey, just hold on for us in there okay?” You talk through the wall as Loki finally gets the panel off revealing a sight that shook you to your core. 

Alex Jones. Badly burned, bruised, bloody and beaten. He looked terrified, eyes wild with panic, whimpering in pain as he coward away from your gawking stares. 

You stood next to Loki as Alex was taken away by EMS, O’Malley stood in front of you, “Someone needs to notify the aunt and we need to get an idea of where Keller is.”

You spoke up next to Loki, “I’ll tell the aunt.” Loki looked at you with a confused expression as O’Mallley nodded and walked away. 

“I want to be the one to tell her, I’ll be fine, Loke.” You could tell by his expression that he was unsure about you going alone.

“Babe, if this is some karma thing for her-” It wasn’t. At least you didn’t think it was. Your little girl couldn’t be saved. You accepted that fact even if it tore your heart apart, forcing you to move on. 

You interrupted Loki, not allowing him to finish his sentence, “Don’t. It’s not. Find Keller, I’ll tell Holly. I'll text you, alright?”

Loki nodded curtly as he handed you the car keys, he’d get a car from the station, an uneasy look spread across his face. He didn’t have a good feeling about letting you go alone, but he knew better than to hold you back from doing your job. 

Little did he know that he would regret letting you go in alone more than words could describe.

tag list:  @lexie-wayland @whew-oh-em-gee @winterlavenderskysworld​ @buck-this-nasty @heeyirenee @pinkpunkdynamite @eleventhdoctorsangel @multiyfandomgirl40 @thanossexual​ @speedybonkuniversityzine​ @booklove103​ @curly-q3 @msfarr88​ @glittrguts​ @space-helen 

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Strangers (Part 2)

Summary: A month after meeting Dr. Winchester, the reader finds herself back in the hospital and her new boyfriend is not happy to see her there...

Masterlist

Pairing: Doctor!Dean x patient!reader

Word Count: 2,100ish

Warnings: language, crazy-ex boyfriend, mention of surgery/injury

A/N: I hope you enjoy!

_____

One Month Later

“Hello,” said a familiar voice as they walked around the curtain with a chart. “I’m Dr...sweetheart?”

“Dr. Sweetheart, huh?” you giggled, wincing a bit. Dean immediately looked down at your chart and was frowning. “What are you doing down in the ER?”

“Slow day upstairs which I always consider a good thing. Helping out,” he said.

“Hello, Dean,” said your mom, getting up and giving him a hug. 

“Hi Alice,” said Dean as he returned it, pouting at you. “You’re experiencing stomach pains?”

“Yeah. My parents freaked out cause you know, still a new digestive system,” you said, closing your eyes. “Living with your parents as an adult is just awesome.”

“Why didn’t you call me?” he asked, lifting up your shirt and pressing his hand around.

“Cause you’d worry. You’re a worrier boyfriend, Dean,” you said. 

“Alice, could you go over to the main station and tell them Dr. Winchester would like to see Dr. Mace for an emergency consult on Y/N? He’ll remember her,” said Dean.

“Of course,” she said, up and out of her chair like that. Dean pressed down gently over the scar on your stomach and glanced at you.

“Boyfriend huh. I haven’t heard that yet,” he said.

“It’s been a month and the fact that you have been totally cool with having dates at my parents house with me tells me it’ll be very difficult to get rid of you,” you said. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“I don’t mind at all. You had a major surgery. You need to rest and have someone take care of you, sassy,” he said, pressing down on your right side. Your hand caught his wrist and glared at him. He pressed down more gently and you hissed. “Alright. Good news or bad news.”

“Bad news.”

“Good news is your transplant is fine,” he said.

“I said bad news first.”

“I know,” he smirked. “Bad news, your appendix is taking it’s swan song. They probably should have taken it during your first surgery but it wasn’t bothering anything then so they saw no need. I’m gonna have Dr. Mace look you over while I get you booked in the OR. My buddy Donna is on general surgeries today. She’s great. You’ll love her.”

“We gotta find a better way of me meeting your friends than surgery. Maybe like a party,” you laughed. He took a seat on the edge of the bed and smiled. “How much is this gonna set me back?”

“About a week, a little less. I know you’re tired of getting carved up like a turkey.”

“It’s cool. I’d rather have it out if it’s not working anymore,” you said. “I was supposed to start looking at new apartments with my mom this afternoon.”

“Where were you looking?” he asked.

“East Manor.”

“I’m in there, one of the townhouses. It’s a really good place,” he said. “I’ve never had any problems.”

“Oh, that’s nice to hear. I loved my old place but I can’t stay there. It’s too, you know...”

“I understand,” he said, a doctor coming over and grabbing his shoulder.

“I have a torso impalement on a ten year old. I need you in ER 2 now,” said the other guy.

“Shit,” said Dean. “I gotta go sweetheart. You’re gonna be just fine. I might have to miss our date tonight.”

“S’good. Go to work, babe,” you said. He gave you a kiss on the cheek and ran off with the other doctor just as your mom came back over. She smirked as she sat back in her chair. “What?”

“You know the whole bleach thing might be a blessing in disguise,” she said.

“Ma. I almost died.”

“I know but you didn’t,” she said. “Plus he’s a doctor. Even dad likes him and he was ready to have you never date again.”

“Mom. I’m an adult,” you said. “One crazy ex doesn’t mean all guys are like that.”

“Where’d he run off to anyways?” she asked.

“Gonna go try and save a kid,” you said. “Fingers crossed. I’m fine, bad appendix is all.”

“Well fingers crossed for you too. We could do with some good luck around here.”

One Week Later

“Hey,” you said, an exhausted looking Dean answering his front door. 

“Hey,” he said, rubbing his face off. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I wanted to go out for a drive and I know you’ve been working like crazy on all the surgeries for that kid. I wanted to stop by and see if you needed anything,” you said. 

“Y/N, come on, you’re still recovering. You ought to be at home in bed,” he said.

“I’m perfectly fine to drive. Let me make you some dinner quick before you crash for bed yourself,” you said. 

“I’m only saying yes because the thought of making something to eat makes me want to cry right now,” he said. “I’m so fucking tired.”

“Then let me in and I will take care of you for a change, boyfriend,” you said. He moved aside and he showed you past the living area to the kitchen. 

“That’s the pantry,” he said, pointing at a cupboard.

“Alright. I will find you something really yummy to make and in the meantime, go shower and sleep. I’ll wake you up when it’s done.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” he said.

“That’s more your department than mine,” you said. “Go on, I got this.”

You let him nap for an hour, Dean tired but better looking when he wandered out of his room into the kitchen in a pair of sweats and a henley.

“I ever mention how perfect you are?” he asked as he sat down in front of a giant plate of food.

“No but it’s appreciated,” you said. “I haven’t cooked in forever.”

“It smells great,” he said, rubbing his eye. “I don’t know if this kid is gonna make it or not. So much was damaged or destroyed.”

“What number surgery will tomorrow be?” you asked.

“Seven,” he said, starting to eat. You didn’t ask anymore questions and let him eat quietly, eventually Dean pushing the empty plate away. “I’m stuffed.”

“Now back to bed with you,” you said, helping him to his feet.

“I could get used to this being bossed around by you thing,” he smirked.

“In your dreams, Winchester. I’ll lock up after myself,” you said.

“Y/N,” he said as you started to leave. You turned around and he had this gentle look on his face. “Thanks, for coming over tonight. My day wasn’t great. You always seem to make it better somehow.”

“As long as you try your best, that’s all you can ever do. Get some sleep, Dean.”

“You too, sweetheart.”

The Next Night

“Hi,” you said as Dean walked up the driveway at your parents house. You were sitting on the front porch in the big chair reading a book. He was in his scrubs and a hoodie, not saying a word until he sat beside you and rested his head on your shoulder. “Did you lose him?”

“Almost. His system was so wrecked it was killing him. We had to gut him. I just did my first pediatric liver and kidney transplant,” he said. “Mace assisted me. It’s gonna be rough but the kid’s gonna pull through.”

“That’s great,” you said, giving him a hug. He hummed and shut his eyes. “You happy?”

“Yeah. After the girl last month, I needed this,” he said.

“Well you don’t always have to save a life to have a good day,” you laughed. He snuggled into your side and your shirt rode up some, revealing part of your scar. “Dean. Back at the hospital when I asked about my scar...did you mean that?”

“This?” he asked, lightly grazing his finger over the pink skin. A shiver ran up your spine and he smiled. “I may be biased but to me, scars are pretty cool. It means you’re a survivor. What you went through...most people don’t walk away from that and even then, most don’t walk away happy. If I were you, I would be terrified of so much.”

“You save children’s lives. You work in fear every single day. I don’t think you’d have one problem in my shoes.”

“I was prepared for that though. I knew what I went to school for and what I was trained for, for years and years. You though...nothing prepares you for someone you trust to hurt you like that,” he said.

“I don’t want to live my life afraid I suppose,” you said. “I trust you. You make me feel safe. He was one bad person and he’s away forever in a mental ward. Plus I got you. Wasn’t all bad.”

“How are you so...half-glass full?” he asked, sitting up but sticking close to your side. “I want to be more like that.”

“I wasn’t always. When you flirt with death like I did, the fact part of me refused so adamantly to give up when it would have been the easy thing to do...it’s really hard not to think of that as the worst thing I’ve ever gone through because honestly, it is. It sucked. I remember the pain and all of it. But compared to that extreme, the rest of my life is amazing. My appendix went bad? So what. That was nothing compared to my surgery before. My badass pediatric surgeon boyfriend is having a bad day? I can cook him a home cooked meal, even if it made me a bit tired myself. He showed me kindness time and time again. He never once complained about how there’s been a certain lack of privacy or intimacy so far with us. He’s not complained about the time my new medication made me throw up the dinner he’d cook me. He sat with me while I was freaking out that I’d just torn open my stomach or something by doing that. He explains all the medical questions my parents have in an easy to understand way. Dean, talk to Mace. I was not a happy camper when I woke up with some other guy’s digestive system in me. Someone else dying is the only thing that kept me alive. That’s incredibly difficult to deal with. But if I got through that, I can get through most anything I think. Also you are very cute so that helps.”

“Thanks,” he laughed quietly. “You’ still different though. I’ve met a lot of inspiring people and kids and all that. You just...you’re different. You asked if I was okay. Strangers don’t do that really.”

“I don’t like when you’re not okay,” you said with a shrug.

“Do me a favor. Next time you’re at a hospital, it’s just cause you’re visiting me on my lunch?” he asked.

“I will do my very best,” you said. You kissed him and he returned it, his finger tracing over your scar lightly. “It doesn’t bother you?”

“Not one bit. Let’s try to not get any new ones for a while though?” he asked.

“I would be more than happy to,” you said. As you sat, a light rain began to come down and Dean tucked his feet up underneath himself. 

“You want to stay over my place tonight?” he asked. “I got the next few days off.”

“Yeah. I’d love to,” you said. “I uh, I’m not…” 

“I just want you to stay over is all. I can be a gentleman,” he chuckled.

“You don’t have to be a gentleman gentleman,” you laughed. “I’m not on anything at all right now though and I’d prefer to wait until I was. There’s plenty of other things though.”

“There are,” he said, a coy smirk crossing his lips briefly. “Tonight I want to have a quiet night with you if that’s alright.”

“More than,” you said. “Let me pack a bag. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Sounds good to me, sweetheart.”

_________

A/N: Read Part 3 here!

[openheartthot]

All I Want for Christmas

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x f!MC (Camille Prescott)

Word Count: 1,636

Warnings/Rating: T, some mentions of light sexual activity 

Summary: The evolution of Ethan and Camille’s relationship from one Christmas to the next. 

***

I’ve been having such a hard time writing lately, but I love the Christmas season so much I had to do something haha. I hope you all have the most wonderful holiday season :) 

intern year

Ethan stands by the window in his office, staring out in idle contemplation. By this time on Christmas Eve, most of the non-emergent hospital staff have already left. They’ve gone home to their families and friends, to their bright Christmas trees and rooms full of laughter. 

Part of Ethan is glad to be left alone. At least now he can try to make some progress on Naveen’s case. But some other part of him keeps him rooted to his spot by the window, unable to look away. 

The sun has long since set, and the only light in the snow-covered city comes from the soft yellow glow of the streetlights. There aren’t many people out, save for a few commuters heading towards the train. 

Inadvertently, Ethan finds his gaze lingering on a couple, who walk arm-in-arm through the flurrying snow. There’s something about the easy closeness of their bodies, the way the man’s arm curls around the woman’s waist… 

His hand rises to the window, unbidden, and he touches the frosty glass with his index finger, the couple’s merriment seeming to call to him from outside his quiet office. 

A hesitant knock on the door shakes him from his reverie. Ethan drops his hand from the window and turns on his heel, startled by the interruption so late in the evening. 

“Dr. Ramsey?” 

It’s Camille. Of course. She’s the only person brave enough to enter his office without an invitation. 

She’s dressed for the snow in a puffy coat and gloves. Her blonde hair curls over her scarf like a golden halo. It’s clear that Ethan’s office is her last stop before she leaves for the night. 

Ethan’s voice sticks in his throat, unsure of what to say. Things have been immeasurably awkward between them since his lapse in judgment in Miami. Whenever he sees her, all he can think about is the softness of her lips on his, of the thundering of her heart against his palm. 

“I, uh, have something for you.” Camille says, breaking the tense silence. She presents a green gift bag, filled with red tissue paper, taking a few steps forward and pushing it into Ethan’s hands. 

For a moment, she hesitates in front of him, but Ethan stares at the bag  in bemusement. The silence stretches once more, until Camille flushes pink, and turns abruptly to leave. 

Before Ethan is entirely conscious of his movement, his hand reaches out and closes gently around her wrist. Her breath catches, and her wide green eyes look at him expectantly. Ethan swallows hard. 

“I apologize, I didn’t think to get you anything.” He says truthfully. Christmas gifts rank very low on his list of priorities, lower still a gift for an intern.

“Don’t worry about it.” Camille insists, the pink blush creeping down her neck. Ethan's eyes follow the rosy bloom, longing to press his lips to her smooth skin. 

“I’m broke, so it’s not much.” Camille explains, gesturing to the gift bag. “It’s just something I make for my friends...and my bosses, sometimes.” She adds the last part hastily, avoiding his eyes. 

Overcome by a strange curiosity, Ethan reaches into the bag, brushing aside the tissue paper until his hand brushes something soft. He pulls out a simple gray scarf, and his fingers run over the pattern. 

“You knit?” He asks, his voice inexplicably gravelly. Impulsively, he winds the scarf around his neck, his throat tightening at the thought of Camille’s handiwork pressed against him. 

Her eyes dart to the scarf, and she takes a step closer, reaching up to straighten it. Ethan shivers as her glove brushes the underside of his jaw. He finds himself wishing desperately it had been her bare skin. 

“I crochet.” she corrects, avoiding eye-contact and focusing her gaze on her hands as she carefully tucks the scarf around his neck. Her hands pause, and her brow furrows. 

“I didn’t know your middle initial, or I would’ve included it.” 

Confused, Ethan looks down to find Camille touching the tail end of the scarf, just above the fringe, where the letters E.R. are embroidered in blue thread. 

Ethan touches the initials too, hearing Camille gasp quietly as his fingers brush hers. He doesn’t pull away, and when she looks up at him with a searching expression, Ethan realizes just how close together they are. 

“There’s also a scarf for Naveen in the bag.” Camille blurts out. “And a bone for Jenner, I just thought--” 

“Thank you,” Ethan interrupts her, and his other hand finds her waist as his head dips down. Camille’s lips part in expectation, and the warmth of her breath on his cheek sends a wave of longing through him. 

Ethan wants nothing more than to close the distance between them, to claim her lips and never let her go. His grip on her waist tightens, his fingers flexing as he fights against his instincts. He catches himself before their lips meet, but he can’t quite make himself pull away.

“I can’t.” Ethan whispers, and Camille’s eyes cloud with disappointment. She slides her hand out from under his, and takes a step back. 

“Merry Christmas,” she says quietly before reaching for the doorknob.

Ethan wishes he could call her back. He wishes desperately that they could be close enough to know each other’s middle names and exchange presents under a Christmas tree. He wishes they could hold hands in the snow and spend Christmas Eve together somewhere other than his office.

But for the sake of her career, he lets the door swing shut behind her. 

“Merry Christmas, Dr. Prescott.” Ethan murmurs to his empty office. 

***

one year later

“Hey, you.” 

Ethan glances up from his laptop, a smile already tugging at his lips at the mere sound of her voice. 

“You look ridiculous.” Ethan says, raking his gaze over Camille’s oversized green sweater and the Santa hat perched atop her blonde hair. “I can’t believe you’re wearing that getup at work.” 

“The kids in the pediatric ward loved it, and I think I look festive.” Camille gives a little shimmy, and Ethan’s eyes lock onto the movement of her chest, his mouth going just a tiny bit dry. 

“You look like an oversized elf.” Ethan snorts, but he can’t stop himself from reaching for her. His hands close around her hips, and he pulls her against him, fighting against the sudden urge to slide his hands under her ugly sweater. 

“Elves are sexy. Haven’t you ever watched Lord of the Rings?” Camille teases with a smirk. Ethan quirks an eyebrow at her, knowing fully well that she hates fantasy movies. “Okay, I haven’t seen it either. But Orlando Bloom is hot.” 

“Oh, is he?” Ethan growls, backing Camille against his desk and lowering his head to nip at the sensitive skin of her neck. She gasps, tilting her head back and granting him further access. 

She smells like peppermint, and Ethan groans as his lips rove across the column of her neck. He lifts her with ease to sit on the edge of his desk, and presses his knee between her legs. He pulls back, smiling triumphantly at her slight moan.

“Okay, I take it back.” Camille whispers, grabbing the scarf around his neck and tugging him closer. “Just don’t stop.”

“Trust me, I have no intention of stopping.” Ethan murmurs as he trails kisses up her neck until he reaches her mouth. She sighs as Ethan parts her lips with his tongue, cupping her chin in his hand. 

Her hands spread across his chest, and Ethan’s muscles flex under her touch. His mind seems to fog over as Camille’s thighs lock around his waist, and he hardens at the friction of her hips against his. 

“Wait…” Camille pulls back with obvious difficulty. “I know I told you not to stop, but we should go. Someone might see us.” She casts a pointed look at the glass walls of the office. 

“This late? On Christmas Eve?” Ethan snorts. “I think it’s safe to do as we please.” He slides his hands up the back of Camille’s sweater, and she shivers at the warmth of his palms spread over her back.

“A tempting offer, Dr. Ramsey,” Camille says with a flirtatious grin. “But we have to leave now or we’ll be late for Bryce’s Christmas party.” 

“For the record, I would much rather ravish you on my desk than attend the Scalpel Jockey’s party.” Ethan mutters. 

“Come on.” Camille slides off his desk and Ethan begrudgingly helps her into her coat, tenderly brushing her hair out of the way. 

They hold hands all the way from his office to the empty lobby of the hospital. There’s something deliciously freeing about the knowledge that they’d still be holding hands even if they weren’t alone. 

Camille shivers as they step out of the hospital and into the snowy Boston night. Instinctively, Ethan wraps an arm around her, pulling her snugly against his side. 

“I feel terrible that I didn’t get you a present.” Camille pouts as they trudge through the snow towards Ethan’s car. “We’ve been so busy with the hospital closing…” 

“I don’t need anything.” Ethan says vehemently. “Christmas is little more than an obnoxious display of capitalism, anyway. Gifts are wholly unnecessary.” 

Camille smiles sweetly, reaching up and patting his chest with her gloved hand. 

“Then why are you wearing the scarf I gave you last year?” 

Ethan feels his demeanor soften immediately, and he smiles gently down at her. 

“The exception that proves the rule, Rookie.” 

What Ethan doesn’t say out loud is that no gift could ever make him as happy as Camille does. That precious thought he keeps for himself as he and Camille walk arm-in-arm under the golden haze of the streetlamps towards the best Christmas Ethan has ever had. 

***

Tagging separately :)

[thisisapaige]

Cowboy Boots

(For Suptober20. Day 30 Prompt: Dress-up. Word Count: 1676)

This is all really very silly. Do y’all still think about that time Cas wore a doctor’s coat? I never stopped. Warning for Dean being high off his gourd on hospital given painkillers. Guess what? I have an Ao3 link, too!

“Mr. Bonham? Mr. Bonham, can you hear me?”

Stark white lighting swirled overhead. Beeping machines, the scuffle of shoes on hard flooring, and voices sounded from all around, unfiltered, incomprehensible. It was too much, too much, too much.

“We’re losing him.”

More sounds, more voices, more shuffling, more urgency. Hands everywhere, the sharp smell of antiseptic, and a sharp prick in the arm.  

The lights went out.

⁂

“Dean. Dean. You said you would be fine. This is not fine, Dean.”

The stark white light stayed still. The beeping machines became quiet. There were no scuffling feet and only one voice, a deep, low, calming voice.

Dean opened his eyes. A man leaned over Dean, a man with blue eyes, messy dark hair, and full lips. He wore a white doctor's coat and Dean turned his head to see the guy’s feet.

Fuck yeah, those were cowboy boots.

“Hey there, Doctor Sexy,” Dean mumbled, trying to speak through all those fun drugs the hospital gave him. “Am I dreaming?”

“No,” the doctor said, “but you do have a lot of medication in your body.”

Dean grinned. It felt wobbly. “Do I ever.”

“Dean.” The doctor sat on the edge of Dean’s bed. “You promised me you’d be fine.”

“Oh, I‘m fine alright.” Dean peered into blue, blue eyes. “But not as fine as you.”

The doctor squinted and tilted his head to the side. Aww, Doctor Sexy was also Doctor Adorable.

“Perhaps they gave you more medication than I thought,” the doctor said.

“Or-- and hear me out here-- not enough,” Dean said.

The doctor shook his head but Dean saw that little smile and spark of amusement in his eyes. It was so cute.

“Well, we still need to find that spirit and only the injured can see it.” The doctor stood. “Let’s hurry so I can heal you.”

The doctor checked Dean’s IV and did… uh, doctor stuff. Dean wasn’t paying much attention. He was admiring the cowboy boots.

Doctor Sexy helped Dean out of bed which was the exact opposite of what Dean wanted but, considering Doctor Sexy was supporting him with his big, strong hands and Dean was leaning against his big, strong body, Dean didn’t mind all that much.

“Where are we going?” Dean asked, making sure his hospital gown covered everything important.

“To the pediatrics ward. The spirit disproportionately targets children, remember?”

“No.” A shooting pain ran up Dean’s leg when he tried to walk. “M’leg hurts.”

“That would be due to the spike that went through it when the spirit threw you.” The doctor opened the door and headed down the empty hospital hallway. “Dean, are you well?”

Dean tried to walk. Actually, it was more like he being dragged by the doctor but in a kind, gentle way. “Don’t know. I am, like, super stoned.”

“I’ve noticed.”

Wow, this doctor seemed, like, super fond of Dean. That was nice.

“Hey, doc,” Dean said. “I don’t know if there’s rules or whatever against it but, once I’m outta here, you wanna go to dinner or something?”

The doctor stopped dead in the middle of the hallway. He gripped Dean by the shoulders, moved so they were face to face, and stared into his eyes.

“Dean.” The doctor lowered his brows. “You are aware I’m not a real doctor?”

“You’re not?” Dean swayed but the doctor’s hands kept him upright. “Yeah, you’re like, way too hot for that.”

Doctor Sexy squinted and didn’t speak for a moment. He shook his head and continued down the hallway, half-carrying Dean.

“You’re the one who told me to play dress-up, Dean,” the doctor said. “You gave me the boots.”

“I did? I have good taste, then.”

They reached the pediatrics ward. A tall man in green scrubs greeted them at the entrance.

“Hey, Cas,” said Nurse Too Long Hair, “how is he?”

“Dean is…” The doctor glanced at Dean from the corner of his eye, saying his next words carefully, like he never used the phrase before, “High as a kite.”

The nurse snorted and ran a hand through his hair. He glanced between Dean and the doctor, paying special attention to Dean’s hand snaking around the doctor’s waist. “How’s that going for you?”

“He’s still ‘out of it,’ as you say.”

“Hey,” Dean said, “Nurse Big n’ Tall. Give me some clippers and I can fix that mop for you.”

The nurse rolled his eyes, then looked at the doctor. “He’ll be fine. Anyway, it’s almost sundown so we should get to work. Jack should be able to distract everyone long enough to--”

The nurse kept going on and on but Dean tuned him out. It was surprisingly easy. Instead, Dean rested his head on Doctor Sexy’s shoulder and gazed up at him. Dean took in his fill, admiring the square shape of the doctor’s jaw, the perfect amount of stubble dusting it, and the way his lips moved as he spoke.

“Hey! Hey, Dean!” The nurse snapped his fingers in front of Dean’s face. Wow. Unprofessional. “See something you like there?”

Dean attempted to straighten when he saw the teasing grin on the nurse’s face. “Shut up.”

“Well, whatever.” The nurse reached behind his back, producing a gun. “If you see a creepy, floating woman, point me to it.”

Dean didn’t have enough time to process the sudden change to an urgent mood before he was shoved through the door behind him. There was a long row of beds, with a few of them occupied by small sleeping bodies, and the standard hospital equipment in between each one.

That was all Dean had time to see because he was more than a little preoccupied with the black flowing robes hovering over one of those sleeping forms. From the mass of robes, skeletal hands stretched out and pulled back the blankets.

Dean shouted, pointing at the hovering form. The nurse ran right for the danger. A fierce sense of protectiveness took over Dean. Dean broke free from the doctor's hold and limped toward the nurse.

Dean had to protect him. Dean had to protect him. Dean had to protect him.

The spirit turned around and hissed, opening its maw of black, rotted teeth. With a wave of its long bony fingers, the nurse lifted off his feet. He flew across the room, landing hard into a steel cart that buckled under the impact. He slumped.

The shock sobered Dean instantly.

"Cas!" Dean shouted, because he remembered now, remembered everything. He yelled to be heard over the vengeful spirit's favourite party trick: icy, howling wind. "Help Sam!"

Dean slid across the floor to reach Sam's discarded gun, ignoring the pain in his leg, ignoring the feel of the cold floor on his bare legs. Sheesh. Cas could’ve at least given him some pants.

He grabbed the gun and, through the swirl of chart papers and shining, sharp medical equipment around his head, aimed the gun at the floating figure. Dean fired.

The bullet hit the spirit dead centre. The spirit screamed and collapsed around the wounds, like a ghostly black hole. With one final puff of icy cold air, the spirit dissipated. The papers fluttered to the ground and the medical equipment clattered against the tiled floor. Dean shielded his face. A syringe bounced off his elbow.

“Take that you asshole,” Dean said.

A flare of pain ran up his leg. In response, Dean grabbed it. His hand came away wet.

Dean heard his name. He saw the sleeping figures stir in their beds. Dean swayed, swayed, swayed, unable to stay upright.

Stark white lighting swirled overhead. Beeping machines, the scuffle of shoes on hard flooring, and voices from every direction sounded from all around, unfiltered, incomprehensible. It was too much, too much, too much.

The lights went out.

⁂

“Dean. Dean. This is not fine. I am never letting you do this again.”

The lighting wasn’t stark white, but soft yellow. There were no beeping machines. The voice, however, the low calming voice was the same.

Dean opened his eyes. Cas leaned over him, the same blue eyes, messy dark hair, and full lips. He was back in the familiar trench coat and Dean turned his head to look at Cas’s feet.

Fuck yeah, Cas kept the cowboy boots.

“Hey there, Doctor Sexy,” Dean said. “Nice boots.”

Cas sat on the edge of Dean’s bed, Dean’s bed back in the bunker. Cas grabbed Dean’s chin and peered into his eyes.

Dean swatted Cas’s hand away. “Don’t worry, Cas. I’m not stoned this time.”

“I wanted to make sure,” Cas said. “You took longer to recover than I’d like.”

Dean sat up and pushed back the covers. He ran a hand over his leg, whole and healthy. He also noticed that he finally had some pants.

“I’m all good here,” Dean said. “Thanks, Cas.”

Cas stared at Dean, saying nothing. Dean let him. Cas’s eyes shone in the lamplight.

“I’m fine, Cas.” Dean ran a finger down the slope of Cas’s jaw. “Really.”

“Sam and Jack,” Cas said, leaning into the touch, “will want to know you’re awake.”

“And they will, in a minute.” Dean ran his hand up Cas’s cheek until his fingers ran through his hair. “I got a question first.”

“What?” Cas asked, his voice soft.

“I don’t know if there’s rules or whatever against it but, once I’m outta here, you wanna go to dinner or something?”

Cas smiled and, yeah, he had such a nice smile. “I’ve never been one for following rules.” He reached out, tracing the shape of Dean’s bottom lip. “Yes. Or something.”

Dean grinned. “It’s a date.”

He pulled Cas forward and left a soft kiss on his lips. They pressed their foreheads together, smiling at each other like the silly lovestruck fools they were.  

“Oh,” Dean said, “one more thing. I got a request for when we go out.”

“What’s that?”

“Wear the cowboy boots.”

[bitchfitch]

Its often said that places of worship are where a gods influence is the strongest. Where their presence is felt the most fully. That's true, to an extent. It depends on how you define a place of worship.

The temple of knowledge is all winding corridors and numbered rooms. An archive tucked away beneath a sprawling research facility. The dimming bulbs flicker when some of the workers pass beneath them, the graying paint on the walls and the yellowing tile slowly rotting where they stand. Many of the doors creak, a loud groaning echoing between the narrow corridors. All knowledge is stored here, tucked away beneath the world above, not hoarded or hidden, but not public either. Its god doesn't hide, but is still constantly difficult to find. He spends his days reorganizing and recording everything that needs either. Silent and alone and quite happy with the stiffening silence that hangs around him.

If you find him, deep in his warren, he can answer any question you can ask. He will answer any question, but the longer you spend down there the lest likely you are to leave. Its easy to find the way out, but surrounded by all you could ever want to know, why would you ever leave?

The archives of Knowledge's temple is full of wayward discoverers. Lost between the shelves, meer shells of what they once were. 

Fate's domain couldn't be more different from that of her brother's. Loud and cramped, stinking of sweat and blood and spilled booze. The yellow lights and mismatched tables and chairs crowded around a bar and a boxing ring. The roar of a crowd cutting through the old brick walls so clearly that the passerbys on the damp street beyond the doorless walls wonder what could be happening behind the soft glow that fills the windows. A few will be called by the sounds to the door right in the center front of the building that nobody else seems to see.

Fate is almost always there, making her bets and pushing the right people in the right ways to ensure her plans come to fruition. She can give you the do over you've always wanted, she can give you anything. If only you do something for her first, if only you can beat her at a game of cards or dice or at a drinking game. 

Only those who she has already decided to let win will. 

Life falls to two, their temples identical in nature despite being nowhere the same in physicality. 

The elder, a goddess of animals has her temple tucked away deep in a forest. A cabin with rotting floor boards and a roof that sags. The smell of homemade food and rich forest floors mingle with the quiet swaying of the trees above. A rustle in the underbrush and a childs laugh echoing between the trunks. The goddess is near impossible to find unless she wants to be found, but her daughter, a scrappy and mud stained little thing runs wild around their home. 

She is the one you need to convince of your pleas, and if she dreams you worthy she'll take your hand and guide you to her mother. If not, her mother will find you on her own and then you will never be found again.

The goddess of animals' twin, the god of plants is easier to find, but you must know what you are looking for. 

His temple is a looming warehouse, decrepit and looking a moment form being overwhelmed by the thick vines that are climbing up and through it. Inside you will find many people, not one of them working for him. Maybe you are taken to his daughter, maybe you find her on your own. She's older than her cousin, old enough to have a mean reputation and a cruel sense of humor. She's the one you must plead too hear. She may call upon her god to aid you if she deems it worth her time, she may call upon him to end you if she deems it not worth her time. She may chide you and tell you to leave this place. Regardless of what happens, he has heard your plea and will make his own decision on how to act on it.

A clean hospital, well funded and brightly lit, one that boasts about its all time low loss rate, is not what most people would assume to be a temple of the god of death. The long halls, white with tasteful splashes of color and art. The rooms with clean white sheets and cutting edge machines wireing away as they work in the chilled air. The chapel down on the first floor beside the pediatric ward, the wear on its pews from so many people coming to pray and to feel closer to the gods they worship. 

Death doesn't mind it, he works as a nurse here. Quiet and unassuming, passing whispered words and scrawled notes and loose thoughts to the right people, check this, try that, look at those again. Its unlikely, but this might be it. 

The healer called death doesn't do anything the doctors can not, but if you find him and ask his help, he will usually give it with a smile. 

The god of wills doesn't have a tenple like his siblings do. He wanders, looking for the next thing to catch his eye. A god of pathways and crossroads, you'll find him there when you need him and not a moment before. He'll lend you his aid as cars rush by on the road beside and the hot night air stings your eyes. Be careful what you ask of him, there on the side of the road every death looks like a horrible accident.

The goddess of the earth and the storms, the shape and shaping of it all, makes her home in the loft above an art gallery, a studio thats constantly shifting and changing, the medium she works moving along with the mess and the other artists who come and go. Come to her for stability, come to her for revenge. Come to her and hope you never anger the storm. 

[actuallyjomd]

NICU Post Night Shift Walk To My Car

The elevator opens right as I arrive at 6:15. It smells like someone broke a perfume bottle in it.

I see one of my med-peds colleagues and remember I need to borrow baby shower supplies from her.

Then I’m walking past registration and a woman starts vomiting into a trash can.

“She’s pregnant and has really bad morning sickness.”

Her partner informs me as their other child sits casually in a stroller.

I pat her back and keep walking.

I’m rounding the corner and I see my program director. Her eyes are wet, rimmed red with tears.

“Hi!” I say with a start, full head turn to process what I saw.

Hope everything is ok, I text her.

“Yes, it is. They are withdrawing support for a patient I’ve known for years. Today we say goodbye forever.”

My eyes well up and I keep walking.

I step out through the sliding double doors into the humid sunrise. Two of my colleagues in peds, perhaps the extremes of introvert and extrovert see me. We finger guns and I keep walking.

At the cross walk I see the anesthesia intern who I met on his first day of residency in the pediatric ED.

“Getting close to the end?” I ask.

“Three more days?”

He replies groggily. Pediatrics wards have been rough.

“You’ve got this.” I say and I keep walking.

It’s 6:23am as I unlocked my car door. All in a morning stroll.

[emmy-writes-sometimes]

Iron

You get sick during the premiere of your dad’s last Marvel movie and try to hide it from him. 

-

           You really tried to pretend you weren’t sick. Mostly because it was a free trip to New York for the last premiere of your dad’s last Marvel movie and you wanted to support him, but also because the last thing you wanted was to be sick in your uncle Scott’s house. You felt bad the moment you got on the plane. You had to excuse yourself halfway through, climb over your dad, and throw up in the bathroom and hope that nobody noticed. You had left your toothbrush in your suitcase, so all you had was your TSA-approved toothpaste to slather all over your teeth and hope it got rid of the smell and the taste.

           “You okay?” Your dad had asked as you crawled back into the seat. “You look sick.”

           “No, I’m fine,” you lied, opening your book. You’d never gotten plane sick before, ever, because you’d been on planes since your eardrums were developed enough. But your stomach was churning like an ice cream maker. You felt like you were going to die. Your head was spinning, you couldn’t stop sweating, and you just generally felt like shit.

           “Okay,” your dad replied as if he didn’t believe you. You kept reading your book and turned your podcast up for the rest of the hour-long flight. By the time you landed, it was time again. You blew past your dad, muttering something about meeting him at baggage claim, and went to the nearest bathroom. You brushed your teeth again, sighing, and shoved your toothpaste back in your carry-on.

           You got to Scott’s house a few minutes later, since you’d convinced your dad to pay extra to fly into JFK instead of La Guardia, and right away went to the guest room while your dad talked with Sebastian. You took a shower and changed, hoping that would make you feel better, but as soon as you walked into the dining room and smelled the food they had ordered, you felt sick again. You didn’t know what the fuck could be up – you were definitely not pregnant since your boyfriend had broken up with you two months ago, you always washed your hands, and were a generally clean person so you shouldn’t have gotten sick from someone. You were just sick. But you weren’t going to tell your dad and ruin the premiere that he was so excited for.

           “You know we don’t even have to get ready for a few hours, right?” Your dad asked with a raised eyebrow. You walked over to Scott and hugged him for the first time in forever.

           “Yeah, I just felt gross from the plane,” you shrugged in response. You tried to eat a normal amount of food, but Scott could tell that something was off. Your dad was just blissfully unaware, like always.

           “So why are you acting weird?” Scott asked when your dad finally went to take a shower. His voice was lowered, as if your dad could hear, even though he couldn’t.

           “Because I feel sick and I don’t want him to know because he’s excited,” you explained. Scott put his hand up to your forehead and frowned.

           “Yeah, you definitely have a fever. Why didn’t you just tell him?”

           “Because he’s so excited. And this is the last Marvel movie, and he’s been super sentimental about it, and he really wanted me to see it. And he said I can finally meet Paul Rudd.” Scott laughed.

           “You really do love Clueless.”

           “Exactly! Just play along with me.”

           “Fine. But if you think you need to throw up or something while we’re there, I’m not covering for you. Your dad scares me.” You laughed a little bit. “I have some ginger ale if you want it.”

           You accepted it and switched rooms with your dad when he came out, starting to put makeup on. At least under layers of makeup he couldn’t tell that your skin was clammy. You tried to put a little extra on to hide it even better, but at one point it just stopped. You put the dress you’d picked out on and walked outside to the living room, where your phone was charging, and you waited for the two of them to finish getting ready.

           “Are you sure you’re okay?” Scott asked you through his teeth as you walked toward the car Marvel had sent out for the three of you. “For real.”

           “Nope,” you replied. Before he could say anything else you climbed in next to your dad, ignoring Scott’s look of worry. You tried to make conversation with your dad, but it was getting harder to follow. Your mind was just getting slower. Despite it being spring outside, you felt like it was a hundred degrees. Thankfully your dress had some cutouts so it wasn’t too hot, but you were still feeling whatever your body was trying to tell you.

           “Come on,” your dad said as he tried to steer you, realizing that you were walking slowly. You and Scott followed him while he took pictures and did interviews. You knew the drill – stay back unless an interviewer pulled you in. A couple did, but you avoided any major outlets. You felt yourself start going down, fast, and turned to Scott.

           “Scott,” you said in a warning tone, pulling him away from where your dad was talking to E!. “I feel…”

           “Oh, God,” he said, seeing that you were swaying back and forth. He held his arms out to catch you and tried to get you inside, but they weren’t letting anyone inside. “Okay, I’m calling a car, we’re taking you to…”

           Everything went dark before you could say anything in response. You only realized you were in the back of a car when you felt it make a sudden stop. You must have just blacked out, because the next time you were aware of anything you were getting your pulse read by a machine on your finger. Scott was sitting next to you, one hand on his phone, the other hand holding your free hand as there was a wire running just above his fingers.

           “Your dad’s coming as soon as the movie’s over,” he said when he realized you were awake.

           “What even happened?”

           “You pulled me aside and passed out. I told him we had a surprise for him. His phone’s off now and he’ll be pissed when he gets here, but at least he’s not going to leave.”

           “Thanks.”

           “I’m doing it for him. You should’ve said something to him and we would’ve taken you somewhere this afternoon before you fucking passed out on me!”

           “I’m sorry!” He sighed.

           “I know. Just lay down and we’ll figure this out.”

           Your dad raised hell about three hours later when they said that he couldn’t see you because he wasn’t the one that brought you in. He somehow snuck around until he got to the pediatrics ward and found you sitting by the discharge area while Scott looked through your wallet for your insurance cards.

           “What happened?” He asked loudly, walking over to you. Scott turned from where he was talking to the billing desk.

           “She has severely low iron,” Scott said. “She’s been sick all day and I told her to tell you, but she begged me not to. And she’s my favorite, so…”

           “Oh, I hate both of you right now,” your dad said, looking over at your uncle.

           “I’m sorry,” you said to the both of them. They sighed, looking at each other, and then looking at you.

           “I’ll go get a rental car and we’ll drive up. I’m not sure you should be flying right now.” Your dad went to go to the phone charging station and cancelled the flight and set up a rental car, leaving you to apologize to your uncle fifty million times.

           It was the middle of the night, somewhere in the middle of nowhere, when you had to get your dad to stop the car so you could throw up on the side of the freeway. He looked at you, sighed, and continued on while telling you how stupid you were.

Taglist (if you’d like to be added, let me know!): @an-adventureland, @firstangeldragonranch, @ssebstann, @winterreader-nowwriter, @eviemarvel

[thejolexgroupchat]

Would love to see a fic of prompt #57 !!! (“So stick that in your juice box and suck it.” ) I have no idea what it would be like but it just sounds fun ahaha

We absolutely LOVE the prompts you all sent us. This fic was written by Nina @doc-pickles and Leya @iamtrebleclefstories

Enjoy the first of many collaborative fics from The Group Chat!

the one with the juice box

It was an unusually hot May day in Seattle, meaning the ER was filled with heat stroke patients that kept everyone busy. Alex had been running back and forth from the peds floor to the ER all day, checking in on new patients while still maintaining his normal routine. To be honest, he was exhausted and all he wanted was to settle in for lunch with his wife. He hadn’t seen her since they’d walked in together almost four hours ago, which wasn’t unusual, but she usually popped by to see him at least once or twice. 

Clocking off for his lunch, Alex wandered down towards the main surgical floor in search of his wife. She’d seemed okay when they were getting ready for the day, extreme morning sickness turned to only an occasional swell of nausea now that she was in her second trimester. Still, Alex couldn’t help the worry for his wife that wound itself through his body. He knew that the pregnancy was taking a toll on her, both physically and emotionally, so, although he was sure she was going to be fine, he couldn't help but worry. 

After searching and finally asking a few nurses he’d passed, he found Jo laying on an empty gurney in one of the quieter hallways. She wasn’t asleep, just laying on her back and glaring at the ceiling with the most adorable angry pout Alex had ever seen. He smiled because the position she was lying in allowed him to see the tiniest curve of her stomach, so small and barely there that he was probably the only one who noticed.

He came up behind her and pressed a tender kiss on her forehead, “Hi.”

“Shut up,” Jo scowled.

“What?” Alex asked, a puzzled look on his face. “All I did was say hi. You can’t be mad at me for that.”

“I’m not mad because you said hi,” Jo rolled her eyes. “I’m mad at you because you did this to me. You knocked me up and now I can barely stand without feeling like I’m going to fall over.”

Alex wanted to laugh, honestly. But he knew if he did, he’d end up in the doghouse. Jo’s hormones had been a whirlwind lately. Most days, he teetered on the edge of saying something equally snarky back or just taking it in stride. Today, he decided to contain himself, “You’re not dizzy because you’re pregnant. Well, it’s not the only reason you’re dizzy. You’re dizzy because you’ve barely eaten anything all day. This morning when I made breakfast, you almost bit my head off for placing eggs in front of you, and proceeded to tell me how you couldn’t stand the smell and didn’t want to eat anything. I had to practically shove that piece of toast down your throat.”

“It’s still kind of your fault. Because if I weren’t pregnant, then I wouldn’t have weird food aversions that keep me from eating.” Jo pointed out. 

“As far as I remember, you’re the one who got us into this situation. You stopped taking your pills, and I told you that I didn’t have a condom but you said and I quote, ‘I don’t care. I’m naked and horny, stop stalling and just stick it in me.’ So really, you did this to yourself,” Alex shrugged.

“Whatever,” Jo glared at her husband. “What do you want?”

“I was wondering if you wanted to come eat lunch with me,” Alex asked sweetly, knowing if he won Jo over with his charm she might not realize he was just trying to get food into her over exerted body. 

“I honestly don’t know if I can even get up from this gurney,” Jo admitted, eyes moving up to meet Alex’s. He could see just from looking at her how much of a toll everything was taking on her. “I think I’m just gonna spend the next few months here, then I don’t have to move when I give birth.”

“I’ll carry you over there if I have to,” Alex offered, holding his hand out towards Jo. “Come on, I’ll help you up and hold your hand if you get dizzy.”

“Fine,” Jo huffed and held on to Alex as she let him help her off the gurney. 

They got to the cafeteria and Jo wrinkled her nose at the available options. Nothing looked appetizing, prompting her to grab an apple and banana and sit down at a table. Alex joined her a moment later, tray loaded with a burger, a sandwich, two bags of chips, and a fruit cup. He grabbed the burger and bit into it before fixing Jo with a pointed stare.

“Please for the love of god, force yourself to eat something besides an apple,” Alex pushed the tray towards Jo who glared at him. “If you don’t eat any of that, I’m putting you on my service so I can watch you all day and make sure you don’t pass out.”

“I’m not a resident anymore, you can force me on your service,” Jo pointed out, eyeing him warily.

“Dammit. That’s right. You’re a fellow,” Alex wrinkled his nose. “Well, good news is that I’m the chief, so technically I can have you follow me around all day.” 

Jo stared him down for a moment, Alex unfazed by his wife’s glare as he bit into his burger. Finally relenting, Jo grabbed a bag of chips and began to slowly eat them between bites of fruit. 

“You know I really hate you sometimes,” Jo mumbled as she took a final bite of the apple, a low groan escaping her as she did so. “Bailey would never abuse her power like this.”

“You didn’t know her when I was a resident,” Alex took another bite of his burger. “Are you sure you don’t want anything else? You can have some of my burger.”

“I’m sure,” Jo shook her head, a disgusted look crossing her face as she settled one hand onto her stomach. “Watching you eat is making me feel nauseous.��

Alex sighed, looking to Jo with a serious expression “This isn’t okay Jo. I can’t have you walking around the hospital alone without having eaten anything. You’re with me today, okay?”

“I don’t need to be babysat Alex, I can take care of myself,” Jo whined, crossing her arms across her chest like an angry toddler. “You don’t need to watch me 24/7.”

“You fell asleep on our bathroom floor yesterday after puking for 30 minutes. How about this,” Alex leaned in towards his wife with a small grin. “Shepherd and I have a Peds case together, you can come and help us so it doesn’t feel like I’m just dragging you around to make sure you don’t pass out in a storage closet.”

Jo eyed Alex warily, he was almost certain she was going to fight him on it, but he wore his ‘I’m the Chief don't test me right now’ expression well enough that she finally conceded. 

“Ugh… fine,” Jo groaned, standing and reaching for Alex’s hand. “Bailey’s out today anyway, so it’s not like I have anything better to do. But this is a one time thing!”

Alex joined Jo, one arm wrapped tightly around her shoulder as they headed towards the elevators. 

“That’s the spirit, your enthusiasm is appreciated,” Alex chuckled as they made their way to the Peds ward. “If you keep eating and stop feeling like shit, maybe I’ll let you do more things on your own.”

Alex led Jo into a patient room, Helm and Shepherd already speaking with a young girl and her mom. Amelia was explaining the procedure to them, so Alex and Jo hung back by the door until they’d finished. 

“I brought you something,” Alex whispered, handing a box of apple juice to Jo. “Figured you can keep your electrolytes up.”

Jo rolled her eyes as she snatched the juice box from Alex, sticking it in the pocket of her lab coat. "You're a pain in the ass. Stop hovering."

“Geez, Jo. Why are you so grumpy? I'm supposed to be the grumpy one,” Alex tried joking in hopes of lightening the mood. "You're the nice one in this relationship. "

“Did you forget that I'm literally carrying your genes right now?" Jo stared her husband down. "I am part Alex Karev at this moment and will continue to be for the next five and a half months, so you better get used to this.” 

Alex narrowed his eyes at her and reached for the juice box in her pocket. He removed the straw from the plastic and handed both items back to his wife, "Whatever. You can be mean and grumpy all you want, but you're carrying our kid and they need nutrients. So, stick that in your juice box and suck it."

Jo glared at Alex as she stuck the straw in the juice box. She was about to open her mouth in response when her smart remark was interrupted by Amelia calling Alex over to speak to the mom.

“Gracie and Delilah, this is Doctor Karev. He’s the best pediatric surgeon we have and he’s going to help me fix you up Gracie,” Amelia turned from Gracie to her mom. “Seriously this guy is a miracle worker, you’re lucky I convinced him to come consult.”

Alex pulled Delilah aside, explaining in more detail exactly what Gracie’s treatment plan would look like. He could tell she was worried, but hoped that he and Amelia could keep her nerves at bay. 

“Any other questions before we start doing labs?”

“Well just one,” Delilah blushed, eyelashes batting against her cheeks as she looked up to Alex. “Would it be inappropriate for me to ask for your number?”

Now, it’s not like Alex had never been hit on at work before. He had been, plenty of times, especially being a peds surgeon that dealt with scared moms daily. But since he’d been preoccupied with his Chief duties, lately he hadn’t spent enough time alone with moms to have them hit on him. Not to mention it was the first time Alex had experienced this since he’d gotten married. He also didn’t expect for his wife to be standing on the opposite side of the room when it happened.

So for that very reason, Alex blurted out the first thing that came to his mind, “I’m sleeping with her.”

Delilah looked stunned and a bit confused, scrunching her face as she looked to the doctors behind them, “Which one?”

Alex looked around the room and saw Jo standing with Amelia and Helm talking to Gracie. Jo clinked her juice box against Gracie’s and took a giant slurp. Alex turned back around to Delilah and motioned to Jo, “The one with the juice box.”

“Oh,” Delilah nodded, a strange expression on her face.

“Yeah,” Alex laughed awkwardly, his hand coming up to rub against his neck. “That’s my wife. My pregnant wife, sharing a juice box with your kid. Who I’m about to operate on.”

Alex and Delilah stood in an awkward silence that was only broken by Amelia announcing that Helm was going to run labs for Gracie before they prepped her for surgery. Alex quickly said his goodbyes to Gracie and Delilah, grabbing Jo’s arm pulling her out of the hospital room. 

“Geez you’re eager to get out of there,” Jo joked, sipping off her juice box as they walked down the hall. “What’s up with you?”

“She hit on me,” Alex blurted out, turning to Jo with a shocked expression. “Gracie’s mom hit on me.”

There was a beat of silence between the two before Jo burst into laughter, holding a hand to her chest as she tried to contain the giggles coming from her mouth. Jo wiped a few tears from her eyes, "What did you say? Please tell me you froze like an idiot."

Alex ran a hand over his face in hopes of disguising his embarrassment, "I told her I was sleeping with the one drinking the juice box." 

"Oh God… Alex," Jo's laughter started up again. She laughed in between her words. "Out of everything... that's what you said? Did you at least say that we're married. I don't need patients thinking I'm servicing the Chief." 

"Of course. I'm not that much of an idiot," Alex sighed. "I don't need patients thinking that the Chief of Surgery is a man-whore."

"He used to be," Jo muttered under her breath, nudging Alex with a smirk.

"Shut up," Alex stuck his tongue out, deciding to mess with Jo a bit. "I haven't been like that in years. You know that you're the only person I've slept with in the past six years? You can't exactly say the same."

"Hey!" Jo gasped and slapped Alex on the shoulder. "I thought we agreed to forget about that. Me sleeping with Schmidt was a momentary lapse in judgement. And I only did it because I was trying to get over you."

"Well, would you look at how that worked out," Alex poked her small bump lightly. "You ended up with me anyway."

"I know," Jo groaned. "And now I have to put up with you for the rest of my life."

"You love me," Alex bent down and gave Jo a quick peck on the lips. "Come on, we've got like forty-five minutes before we've got to meet Shepherd in the OR and I'm going to try to force a granola bar or something down your throat."

"We've got forty-five minutes free and all you want to do is make sure I eat something?" Jo shook her head in disappointment. "Gosh, being Chief has really mellowed you out. Who are you and what have you done with Alex Karev?"

"Huh?" Alex looked at her in confusion. "What did you want to do with your free time?"

"Alex, come on. You can't be that clueless," Jo looked at him expectantly. Seeing that he wasn't going to catch on anytime soon, she decided to spell it out for him. "Dude. I'm fifteen weeks pregnant and my hormones are raging right now,"

A look of realization finally crossed Alex's face, "Oh… Oh! You wanna?"

"Yup," Jo nodded and looked at him with an expression that could only be described as hungrily. 

"I could be into that," Alex whispered. "Let's get out of here before someone sees me and decides that they need the Chief."

[zebrawuzhere]

Super cheesy Christmas movies on Netflix to make holiday AUs out of or just to watch

So, I ADORE holiday aus and these movies are just so fucking cheesy that they make great fanfiction. Also, even if you don’t write fanfiction, they’re great 1 am binge movies (I know from experience). FYI, these are all straight couple movies, buuuuutttt.... that’s what fanfic is for! Here are a couple of my personal favorites, and I’ll add more later. Please spread this across the fanfiction community, I want this to be seen! (Also, if you end up using these, please send me the links, I want to read them!!)

A Cinderella Story: Christmas Wish

Despite her vain stepmother and mean stepsisters, an aspiring singer works as an elf at a Christmas tree lot and finds her own holiday miracle. 

It’s basically a vine girl meets this rich boi and they’re like “ooh hoo hoo I like youuuuuuuu but i don’t know who you truly are hmmmmmmm”. It’s amazing.

A Christmas Prince 

When a reporter goes undercover as a tutor to get the inside scoop on a playboy prince, she gets tangled in some royal intrigue and ends up finding love - but will she be able to keep up her lie? 

These three are my personal favorites, they’re just.... pure fanfiction material. Like, royal AU, sass, a cousin who’s a bitch, and plus.... two sequels!!

A Christmas Prince 2: The Royal Wedding

A year after helping Richard get to the throne, Amber is about to become his wife. But is she really made to be queen? 

(Spoiler alert: she isn’t) This one... is great. All of them are great. But, weddings are really hard to write (at least in my experience), so...

A Christmas Prince 3: The Royal Baby

It's Christmastime in Aldovia, and a royal baby is on the way. Amber and Richard host royals from a distant kingdom to renew a sacred truce, but when the treaty vanishes, peace is jeopardized and an ancient curse threatens their family. 

This one is cool because there are 2 plots, the baby and the cuuuuuurse!!! Fun!!!!

The Knight Before Christmas

A medieval English knight is magically transported to present-day America where he falls for a high school science teacher who is disillusioned by love. 

This one makes a truly fantastic AU, I mean, time travel?? Her not believing the knight and then he disappears, and she’s like “oh shit he was telling the truth oh well, now I can’t tell him so sad alexa play all by myself” then poof poof love love ahahaha

Christmas with a Prince

Pediatric specialist Tasha Mason is focused on keeping the kids in her ward as healthy as possible. But when the handsome Prince Alexander Cavalieri breaks his leg on a nearby ski-slope, Tasha is forced to allow him to secretly get well on her floor, and she's furious that a spoiled Royal is interrupting the precious healing time her kids need. Soon, however, Tasha learns that some tough love and a lot of Christmas spirit could turn this royal pain into a knight in shining armor. 

Medical AUs, let’s go!! Plus, childhood friends, a crush spanning like 20 years, what’s not to love?

Holidate

Fed up with being single on holidays, two strangers agree to be each other's platonic plus-ones all year long, only to catch real feelings along the way.

Welcome to cliche-land! Complete with people thinking they’re weird, fake betrayal, love confessions loudly in-front of other people, and their family members shipping them. This basically is me, but without the romance.

Hometown Holiday

Krista is starting this New Year with a new business and a resolution to be more selective with who she dates. When Krista meets Ryan Rourke, an entertainment lawyer from LA, the two really hit it off. Ryan is in her hometown to sign a local rancher turned viral signing sensation as his new client. Now with Krista also in Rust Creek, maybe there is more of a reason to stick around. Both are holding onto things from their past and are forced to make some decisions if they truly want to be together.

A flower person, and an Entertainment guy meet-cute, what’s not to love??

Christmas Wedding Planner

Wedding Planner, Kelsey Wilson, is about to have her big break: planning her beloved cousin's lavish and exclusive wedding. Everything is going smoothly until Connor McClane, a devilishly handsome private investigator, shows up and turns Kelsey's world upside-down. Hired by a secret source, Connor quickly disrupts the upcoming nuptials but wins Kelsey's heart in the process.

OOH HOO HOO DO I SMELL DETECTIVE HOLIDAY AUS?? MY FAVORITE!! No, but seriously, this movie is greaaaaaaaaaat.

A Christmas Catch

A small-town policewoman falls for a suspected diamond thief at Christmas time.

Aw yiss more detective aus. This one is great because it’s just so fucking awkward, with the detective constant being watched and told what to say, as well as Sir Oblivioso.

The Holiday Calendar

A struggling but talented photographer inherits an antique holiday advent calendar, the contents of which seem to predict the future. Will this magical calendar lead her to love this holiday season?

Oh yeah, magic au, with them not believing it and constantly denying it, and I mean the romance isn’t the best, but oh well.

Midnight at the Magnolia

Longtime friends and local radio hosts Maggie and Jack fake it as a couple for their families and listeners in hopes of getting their show syndicated.

Fuck yes, the “we’re pretending to be lovers, when we’re just friends trying to deny our desire to actually be lovers” au! Woohooooooo!!!

Christmas With a View

Secret aspirations between a failed restaurateur and a celebrity chef threaten their blossoming Christmas romance.

Ah yes... the classic chef au. Lovely.

Christmas Inheritance

To be the CEO, an heiress is challenged by her dad to deliver a Christmas letter in person to his ex-partner in their hometown - traveling by bus, incognito and with only $100. Will she learn something from the people there?

Basically, weird, spoiled rich girl meets this guy who’s just trying to be nice to her, but she’s like “i don’t know how to survive ugh daddy help me”

Holiday in the Wild

Jilted by her husband on the eve of embarking on an African safari, a woman travels to the continent alone where she meets an elephant conservationist.

Divorce, wounded elephants, meet-cutes, what’s not to love??

[dise7se]

last line tag game

thank you for tagging me @floweryfran !!! i feel like i’m dreaming. the last line(s) i’ve written is a ben parker lives fic, a chaotic attending physician tony stark gets a visit from his two questionly favorite patients. just a genius asshole with scribbly handwriting functions at 1000% and a himbo with a little shit nephew. just watch out for it on ao3. i tag: @tssympathize @akillerqueenyouare @theoceanismyinkwell and anyone who wants to do this

Tony Stark was adamant on planting his ass down in the tatted and torn loveseat, collecting dust in the break room, lacking in renovations since the 1990s. His favorite loveseat. His white coat never fails to catch all the lint, grime, and smell of anesthetics from the couch. Every possible liquid medication or assortment of sterile saline is imprinted onto this couch.

Tony’s hospital couch.

He sacks down onto the couch, his attending physician hours the sole being exhausting him into a sluggish version of the man he once was. He’s sure he’s a walking corpse at this point in his life, a worn-out decrepit whose objective is to eat his damn sandwich.

The emergency room is the q word. It rhymes with diet. A term that is banned in this hospital, because if anybody says the q word in the pediatric emergency room then all hell breaks loose. It’s like a deity watching over the hospital challenges every physician, nurses technician, every being under the roof once this word is muttered into the dead of night.

Legs haphazardly thrown across the threadbare loveseat, stethoscope abandoned, and tie loosened, he takes the first bite of his impressively towering bread. It’s slightly squashed from his own vice grip, sticking to his calloused fingers, but the taste of the cold deli meat charred and the first bite is marvelous. All other senses except for smell and taste abandoned him, betrayed by his own self for hunger, his stomach crying of happiness. The sandwich has him moaning, every chew is slow and cautioned because he’s sure this will never last, the lettuce is cold, the tomato doesn’t overpower the rest of the flavors, the middle if the best section of the sandwich and he could die, right here, right now, he’s content with all of his accomplishments leading up to this sandwich stolen from the maternity ward break room, a magical feeling set upon h—

“I’m looking for a Dr. Stark!”

Like a plane propeller losing control in an instant, Tony is jerked from his euphoric and orgasmic sandwich eating break by the one and only, voice startling through the quie— no, the empty ER entrance. He told them to never, ever fucking come back here. He will call security on them, no, even better. He’ll call the nurses to handle the situation before it diffuses, these two are a ticking time bomb.

Ben fucking Parker and his fucking nephew Peter Parker.

[abovethesmokestacks]

Together, Apart

Title: Together, Apart

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader

Rating: G

Wordcount: 1.2k

Warnings: fluff? Idk, the world is weird right now.

For @hispeculiartreasure​, because I can’t physically be there. Right now, the world is a tough place, but I’m hoping this might cheer you up a little while we make the best of social distancing and quarantine. This sort of works as a pseudo-sequel to Whenever.

“I hate this.”

You didn’t need to look to your right to know Steve was there, sitting like you were on his roof, knees drawn up and arms locked around them. Close enough to hear each other, to talk, to see each other, but still an unfathomable distance away. Fifteen feet had never felt this far away.

“I know,” he said, inching closer to the edge of the roof, closing whatever distance he could.

“My parents are both getting sick, I’m working and trying not to drown in everything, I’m doing grocery runs and picking up stuff from the pharmacy, I’m trying to take care of myself, and everywhere I turn, there’s a news bulletin and everything is just disaster and death.”

Finally, you looked up, finding Steve’s eyes on you. He held out his hand, reaching for you, and you held out yours. It was as close as the two of you got these days. Both of you were working, social distancing demanded its space and things seemed busier than ever before. Crawling up on the roof and jumping over for quick little dates had seemed romantic and cute months back, but now you’d do anything for the normal kind of dates where you went out, saw a movie, had a meal, stood close enough that you could lean in and hear the other person’s heartbeat.

“My mom’s been doing double shifts at the hospital. I’ve told her to call me every time she gets off a shift, no matter what time, and every time, my heart almost beats outta my chest because I’m so afraid she’ll cough or say she’s feeling ill.”

Comforting words sat right on the tip of your tongue, but Steve’s humourless chuckle had you furrowing your brow instead.

“God, I feel so bad for her right now. This… This has to be how she felt whenever I was sick when I was a kid. Jesus, I must have scared her half to death so many times.”

“You… were sick a lot?” you asked.

You knew Steve well enough, but your paths had crossed later in life, and there had never been all that many stories about either of you growing up. It didn’t seem important at the time.

“Nurses in the pediatric ward knew me by name. I think they had my journal stashed somewhere within hand’s reach, always ready whenever I was admitted.” He saw the worried look on your face, and quickly added, “It wasn’t anything serious, I mean- Or, well, at the time, it was, I- I had like a year where I kept getting sick, and it turned out I had a crappy immune system, so I got everything and then some. I got medication to compensate, so I’m okay, and it’s mostly all good now.”

“But this virus… it could be bad for you?” you asked, the feeling of dread that had been simmer in your stomach for days suddenly flaring up at this potential fuel for a freakout.

“Not as bad as it could have been if I was still that kid. I promise, I’m okay. I wash my hands, I’ve got meds to take if something happens and I’ve had to swear on my nana’s grave that I’ll call if I get symptoms. I’m fine. Mostly just bored. Netflix only has so many good shows and movies.”

“You feel so disconnected,” you added, looking up at the sky. “I have skype meeting with my co-workers and we email all day, and I’ve got my parents, but it’s as if, I don’t know, the world has just been paused and everyone’s frozen in this weird limbo. Everyone’s afraid, no one’s touching anyone. I’m beginning to see why touch starvation is a thing, I mean- Steve?”

The last thing you saw of him was his long legs disappearing in through the open window, followed by a dull crash. Great. Great great fucking great. Even your boyfriend was getting tired of you and is running for the hills. Christ, you should just call it a night. Even with the commute cutting down on how early you’ve had to get up in the mornings, sleep had still been elusive and you had tossed and turned through the last few nights. Standing up, you stretched, letting your joints pop and shivering at the cool night air.

“Hey! Catch!”

The lump came flying at you, and it was only by virtue of having quick reflexes that it didn’t hit you square in the face. You gave a shrill yelp at the same time Steve let out a loud “shit!” The lump was soft, and in the dusk of the evening it took a moment for you to realize it was one of his sweaters.

“You gotta stop doing this,” you grumbled, still smiling at him as you turned over the sweater.

“I told you, I wasn’t aiming at you! You were just kind accidentally where my shoe landed!” Steve defended himself before nodding at you. “Go on, open it.”

The sweater was bundled up, tied together with the sleeves, and when you pulled at them, a book and a picture clattered down.

“It was the best idea of a care package I could think of on short notice,” he told you, arms crossed over his chest.

The book was a dog eared copy of Pride & Prejudice, while the picture was one of him, from the looks of it at least ten years ago. He was lankier in it than he was now, a goofy grin on his face with hair sticking in every direction. He’s crouched next to the grumpiest looking bulldog you’d ever seen, his smile a beautiful and hilarious contrast to the dog.

“You told me you forgot your copy of Pride & Prejudice on a train and you haven’t had the opportunity to get a new copy. We had to read it for one of my college classes, and I remember thinking it wasn’t all that good, but I started rereading it again after you said how good it was, and I thought, hell, if you like it, it’s gotta be good. And I know I can’t hug you, but that sweater is really warm and cosy. And clean, so you don’t gotta worry about germs.”

You could cry for the sweetness of it, but your mouth split into a smile when you looked back down at the photo, “And this?”

Steve smiled in return, shuffling a little awkwardly on his feet.

“For that. To see you smile.” 

You pulled the sweater on. It didn’t smell like him, that heady scent of his cologne and the warmth of his body, but it was his and it was soft and you let the sleeves hang like sweater paws.

“Thank you, I… God, I really needed this.”

“The least I could do. Really.” His face softened, and he held out his hand again, straining for that touch that you couldn’t have. “I know this sucks. It sucks a lot. But this is temporary. Today will move on to tomorrow, and the next day and one day it’ll be over and we’ll have lived and we’ll be okay. We’re still together. Just apart.”

You couldn’t stop the tears even if you tried, and you nodded solemnly at him, waving when he bid you goodnight and throwing him a sweater paw kiss. Things would be fine. This was temporary. You’d be fine, both of you. Together, apart.

[ft-dads-au]

Haku and Kuro Eucliffe Fanart by @oryu404

Stingue Week 2019 Prompt: AU Home for the Holidays 2019 Prompt: Family A collaboration by @mdelpin and @oryu404  AO3 | FF.Net | Next: Ch 2

Chance Encounter 

Chapter 1

May 11, 2020

Rogue closed his eyes for what felt like only a moment, only to be pulled out of sleep by the soft whining noises of an infant. A short silence fell, and he almost got his hopes up that it was simply sleep talk, but of course, luck wasn’t on his side. 

The whining repeated louder and more desperate to be heard. When no response was given, it quickly turned into a piercing wail. The staticky video monitor that sat on his nightstand called for his attention, but he stubbornly refused to reach for it yet. Holding his breath, he willed his son to go back to sleep on his own, but instead, the cry was quickly joined by a second one, and Rogue could only groan in frustration. Both twins were up now, and he was still so tired.

The last six months had been hell on his sleep schedule. He and Sting had been happily surprised when they’d heard from Minerva that they were going to have twins. In their excitement, however, they’d failed to consider how challenging that first year would be, especially with Sting just starting his first year of pediatric residency at the hospital.

Rogue decided to let their sons cry for a bit and see if they were able to put themselves back to sleep, but after several minutes had passed with the cries only growing more desperate, he knew it wasn’t going to happen. Eyes still shut tightly, he willed his body to move but then felt the bed shift as Sting rolled onto his stomach with a groan, covering his head with a pillow before finally getting up to check on Haku and Kuro.

Rogue smiled in appreciation and snuggled deeper into the covers, content in the knowledge that Sting was taking over. A few moments passed before he heard Sting’s sleepy voice come over the monitor.

“What are you little monsters up to? It’s not even light out,” Sting’s voice sounded loud through the monitor, giving Rogue a rather good idea of where he was standing.

The crying stopped instantly, replaced by curious coos as the boys recognized their father’s voice. 

“Do you need changing?” Sting asked, and as Rogue heard the creak of the floorboards, he knew Sting had picked Haku up out of his crib.

“You have such a beautiful smile, Haku,” Sting murmured gently, “Oof, but that diaper has got to go, looks like you were busy. Smells like it too.”

Haku giggled as Sting changed his diaper, and Rogue felt his heart swell as he imagined Sting making funny faces at their son. He yawned and fought off the instinctual urge to get up and help. He reminded himself that he took care of them on his own every day, it was good to let Sting help out when he could. The sound of Kuro’s displeased wails at being kept waiting rang out. He heard the click of the changing table’s safety belt as Sting went to get Kuro.

“You wait right here, Haku, I’ll be right back with your brother.”

At first, Haku continued to coo happily until he realized Sting wasn’t there anymore then he began to wail as well. That decided it. Rogue reached out with his arm and turned the monitor off, muting the noise as much as possible. It wasn’t like Sting couldn’t handle it on his own.

Rogue tried not to focus on the sounds so he could go back to sleep as soon as possible before it was time to get up and start another day. It didn’t take long before those sounds weren’t coming from the baby monitor anymore. They traveled through the walls until they reached the bedroom. The mattress dipped next to him, and Rogue felt a weight far too light to be Sting’s plop on the bed next to him, followed by another similar weight, before a third, more familiar one filled up the bed.

When Rogue finally lifted his heavy eyelids, he stared right into a pair of wide-open eyes, their bright blue hue twinkling much too happily in the pale moonlight that slipped into the room through a gap between the curtains. A pacifier bobbed up and down rhythmically against chubby cheeks, and from behind it came a delighted hum. 

He probably would have melted at the sight if it wasn’t the middle of the night, and he didn’t suffer from exhaustion as much as he did. Besides, this little hellion and his nearly identical partner in crime, who was waving around his favorite stuffed red dragon, were not supposed to be here right now. 

“If you keep doing this, they’ll never get used to sleeping in their own room,” Rogue objected, even though the damage was already done, “and we’ll never get some decent sleep.” 

Tiny fingers found their way to his face, probing around and tugging at some strands of his hair as if determined to prove that last statement. Rogue gently grabbed them and warded them off before he could be assaulted in thoughtless enthusiasm. 

“They’re only six months old, babe, there’s plenty of time for them to get used to sleeping without us,” Sting countered, “The Magnolia Pediatrics Association recommends that babies sleep in their parents’ room for the first six to twelve months.”

Rogue made a face, thinking of spending another six months sleeping with the twins between them, or in cribs next to their bed. It was convenient to not have to get out of the bedroom to do nighttime baby care, and he absolutely loved sleeping with a tiny warm body curled up in his arms. However, he was far less thrilled about being woken by the involuntary spasms of small fists or the feeling of the soggy end of a suckled on plushie in his face.

“We have to start trying at some point. You have twelve-hour shifts, and neither one of us is getting any sleep,” Rogue argued half-heartedly. 

“Shh, go back to sleep, I’ve got them,” Sting leaned over to give Rogue a soft kiss, changing the subject before it could turn into an argument. And as the babies shifted away from him and began to climb on his husband with joyous shrieks, Rogue did just that.

When he woke up again, the other side of the bed was empty, but he could smell the reviving scent of freshly brewed coffee as it wafted into his room. 

The alarm clock displayed a time that made him want to hide under the warmth of the covers for a few more hours, but he got up anyway. Sting didn’t have much time left before he had to head out, and the familiar urge to use the bathroom made sure he didn’t stall any longer. 

Still sleepy, he yawned and rubbed away at the sandy feeling in his eyes as he trudged into the dining room. The twins were in their high chairs, Kuro intensely focused on drinking from the bottle he was holding up all by himself, while Haku seemed to have given up on that and was diligently trying to pick up cheerios from the tray. Some of them had already landed on the floor, but they were easy to clean up. It was a simple way to keep the little one busy for a while, so Rogue didn’t mind in the slightest. 

“Morning,” Sting greeted, cheerful as ever no matter the ungodly hour. He kissed Rogue’s cheek and placed a big mug of coffee, along with a bowl of cereal and milk on the table in front of him. “Right on time for breakfast!” 

Rogue sat down next to Haku, already foreseeing what would happen once he ran out of cheerios, and blew some steam off his coffee. He took a tentative first sip to gauge the temperature and then a bigger one when he made sure it was safe. 

“Thanks,” he smiled into the mug, “did you ever get back to sleep?” 

“Nah, but that’s okay. I got some quality cuddling time with the monsters instead. They’ll probably be asleep by the time I get back tonight, so it’s a sacrifice I was willing to make.” Sting took a seat next to him with his own breakfast, placing a hand on his thigh and his head on Rogue’s shoulder, “I didn’t get to cuddle you though.”

“Eat,” ordered Rogue, softly headbutting him, “you sacrificed sleep, you can’t skip breakfast too. I’ll still be up when you get back.” 

“Promise?” Sting grinned at him, his eyes alight with mischief as he moved his hand a little higher up Rogue’s thigh before squeezing firmly and settling to eat his breakfast.

Rogue rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the smile that teased his lips as he thought about the possibility of spending some alone time with Sting. He peered over at the boys, whose faces were already covered in a combination of formula and mushed up Cheerios and then back at Sting, who was wolfing down his breakfast in a bid to have enough time for a shower before work and sighed happily. This might very well be the most perfect moment he could recall in quite a while.

But as often happened, it was over before he had a chance to really enjoy it. Sting looked down at his watch and jumped out of his chair.

“Shit! Gotta jump in the shower, new rotation today, can’t afford to be late!” 

Rogue tried to remember which rotation Sting was going to be working on now as he stood up from his chair but couldn’t remember. He hoped it was one of the good ones, knowing Sting had been itching to have more interaction with patients.

Haku and Kuro began to show signs of restlessness, so Rogue hurried his cleaning efforts, collecting all the dirty dishes and putting them in the sink for later. Grabbing a washcloth, he cleaned the twins’ faces quickly, taking them out of their high chairs and placing them on their tummies on the living room floor.

“Alexa, play children’s music,” Rogue cringed as the saccharin sweet sounds of Wheels on the Bus began to play in the background, but Haku and Kuro both lifted their heads up in wonder as they tried to find the source of the music. 

Rogue hurried to get the basket of toys they kept next to their large sectional, reaching in to grab a large blanket with multiple items sewn to it. It was designed to stimulate and help develop an infant’s motor development, and it was Haku’s favorite toy at the moment. 

Kuro had been fascinated by his red dragon plush from the moment he’d received it from his Grandpa Weiss. He took it with him everywhere and put up a fuss if it was ever removed from his chubby hands. Not even Haku was allowed to take it from him. Haku had been gifted a similar blue dragon, but he hadn’t really cared much about it yet.

Sting raced out of their bedroom, stopping only to kiss Rogue and tickle the boys’ sides gently before kissing the tops of their heads.

“Be good for Daddy!” he chattered at them before grabbing his work bag and waving to Rogue, “See you tonight!”

“Bye,” Rogue managed as the door closed loudly from Sting’s over-exuberant efforts. And just like that, Rogue’s day had begun. Looking down at his watch, he saw it was only five fifteen in the morning. 

A/N: We are super excited to finally introduce you to this world we have been building for a while now, and have really fallen in love with! We'll follow a number of couples and characters on a very different kind of battlefield: adult life, and most notably parenthood! As this is also an entry for both Stingue week and ftlgbtales home for the holidays, we will first introduce you to the lovely, and slightly chaotic Eucliffe household. Hope you enjoy! ^^- Burrito and Mdelpin -

@ftmlmages