#it's so hard watch my patients suffering knowing there's more to be done

[ley-med]

One thing that's been on my professional bucket list is epidural anesthesia. Since it's a pretty rare occurrence in my hospital, I haven't got to do one yet. So knowing that today is the day, that I will have a case that requires EDA, I've spent yesterday afternoon watching videos and re-reading on the theory.

So naturally, the patient tells me she changed her mind and would rather face the pain of a hemicolectomy than to face her fear of epidural analgesia...

And it hurts because lady! please let me help you! please let me ease your pain! But of course her decision is her decision...

So yeah, it's still on my bucket list.

[chrisisvbun]

Okay, now I need more Logan and Bunny!Girl 😩

a/n: ur wish is my command.

guilty as sin. logan howlett x bunny!femreader. part OO2.

a/n 2: btw I'm trying this new cute little layouts tell me if you like them:) i've been really inactive bcs of work shit and been really sick too, but im writing i swear

synopsis: After peace came to the mansion after your arrival, you did not have another encounter with Logan, so spending time with Ororo became a regular thing for you, although Logan doesn't seem to like it.

cw: PTSD related to prostitution and sex, depression, harrasment. a bit of ooc logan, mentions of sex.

words: 2.7k

first.

☆☆☆

You liked Logan.

Well, ‘like” is a pretty vague word, but that’s the one that fits better. You liked him. He was handsome, he was fun, he was sweet with you and you were comfortable around him. You liked that teasing game that you used to have with him, mostly he was bothering you until you slapped his shoulder while he laughed.

So, why wouldn’t you date him? He was clearly into you too

Oh, such a silly answer. You got shy.

Because of your nature you are almost forced to be shy, but you weren’t that shy, you were pretty extroverted when you had to, you didn’t really mind talking to people, and you were a teacher, so you had to be slightly extrovert to have that job.

But after that night in the kitchen, when Logan’s hands hugged your skin while taking you in the sweetest way, you couldn’t look him in the eye without getting red all over and shaking like a scared bunny before running away. Logan frowned everytime you would run away from him, but that didn’t stop him from looking at you when you gave classes and just roamed around you for the following months.

He was obsessed with you. He could watch you for ages, watch that white, curly, pretty hair of yours, how it fell through your back till your lower back, how your shirt was lifted by your puffy tail and how your ears bounced whenever you got surprised or scared. You were so pretty, so cute, and so perfect to corrupt.

He was a bad man, but for you, he would turn into a gentleman.

But you were avoiding him, but you weren’t alone, of course. You had Ororo, who was slowly turning into your best friend. Really slowly. After being abandoned by the one you thought was your best friend, it was hard to trust again. But Ororo was patient, kind, and really funny, hanging out with her had always left you tearing up and grabbing your belly because you would laugh so hard.

You liked spending time with her, but sometimes the activities she would like doing triggered you in some way.

The therapist said that it was normal that many memories are blocked to protect yourself, but that they could be expressed and manifested in certain ways. It wasn't a lie. The trauma was clearly very heavy, enough for you to forget most of the events. There were days where you didn't want to leave your room, the pain in your chest wouldn't let you move from the bed, and as soon as you tried, you would collapse on the floor next to the bed in desperate tears.

Ororo had insisted on having sleepovers together, but you refused. There was something about it that took you back to a deep, dark place, a room where the only thing you can hear are the echoes of suffering women, yours mixing with those of others. Sometimes, checking to make sure you were okay, Scott and Ororo would look into your room and see you curled up in a ball in the upper corner of the bed, uncomfortable, as if you needed it. A part of you didn't want to get better, it was easier not to know, to live in unconsciousness, but you knew that it was not healthy, that that life was not healthy.

That’s why you started to go clubbing with her, you had already gone two times, this one being the third one. Ororo was sitting next to you, applying a pale pink blush in your pale cheeks before putting some gloss in your lips.

“You are done, girl.” She stood up and passed you your gloss. 

“Thank you, love.” You smiled warmly. You grabbed your bag and began walking downstairs with her. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah, let me call a cab.” Ororo grabbed her while speaking.

A little creek in the kitchen made you raise one of your ears.

“It’s me, bun, don’t worry.”

Fuck.

Out of all the people in the mansion. He had to show.

“Going out?” He crossed his big arms and leaned in the doorframe.

“Yeah! I’m taking her to a club that I know she’ll love.” Ororo smiled.

“ ‘Kay, I’ll drive you.” He said, patting his jeans to find his keys.

“It’s not necess-”

“God! Thank you, cab cost an arm and a leg.” Ororo huffed a laugh as you sighed. 

You were glad that the blush in your cheeks was dissimulated by your makeup.

You were sitting in the passenger seat, pretending to be on your phone as Ororo grabbed a coat she had forgotten upstairs. You wanted to kill her, she left you alone with him, gosh, wasn’t it obvious how nervous did you get around him? Maybe not, and she just enjoyed seeing you like that. Yeah, that was your best friend. And worse, he was smoking. Looking so hot and nonchalant.

Logan coughed a bit before looking at you, up and down, and huffed.

“What?” You dared to say, without looking at him.

He shook his head. “Nothin’, bub.”

“No, go ahead.” You left your mobile aside and crossed your arms.

Logan looked down to your chest covered in your black sleeveless corset and smiled.

“You look gorgeous, bunny.” He said, looking at the window and taking a puff from his cigar.

You closed your eyes shut, almost your whole body getting blushed at the compliment. Not pretty, not cute, not good. Gorgeous. He said that word.

“Thanks.” You mumbled shyly, your breath started to get a little worked up. He noticed, of course, and the sight made him smirk.

“I’m back!” Ororo got back in the backseat, and you exhaled like you had been holding your breath for years.

The ride was quiet to you, your mind was peacefully roaming around the lights on the road, even having Logan next to you. That until his hand went to rest on your bare thigh. God, he had to ruin your peace, of course.

His fingers moved to the inner part of your thigh, his palm resting on the front of it. His fingertips massaged your flesh gently, like he knew what he was doing, like he knew how wet you would get with that.

You finally got to the club, some loud music was muffled by the closed doors. You grabbed your jacket and your purse to get out of that freaking car, you could almost scent your own arousal by that moment.

“Wanna join us, Logan?” Ororo suggested.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Guess someone has to take care of you two.” He sighed and got out of the car.

Ororo slapped your shoulder a bit when Logan was away. “You'll thank me later.” and she left too.

You sighed and began to get out of the car too, starting to regret all of that.

“Gonna stick in the bar, you guys have fun.” He said, quickly getting in to go where he said.

“Well, I guess I won't have to thank you for anything.” You said, almost glad that he had left.

You started to get slightly happier and expectant for that night, you could have fun, you wouldn't get too drunk and maybe, if the music wasn't so good for dancing, you could seat and enjoy it. Yeah, a good night.

(...)

Everything you thought that wouldn't happen, happened. You were some long hours into the party, and music was great, surprisingly great. Not some weird music that teens just used as background sound to get drunk and high. Shakira, Britney Spears, Katy Perry, Madonna and Christina Aguilera were sounding all the time, and you couldn't feel happier. That until “Single Ladies” by Beyoncé started, you almost freaked out, and started screaming the lyrics with Ororo.

It was relevant that you were… drunk. Not in the clouds, just drunk enough to feel funny and energized to dance.

“All the single ladies, now put your hands up.” You sang with Ororo while lifting your hands.

Logan, as a totally mature man, he huffed. Single? Huh, if it were up to him, you'd be tied to the bed right now, and not in those shorts that hugged your butt beautifully and in a thin green tank top with thin sleeves. Between both garments he could see the edge of your baby blue underwear and that beautiful, round, adorable bunny tail.

God, you were beautiful, and he was disgusting, he couldn't take his eyes out of your ass and your tail and how you moved your hips smoothly in circles, almost provoking him. On those ‘whoa-oh-oh’ you would move your hips up to the left, up to the right, making your tail bounce.

Was this the karma of provoking you back in the car? Because it was working perfectly, he was hard as a rock.

‘Cause if you liked it then you shoulda put a ring on it.’

Oh, he was. If he saw one more man looking at you again, he was putting a fucking ring on your finger if that would make you stay at home with him.

In the blink of an eye, a man appeared behind you, you heard quietness when his disgusting fingers grabbed your buttcheek like he had the right too. The muscular memory to pull against it like you were taught to almost won, it didn't because you saw Ororo’s look in her eyes, a look of displeasure and anger.

Your body tensed at the realization of the situation, and that happening in a matter of seconds, your nails went to sink on his shoulder, only Logan's hand stopping you.

“We are going home.” He said, firmly grabbing your wrist.

You were in the passenger seat now. And you didn't really know how you got there, you supposed Logan had to push you there because you couldn't move, the ghost feeling of that stranger touch, that at the same time felt so familiar.

You were quiet, Ororo and Logan too, but their thoughts were louder than yours, you could almost hear what they were thinking.

Once he pulled over at the mansion, you slowly climbed off the car, putting on your jacket as you walked in. Logan frowns, worried, Ororo had just a concerned look on her eyes as they both follow you in.

You felt almost dizzy, desperate to reach your room, to go and shower, clean yourself up from the touch, from the nonconsensual hands that touched you recently and in the past. The feeling of a dirty touch in your clothes made you want to rip them away. You used to do that since your fur was warm enough for you, but now the feeling seems to have pierced your jeans and burned your clothes. 

You couldn’t hear Logan’s voice calling you, you just went upstairs and locked in your bedroom.

Logan sighed and looked down at Ororo when she spoke. “She just needs to rest, to think.” She began. “I’ve never seen you this worried.”

Logan shrugged. “Don’t know what’s she doin’ to me.” He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Whatever this shit is that i’m fucking feeling, feels like shit.”

“I know what it is.” She gave him a knowing grin. “And you know it too.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, confused, before opening his eyes widely in surprise. “What? I’m not in love with her, Ororo.”

She just chuckled and began heading to her room. “I’ve never said that.”

Fuck. He was one hundred and eighty years old and he fell for the same old trick. He was turning into a silly teen because of a goddamn bunny. 

But god, he knew you weren’t just that, you were the most gorgeous creature he had ever seen in his life, he was the one that got all drunk with you, all bunny-drunk.

He spent the night thinking about you, how were you, how did you feel, could he help you out on something, did you need anything, did you need him? Maybe he was acting like a teen but he couldn’t help it, he was so worried, his heart beated hard in his chest at the thought of you in the state in which he saw you when you came back. When dawn came, he got up like he had nine hours of sleep, when he had just had three, and walked through the mansion, hoping to take a glance at you, but nothing. You weren’t around, Ororo said that you were probably not even awake yet: you could sleep for half a day when one of your episodes hit.

Suddenly, you appeared. You had your curly white hair pinned up, your bunny ears held there too, your face gray of tiredness, wearing some wide black sweat pants and a black hoodie on top. His face lit up when his eyes met your tired figure, while slowly worrying about your state. He didn’t know what to say to you, he couldn’t do the usual ‘good morning’ because it was nearly lunchtime and it was clearly not a good morning.

“Made coffee for you.” He said as taking a sip of his beer, you looked at him with slight surprise. “It’s right there on the machine.”

You smiled gently but tired. “Thanks.”

You sat in front of him with your coffee, putting your feet in the wood base of the chair while quietly drinking as he read the newspaper. Something about the domesticity of the situation made you feel a lot better, his presence being like a bandage to your suffering. You looked up at him and gently smiled.

“You can go to rest more if you want, I’ll wake you up when lunch is ready.” He said, lifting his eyes from the paper.

“I don’t want to be alone anymore.” You said lower than usual. “Although I’ll love to take a nap on the couch.” You said, standing up and stretching.

Once you were on the couch, comfortably resting your head on the edge of the headboard, it didn't take long for Logan to go and sit besides you. He hovered his hands over your body until you gave him a gentle nod, telling him he could touch you. He moved your body so you were on your side, resting your head in the pillow, and he moved behind you to hug your waist in his hands, pulling you closer until you felt his warmth pressed against your back. He sank his nose in your neck, exhaling in relief when he finally got to have you in his arms, his hands caressed your soft fur up and down to get you relaxed.

"Wanna talk about it a bit?" He asked in such a comfortable, warm voice, you couldn't tell him no.

"I almost leaned in." You said. "It was like muscular memory, i got so... normal about harrassment, so used to it that... I almost leaned in."

Logan heard you, that's what you loved about him. He listened, all the time.

"I feel bad about it." You said, caressing his hands.

"Why is that?" He asked while gently pressing your flesh.

"I like the touch, the contact, the sex, the provocation." You said, your fingers started to play with his. "But not from anyone. If I would had the chance to choose, I would've wanted you to touch me."

Logan smiled in your neck and pressed his lips there, leaving a small trail of kisses. Nothing sexual, just loving kisses.

"I am touching you now." He started talkin in your neck. "You like my touch?"

You nodded. "When it's from you, I like it." He gave you a playful bite in your shoulder which made you giggle.

"Listen, bunny, this world is a shit. You went through hell, and of course that type of touch will make you go through it again. I don't want that pain in you, but I know I can't remove it." He gently flipped you around, accommodating a strand of your white hair out of your face. "I just want to be with you when you need me, to hold you, bun. I know that damn therapist told you that you can have your time alone when you need it, but..." He looked at your ruby eyes, his eyes softened and holding your cheek like you were porcelain. He longed for you, you could see that in his eyes: it wans't something casual to him. "...Whenever you need me, I'll make a fucking whole in the goddamn universe to go find yo-"

"I'm in love with you." You said like it was trapped in your throat. "I'm in love with you, Logan."

[littlemissmarianna]

Marriage is hard. 

The statement is cliché, but TK never doubted its truth. For years, he watched his parents struggle to make their relationship work and promised himself that his marriage would be different. He wouldn't argue with his spouse. He wouldn’t twist their words to manipulate them. He wouldn't yell and slam doors. He wouldn't bring up past hurts to inflict new pain. He wouldn't withhold affection as punishment.

TK was convinced he had safeguarded his marriage from all the pitfalls he witnessed throughout his childhood, but there's no precedent for this. He and Carlos are facing challenges neither saw coming. And while TK doesn't want to give up, he also doesn't know how to save their marriage when it feels like he's the only one fighting for it.

____________

Carlos will save everyone except himself.

Andrea has always known that, but it's still painful to watch him spiral like this. It's painful to watch her son disappear a little bit more each day.

"Mijo..."

Carlos doesn't look up. He never looks up. He never makes eye contact. He just sits at his father's desk either staring at the evidence or staring at nothing, distracted and distant.

And yes – Carlos has always been dedicated. He's always been focused and determined, but this...this is obsession. This unrelenting compulsion to investigate Gabriel's murder at the expense of everything else must stop before it's too late to salvage the life Carlos has abandoned. His health, his career, and his marriage are suffering from chronic neglect, and Andrea refuses to let it continue.

"Carlitos. You need to go home."

"I am home."

Andrea shakes her head. She can't deny that the ranch will always be her son's home, but that's not what she's talking about...and Carlos knows it. He spends more time in Gabriel's office than anywhere else, and while TK has been patient and supportive, Andrea sees how Carlos's absence is impacting his husband. She sees the sadness in TK's expression. She hears the uncertainty in his voice when he asks if Carlos is spending the night at the ranch again or if he's returning to the loft.

"You haven't seen TK in over a week."

"I've seen him," Carlos defends, gesturing to his phone. "We FaceTime every night."

"That doesn't count, Carlitos. TK deserves to sleep beside his husband."

"So do you," Carlos replies, his tone cold and sharp. "But Dad is dead, and whoever killed him is still out there somewhere."

"You're right," Andrea admits. "That person needs to be found and brought to justice. But your father wouldn’t want you to sacrifice your future for him."

"I'm not sacrificing my future," Carlos counters. "I'm trying to protect it. I can't move forward if I have to constantly look over my shoulder, Mom. What if this person isn't done with our family? What if you're next? Or Ana or Luisa or..."

Andrea knows the name left unsaid is the one Carlos fears losing the most. But her son doesn't realize that on some level, he's already losing TK. Carlos doesn't realize that the biggest threat to his future – to his marriage – is his apathy.

"Go home," she repeats, leaving no room for argument as she nudges Carlos out of his father's chair.

____________

This feeling never gets old – that straight shot of adrenaline that floods TK's system whenever the alarm goes off.

"Train derailment?"

"That's a new one."

"Sounds like a cluster..."

TK agrees, but he welcomes anything that takes his mind off his own train wreck. He never imagined he would feel this lonely being married. He never imagined he would be ignored by his husband or treated like a bother.

"Are you with us or the jocks this time?"

TK smiles and shrugs. Since Judd left, that's always the question when a call comes in: who will have custody of TK – the firefighters or the paramedics?

"We'll decide on scene," Owen says but tells his son to grab his turnout gear just in case.

____________

It's worse than they thought.

Some train cars are stacked on top of each other; some are scattered like toys after a tantrum. 

Survivors are covered in soot and dirt and blood as they wander around the scene in shock...while those who were not as lucky lie motionless on the ground.

____________

"We interrupt this broadcast with breaking news."

Carlos glances up as he pushes the food around on his plate. His mother insisted he eat lunch before heading back to the loft, but Carlos isn't hungry. He's just tired. Tired of feeling empty and detached. Tired of feeling like a failure.

Andrea gasps at the live footage. She recognizes the location instantly.

Carlos does, too. He also recognizes the 126.

"Do you see TK?"

Carlos shakes his head. He knows his husband has been putting his dual certification to good use, which means TK could be anywhere. The likelihood of spotting him in such a chaotic scene is slim, but Carlos keeps scanning as the reporter provides details.

Andrea leans forward, her own lunch forgotten as she also tries to locate TK. She always feels better when she has eyes on her boys. 

"Okay. We've just been told we need to move further back for our safety."

Carlos frowns. He's not there, but it looks like the reporter is already far enough from the scene.

The desk anchor seems to agree. "Has there been a new development?"

"Yes," the reporter confirms, glancing at the camera as she walks. "At least one of the train cars was hauling – "

The rest of her statement is lost as static fills the screen.

____________

The last thing TK will remember is trying to outrun an explosion.

____________

The faster something occurs, the slower it seems. Seconds drag on for hours.

Owen is familiar with that phenomenon, yet it still catches him off guard when it happens. He saw TK running toward him as the explosives began to ignite. 

But when the smoke clears, his son is gone.

____________

Andrea is holding Carlos's hand when the signal is restored.

"Sorry about that," the reporter says, breathless and disheveled. "We were just rocked by a huge explosion, but we're still here. We're fine."

Carlos never wants to see anyone get hurt, but this stranger's well-being is not his priority. He takes out his phone and sends a message to his husband, asking TK to let him know he's okay as soon as he can.

____________

There are now two active scenes – the derailment and the giant crater created by the blast. 

Even with flashlights, it's impossible to see the bottom of the hole...but Owen knows TK is down there, unconscious and injured.

"What do you need, Cap?"

"My son," Owen replies as he prepares to rappel into the darkness.

__________

Carlos tells himself TK is just busy. That's why he hasn't answered. 

Or maybe TK is giving Carlos a taste of how it feels to be ignored. That seems cruel in this situation, but –  

"We have an update," the reporter announces. "All passengers are accounted for, but sadly, one firefighter is missing. We have his photo..."

Andrea holds her breath, then tightens her grip around Carlos's hand as a smiling TK appears on the screen.

"This is TK Strand, the 29-year-old son of fire captain Owen Strand. Both are with the 126, which has a history of tragedy. Viewers may remember the station's catastrophic loss back in 2020. A paramedic was also killed in 2021."

Carlos's ears are ringing as he stares at the photo. Andrea was right when she said Carlos hadn't seen his husband in over a week. TK does FaceTime him every night, but Carlos doesn't hold the phone. He leaves it on the desk, so he can continue working. Each night, TK converses with the ceiling while Carlos grunts or hums his responses. 

Carlos can't even remember the last time he had an actual conversation with TK. He can't remember the last time he looked into those beautiful green eyes or kissed those soft lips. Was their honeymoon the last time Carlos held his husband? It was certainly the last time they made love.

When they returned to Austin, Carlos allowed himself to be consumed with rage. His only focus was avenging what he lost...which made him forget to love what he still had. 

But this is his wake-up call.

"Mijo..."

Carlos pulls away from his mother as he stands. He took an indefinite leave of absence from APD to pursue Gabriel's case; he took the same leave of absence from being a husband.

But as of right now, Carlos is back on duty.

____________

The 126 executes the rescue like they always do – as a family, as a team.

TK is unresponsive when they find him, but he's alive.

That's all that matters.

____________

Carlos is halfway to the scene when Owen calls.

"Please tell me you found him."

"We did," Owen confirms, though he doesn't ask how Carlos knew TK was missing. "We're still wrapping up here, so can you meet him at the hospital? If you're not too busy..."

The words are meant to sting. They're meant to send a message of their own, and Carlos deserves it.

"I'm heading there now," he replies as the Camaro sails through an intersection.

____________

A miracle.

That's the doctor's only explanation for how his patient survived an explosion with just a minor concussion.

My miracle, Carlos thinks as he kisses TK's bruised forehead.

____________

TK doesn’t remember coming to the hospital. He doesn’t remember anything, except –

“Baby. You with me?”

TK blinks as he realizes Carlos is sitting beside him.

“Hey. How do you feel?”

“My head hurts,” TK admits as he glances around the room. “What happened?”

“There was an explosion,” Carlos explains, his fingers gentle as they fan through TK’s hair. “But you’re gonna be okay. They’re discharging you soon.”

“Is Dad coming?”

“He’ll meet us at the loft.”

“Us?” Maybe it’s the concussion, but TK is confused. “You’re taking me home? Don’t you need to – ”

“I don’t need to be anywhere except right here,” Carlos replies, holding TK’s gaze. “I love you. It’s been too long since I’ve told you that.”

Carlos has said those three words every night before he hangs up, but they were delivered on autopilot. For weeks, I love you meant practically nothing. To hear them now with such conviction and sincerity makes TK want to cry.

“My dad’s case is important,” Carlos continues. “But you are my husband, TK. You will always be the most important part of my life. I’m sorry I haven’t been showing that lately. And I promise I’ll never make you doubt that again.”

TK nods and reaches up, closing his eyes as Carlos wraps him in a hug.

____________

The next morning, TK wakes up in his husband’s arms.

“I’ve missed you,” he whispers, smiling when their sleepy kisses turn into something more.

[it-happened-one-fic]

Overindulgence - Baizhu

Author Notes: Happy (belated) Valentine's Day Genshin fandom! I debated about whether or not to write a Valentine's fic or not before finally breaking down and deciding to do so. I actually had a fair bit of fun writing this one. As per usual, reader is gender neutral. I hope you enjoy!

Type: Gender Neutral reader/ Fluff/ implied romance/ sfw

Word Count: 1121

“What are those?” Even though I wasn’t facing him as I sat down the plate of chocolates I knew exactly what expression on Baizhu’s face. I'd easily known him long enough to know that and clearly picture it solely based on the tone he used.

It was the one that was usually reserved for particularly disobedient or poorly behaved patients. The frustrating ones who wouldn’t do as instructed and would automatically complain when the didn’t recover immediately despite not having done as they were told.

I was proved correct as I turned to look at the doctor with a smile that was perfectly at odds with his frown. But I was wholly unperturbed by the frown on his face as I gestured to the little chocolates on the plate, “Dark chocolate. I helped Qiqi make them.” 

I paused, tilting my head and letting my amusement creep into my voice as I finished, knowing my next words would seal the deal, “She wanted us to have them.”

I watched as Baizhu pursed his lips, unable to turn down the little girl’s gift despite his general distaste for candies.

He’d dealt too often with patients suffering from a stomachache or some other sweets-related ailment to be fond of such foods.

“Where did she get the idea of making chocolates,” His tone sounded weary, but I knew it had more to do with the situation than actual fatigue as I sat down next the table that now held the candies.

“Yaoyao was talking to her about the ways that Valentine’s day was celebrated. I think she decided she wanted to make something after their conversation but then didn’t really know what to do with all of it so she gave some of them to us. She’s giving the others to Yaoyao,” I explained calmly, wondering how long it would take for him to give in and just accept the chocolates.

After all, I wasn’t going to be the only one pushing him about this.

“Surely just one wouldn't hurt?” Changsheng’s tone was almost judgemental as she looked at the doctor and I didn’t even bother to hide my smile as he shot her a look. It wasn’t common for Baizhu to get annoyed with his serpent friend, but it seldom failed to be amusing when it did happen since it was almost always over something like this.

“Did you know that dark chocolate is a very good source of antioxidants?” Baizhu looked my way as soon as I spoke, a smile slipping onto his face at my words. But they were true, and he knew it.

“Yes, but if over-indulged in they can lead to a myriad of health issues,” His eyebrows lifted and crossed his slender arms as he responded. Automatically picking up on my change of tactics and not falling for it.

I nodded agreeably though, humming slightly as I picked up a candy and looked at it carefully. After just a bit of practice Qiqi had picked up on how to shape and powder the candies quickly. And though she wouldn’t remember doing so later, I really did feel like she’d enjoyed herself in her own quiet way, and I knew Yaoyao would be ecstatic to receive such a gift.

And even if he wasn’t admitting it, Baizhu was too. It was just that he tried very hard to follow the same diet he prescribed to so many of his patients.

“So can overdoing medicine and other foods.” I glanced over, meeting Baizhu’s stare before I held the little candy out to him with a smile, “Balance is important for health and life in general. I know you know that, Baizhu.”

I tilted my head as he sighed, seemingly accepting his defeat even as I continued, “One or two pieces aren’t going to hurt you.”

He was smiling at me in an almost rueful manner as he plucked the chocolate from my fingers, surrendering easily just like I’d known he would when I first came into the room. Baizhu could certainly be stubborn about matters pertaining to health, but he was also pretty bad to indulge both me and Qiqi and could be quite reasonable.

He smiled down at the chocolate, chuckling slightly and shaking his head, “I suppose you're right.” He popped the candy into his mouth, humming to himself and nodding as he quickly finished and looked my way, with a proud smile, “She did a good job.”

I felt my smile widen before I nodded, agreeing with him, “She picked up on how to make it very quickly, and I think she enjoyed herself too.”

I watched as his gaze softened and he nodded, smiling more to himself than anyone else now, “Good.”

Changsheng watched him before letting out a sigh and shaking her head before looking my way, “You know, the balance of things goes two ways.”

Both of us now looked at the snake whose eyes stayed on me as she continued, “Too little of something can be detrimental to one’s health too.”

I nodded slowly, agreeing with her, but wondering where she was going with this even as I popped a candy of my own into my mouth. We’d already been victorious in getting Baizhu to accept his chocolate.

“I guess you're like that for Baizhu. If you’re away too long then he becomes useless.” Changsheng’s nonchalant words had me sputtering as I barely managed to swallow the chocolate without choking.

I looked over, wide-eyed, at Baizhu who looked just as startled as I was, if a little mortified while Changsheng continued to gaze at me with a now smug expression.

“We don’t actually know if it goes the other way yet. It seems like it's impossible for him to overindulge in your presence, though he does get distracted some-”

“That’s QUITE enough Changsheng!” Baizhu interrupted hurriedly, causing the snake to look his way in an almost indignant manner. She didn’t get to snap back, though, since he continued in a scolding tone even though he himself was most definitely flustered, “You’re going to make them uncomfortable.”

Chengsheng let out an unimpressed hiss, sliding down from his shoulders and to the ground before making for the door. Only pausing to look back at us over her shoulder, “Suit yourself. But you’ll have to talk about it sooner or later, otherwise we’ll have to start conducting studies to see if there is such a thing as too much of Y/n for you.”

She slid out the door before he could say anything back while I sat, dumbfounded in the chair.

Silence fell heavy between us until Baizhu at last recovered, letting out an awkward cough and gesturing to the side with an uncharacteristically inelegant smile, “Tea?”

[pagannatural]

2.04 Children Shouldn’t Play with Dead Things

-“Yeah right—stuck with those people making awkward small talk until you show up? No thanks”

Clingy Dean is my favorite. He’s going through a hard time and he only wants to be around his Emotional Support Sammy

-At the hotel, Sam does that thing he does where he tells Dean he can see through him and he knows that he’s feeling some type of way about their dad’s death. This is a common romance trope. He knows Dean so so well.

-Every single episode now Sam has pushed Dean to talk to him. I wonder if he suspects that there is more to it than grief for Dean.

-It’s so interesting how their different ways of caring for each other come out—in s1 Dean was always worried about Sam because he’d just lost Jessica. He was patient with Sam and didn’t push him, but it was clear he was noting how much he ate and slept, and he did things like letting Sam sleep while he researched or offering food or letting him drive or putting on music he likes to doze to. Sam needs that respectful caregiving. Sam, however, is relentless when he sees that Dean is suffering and won’t let Dean ignore it. Dean needs that so that he can’t lie or turn away.

-Dean finally looks at Sam head-on after evading him the whole conversation, and Sam kind of draws back. Not fearfully, more like when the person you’re walking with suddenly stops so you do too.

-Sam says “you wanna take another swing? Go ahead, if it’ll make you feel better.” He sounds a little bratty, almost condescending. Like, You wanna do it again since you loved it so much? Since you felt so good after? (Dean didn’t.)

Underneath that, though…there’s softness, like Sam really would let Dean hit him again. He needs Dean to give him something. That punch in the face just didn’t last and he’s desperate.

Dean leaves and I think he’s feeling pretty exposed right now. He’s a liar and his lies don’t work on Sam.

-Sam is a kicked puppy when Dean leaves him. He looks much more devastated here than he did after Dean punched him and walked away. At least when he punched him he didn’t ask to be alone after.

Sam is so worried about Dean. His expression is pleading.

-When Dean comes back, Sam is watching something called “casa erotica 4.” He’s watching it with what looks like scholarly interest, or like he’s trying to figure out the plot from the first three movies he missed. Did he think maybe erotica would make him feel less sad about Dean? Evidently it’s pay per view so Sam had to have actually sought this out. He hasn’t done more than kiss anyone since Jessica died, so maybe this is meant to remind the viewer that he’s horny. So to recount, this episode he’s horny and he’s pleading desperately with Dean for something. I’m just contextualizing.

-Sam says “where the hell were you?” which is something an angry girlfriend would say.

-Dean is very indignant that Sam thought he was wrong about the case. Dean was right, and tells Sam he does actually know how to do his job. Sam used to openly look up to him so of course this is important to him, that Sam still thinks he’s capable.

-Their fights are just SO good. Sam is yelling at Dean that he’s scary and erratic and if this hadn’t been a case “you would’ve just found something else to kill” which gets Dean’s attention. Last episode he basically told Sam that he needs him to keep him from his violent impulses, from just being a killer. Dean walks away again until Sam says “Please—Dean—it’s killing you. Please.” I wonder if Sam says “please” to Dean like this only when he really, really needs him to listen because he knows that it works. Dean finally stops and looks at him, almost reproachfully. His kryptonite.

The fact that Dean feeling unhappy is such an issue for Sam that he’s fighting and begging and asking to be punched makes me want to hurl myself into the sun. He REALLY needs Dean to be okay. If Dean ever tried to pull away from him when they were kids, or ever seemed like he was refusing to talk about something bothering him, Sam must have lost his damn mind. And that’s exactly how Dean would’ve coped with feelings for Sam.

-Sam says they’ve already lost their parents. He says “I’ve lost Jessica. And now I’m gonna lose you too?”

If someone said to you “I’ve already lost my girlfriend. And now I’m going to lose you too?” It would probably feel like you were in a similar role to their girlfriend.

It’s also wild that Sam is comparing their parents’ and his girlfriend’s horrific and violent deaths with Dean just simply not talking about his pain. Like, Jessica burned to a crisp on my ceiling and now this? Emotional distance when I’m sad?

-The way Sam nods when Dean says “I’m being an ass and I’m sorry” is very baby brother. It’s similar to the way he nods when Dean asks him if he’s hungry when he comes back from the dead, just more cross.

-Dean tells him “I hear you” but right now they have a zombie to catch, and he starts walking, leaving Sam crestfallen.

-Dean thinks that Angela’s description of Neal being a shoulder to cry on and understanding what she’s going through sounds like Neal is in “unrequited ducky love” with her and your honor that’s exactly how Sam is treating Dean in this very episode, if only Dean would accept his shoulder.

-Dean says the following while making uninterrupted eye contact with Sam:

Okay!

-Sam tells Dean his plan was “pretty sharp” so now Dean can stop worrying that Sam doesn’t think he’s good at hunting

-Episode theme is “what’s dead should stay dead.”

Dean eventually pulls over and gets out of the car to tell Sam they both know John traded his life for Dean’s. Dean thinks he should be dead and that Sam thinks so too.

This conversation is heartbreaking because Dean asks what Sam could possibly say to make it alright, and when Sam struggles with something but doesn’t speak, Dean seems to take this as him agreeing.

Sam clearly doesn’t agree that Dean should be dead or blaming himself. Sam looks frustrated and worried and upset that Dean could even think that. For one thing Sam just sees things differently and probably hasn’t bothered questioning John’s death very much, and for another Sam chose Dean over John so many times that we can safely assume he’s at peace with this exchange. But he couldn’t possibly say anything right now to make Dean understand, so he just listens.

-Dean’s guilt over John dying for him weighs heavily, and keeping things from Sam is slowly ripping him apart. It will be important in later episodes that Dean struggles so much to keep anything from Sam.

-The way Sam looks at Dean here. He loves him so much. He looks resolute, and I wonder if he’s thinking that he’s going to show Dean he wants him and doesn’t blame him.

[swaqcenix]

༻ It comes and goes | Natasha Romanoff ༺

Natasha Romanoff x gn!reader

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Summary: You've spent a chunk of your life battling the emotional thoughts of bipolar and have no concept on dealing with your emotions. Sitting in the rain does feel like drowning but it's comforting, until a hand from Romanoff drags you out of the depths of water.

Warnings: reader has bipolar, mentions of low thoughts, a shit ton of hurt/comfort, natasha just allowing reader to understand it's okay to not be okay!

Word Count: 1.8K

AN: This is just a small comfort fic while I work on my peggy!yandere fic and of course the strip club natasha one. (I haven't forgotten them!)

Wrote this a while back just to cope with my own diagnosis and anyone is welcome to gain comfort from it. Be my happy flowers guys! <3

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There's one thing people never quite clarify with you, that the older you get just becomes more hard to swim. Kids always jump for growing up and throwing away their innocence not knowing of the tidal wave coming slowly along the sea, prepared to drown out your every thought of contentment.

Aged 10 was the last time you could ever remember not suffering with the constant feeling of a pit of anxiety, suffering and longing to allow the waters of the sea to suck you in. The way you used to place fictional games with your friends, always being petty shit's on the concept of, "Ask... it's not my game," or the fighting of being first in the lunch line.

You'd kept the diagnosis quiet when joining the Avengers, not wanting any of your fellow teammates to think any less of you. You'd felt less of yourself the moment the words of the diagnosis slipped from the nurses tongue 5 years prior. 5 years officially diagnosed but you didn't feel any lighter, instead you felt heavier.

"Sometimes we like to do CBT," the woman stated and your head tilted to the side.

"What's CBT?" Your hands bounced on your knees.

Slipping out the compound wasn't the easiest job. You'd all had meetings back to back with Ross and the damn government. An excuse slipped past your lips faster than it should have done. You'd stated only that you couldn't attend the final one as you'd had to go pick up your little sister.

Sure it would have been a valid excuse. If you actually had a sister. Yet, you didn't so you knew you'd be caught out eventually especially if Fury found out already knowing your background including family members. Still, you'd deal with that when the moment occurred for it.

"It's called cognitive behavioural therapy. It's commonly used for depression or anxiety but we do tend to use it on other patients like in your case to help you to cope with living with bipolar."

Your brain tried to stay focused but all you heard was the words 'your bipolar,' then began to shut off. After that the session was a blur. No thoughts passed your mind, no feelings ran through your veins nor emotions. Just the concept of numbness. Nothing to feel.

Heading back to the compound was a stressful moment. As soon as you walked through the doors you'd have to put on a whole front again pretending you were and felt something you didn't.

In all honesty it was comforting to sometimes be able to do that. Around your therapist, the outside world even your family they treaded lightly, afraid one word would break you like shattering glass hitting the floor or a porcelain doll. With the Avengers they didn't know, so you weren't a doll and you weren't glass. You were yourself and that alone.

However, sometimes it would be nice to just let yourself go. Your feet padded up the stairs of the compound entering the main room, the lounge where they sat watching TV and discussing.

"Hey, Y/N.. you okay?" Sam's voice was the first to speak but it sounded.. concerned?

"Yeah, fine thanks Sam," you responded allowing your eyes to meet his own.

Trying to act as casually as you always did, you went to grab a glass of water turning on the tap watching it run down the sink hole. You often wished you could be flushed away like that.

Shaking your head away from deeper thoughts you grabbed your glass sipping at the water looking up to see everyone examining you. A familiar feeling of dread, the emotional tidal waves flushing through your skin wanting out came crashing to the surface.

They surely couldn't know, right?

Vision spoke up first, possibly to ease up the tension though you can hardly imagine toaster man knowing much about emotions. No offence to the guy.

"We were told you.. you're an only child," his voice seemed one not of judgment but of confusion.

"Oh.. right," was the only response your brain could conjure up in that moment.

Tony let out a half-sided smile and you were grateful he wasn't digging too much. Surprisingly none of them were. He did speak up after a beat or two and while it wasn't their fault you did wish they wouldn't at all.

"Whatever is going on, we.. we're here," His tone was the best of sentiment you'd get out of him.

You truly were grateful but you hadn't a moments thought on how to even tell them. Fear of being kicked off the team, living half a life amongst them simply for suffering with some health issues was silly to other's minds, but not to your own.

Shaking your head you grabbed your jacket you'd left on the chair offering them all a tight lipped smile. Your eyes connected with Natasha's and your eyes felt like watering. She wasn't looking at you like you were damaged, nor was it in a concerned only look.

Nat was looking at you like she knew, like she understood what you felt and the pain gnawing away at you only grew. Her emerald green eyes looking one of connecting with nature swimming with the look of understanding was a pain you couldn't bare.

You mumbled that you needed air, heading towards the patio you'd become familiar with at night. It had become a comfort location, you'd seen Natasha out there a few times although, come to think of it lately she seemed to not be heading there anymore.

The mumbling and mainly muffled voices of the Avengers informed you that it was raining, but your brain scarcely paid attention. You just needed out, besides who gives a fuck if the rain touched your skin.

Your brain danced with thoughts of how to calm yourself down and you knew instantly, as your reached into your back pocket slipping in your airpods and connected them to your phone. Sliding open the patio door, you ungracefully sat down on the bench looking down as the rain hit your skin.

Hair becoming drenched you focused on your chosen song, trying to drown out any invading thoughts that would cluster your mindset, instead focusing on how you felt utterly at home.

The chosen song had been Waves by Dean Lewis. It reminded you so much of how your brain's concept of emotions and how your life seemed to go in waves of the ocean.

Sometimes you saw yourself standing next to the ocean as it pulled you out. The freedom of falling, allowing yourself to no longer panic over bipolar or how the world saw you.

The rain splashed down heavily on your skin and you felt wet through but you didn't mind, or frankly didn't care. Nor were you sure how long you had been listening to songs in the rain, it felt late but it felt like seconds.

A gentle hand on your shoulder pulled you from your thoughts. Your mind had been dancing to Paris, Texas by Lana until your body almost jolted forward from the contact. The sudden shelter from the rain made your head tilt up to come in contact with emerald eyes.

Natasha stood tall, almost protecting you- sheltering you from the rain, a beacon of hope. You offered the best smile you could give, despite the fact it looked like you were in pain more than smiling before indicating to her to sit down.

Her red hair cascaded down her shoulders, pulled half back into a plait that was elegant but moved with ease. It suited her just as most things did. You'd noticed that about her, for a woman who'd been through so much Natasha did everything with elegance and ease.

"You know, when I was a child I used to run out into the rain, the firefly's came out at night," She confessed causing you to stiffen up.

Natasha wasn't one for opening up, let alone talking of her childhood past, so why you? You let her express her thoughts almost curious to see where she was going to take this.

"My mom she'd come out to find me afterwards and I was always helping my little sister who also danced away with the firefly's. It wasn't real though. Not truly," She proceeded and your heart melted and cracked for the older woman.

"Nat I.."

You weren't even sure what to respond with. Hearing her open up around her past made your own pain seem tiny, insignificant despite the fact she wasn't attempting to do that.

"You don't need to say anything, I understand. Perhaps not what you're going through. The feeling of masking right, I see it," she continued tilting her head towards you.

She proceeded her train of thought.

"It comes and goes in waves. The feeling of this family. I had no one after the family I grew up with, no one but myself. Don't drown your thoughts out in the rain, drag yourself up out of the ocean, trust me Y/N."

You finally looked up making eye contact with the Russian, smiling softly at her nodding. You took off your glove reaching sighing looking down at your hands.

"Sometimes, my therapist gets it to a certain extent but sometimes she doesn't. When it feels like all you can do it float out to sea and drown in a pit of your own emotions. The masking isn't something I want to do, but simply so people don't see my problems.. they just see me."

A tear slipped down your cheek without even realising it and you closed your eyes. Nothing was spoken amongst the pouring of the rain, nothing was needed to be said. All that was needed was the words you let echo. It felt like you were drowning in a sea of hell, with no way out.

Through the mist and fog engulfing your brain, taking you out to the sea you felt a touch upon your hand. Eyes opening wide, you saw it. Her hand clasped tightly in your own trying to drag you out of the suffering, reach to you through the ocean like a beacon of a ship, rising up it's anchor.

Her eyes looked into your own, reflecting what she wanted to say but had no thoughts on how to express it. Her touch was all you needed, the words slipping past your mouth before you could think.

"Your family.. It might not have been directly real, but they pulled you out of the waves while it lasted, it was real to you Natasha," You explained watching it pull at her heart strings.

She offered you a watery smile, her eyes dancing with sea of hope just as your own while you were perhaps an an anchor in the waves you steadied each other out in a balance.

"This family is real to you too. We are real and we see you. I see you Y/N," Her voice bringing comfort and warmth.

You grabbed her hand tightly because while your bipolar had an anchor on you, you had a ship lifting you through the sea's Natasha and your little family. They were there to guide you.

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[sunvylovebug]

Bubu Pharmacy

↬Warnings: No warnings! …⁠ᘛ⁠⁐̤⁠ᕐ⁠ᐷ

↬ Female!Reader and third person narration (⁠*⁠˘⁠︶⁠˘⁠*⁠)⁠.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡

↬Author Note: I have a lot of appreciation for Baizhu. Never got him tho :( but always liked him cause damn, he's just like me fr fr, we both sick af. I also like to think he takes great care of Qiqi<3

My headcanon is that he sleeps with a cartoony ass nightgown, socks and a hat, you can't make me think otherwise.

↬Summary: Baizhu is always trying his best to treat his patients in the best way possible, although he sometimes neglects himself. Y/N wants to help a little so I don't have to work so hard.

↬ Word Count: 1,631 Words

The Bubu Pharmacy was a quiet and pleasant place despite always being full of things to do, with the characteristic aroma of medicinal herbs wafting in the air, Baizhu, the owner of the place, was meticulously working on preparing the pills and ointments that his customers needed, with his faithful snake watching him from the table where he stood, however, his pallor and the occasional cough revealed that he was not in the best of health at the moment, and although he tried to hide it at all costs, the illness that afflicted him was evident to those who knew him well, knowing that his health was indeed fragile.

Y/N had recently come to Liyue, an adventurer who enjoyed moving between nations, with the nation of contracts as her final destination. She'd met Baizhu and had been moved by his dedication to helping others despite his own suffering, she decided to offer him her help, and he, though initially reluctant, accepted gratefully after some days of knowing her.

One day, while Baizhu was concentrating on mixing an ointment with the help of the herbalist Gui, Qiqi, walking behind Y/N, entering the pharmacy with a small basket full of fresh herbs. The little zombie who was also helping in the pharmacy, had worked diligently in collecting the plants, but she needed a little extra help as she sometimes got lost, forgot what she was doing or was simply of very small stature to reach some of the herbs and plants needed.

"Good morning, Baizhu, Changsheng, herbalist Gui." Greeted Y/N with a smile as she gently took the basket from Qiqi's hands to place it on the table. "We brought the herbs you needed, Qiqi couldn't find them all yesterday and I came across her while exploring so I helped her. How are you feeling today?"

Baizhu looked up from his preparations with a weary but grateful expression. "Hello, Y/N. Thank you so much for bringing the herbs and helping Qiqi. I'm feeling a little better, but I haven't fully recovered yet."

She approached him with concern. "You shouldn't exert yourself so much. Qiqi and I can handle this and other tasks you need, you know... You look tired, you should take some time to let your body rest."

He knew it was true, but sometimes his stubbornness wouldn't let him simply delegate the work to someone else while he did nothing. He smiled weakly at her, his eyes revealed the weight of his discomfort. "I appreciate your concern, but there are many more things that need to be taken care of and I wish to do it personally. I don't want the pharmacy to suffer for my condition." She decided to leave him alone for the time being, she knew it wasn't gonn be possible to convince him of anything else until he was done with the current task at hand.

As Baizhu continued to work, she turned to Qiqi who was organizing bottles and tubes in a corner of the store. "Hi little Qiqi, do you need help with anything?" She looked at her with a gentle smile.

Qiqi looked up with her usual sleepy expression. "Yes... There are herbs that need to be dried and sorted, can you help me with that, please?" The little zombie asked slowly.

Y/N nodded and started working alongside Qiqi, chatting a bit to make the job more pleasant to handle. The combination of keeping an eye on helping Qiqi and the conversation helped distract her from the growing worry she felt in her heart at seeing Baizhu so sick and stubborn about not leaving the pharmacy unattended.

As they worked, the girl took the opportunity to learn more about Qiqi and her duties at the pharmacy. Through the conversation, she realized how brave and determined Qiqi was, even with her trouble remembering and her own unique status as a living dead.

"Qiqi, how do you feel working here?" She asked, as they dried and organized the herbs.

Qiqi looked at Y/N with her big, sleepy pink eyes. "I feel useful. Even though I'm a zombie, I can help Baizhu and the people of Liyue. It's important to me to feel that way." Replied the little zombie in her slow, sleepy voice.

She smiled at her, admiring Qiqi's attitude. "You're doing very well little one. Baizhu must be very grateful to have you here." She gently patted his head. Qiqi was happy to hear that, she liked to feel useful and having someone acknowledge her effort was always nice.

After a while of chatting and working, Baizhu came over to check on Y/N and Qiqi's progress. Although he still looked tired, his expression softened as he saw the job well done. "Thank you both for your help. I feel less worried now that I see everything is under control."

She offered him a warm smile with some concern. "You should get some rest. I told you, we can handle the rest without a problem."

Baizhu nodded, his gaze full of gratitude. "I will. Thank you, Y/N. Your help means a lot to me. Thanks to you too my little Qiqi, you do a very good job, I'm very proud." The image was almost touching, he had a certain fatherly attitude when it came to the little zombie and it wasn't possible not to feel tenderness towards it.

As Baizhu retired to rest in his room, Y/N, Qiqi and now Gui too, continued with their tasks, working in harmony to keep the pharmacy running. With each task completed, Y/N felt a warm feeling in her chest, the satisfaction of knowing that she was contributing to easing Baizhu's heavy burden was very comforting.

For the girl, to be there helping was a way to make his work at least a little lighter, she knew how hard he worked day by day despite his health, having to smile for the patients, suffering in silence with Changsheng as his faithful companion, he didn't want to worry Qiqi or Gui, nor the regular customers who came to look for him to treat any of their ailments.

Eventually the afternoon turned into evening and when Baizhu returned from his nap, his face showed an expression of relief and gratitude. "Thanks again to you all for the effort. I can see how important it is for me to be able to count on people like you."

Y/N approached Baizhu with a slightly worried smile. "We're here to support you, Baizhu. The most important thing is that you take care of yourself and recover well.... Don't overexert yourself, okay? I'll be asking Changsheng if you're overworking yourself." She reached over and gently stroked the snake's head which had a happy expression cause of the attention received.

Baizhu offered her a sincere smile, a mixture of relief and affection in his reda eyes. "I will. Thank you all three for your care and support. This means more than you can imagine."

Herbalist Gui said goodbye and went home as it was late, Y/N helped Baizhu preparing some tea, enjoying the smooth taste of the herbs was a good way to cap off the day. The three of them were sitting together, Qiqi had a glass of milk and the two of them had tea. Baizhu seemed to enjoy these moments, he looked less pale and a little more rested than in the morning. The three of them looked at the stars together, without too much conversation in between, just enjoying the silence and the nice weather that night had.

Qiqi withdrew first to go to her room and soon the two of them had finished as well. The girl insisted on helping him wash the few dishes they had used and although he was stubborn, she could be stubborn too and much more persistent if it came to helping the man of frail health.

He went to his room to change clothes while she made sure everything was fine, when she finished she went to find him, knocking gently on the door. "Baizhu, may I come in?"

"Yes, come in Y/N."

She entered the room, Baizhu was changed into his pajamas, his hair was down, Changsheng was sleeping next to his pillow and the girl couldn't help but think the snake looked like a little puppy. "Ready to go to bed, right? You're not gonna stay up again reading books and doing your research, are you?" She asked, Baizhu let out an embarrassed chuckle at that.

"No. I promise I'll sleep as much as I can today, okay?"

"Yeah, you better." She replied with a fake angry attitude, Baizhu chuckled again.

"Thank you. Really. You're always helping me a lot with the Pharmacy, with Qiqi too. I appreciate it a lot. There's a lot of work to do but you help me feeling the burden is a little lighter."

"Well, it is what I wanna do. I wanna help you, I don't want you to feel like you have to carry the burden of all this alone. You know you can count on me, even though we haven't known each other for long, it was very easy to get attached to you and little Qiqi, Baizhu." She put her hand on his shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze, he sighed wearily.

"I'm tired."

Her expression is filled with some concern. "I know that. You should rest, your body needs it."

"Thank you." His red eyes were soft and gentle, he was really thankful for all her help, she always tried to help in any way possible without asking for anything in return and he was grateful to had her.

"No worries, I'm glad I can help." She let his shoulder go and stood up to walk to the door. "Good night Baizhu."

"Good night, sweet Y/N."

[heademptie]

Scrapes and Bruises

CALL OF DUTY: MODERN WARFAE III (2023) DRABBLE HANDLER! READER, UNDECIDED/READER: 

cw: mentions of death, hospitals. mild depictions of violence (one punch is thrown) mentions of mental illness (PTSD). [I don't know if there other warnings I should add]

a/n: the writing is incosistent because the idea got away from me a bit. unedited ramblings. there are definatly military and medical inacuraces, and if i make this a proper fic/fic series there will be more. im leaning towards making this a price x reader fic because he's my recent brainrot. the title is also subject to change.

   Handler! Reader who used to work in the field until they suffered an injury that made active field work too difficult, instead taking up a desk job, occasionally training recruits in the basics. Handler! Reader works hard, doing the rare, simple job out in the field, and eventually gets promoted to a handler position. A contact for soldiers doing confidential, dangerous work. Reader is good at their job, their innate healthy (not so healthy) amount of paranoia serves to keep themselves and their charges safe. Theres been close calls, and severe injuries (one charge lost an limb, another's lungs will never recover, and of course the PTSD almost all have), but only three have died in their eight years (almost nine) as a handler. Some cases lasted a few months, others years. 

   It’s after a four year long case, a pair of soldiers are finally able to go home, they wear new scars and their bodys have new aches. The paperwork is all done, the soldiers have been checked over and given well deserved time off and counselling. Reader gets them settled, hands them off to the person who helps them readjust to society, offers (like every time) for them to call if they need. But like every time, they nod to be polite and don’t take Reader up, wanting to cut ties from the time spent isolated. 

   Reader gets a call then, asking them to be the handler for a new soldier, one who hasn’t done this type of work before. The isolation that rots away at soldiers' minds. So they agree, they’ve always been the best at handling the newbies. A file is sent over in an email, the soldiers information inside, along with a brief explanation of circumstances. A K.I.A case, these ones needed to be handled carefully. 

   Handler!Reader arrives at a military hospital, always hating being here, always being the bad guy here, and the place is in a bit of a flurry. They’re dressed in fatigues, blending in to the soldiers and medics around. It's easy to spot the team they’ll have to pry a comrade from, be the bringer of grief and mourning, and it kills a bit of them too. They wait off to the side, speaking with a nurse absently, actively avoiding looking at the team. They already look defeated, hollow and angry and, much to Readers juxtaposing relief and dread, hopeful. After a while, Reader makes their way past the team, escorted by a nurse through a set of doors separating dire patients from their concerned teams, friends, family. 

   They get to the Sargents room, Sargent MacTavish, he’s surrounded by doctors and nurses, all fluttering to keep him stable. It feels pervasive, it always does, to watch him be sewn together, hear the shriek beeps that monitor his heart, to watch him die. Except he’s not actually dying, not currently anyways, it's all a show, John MacTavish is currently unconscious in front of them, peacefully asleep as a play of chaos happens around him. Armed with a surgical mask and latex gloves, they slip into the chaos easily, grab their dead soldier's hand and squeeze it. A comfort more for them than him. Reader slips a note between his teeth and cheek, laminated to avoid damage before he can read it and uses a sharpie to mark the inside of his left bicep. A subtle way to let the morgue know not to autopsy.

   They leave the room the same time as the rest of the medics, departing in a flurry of movement, they pass the team again as the doctor in charge approaches. She delivers the news with practised sympathy, giving them a beat before leading them to where Sargent MacTavish lay dead. If they check, his heart won’t be beating, his skin won’t be as warm, he’ll look dead, he’ll feel dead too.

    (“Let them say goodbye.” “What?” “The only way I take this job, be a handler, is if they can say goodbye.” “It will put them in danger.” “Let the people they leave behind say goodbye.” “We can’t-” “The only way.” “Fine.”)

   He’s cremated, they typically are, and his ashes are spread somewhere Reader hasn't been. Handler! Reader takes Johnny there. They wait for him to get his bearings, patient as he processes what he’s been told. 

   (“‘M no’ dead.” “Literally? No, of course not. Officially? Time of death eighteen, thriteen.” “An’ ma team?” “Alive and, well not well, but physically they’re relatively unharmed.” “Relatively?” “Scrapes and bruises, Sargent MacTavish. Just scrapes and bruises.” “I wa’ shot.” “Yes.” “In the’ head?” “Yes.” “Bu’ ‘m alive.” “Sargent-” “Johnny.” “Johnny, give me your hand please.” “Wha’ for?” “...There it is.” “Wha’?” “Your pulse, steady and strong. Exceptional for a dead man.” “...” “...” “Ya do this alo’?” “Job of the Ferryman, Johnny. Job of the Ferryman.”)

   They watch from afar, safely hidden in tall grass looking through a sniper's scope. Reader purposefully ignores the shake in Johnny's shoulders, does not comment when his hand covers his mouth and a muffled, near silent, cry barely reaches their ears. 

   Handler! Reader has to pull him away, covering his mouth just in case he calls out to them, he doesn’t thankfully, he doesn’t fight as hard as others do, some part of him resigned to this new work.

   (“They won’t want to go, they’ll fight you.” “I know.” “No, you don’t. It’s not the kindness you think it is.” “It can be.” “It can also be a torture.” “I know.” “No,” “Yes, sir, yes I do know. They will fight and kick and scream and beg. But there will be some, if only just one, who will be thankful. And the ones who don’t make it, because that's something I have to accept, that there will be casualties, no matter how good they are, how good I am. They will remember that they got to say goodbye. At the end of the day it’s just scrapes and bruises.” “Your hearts’ too big for this.” “Nah, I’ve lost just enough of it.”)

   Handler!Reader gets him far enough away, safe for him to scream and grieve without an audience. That's where he hits them, a solid punch to the jaw and more yelling before he just collapses to his knees in the stony dirt. Little pebbles try to dig into the fabric and flesh over his knees, and Reader joins him, sits with their arms around their knees and looking out into the distance while Johnny composes himself. Their jaw aches and they only rub it slightly, curiously pressing on the forming bruise, a hum that sounds awfully like admiration taking Johnny's attention. It takes a half hour, forty-one minutes to be precise, for them to get moving. Johnny apologises on the way to the car.

   (“‘M, ach, ‘m sorry fer…” “Nothing to apologise for, Johnny.” “No, really, ‘m sorry. Ye dinnae deserve,” “Scrapes and bruises, Johnny, it's just scrapes and bruises.”)

a/n: yeeaah, this is gonna be a proper fic eventually

[she-karev]

Maya meets Andrew DeLuca (Maya x Carina Sweet Imagine)

Age Rating: 12+

Chapters: One of Three

Fandom: Station 19

Ship: Maya Bishop x Carina DeLuca

Canon Episode: Season 7 Episode 2

AN: Happy Pride guys! Here’s another Marina one shot, this one will be released all at once today so watch out for further posts.

Summary: Carina tells Andrew about Maya and asks him to meet her.

Words: 1209

April 2nd, 2020

Carina hands her heartbroken brother sitting on her couch in defeat a bottle of mineral water. Andrew groans but grabs the bottle.

“You know what’s the second thing I hate the most about this disease? It makes it hard for me to drink alcohol so I can forget the crappy day I had.” The doctors know that the antipsychotics Andrew takes will make the alcohol he drinks increase the side effects. He uncaps the bottle and chugs the bubbly desperate for some feeling of restitute.

Carina wants to comfort her brother with a hug but knows she can’t with a pandemic going on so she resolves this by sitting on the couch six feet away from him.

“And what’s the worst thing?”

Andrew inhales and exhales in agony, “That this fucking disease sabotaged the only good relationship I’ve been in…and like my father I let it and there’s nothing I can do to fix this. Amber made that more than clear tonight.”

“There’s no hope at all?”

“Nope. She said she doesn’t want to be with a man who hurt her repeatedly like her mom did with her dad.” Andrew’s face grows sorrowful, “When she compared us to her parents, I knew we were done for. We’re over, me and her we’re over.”

Carina shakes her head, “You are such an idiota.”

Andrew chuckles lightly, “Thanks, kick me while I’m down why don’t you.”

“No, I’m saying…look Amber saw you at your worst, the same way she did with her mom and her brother. I love you but you did do to her what our papa did to mama when he was suffering.”

Andrew sighs and sips his bottle as Carina continues, “But you got better, your better and she needs to see that, you need to show her. You can’t expect her to just take you back the first time you two talk in weeks. You need to show her that you are committed to being better, that you want her to trust you again because she feels safe enough to. She needs to see you at your best and if she still doesn’t trust you…then it’s her loss.”

Andrew looks at his sister in thought for a moment, “Since when did you become such a romantic? A year ago, if this happened you would have told me to move on and find a release with some leggy woman at a bar. What made you go all Dante Alighieri overnight?” 

Carina grins and decides to tell her brother what has been happening in her life while he was spiraling and in treatment.

“I’m seeing someone.”

Andrew nods predicting this, “When did this happen?”

“Since January.” Her brother stops and looks at his sister with a shocked face that she sees and chuckles at, “What?”

“You’ve been seeing someone for four months and you’re just telling me this now?” He sounds more surprised than angry. His sister normally isn’t shy in flaunting her relationships in his face, it was most evident with Hunt and Arizona.

Carina explains, “It wasn’t exactly a good time to talk to you, no offense Andrea but you were not the easiest guy when you were manic.”

“You and Amber can agree to that.” Andrew points out bitterly but shakes it off, “So who is it? Is it someone from the hospital? Do I know this person and have to steer clear of the on-call rooms, so I don’t walk in on you two?”

“Ha-ha, it’s not a doctor or a nurse, it’s a firefighter.”

Andrew hmms in approval, “That’s new and interesting. Did you run into each other at the hospital? Were they dropping off a patient from the ambulance?”

Carina grins at the first time she ever saw Maya and explains the story to him, “Not exactly. She came by the hospital with a nose in a bag after running back from a bear attack scene in the woods.”

Andrew looks surprised by the story and takes a moment before giving his feedback, “And I thought me and Amber had a unique meet cute.”

Carina chuckles, “We met at the bar that night and one thing led to another and now we’re dating. And a few weeks ago we told each other I love you and even in the pandemic things are still going strong. In fact…she asked me to move in with her today and I said yes.”

Andrew looks at his sister with wide eyes and begins to chuckle. Carina looks at her brother worried as he gets hysterical and leans forward with his head in his hands smiling wide, and closing his eyes as he laughs like a hyena.

Carina worries her brother is having a mental breakdown again and asks him calmly, “Andrea?”

“I’m fine, I’m sorry.” He assures her as he laughs. He begins to calm down but is still smiling as he leans back on the couch. He exhales when he stops laughing with Carina looking less worried and more confused over her brother’s behavior.

He explains her silent question, “A year ago I was in a stable relationship with the woman I love while you were alone and now…I am here whining about my breakup in your apartment chugging mineral water and your about to move in with the first woman who made you fall in love. I mean it might be residual mania, but I find this irony hilarious.” Andrew chuckles lightly at the last word and sips his water.

Carina pats her brother’s knee in comfort, “I’m sorry.”

Andrew shakes his head, after everything his sister deserves to be happy more than anyone else, he knows. He rectifies his last words.

“Don’t be. Just because I’m miserable doesn’t mean you have to follow.” Carina nods, “I really am happy for you.” He sniffles, sits up and decides to move forward for his sister’s sake, “So when do I get to meet her? And more importantly what is her name?”

Carina smiles at her brother’s pestering, “Her name is Maya, she’s a fire captain at station 19 and she is…she is perfection.” Her brother grins genuinely happy his sister found someone to love amidst all this madness, “Now I told her you would meet her when you get better so…how is breakfast at our place this weekend? As long as we all have negative covid tests and you do not go all weird and interrogating to find some reason to hate her like you did all the other people I dated.”

Andrew scoffs amused, “You didn’t really date before this firefighter and the reason I was so judgey was because you went after my friends and exes. I don’t know Maya, she doesn’t live with me, she’s not my boss, and she got a commitment phobe like you to move in. I already love her.”

Carina chuckles in delight, “Great that didn’t take long. I’ll text you our place and you can meet her over French toast and coffee.”

“Great I can’t wait. It’s probably the first time this year I’m looking forward to something so thanks for this.” They clink their drinks and Carina drinks her water with a grin as she can already tell her brother will approve of Maya.

Next Part Here

[ladyjang09]

Lovely Runner Fanfic | The Very First Night

Synopsis: Reimagining on what happens after the sofa scene. ‘Coz my smutty filled mind convinced me that they can’t get off their hands from each other. Im Sol is the first one to initiate “things”, ‘coz why not, she’s been suffering and longing for Sun Jae for 15 years. Expect a fluff on the first chapter then smut on the succeeding ones.

CHAPTER 1

Sun Jae and Sol lay intertwined on Sun Jae's luxurious leather sofa, the muted light of the setting sun casting a warm, golden glow over their faces. The apartment, a penthouse suite with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a breathtaking view of the city, held an air of opulence and sophistication. Their breaths synchronized as they reminisced about the many lifetimes they had shared, both together and apart.

"It's funny, isn't it?" Sol's voice broke the comfortable silence. "How many times we've met and parted, only to find each other again."

Sun Jae chuckled softly, his fingers absently tracing patterns the necklace that’s now lay on Sol's graceful neck, now on its rightful owner. "Fate has a strange way of bringing us together, no matter the circumstances."

Their memories flowed like a seamless river, transcending time and space. There were lifetimes where they were lovers, others where they were merely friends, and some where they were strangers who crossed paths briefly. Each memory was vivid, etched into their souls like an intricate tapestry.

Sol's phone buzzed, disrupting their reverie. She glanced at the screen and sighed. "It's my mother. I should probably let her know I won't be coming home tonight."

Sun Jae watched as Sol typed a quick message, her face illuminated by the soft glow of the screen. Despite his wealth and fame, moments like this grounded him, reminding him of the simpler, more meaningful aspects of life. Yet, he felt a pang of anxiety in his chest. What now? What did he do with Sol in his apartment? He had longed for this moment for so long, yet now that it was here, he felt a strange, paralyzing fear.

He thought back to all the silly, embarrassing things he had done just to be with Sol, not having the courage to talk to her in person. Patiently waiting for her on their gate, silently following her to go to school, her, not aware of his presence. And acting cold when she showered her with her unexpected attention.

Still, the nagging feeling of not knowing how to act in her presence gnawed at him. He didn't want to make any more embarrassing mistakes, not now that they were finally here together. Desperate for advice, he discreetly pulled out his phone and texted his bandmate and best friend, Baek In-hyuk.

Yah, what do you do to impress a woman you like? he typed hurriedly.

In-hyuk's response was almost immediate: Finally getting over your Sol-itude, huh? I told you, don’t be a lovesick puppy on Producer Im, you’re just embarrassing yourself. How many times that she declined you, man!

Sun Jae winced at the irony. If only In-hyuk knew. He glanced at Sol, who was now scrolling through her own phone, blissfully unaware of his internal turmoil.

Yeah, something like that. Any tips? Sun Jae texted back, hoping his friend wouldn't pry too much.

Be yourself. Make her laugh. Show her you care in small ways. And whatever you do, don't try too hard. Women can sense desperation a mile away, In-hyuk replied.

 Sun Jae stared at the text, frustration gnawing at him. Be himself? Make her laugh? Don’t try too hard? He already did those things— embarrassing himself in the convenience store, following her around just to get her approval on him being part of her movie, riding the Ferris wheel with her, invading her space, taking her to his apartment when she got sick, hiding her shoes the day after just to have a breakfast together, driving in the middle of the night to her neighborhood just to give her, her medicine, an excuse just to see her beautiful face and just bask on her presence.

Sun Jae sighed, his friend's advice both comforting and unsettling. He slowly went to Sol and hug her from behind, his head automatically sniffing her citrusy scent. He fought the primal urge to bite down on the delicate skin exposed at the nape of her neck. It was a place he’d dreamt of exploring, a secret haven he yearned to uncover since the day he got a flashback on their intimate kiss on the foyer of her apartment.

He loosened his hold slightly, his voice a husky whisper against her ear, “You smelled like a rain shower and a sunshine at the same time.”

Sol giggled, a soft, melodic sound that sent shivers down his spine.

As they lay there, wrapped in each other's embrace, Sun Jae made a silent vow to confront his insecurities. He has lot of practice in his numerous movies. Surely, he would apply a thing or two. This is their first night as a couple, he only wanted to feel her embrace and kiss her senseless. Nothing more. Knowing she isn’t ready for the next step of their relationship.

He nearly got a heart attack when Sol moved her head and kissed his open palm. The gentle gesture shook him. His heart pounding, he watched as she kissed her way up his arm to his lips.

Sun Jae froze, caught between surprise and a surge of unfamiliar desire. He felt a blush creep up his neck as he hesitantly met her kiss, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

The unexpected intimacy left Sun Jae breathless. His carefully constructed plans for the night, filled with practices charm and gentle flirtation, were thrown out the window. In their place, a delicious confusion bloomed in his chest.

He wasn’t complaining. Far from it. As her soft lips grazed his palm, a warmth spread through him, chasing away the lingering chill of his self- control. He watched, mesmerizing, as she ascended his arm, leaving a trail of tingling kisses in her wake. By the time her lips met his, a million questions danced on the tip of his tongue, but all he could manage was soft, surprised sound.

Im Sol stopped on her ministrations. She hastily got up from the sofa, blushing and stuttering on her embarrassment. “I…I’m sorry. I didn’t know what comes over me to do that.”

What had I just done? Panic clawed at her throat. We’d just confessed our feelings for each other, and here I was throwing myself at him like a lovesick teenager.

“Sol”, Sun Jae said, his voice low and careful, breaking the silence that stretched between them. His eyes were dark, searching for hers, and she saw a flicker of understanding there. A flicker that made the heat in her cheeks travel down to her center.

“I—I’m sorry,” she fumbled for words, tripping over her tangled emotions. Im Sol desperately wishing the sofa would swallow her whole. “I just…got carried away,’ she stammered.

Sun Jae reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he brushed a strand of hair away from Sol’s face. “Don’t be sorry, love,” Sun Jae whispered. “I want this…love this more than you do.”

[icedroplove]

64.media.tumblr.com

Chapter 7

-------x-------

Juvia woke up feeling well rested from a peaceful sleep. Looking from the window, she could see little raindrops on the window, but the clouds had already vanished. She stretched, excited to spend more time with her friends even if there was a chance Bora would bother her again.

Yesterday had been rough, but when Juvia laid in her bed and stopped to think about it all, she felt less bad. She wasn’t one to dwell on the past for too long. How could she, when she had such a great present time? That was the philosophy that kept her from getting too emotional over the difficult times when she was younger.

“Good morning” Erza said from her side of the double bed

It was funny how even after all this time the water mage never got used to how light her friend’s sleep was. Even when she was resting, any noise was enough to leave her alert. A true knight, indeed. 

“Morning, Erza!!!” 

“Someone’s happy… Last night must have been really good, huh?

Juvia blushed hard and threw a pillow at her friend, giggling. She knew Erza rooted for them as much as herself, so she didn’t feel uncomfortable about the innuendo. That meant she wasn’t imagining things. 

Before she went to sleep, her mind was going feral trying to process what had happened when they were in the lobby, clothes damp from standing in the rain. Gray caught her face in his hands and talked to her with such care that she almost thought… And then he looked at her mouth! She could swear he did. There was a moment, after she had closed her eyes, that she felt him brush his finger against her bottom lip. She didn’t dream that, right?

Had Gray really been close to kissing her?

By Erza’s look, yes.

“What’s bugging you, Juvia? Don’t look at me like that… I know something’s up. Usually, if there was an advance this huge you would be screaming or crying from joy or even melting into a puddle. Talk to me.”

Juvia  sighed and laid on her side, her face close to the redhead. Feeling transparent as, well, water she whispered in a low and airy voice “I’m afraid it will pass.”

“What do you mean?”

“Juvia’s afraid Gray-sama will change his mind… and that fear makes her feel bad. She should trust her beloved, doubt is poison to one’s love. Still. She can’t help but feel as if it will all be taken from her at any moment.”

Erza kept quiet after she was done rambling as if she was measuring her next words.

“First of all, don’t blame yourself for doubting. You have the right to feel that way since my idiot friend has let you down in the past. What I can say is… Gray has changed so much thanks to you. Your presence in his life is vital, even if he fails to demonstrate it most of the time. I know it’s hard to wait so long for him, but ever since the 100 years quest started I noticed he’s been way more open about his feelings with you. Am I wrong?”

“No…”

“And lately he’s been making more progress. I’ve been watching the both of you and - geez, that sounded a bit creepy - anyway, I’ve been keeping an eye on you both and believe me when I say this, I’m sure he’s made his mind. After all you both have been through, how not?”

“You’re right. Gray-sama and Juvia have come a long way. And her love for Gray-sama is stronger than anything in this world, so she should be patient!”

“Woah, calm down. I’m not saying you should accept anything he does just cause you love him. That’s not healthy. If you want this to work, you must stand your ground as well. Tell him what you want, your desires matter as much as his. You shouldn’t have to wait forever for Gray if it’s making you suffer. My advice is: find a balance between giving him space and letting your feelings be known.”

“Erza… You’re so wise. Thank you”

Juvia hugged her friend, letting everything Erza said sink in. A middle ground… she wasn’t exactly known for being balanced, but she could try.

-x-

A few hours later, team Natsu (and Juvia) were standing in the entrance of the publisher’s. A middle-aged woman let them in, introducing herself as Olga. She led them to a cozy living room with a L-shaped couch and a fireplace. They sat and Lucy took the charge. She presented herself as a journalist who wanted an interview to talk about her work in the book field. 

Judging by Olga’s stance, she wasn’t thrilled. Stil, she casually led them to another room filled with bookshelves and a drawer, telling them to wait there.

“I’ll fetch some tea and biscuits since you’re a large group. Are you all from Sorcerer’s Weekly?”

“Yeah.” Lucy answered quickly.

“Cool.” With that, she disappeared.

That was their cue to start the hunt for any kind of information they could get. They started carefully looking through the books and papers on the table. 

“Take a look at this, Lucy-san!”

Wendy found a letter. It was addressed to Olga, and the sender was a name that they had heard before.

Ludovic.

This was getting interesting…

[majorbaby]

commander pierce is a low point for MASH, my personal least favourite episode and here's why:

Regardless of your position on the framing, which i'll get to later, the writing is weak.

It sets Potter up as being a competent, strong leader and Hawkeye learn that being in charge of the base isn't as easy as it looks (which makes no sense for Hawkeye but again, I'll come to that) but then when we cut to Potter at the very important conference he's meant to be attending with some other army brass, we see them getting drunk and later on, just chilling together. He only gets up to leave said conference when he catches Radar's drift that the camp is falling apart without him - we're to assume he would've just continued fucking around until whenever he felt like returning.

These scenes align well with MASH's earlier anti-establishment beat, but it doesn't fit in this pro-establishment episode. Is Potter a responsible leader who is simply misunderstood by the rebellious, immature Hawkeye, or is Potter shirking his duties while the camp suffers? Both, it would seem.

I enjoy Margaret's little mock-salute to Hawkeye because 1) he wouldn't care to be properly saluted (except ?? this episode seems to want me to believe otherwise lol) 2) when are you ever going to see her do a mock-salute otherwise.

But here's the thing, I dislike when this show muddles Hawkeye's distaste for the military with Hawkeye's misogyny. Hawkeye can be anti-establishment and even give her (and other pro-army characters) a hard time without going so far as to sexually harass her. Frank Burns was invaluable as that other "pro-army character", taking the brunt of Hawkeye and Trapper's ire.

Speaking of Frank (affectionate), in addition to saluting him, Margaret adds mockingly, "If only Frank Burns could see you now". He can't, because this episode can't achieve its goal if Frank is there to either applaud Hawkeye's efforts or laugh as he struggles. It would kill the episode's suggestion to the audience that military leadership is admirable or desirable.

BJ's "I don't know Commander Pierce! And I don't know if I want to!" makes me roll my eyes hardcore. I'm not sure if he's annoyed at how Hawkeye is acting or if he's annoyed specifically that he's being a bad leader. Seems like a little bit of both, but my read on BJ based on how he's written thus far and going forward is that it's more likely his pride is hurt when Hawkeye yells at him.

On that note, I could maybe buy that because Hawkeye is so stressed out, he accuses BJ of trying to "play hero" but I don't genuinely believe that Hawkeye's opinion of BJ could be so low or that he doesn't see how BJ dropping everything to save a life isn't, as BJ says, exactly what Hawkeye would've done in his shoes. We've watched Hawkeye do that on multiple occasions.

Or at least if Hawkeye is to be upset at BJ, then let it be for a believable reason, like, hey, BJ, what about all these other patients that came in after you left (altho even then, Radar points out that BJ couldn't have known it would happen), hey BJ, we lost 10 other guys while you were out saving one.

Instead, incredibly, Hawkeye complains that BJ left him holding the bag, and later that he undermined his authority. Generally I'm left with the impression that Hawkeye is at least a little upset that BJ thinks he didn't do a good job as a CO, when Hawkeye didn't even care for the title "Chief Surgeon" at one point, which more accurately describes his role at the camp and could very well describe a role he might eventually have as a civilian someday. To say nothing of s03e03 Officer of the Day which is the episode you should watch if you want to see Hawkeye Pierce in charge instead of a guy who only looks like Hawkeye Pierce in charge.

I said I would come to the framing: it sucks! I guess if you want to see Hawkeye give a shit about having military authority, this episode is for you, but it's hard for me to imagine that any audience member was holding their breath waiting for it to happen.

[moonsandmobilityaids]

The Letters Part 2

Pairings: Poly!marauders x disabled!reader Summary: You and Remus decide to write home and tell your families about your relationship Warnings: N/A Series Masterlist | Part 1

A letter arrives for you, the owl swooping low in your room before dropping the parchment into your waiting hands. It's from your mother, her looping script familiar and comforting. Her words are a balm to your soul, offering understanding and love where you feared there might be judgement.

"Dearest," she begins, "I hope this finds you well, or as well as can be expected."

There it is—the unspoken acknowledgement of your fragile health, the concern that hovers in every line. She knows how much energy each day requires, even without the added complexities of navigating not one but three relationships.

"But I must admit," she continues, "when we received your last letter...well, we were surprised, to say the least." You imagine your father’s brows knitting together as he read your confession, your mother’s hand rising to cover her mouth. But you know them both—there would have been no shouts of outrage, only quiet contemplation, questions asked softly under the glow of the kitchen light.

"Now, don't get me wrong, my darling. Your father and I want nothing more than your happiness, and if these boys bring you joy, then who are we to stand in the way? But we worry about what this might mean for your health. You've always had to carry burdens beyond your years; will this not add another?"

You pause, folding the letter gently across your lap. Of course they'd ask about that—they understand, perhaps better than anyone, the toll your condition takes on you. They remember the hospital visits, the countless tests and scans, the nights spent holding you while pain wracked your small body. They’ve seen you at your weakest, watched helplessly as illness stole away bits of your childhood. So yes, they would wonder how Remus, James, Sirius factor into all this. Do they ease your suffering or compound it?

"I hope they're looking out for you, love," her letter goes on, "especially on those hard days when getting out of bed feels like climbing a mountain. Are they patient? Kind? Do they give you space when you need it most? Or does having three partners simply mean triple the worry, the arguments, the heartache?"

It's a fair question, one you've asked yourself during sleepless nights, your mind spinning with thoughts of what lies ahead. Will they grow weary of your limitations? Will they come to resent the time and energy your care demands? But then you remember Remus’ soothing voice reading to you, James’ gentle touch as he adjusts your pillows, Sirius’ easy humour lifting your spirits—and you know those fears, while valid, may not reflect reality.

"Maybe,” your mother’s words continue, “this isn’t what we envisioned for you, but life has a habit of surprising us, which you have done since the day you were born so why would you stop now?”

The corners of your mouth twitch upwards, a faint smile breaking through your clouded thoughts. That’s just like her, finding the silver lining, the shared joke amidst the confusion and uncertainty. And despite everything, you feel grateful—for her openness, her willingness to step outside tradition and consider a different path for you. For her unwavering love.

“We’ll discuss this more when you’re home,” she concludes. “And I’ll need to speak to these boys myself—just to make sure they know how special you are. I’m sure Remus knows, but I’ve never met James and Sirius so they need telling.”

Another owl swoops through the open window, wings barely rustling against the thick drapes. This time it's a small barn owl with speckled feathers that glint in the dim light of the bedroom. It lands gracefully on the back of Remus's chair, extending its leg to reveal a second parchment.

"Looks like this one's for you, Moony," James says, untangling the letter and handing it over. Your gaze flickers from the owl now preening itself to Remus, who takes the parchment with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation. You remember your own hesitations just moments before—the fluttering pulse, the dryness at the back of your throat—and reach out to squeeze his hand reassuringly.

"Dear Remus," his mother's response begins, "I received your letter and have given it much thought. You know I've always been one for details, so forgive me if this runs long."

Remus chuckles, a soft sound that ripples through the silence of the room like a pebble dropped into still water. He knows all too well her propensity for thoroughness—countless times he's sat at their small kitchen table, listening to her dissect every nuance of an article or analyse a book down to its last metaphor. It's part of what makes her such a good listener, why he's always felt understood in ways others often missed.

"I find myself surprised," she continues, "but not because you're dating a third person—I suppose stranger things have happened. No, my dear son, what truly astounds me is that it took you this long to admit your feelings for Y/N." There’s a playfulness to her words, a gentle teasing familiar and warm.

His cheeks flush slightly as he glances at you, wondering if the same thought had crossed your mind. Have there been moments, lost now in the haze of memory, when either of you could have reached across the divide sooner? Had fear kept you both silent, each waiting for the other to make the first move?

"And don't think I haven't noticed the way you light up whenever she's mentioned," she adds, as if reading his thoughts from miles away. Her handwriting is neat, each stroke precise—a stark contrast to the chaos usually surrounding his life at school.

"But let us focus on the present," she writes, shifting gears. "It seems we have much to discuss and unpack here, but rest assured, your father and I will support you in whatever way we can."

He lets out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. Those words—simple yet filled with meaning—ease a tension within him that's been coiling tighter since the moment he decided to write his parents. Support. That's what he needs right now, more than anything. And though questions still loom large, knowing he's not alone in facing them is a comfort he clings to.

"As for Y/N…" His eyes skim over the next few lines, heart skipping a beat. "I spoke with her mother earlier today, after reading your letter. We had a rather… enlightening chat about everything."

You look up at that, catching Remus's eye. Both your expressions mirror a mixture of relief and mild horror. The idea of your mothers discussing your love lives—an intimate tapestry woven of secrets and shared looks—is enough to make anyone squirm.

"Enlightening?" Sirius repeats, raising an eyebrow. "That sounds ominous."

"We expected as much," you admit, running a hand through your hair. "Still, it's mortifying to think about."

The parchment rustles as Remus turns it over, his mother's words continuing in a more serious tone. "I know the fears that gnaw at you," she writes. "It's no accident I've noticed how you flinch when happiness finds you, how quickly you look for shadows where there should be only light."

His hand tightens around the letter, creasing its edges. It was true. Every joy seemed fleeting when set against the permanence of his condition, every moment of peace merely the quiet before another storm. But here she was, acknowledging those fears and meeting them with understanding rather than judgment.

"You wonder if you're deserving of love given your circumstances—of their love," her script meanders down the page, each word imbued with a tenderness that makes his breath hitch. "But remember, my dear boy, love isn't something to be earned or measured by what we believe we owe. You have every right to it, especially from those who see past the complexities that life has bestowed upon you."

He swallows hard, feeling the weight of those words settle deep within him. They seep into the cracks of self-doubt that have long since formed, like rain nourishing parched earth. And though he knows one letter can't erase years of fear and loathing, it's a start—a glimmer of hope amidst the dark.

"Take care of yourself, Remus," the note goes on, a gentle nudge wrapped in ink and paper. "And take care of them too." A pause lingers between sentences, almost palpable despite the distance. "They may not bear physical scars, but they carry burdens just as heavy."

His gaze lifts from the page, finding yours across the room. There's an unspoken agreement in that brief exchange—you both understand what it means to shoulder invisible weights, to smile through pain others can't fathom. And in that shared knowledge, there's a kind of solace, a silent promise to hold each other up even when the ground beneath threatens to give way.

"I imagine it wasn't easy, opening up about this part of your world—the part we've kept hidden so long out of necessity and fear." The handwriting becomes slightly shaky here, betraying an emotion she rarely allows to surface. "Yet you did it, and for that, I am incredibly proud."

Remus blinks, surprised by the sudden sting behind his eyes. Proud. It's been ages since he last heard that word directed at him without irony or pity. To hear it now, applied to the very thing he's spent most of his life fearing, feels like a balm on old wounds.

"And don't worry about Y/N's parents," the next line reads. "From our conversation, it seems they are trying their best to navigate these waters just as we are."

At this, he exhales slowly, relief washing over him like a warm tide. That's one less concern weighing on his already burdened shoulders. He scans the remaining lines, each sentence weaving a thread of reassurance through the fabric of his uncertainty.

The tone of the letters from both families is, perhaps predictably, a mix of concern and relief. But there's also a note of something else—something akin to gratitude—that hums beneath each carefully chosen word.

In the ensuing silence, the magnitude of what you've done begins to sink in. The letters are out, the responses tucked safely inside your robes, and reality is settling back around you like a familiar cloak. It isn't perfect—the edges still fray with uncertainty, and the fabric is heavy with implications—but it's tangible, undeniable proof that you're no longer alone in this fight.

You exchange a glance with Remus across the room, his eyes reflecting the same quiet resolve. There is no going back now, no erasing the words that have etched new paths before you. But whatever lies ahead, you realise, you'll face it with the strength of family at your backs and love as your compass.

[finniestoncrane]

Your One True Nemesis

Chapter 29: also on AO3 Masterlist Here Arkham!Riddler x Female!Reader, word count: 2k this man can fit so much angst and self-loathing in the guise of egotism in him 💚 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: angst and pining

It was almost noon by the time you woke up. Everything felt more casual now. Like you’d passed a point in your relationship with Eddie, if that’s what you could call it. Perhaps a better term was arrangement. But either way, it felt like you could be yourself a bit more, stand up for yourself. If you wanted to take the morning to catch up on sleep, then you would. What was Eddie going to do? Dislike you more? Insult you more? Maybe he’d apologise again like he did the other day.

As you remembered that moment, you replayed it in your head. Had he meant it as a genuine apology? A statement of regret, for how he had made you feel. Or for how he had made you react to his words. Was he sorry that you had gotten angry with him? Uttering the word in confusion and shock at your sudden ability to speak up. Or was he simply excusing himself? He left the room immediately once he had uttered that one word, so there was every chance that he was just making a polite exit from a situation he either no longer wanted to be in or felt he was above, or both.

Stepping out of your room, you entered the living space, shocked to find Eddie sitting at the table with his breakfast. Obviously, in your absence, he would have had to prepare his meals for himself. He did it all the time before he knew you, so it wasn’t entirely ridiculous to assume he could do it himself, but it felt like you had been replaced, almost. That one of the few things you could, or did, do for him was no longer needed. Trying to avoid any awkward or confrontational conversations, you poured yourself a coffee and sat down at the table across from him.

“I’ll make lunch today.”

“Yes. That would be a good idea.”

He didn’t look at you, he didn’t even look up, and you couldn’t contain your irritation with his flippant attitude.

“You know, you could just say thank you.”

“For what? The bare minimum? You haven’t even done it yet, why should I thank you in advance for something you might forget to do, or make a disaster of.”

Slamming the coffee mug on the table with, liquid spilling over the edges at the upset, you leaned back in your chair with your arms now folded.

“I could just as easily leave again, Eddie.”

You watched him continue eating after the briefest of pauses, where he might have been considering a retort, or a snide come back, but chose to sit in silence instead. Sipping at your coffee, you stole glances at him, waiting to see if he would decide to speak, if he would apologise again. It was a one-off, though, you assumed. Or at least resigned yourself to believing. Until he placed his fork down, wiped his mouth on his forearm, and finally decided to speak.

“I have always been the smartest man in the room. Forced to endure the suspicions and mockery of those whose meagre mental facilities prohibited them from appreciating that fact. It has not been easy, to suffer fools. And I don’t suffer fools gladly. But then, you appear, dressing up your cognitive abilities, marginally superior as they are to that of the average hoodlum, in the guise of admiration. Although, I realise now, that it isn’t just a guise. You are… patient. Tolerant of my… less admirable qualities. And for that I…”

Eddie swallowed hard, sighing as he gritted his teeth to get through the next part of the sentence, unavoidable as it was if he wanted to at least attempt to see himself gain even a tiny iota of what he assumed was going to be genuine happiness.

“… I am thankful. And I am sorry.”

Knowing that it wasn’t the moment to push or to prod, or to try and get anything else out of him, you forced a gentle smile on your face.

“Thank you, Eddie. I appreciate that. And I’m proud of you for… trying to be a bit more…”

“Kind. Nice. Human?”

“Well, you said it.”

He offered you a smile back, oddly self-effacing, toned down and genuine. Warmth behind it that you hadn’t really seen before. He appreciated being praised, clearly. Almost as much as he loved being complimented. So you decided to keep stroking the ego in the hopes that you could nurture this fresh, and perhaps feral, ability within him.

“You’re really a wonderful person to work for, Eddie. As difficult as it can be, sometimes, I do appreciate the opportunity to see how your brain… functions, how it creates.”

“And it’s only difficult sometimes? My dear, you and I both know that’s an understatement.”

It felt like a trap. Eddie had never been this down to earth, this open about his own nature and often problematic personality. Agreeing with him felt like it might be suicidal, but it might also open up a dialogue of honesty and vulnerability. The opportunity to joke, to critique, to be equals. So you took the risk.

“Maybe, but I like you enough that I’m willing to overlook the more challenging aspects of your… general being.”

With bated breath you waited to be cursed out, for the newly built bridge between you to fall apart, the dynamite stuck to it’s fragile and trembling beams to be detonated, to watch it collapse as quickly as it was constructed. But he let out of a soft chuckle and leaned back in his seat, picking up the newspaper from the table and reading it with a smile. It was casual. It was… normal.

And it killed Eddie to be normal. Everything in him fought against the desire to tell you he was not difficult, despite knowing very well that he was. But he had been reasoning with himself, while you were gone, since you came back, even when you had been with him in the first place, that allowing himself to be normal would be the only way he could see a future with you, in any capacity. It made him feel nauseous, to consider that he wanted a future, even one where you remained as his obedient assistant let alone anything else, but that feeling of dread was good. It might mean he was doing the right thing, for a change.

Each day, each moment it seemed, he was closer to letting the softer side of him win. And every day he woke up, he was hoping it would. In the deepest, darkest recesses of his soul, there was something growing. Something that longed to be adored, and to be deserving of that adoration. Not to win it through aggression, or cruelty, or his intelligence. But through offering it back in equal measure. True. Equal. Vulnerable.

He was pulled from the thoughts by your sudden interruption, speaking again as you tried to see how far the line had been moved, toeing it, testing the waters.

“It is a shame what a pain you are, Eddie. You have the potential to be very sweet, and you are handsome. You could easily have conned someone into marriage and then they’d be sort of contractually obliged to look after you.”

“Much like you are?”

The curt, almost factual way he insinuated the dynamic between you shocked you into a stunned silence, and all you could do was look at him, stupefied, mouth open in half-shock, half-amusement at the way he had so casually implied your unspoken marriage. In the face of the ridiculousness, he stammered at an explanation.

“I mean… I didn’t mean… I’m sorry, I didn’t realise the implications when I suggested… or implied… insinuated? When I said that. I… n-not that it would be wrong, I mean you would do well as a… for someone else, although, I mean I wouldn’t want you to because then you’d spend less time with me, uh, for me. Although! You’re allowed to spend time with other people it’s not… it’s not like we’re in a relationship. We, uh, have a relationship of course, not a… which I would like, or… no… wouldn’t mind. But I would date you first not just… I’m not asking you… just explaining that it… you know what I mean? I mean… I don’t know what I mean. I am talking a lot. Big, bulging, genius brain and it can’t figure out when to stop talking to feel free to step in at any point and do your job, save me from- ”

As was now your standard, you interrupted him by placing your palm softly against his cheek. It silenced him, caught him breathless. A motion so tender, unlike most other times people had reached their hand towards his face. But, interestingly at least to him, he didn’t flinch. He didn’t expect you to react violently. He trusted you in close quarters. It felt so natural, so warming, that he didn’t even realise he was instinctively leaning in towards you, closing the gap, until he snapped back to the real world and pulled away.

“Ok, well… thank you. That’ll do it.”

As you dropped your hand to the table with a smile, he was quick to place his on top of it, watching it with a confused look, as though he weren’t in control of it. As if his body had decided to bypass his brain and start making decisions for itself, taking what it wanted. Touch. Comfort. But there was no silencing his mind, always there to assert its dominance over his heart and soul. So he snatched his arm back and placed it under the table, scowling before shifting his face to a more calm and neutral expression, not wanting to seem angry when he spoke to you.

“Perhaps we shouldn’t do that. For the sake of… the feelings involved. It might be simpler to focus on returning to our working relationship, especially so soon after your return.”

With a heavy heart, you couldn’t help but agree with him, but it stung nevertheless.

“I do agree that it was a bit awkward, before. But does that mean we just live with the tension now? We ignore it? Until it swells up again? Is that what you want?”

With a defeated smile, forced onto his face to keep the mood as light as possible, Eddie looked int your eyes, longer and deeper than he had ever done before.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what I want. I don’t know how I feel. And that is terrifying, because I know everything. The only thing I am certain of is that my ego would be satisfactorily bruised if I get something wrong. Getting it wrong would be admitting there’s something I can’t do. So I would rather not… know. I’d rather have nothing than risk being disappointed… or… disappointing… anyone else.”

You reached to grab his hand, but corrected yourself. You wanted to comfort him, to congratulate him. This was enough, this was all you needed at that moment. The fact that he had opened up, told you his feelings, confessed to his fears. It was plenty to live on. It gave you hope. And he seemed to appreciate your restraint, taking what he needed from your comforting smile at least for now. The day could begin. It would be like normal. You’d make lunch. He’d tut when you hummed and distracted him from his work. You would eat dinner and go to your separate rooms. It would be the same as always, until he was ready to find more. Or to go after it.

But as he watched you stand up, he felt a painful pang of regret in his stomach. How long could he really wait? He’d spent so much time already trying to figure out the correct answer. It might be possible that there was no definitive solution here. A risk might be the only option.

[forgedroyalseal]

His Worst Nightmare

Chapter 9

Halt stood patiently as Horace silently paced back and forth in front of him. After leaving Will at the cabin, they walked out to a clearing, not a single word muttered between the two. Horace had been trying to gather his thoughts for quite some time, but Halt did not rush him, did not push.

“Ok.” Horace says finally, staring Halt down. “I kind of hate you.”

Halt nodded, “I kind of hate myself too.”

Horace frowns, “That, that doesn’t make me feel better.”

Halt shrugged, “That doesn’t change the fact that that’s how I feel.”

“It’s just,” Horace groaned in frustration, “Will is like my brother. And I am sick and tired of him getting hurt again and again because of the rangers. Because you feel guilty about what happened to his dad. Because you took a shining to him when we were kids. Because he’s desperate to impress you, even if it kills him.”

“Will has impressed me every day since we first met. He could have decide to be a farmer instead of a ranger and I’d still be proud of him.”

“Does he know that?” Horace asks, but they both know the answer.

Halt had the decency to look somewhat regretful. “I should tell him more.”

Horace scoffs, “If you start now he’ll just think it’s out of pity. Or guilt.”

“I want you to know that I really appreciate all that you’ve done for him these past couple weeks.” Halt redirects the conversation, trying to get it back on track. “You’ve succeeded where I’ve failed him. Neither of us will ever forget how you’ve taken care of him. And I can’t imagine how hard it is for you now that we are all here. But everyone in that cabin,” Halt points down the path, “are here to help both of you.”

Horace feels his hackles rise in defense. “I can take care of him.”

“I know, you’ve more than proved that.” Halt placated. “But you deserve help. There’s not a doubt in my mind that if you had to, you and Will could be perfectly fine all on your own. But you aren’t on your own, you don’t need to do it alone.”

Horace sniffs and turns away from Halt. “I don’t know how to be ok with you.”

“You don’t have to be. I don’t expect you to be.” Halt gently turns Horace back to face him and wipes the tears that had fallen onto his cheeks. “I just ask that you let us help. And if the most helpful thing I can do is stay away, I’ll do it. But know that I’ll always be here for both of you.”

Horace sighs. “It’s not fair to Will if I ask you to stay away for my own comfort. He missed you. And after everything, he doesn’t deserve to have any more suffering.” Horace straighten, “So, you’re not going to stay away. You are going to be here. You are going to show up for Will because you need each other. And if it gets to be too much or too hard, and you abandon him again, I’m going to hunt you down and kick your ass.”

Halt bit down a smile and nodded seriously, “I’d expect nothing less.”

__________________________________________________________________________

“-And so I was like, I don’t know who you think you are, but my brother is engaged to the crown princess so I’m pretty sure that means I out rank you.”

Horace and Halt catch the tail end of Jenny’s story as they step back into the cabin. The group is sprawled out around the room, with Will tucked between Jenny and Alyss, and Gilan leaning against the couch behind Jenny. George has pulled a chair over to sit in front of Will, and Crowley and Pauline watch the entire interaction from the kitchen table where they are sipping coffee out of steaming mugs. The scene is so warm and domestic, Halt momentarily forget what called them all together.

Horace passes by Halt with a groan. “Jen, how many times do I have to tell you, Cassandra and I aren’t engaged yet, you can’t keep telling people that, at some point, someone is going to believe it.”

“That’s the point! If you’re going to drag your feet about this whole thing, spreading rumors about you might actually be forced into getting a move on!” Jenny protests.

Will grins, “Yeah man, what’s the hold up? You wait any longer, Cass might come to her senses and find someone in her league.”

“Ugh, I forgot how awful you two are when you gang up on me. Alyss, make them stop.” Horace flung himself to the floor to lean against Alyss’ knees. She instantly began scratching his head just as she used to when they were children and he couldn’t sleep.

“Don’t tease him.” She chastised Will and Jenny. “It’s not his fault he’s a bit slow.”

“Hey!”

The wardmates continued their bickering as Halt took a seat beside Pauline.

“How was your walk?” She asked softly.

“Which one?”

“Both.”

Halt let out a heavy breath. “Hard. Those boys, they, they’re struggling. And it’s my fault.”

“Halt,” Crowley said sternly, “you did what you had to do to save Will’s life.”

“That’s not what I mean. They are struggling because I left them. I left Will when he needed me the most. I left Horace to try to figure out how to keep Will alive and sane all by himself. I put my own feeling above their needs.”

Crowley and Pauline glanced at each other, and Halt has known them long enough that he could read the look they shared.

“And you both know I’m right.” He sat back.

“The only reason to look behind is to guide your steps forward. There’s no point in rehashing the past. What are you going to do moving forward? That’s what’s important.” Pauline says.

“To start with, I’m moving back in. Tonight.”

Crowley nods, “I’ll speak with Rodney first thing tomorrow morning. He’s had a knight or two lose an arm. I’ll see if he’s got any suggestions for making Will’s life a little more accessible.”

“And most importantly, you both need to ask Will how he wants to move forward. Find out if he’d like to retire or if you need to start looking into how he can maintain an active role in the Corps.”

Halt and Crowley both frown at Pauline. “How could he still have an active role? Pauline, he can’t-“

Pauline cuts Crowley off, “We don’t know what he can or can’t do right now. Will is extremely clever, if anyone could work out how to live their life in this condition, it’s him.” She looks over at the young man, whose head was now dropped on Alyss’ shoulder, a sleepy smile painted on his face as he watches Jenny hit Gilan over the head with a pillow. His eyes shift to her and he offers a little wave. Her voice softens, “He just needs to be reminded that he still has options, that he can still have a happy future. That his life isn’t over.”

[bloodanddiscoballs]

Alright I said I was gonna make a sappy post for my 30th birthday so here it goes!:

I never thought I would live to see 30. I know that many people say that, and I'm sure that sentiment isn't unique on here. Here's the thing; I'm disabled. I have almost died due to my health 3 times since 2011 and indeed did once before being brought back. My immune system is nonexistent, and my chronic pain has me at currently 6 reconstructive back surgeries and round the clock pain medication.

When I was 17 years old, I became a victim of medical malpractice and had my entire life changed in an instant. Didn't get to go off to college, didn't get to work normally, didn't get to move out - didn't, didn't, didn't. For years, I was told that I would heal. That I would be fine. I was young! Young people don't get sick. I'll bounce back. Just be patient. But I didn't get better, I got worse. And every year older was another year into my 20s where I wasn't able to do "the normal stuff." I never finished college, but I did get some classes done. I would work for a few months before needing to quit. I got married and then divorced. All "failures" due to my health.

At 27, I went to see my therapist and sat down and told her that I couldn't see into my future. I remember telling her, "Every day is hell. I can't do this for another 10 years. I've barely made it through this last 10. I don't even know if I can do it for another 3." I was at the end of my rope, convinced that I wouldn't make it. My back was crumbling underneath me again, and insurance was fighting me tooth and nail to be approved for another surgery. I was bedridden. I was on the highest medication load I've taken, and it wasn't even touching my pain. I wasn't connected to anything - not my art, not friends, not the world around me. I was looking very seriously at my options of what I thought was either suffering or dying.

So, she suggested a mindfulness program. It was a 6-week course at UCSD (University of California San Diego) that taught you how to. essentially, live in the moment. At first, I thought it was honestly the stupidest thing I'd ever heard. I'll admit that I was sour on it, but I said I would try it and I paid for the class so I did it. I sat through the meditations, wrote on the topics they gave, went through the exercises they instructed, and did the full day retreat. And at the end of those 6 weeks, I was alive again. I learned to savor every bite of my food. I learned how to pay attention to the sun on my skin. I learned to enjoy how it felt to have my air move in and out of my lungs. I learned how to look in the mirror and love what I saw and dress myself in what made me happy (this is when I started with the disco clothes). The warm feel of skin, the taste of my favorite soda, the beautiful way my cat purrs, the glorious smell of rain, the lovely way dust looks illuminated by the sun - I learned how to Live.

My life is still hard. My pain has not improved. I did get that surgery, so now my back is thankfully more stable than it's ever been. I know that I probably won't live a very long time compared to most, but none of that makes me sad anymore, not really. I have my bad days, and I have my good days, and no matter what, I live in the moment. I feel my emotions and let them have their space within me before letting them flow. And after over a decade of not touching my art because I felt like it was robbed from me, I paint now. I paint for myself, and I paint for others, and by God, I enjoy every second of it. I feed the little barn cats out in the back of where I live now, and I love them. I enjoy the sound of the wind through the oak trees, and I listen to my music, and I take pictures of the bugs. I watch the clouds race by when it's about to storm, and I talk to the flowers that grow outside my fence. I love my bed for holding me on my bad days and love that I have pretty artwork from friends hanging on my walls to comfort me when I can't leave my room. I dress up in my fun disco stuff whenever I can, and on the days I can't, I enjoy my soft, comfy pj's. I talk to my friends online every day and apologize for the days I can't when my pain makes it too hard to think. I play fun video games and watch good movies and enjoy fun podcasts. I Live.

Today, I am 30 years old. I have lived through what should have killed me many times over. And I am so, so happy I am here. And for however long I have, I will continue to live in the moment, enjoying the days and moments I can and allowing the bad to simply be bad. I plan for tomorrow because that is all I can plan for.

I live, and that is enough.