#most of the band is medical with dr teeth as the head of medical

[thegremlinprince]

Starting a conversation on discord about Star Trek Muppets, and getting my friends in on it isn't how I expected the day to go, but it's certainly a good thing.

Ufhdhd thinking about a tribbles episode-

[stevenbasic]

GITJ Post 256: First Date, p2

MANIFEST: I am totally gorgeous. I mean stunning, drop-dead perfect. My face is as pretty as anything on a magazine cover. I have high, sophisticated cheekbones, a flawless complexion, large clear, bright eyes, a perfect nose - not too cute, not too strong. My lips are full, red and beautifully shaped, covering dazzlingly white, arrow straight, immaculately regular teeth that shine when I smile. My hair is warm, soft waves of comfort that he’d like to swim in. He thinks I’m the most beautiful girl in the world, and can’t get me out of his head.

“You two are such a cute couple,” the waitress said, admiring again just how low in his seat the guy sat as she poured him more Pinot Grigio. She’d noticed them as soon as they walked in, and was secretly thrilled that they were sitting in her section. She saw how the girl, a statuesque, raven-haired beauty, towered over him (and truth be told over everyone else) as the new hostess led them to their table. God he’s so vulni! the waitress thought, Shorter even than me! Were they married? Dating? She didn’t see a ring on either one of their fingers, but he was for sure a bunch older than his magnificent companion. Older, smaller, weaker. Nnngh, perfect. “You make a nice pair,” she finished, filling up the young woman’s glass as well. 

“Omigod thank you! It’s our first date!” Melissa Monroe, Office Manager of what was at the time Far Horizons Medical Assiciates, lauded, “The food is delicious!”

“It is, right? I love the cioppino,” the waitress replied. She paused, sliding the bottle back into the ice bucket, and stood. “He hasn’t eaten much?” she asked with new concern, reflexively addressing Melissa instead of the small man sitting across the table from her, “Is everything okay?”

“Oh, it’s f-fine, I’m just not super hungry,” Dr. J replied. It was true, and fact of the matter was that he hadn’t been hungry much at all these past few weeks. And, this being a seafood place, the thought of fish had turned his stomach. He’d been able to smile and choke down some of the appetizer, a few pieces of fried calamari which to him tasted like rubber bands, but in general he had so far mostly just watched her eat. And now his entree, this small steak he’d ordered, wasn’t very appealing either. Cooked to his liking but it might as well have been an old shoe.

“Okay well let me know if you need anything,” the waitress said, stopping herself just in time from adding “cutie”. That would have been awkward! “I’ll be around.”

“Thanks,” he replied, and contemplated returning to his unappetizing steak again. He looked across the table at his, uh, date, as the waitress drifted away into the nicely-crowded dining room. At least the scenery is nice, he considered. Melissa, a six-foot-plus stunner, was absolutely beaming tonight, casually gorgeous in a white, off-the-shoulder top which exposed her tanned, perfect shoulders (along with two tantalizing bra straps) and accentuated her voluptuous torso. Her thick dark hair was like - and the thought had just popped into his head as soon as he’d seen her earlier, when she picked him up in her car - warm, soft waves of comfort in which he’d like to swim. She must be the most beautiful girl in the world, he imagined, and had secretly marveled at her all through their pleasant walk from the car to the restaurant, and she’s here with me. He was eager to review the photos she’d ask him to take, posing along the piers, wanting to document their first real date. No matter if he couldn’t tolerate the food, he was content just to stare at her. But I should really try to eat, he decided, and sawed at his sirloin passively. But boy, this meat is tough.

Watching him struggle, Melissa giggled. “If you can’t cut that yourself, bring it over here,” she said, suddenly reaching across their small table for his plate, “I’ll do it for you.”

His mouth dropped open, considering a protest, but he stayed quiet. She’d already pulled his meal to her, taken his steak knife from his hand, and had proceeded blithely to begin cutting his steak into manageable little chunks. He admired how easily she did it, and how her chest - just visible through her top - wobbled with her efforts. Despite the ignominy he did his best to stay relaxed, enjoy the moment. Their date, from the first moment, had been fun and casual, friendly. He was proud of himself for not acting too-much the simp. As the wine had started to kick in, though, the atmosphere had become more certainly more flirty, the brilliance of her smile had amped up considerably…and here she was cutting his steak, maybe an overly-intimate step but nnnngh she looked good doing it.

"I hope you don't need me to CHEW your food for you too!" she teased, suddenly popping one morsel of meat into her mouth and beginning to masticate. Immediately her eyes widened, meeting his. “Oh, wow, this is delicious..!” she exclaimed, around the bite of steak, still chewing as he watched. She loved how attentive to her every move he was. “Here, wan’ it?” she asked, opening her mouth and showing him the semi-gnawed piece of steak, glistening with her saliva between her perfect, arrow-straight teeth.

His mouth dropped, now fully open as well.

Delighted by his shocked expression, Melissa snorted, and swallowed the food. “Haha I’m sorry!” she laughed, returning to cutting his meal for him, slicing up some broccoli, “I just couldn’t resist…”

Recovering from her audacious little display, he sat back, reached for more wine. Were other people looking at them? He watched her hands work, knife and fork. 

“I think I’m still a little jealous, actually,” Melissa began again, still attentive to her task, “last week, at the party, watching the girls feed you your pasta…” She cut his steak some more. “I felt like I should be doing that myself…”

His eyes watched as she speared a small chunk of steak and offered it, across the table, to him. 

Reflexively, his jaw clamped shut. 

“C’mon!” Melissa laughed, eyes sparkling in amusement as she leaned in and pushed the morsel closer, almost to his lips, “you have to eat something!”

He was, suddenly, aware of - yes - sets of eyes on him, three girls at a table to his right, giggling and watching with keen interest. They turned back as soon as his eyes shot to them, but continued to laugh among themselves, still casting him gazes askance. This was not how I wanted this evening to go, he told himself, even as he opened his mouth to accept the food - which she happily fed right to him. This piece, for some reason, didn’t taste as bad as the others, he realized as he began to chew. He basked in her approving gaze as he chewed, and swallowed as he thought in secret shame to himself: maybe this is how I wanted this evening to go…

The meal went on - she’d begrudgingly returned his plate and utensils to him haha - with her happily chatting though still eyeing his intake, refilling his water, asking the waitress for another napkin for him (“You can’t drop that on the floor and still use it you silly goose!”). She was enjoying plainly doting on him, and as the wine flowed the conversation loosened further, became even more adroitly flirty. Unlike in the past, with the specter of his cold marriage hanging over him making him feel iniquitous, this evening he felt more able to relax, enjoy himself around her. Maybe even have a little fun. He’d teased her about how she’d insisted on ordering his dessert.

“Haha am I being too much of a mommy-girlfriend already?” she laughed, as the waitress left to fetch their twin chocolate something-or-others.

“Too much of a wh-what?” he blurted, sputtering into his water glass.

“A mommy-girlfriend,” Melissa began, “C’mon, you knowww…” Her eyes twinkled, as she searched his eyes, maybe see if she’d struck a chord. Though he seemed suddenly nervous, evasive, his eyes were nonetheless hard to read, so she pressed on in explanation. “Oh, yeah, the new thing these days,” she continued, “Girls all want to be mommys now haha. And guys seem more than happy to like it too…”

The prion was making sure of that, but that’s for another day. 

“M-meaning, like..?”

“Oh, y’know…taking care, ‘come rest your head in my lap’, being super nice and affectionate and, like…maternal,” she clarified, though she felt for sure his mind was already filling in the blanks, “it goes along with the whole ‘vulni’ thing. Girls want to be the strong, protective, comforting partner now. It’s totally the fashion and definitely…empowering. Kinda get what I mean?”

“Y-yeah, sort of…” he feigned, looking deep at the gravid droplets forming on his water glass, hoping she couldn’t see through him, where he roiled in embarrassment. Oh, I know what you mean, he said to himself, reliving all those times, alone with his phone, pictures of Melissa and imagining her voice in his head: ‘good boy…gooooood boyyyy…’

With new interest she watched how red his face was getting, and tried to keep from giggling. Omigod this boy was going to be so fun to fool around with. She couldn’t wait to kiss him!

“Y-you’re a little young, still,” he offered, trying to steer clear of dangerous waters but…“Aren’t you? To be a mom?” Ughugh what was he saying?

“Well, I dunno…I’m definitely getting a mom-bod,” Melissa replied, “with all this eating.”

“w-what do you mean?”

“haha like you haven’t noticed!” she answered, “All these new bulges!” Smiling and narrowing her eyes, she watched his face for signs that he actually thought he was being smooth, “c’mon…”

“R-really? Like, you’re putting on weight?”

“���putting on weight’?!?” she snorted girlishly, “hahahah! I’ve gained, like, fifty pounds since I got this job, and it’s more every day…”

“Oh, I’m, uh..sorry…” he apologized, suddenly feeling clumsy, talking to a girl about her weight, her…bulges. What about her made him this way? He was the older, more mature one here, but she made him feel like an awkward teenager. Was he really that smitten?

And, wait: fifty pounds?!?

She saw his adorable distress - awww the poor thing’s embarrassed! - and though she smiled warmly across the table to him to put him at ease - “it’s okay,” she said - she let her eyes glint in mischief. “But they’re going to all the right places, right? These new pounds? Giving me mom-hips, mom-thighs…”

His eyes glanced quickly at her chest, and her heart fluttered. It made her want to grab him by the hand, pull him to the ladies room, lock the door…

Be patient, Missy!

“A-and dinners like this don’t help!” she laughed, finding herself starting to talk, to talk more quickly, her emotions heating. “Eating eating eating, I’m always eating, since I started, since I’ve known you,” she continued, “so you take responsibility for all these extra pounds haha! They’re all yours…” At that, she found herself subtly pushing her big left breast forwards, towards him. It looked huge, she knew - nothing subtle about it haha - and she saw his eyes drop to it again. Both of them went quiet, and she felt her mouth going dry. The girls to her left were surreptitiously watching them again, and she loved it. She wanted to show them how it was. 

”oh-ohkay…” he managed, somehow pulling words from his throat, still staring, “guilty as charged…”

Omigod he can’t look away, she realized, feeling a familiar warmth between her thighs and those visions go through her head again. His head, my hand, pulling him in. So much bigger… “You s-see?” she said, feeling her breast strain against her overmatched bra, a JJ-cup that now felt too small, “m-mom bod…”

Her perfume was a gentle cloud between them.

“y-you've got nothing to worry about,” he stammered, “being fat…”

“What, are you into chubby girls?” she giggled, pulling her shoulder back even more, accentuating herself, tilting her chin up to watch him appreciate her size. 

“n-no, y-you’re n-not chu-“ He couldn’t tear his eyes away from how he could just see, through her taut, stretchy white top, how her left breast swelled against the confines of her bra, bulging slightly out of it. She was so beautiful, so goddamn beautiful. His voice, he realized, had failed him. 

“Haha it’s okay,” she said, her growing excitement changing into something new, something that allowed her to control her voice, rise to take charge, “Guys say they don’t like fat girls. But they’re attracted to the fattest parts of our bodies. Boobs, hips, thighs. Boys love fat, admit it…”

He tore his eyes away, looking to the table beside them, the three girls.

“Yeah I think you like the fat…you want me to just keep eating, probably,” she continued, as she straightened her back, pushed her right breast out now to join her left as her voice dropped, “and I want you to keep looking…” They were watching, still, the girls next to them. She was proud, how little and awkward she must be making him look. It was exciting. “It’s okay…”

His eyes returned to her, to her cat-with-the-canary face. Her chin still up, her long throat was elegant, corded. Her collarbone, perfect, her chest…

“You were saying..?” she continued, pressing on, her big boobs now dominating the space between them, having drawn his gaze again, holding his eyes with their gravity.

”no, I, uh…” Had he been saying something? He knew he had to-

“...About me being fat..?”

She giggled. Omigod this boy is so fun to play with! she thought, and glanced over at the girls to her left with a conspiratorial smile.

“Y-you’re not fat,” he finally muddled out, “y-you're…you’re…you’re b-beautiful. You’re gorgeous.”

She hadn’t expected that!

“Omigod..!” she giggled, nearly a squeal. Butterflies, birdsong and rainbows. She had felt her soul leap into jubilance. Haha holy shit what this guy does to me!! She knew she had to be careful not to gush, not to let her emotions - any of them, and there were a lot! - get to be too much, make her do things too soon too quickly too nnnngghghghhh…

Get it together Missy!

Melissa, caught up in the moment, hugged herself, squeezing her big boobs together into a suddenly luscious display of her upper body’s outstanding swells above the neckline of her top. They - I swear to god - bulged up nearly to her throat, huge and wanton and pillowy flesh that drew even more eyes from around the room.“You mean that? So, you like me at this size? This big?” she crowed, acting incredulous.

His eyes goggled, amazed at her bosomy bounty, and he nearly gasped. As he turned his eyes away in modesty, he heard her giggling - obviously amused at the effect she could have on him. Jesus she knows she’s playing me like a toy piano, he thought to himself, but realized - having already thrown all caution to the wind - I don’t…really…mind…at all. He figured he could just go for broke, now unencumbered by marriage. Yes, he was her boss. Yes, it was inappropriate. But Jesus Christ those tits…

He looked back at her; her arms still swole her massiveness in their embrace. The girls next door watched. “Melissa…” he said, braver than ever, “I’d like you at any size.”

Omigod omigod omigod, she marveled, this man!!

He’s too much!!

“Really? Any size?” she asked mischievously, gathering herself, ”Even if I got…” At that she pouted, allowing her bosom, her soft swell of cleavage to fall a fraction. “…smaller?”

��<blink blink> He was obviously confused.

”Or…bigger?” she asked, squeezing her boobs together anew, even more, threatening to bulge them out of her bra, from her top, “Fatter???”

”oh my god Melissa…” he stammered, still flabbergasted by her body, “y-y-you’re so not fat…”

”Mmhmmm…” she purred, amused but doing her best to sound unconvinced. She twisted at the waist, joggling her shoulders a fraction for him.

“Oh christ y-you’re perfect…” he gasped.

oh jesus, she shuddered, crossing her thighs again to keep herself seated, maybe from bucking up against the table. “Keep talking…” She could hear her own arousal in the newly husky timbre of her voice. 

“you've got a grea-... a good, healthy body, for a, uh...” he tried, but…but…

He was struggling, she could see. ”..for a growing girl?” she helped, slowly letting her bosoms fall, let his brain come back to earth. 

”g-growing?” he didn’t know what else to say.

Haha we haven’t even mentioned my height, the seven-plus inches. Let’s see what he thinks…“Oh, sweetie, yes,” she said, reaching for her wine glass and draining the last of it, ”but, c’mon, you’re a doctor. Is it normal for a twen-…for a girl my age to be getting bigger like…” At that she sat up taller, straighter, looking down at him with a new curl to her smile. “...like this?” Jesus she loved feeling big! She loved feeling…strong. And sitting across from him, from this small, shrunken man, with every muscle in her body swelling with strength, every curve growing more and more ample by the day, every bone lengthening seemingly as they spoke, she felt huge. And, even better, she felt every day huger than him. “Just look at me…”

Look at her? He could do nothing but. “Are you…uh….are you…” he stammered, “...still getting taller?”

Bingo. 

”yyyyyyeah…I am…” she replied, doing her best to keep the groan from her voice, sitting up taller still. Even sitting she dwarfed him. “Look what my hormones are doing to me. Seven inches from when we met…three inches since our trip…”

”are y-you…getting checked?” he asked, feeling himself shrink away from her as she loomed larger from across the table. Strength radiated from her, from her perfect torso. He could feel her legs, now, under the table, stretch out to touch his. “Are you s-seeing a doctor?”

Haha u have no idea clinics, instruments, tests tests tests. ”I am.”

”Who are you seeing?”

Ooo..uh… ”some…specialists.” She knew that sounded evasive.

”An en-endocrinologist?”

”…yeah?”

”Here? In town?” he asked, quizzical, “Who?”

”I’m not…” How was she going to get out of this one haha? “...really supposed to say…”

Normally, his antennae would be up. Normally, this would worry him…anyone, for that matter. But…for some reason it didn’t seem like a big deal. He, in fact, found himself smiling, going along with what he took as a little joke. “Why?” he asked, “Are you in some weird secret study?”

”Sorta yeah haha…”

“Well…hook me up, m-maybe get me an appointment?” he joked, “I obviously need some help too. I can’t just keep buying smaller clothes.”

Omigod they would love that, to get you into their clinic, she imagined, as she pictured how he’d look on one of their exam tables, at Evolution, strapped down, at their, at our…nngh…mercy…

“I’m, like, wasting away…” he continued, somehow now able to make light of the fact that he had, yes, lost so many pounds and so many inches. How could he joke about this but: “I won’t reach up to your hip if this keeps up.”

NNNNGHOHMYGOD her eyes flashed open and-

Just then, the waitress returned, carrying two huge plates of luscious-looking chocolate: cake, fudge? Something gooey, somethin-

”C-can we get that wrapped up…?” Melissa asked, an atypical urgency to her voice, struggling to manage her FEELINGS.

Huh, he thought. “Suddenly not hungry anymore?” he asked her.

”...a-and the check?” she continued, as if with a deaf ear.

“Wait are we leav-?” The waitress had already stepped aside, to a nearby service area where she was preparing their bill, getting boxes. 

“You want to get out of here too, don’t you?” she asked, as her eyes suddenly met his - taking him aback with a new intensity to her gaze. It held…holy shit…promise, possibilities. She looked hungrier than ever, biting her lower lip, eyes dancing over his face. 

He, suddenly, was just as eager to get out of the restaurant…and somewhere more private. Eagerness, with a touch of fear. His heart jumped, his pulse quickened. There was something, a new dangerous energy buzzing around her, and it thrilled him to think about being…in its clutches. ”Y-yeah…” he stuttered.

The waitress was back, already, with two foam take-away boxes and the check. Both of them resched for it at the same time. 

"Please, I insist..." he said, with chivalry. 

"No, it’s my treat," she said, her hand atop his on the black, faux-leather, bill-presenter thingy.

"But, you're my date," he said.

"No, you're MY date…” Melissa declared. Her voice was adamant, and she once again felt the eyes of the girls at the next table - as well as the waitress - on them. This was important, she could feel, spoke more than just a few dollars about how relationships like theirs were going to be. Not just for them, but for women going forward. She knew she needed to express her position in these sorts of ways. She was the alpha…

His eyes met hers, and she fuckfuckfuck had a gush of wetness as she thought she saw that, goddamnit, he was thinking the same thing. But still his hand remained on the check. 

Think you can say no to these? she said, silently, both to herself and to him as she sat back, sliding her hand off his and the bill, and squeezed her breasts together between her elbows,  inflating her chest with a deep, filling breath, her big tits swelling once again up towards her throat. . 

It worked. His eyes had dropped and she nearly laughed at his awed gaze. Like a moth to the flame…

"I surrender!" he finally said, and held his hands up, attempting a laugh as her smile curled. She obviously loved the power her breasts had over him, and she was going to show him just how powerful they were as soon as they got to the car!

He reached back down, picked up the check and - still a bit hesitantly - handed it to her. Melissa made a show of grabbing it from him, opening it up with a snap, and casting him a surprising, smoldering look that made him weak in the knees. She had won, and they both knew it. The girls, the waitress had seen the whole thing, and it made him feel small. 

“Get used to it…” she said, eyeing the bill total and turning to open her purse. She was going to pay for this with her own money, not the company card.

“You p-paying for our dates?” he asked, with a deliciously acquiescent attempt at humor in his voice. He watched her slide her card into the sleeve.

“Surrendering…” she replied, flashing him a beautiful smile….

==========================================

their date continues at my Patreon

[optimistic-dinosaur-nacho]

Silent Night [1]

Andy Barber x Fem!Reader (AU!A Quiet Place)

Warnings: Creatures, Blood, Stitches, Post-Apocalyptic Summary: In the town of Newton, it was silent. Everyone in the world were killed by unknown species that can hear you from miles. You’re alone in an empty town. No one was ever found during the year and you’ve gone quite crazy. Wondering in a neighborhood, you run into a survivor and he protects you from the creature lurking in the dark.

SPOOKY SCARY STORIES #DinoScaryStories2020

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Write your own story corresponding or goes to the film! Let this be an example, if you will.

Word Count: 4000+ [Yeah. I went a little crazy on this one]

Day 292

The trees began to rustle against each other down the silent road of Newton. The silence was like this for 291 days. The counting of days were important to you. It was hard to look at every day but you needed some relief that you’ve survived this long. You don’t remember how the world ended up like this. You were on your way to work before something large jumped on a large bus and killed everyone in less than 5 minutes.

You were able to drive off with the amount of distractions. Studying these alien-hybrids, they were sensitive with hearing. They could hear you from miles. The slightest squeak from a mouse, that mouse will not be alive. You claimed to have seen 3 roam around the area. Who knew if there were more outside of this country or the state.

You had no idea how to get rid of them, you just learned not to make a sound. 

No sign of people were found in the area. You were scared to be the only one. It was almost making you insane. 

Walking barefoot was something you had to do, in order to keep quiet. Your feet were torn up and dried. They were sore all the time from walking to find shelter and food. The town was not raided much since everyone had been murdered. You feared you might make the wrong step and get yourself killed.

You couldn’t bother calling anyone you knew. The towers were shut off and if you had the chance to, they would get killed by those things. You figured to leave Massachusetts to find people around. Someone outside of the state, find better shelter. 

And that’s what you were doing at this moment. Searching stores to find band aids, medicine and food. You found cans and slipped them into your bag. You had no idea how to open them without making a sound. Put a cloth over them was an idea to open it without a sound but you needed more things. Slowly you slipped the items in your bag and made sure they never made a sound even if you moved.

After raiding the store, you stepped out and made your way down the road. Passing by the courthouse that was torn from the outside. The front doors were ripped open from something trying to get in. You never saw signs of people who died. The creatures didn’t seem to leave a single part. You kept walking for the next hour, seeing the sun get lower than ever.

You needed to find a nearby neighborhood fast and get to an open door. You came across a small neighborhood and began to search the homes. You tried to open the doors softly to not make a sound. Most of the doors were locked and you needed to hurry. You came across a home that looked open. The driveway was some way to hide and find a way in quietly.

You made your way up to the driveway and heard low growling behind but it sounded a ways down the street. You turn back to see a flash of dark before a hand comes over your mouth and the force pulls you back into the side of the house.

You hear the growl and you shut up, you’re frozen in whoever’s arms you were in. The man looks over your shoulder and removes his hand from your mouth and held his index finger to his lips. Be quiet.

The creature walks down the street, its low growls rumbled in your ears like a motor from a exotic car or a large lion in a cage in hunger. Though it couldn’t see you, you were frozen under the man’s touch. His blue eyes stare at you and he slowly stands up and softly pulls you up, guiding you behind the house. He looked behind to make sure the monster was occupied with a snap of a twig down the street.

He guided you into the home and he lets you go, turning to close the door and gently clicked it closed. He turns to you and his brows raise up at you and his head tilts down. You okay?

You nod once. I’m fine. His hands raises up and you noticed his fingers twitched in signs. His brows still raised, “I’m Andrew. I’m not going to hurt you.” His hand reaches out to somewhat give you a gentle sign of ‘I’m calm and I’m friendly’. You understood Sign Language. It was something you learned in high school. Your hands lifted up and your hands bent to sign.

“I’m Y/N.”

He grins softly and raises his hands up again, his index fingers coming together. “Nice to meet you.” You look down to see his forearm. The vibrant color of red was oozing down his arm and your face drops in worry. Then your hands lift up, “You’re hurt.”

The man follows suit of your gaze and turns away to find something to wrap it. You instantly grab his arm to stop him and you slid off your bag. “Let me help you.” You sat him down on the couch and you dug through your bag and he peered inside to see the amount of medication, cans of food and supplies that were needed in his own space. 

He had gone out almost every day. Never saw someone or animals. You came in like God had sent you down. He wasn’t a man of prayer, but since this whole thing came down, he started to. You were like an angel. An angel in disguise of dirtied clothes and he knew you would have a voice like no other. When you touched his arm, he winced and grabbed your wrist to stop you. He shook his head.

Not here.

He knew a place and took your hand, guiding you into the other room. A door that might lead to a closet. But when he opens it slowly, his arm was dripping with blood, a new blood vessel bothered by your own touch and covered the dried blood from a week ago. You look down to see the basement stairs and he stepped down carefully and you followed with your bag in hand.

He motions you to close the door and so you did. The door was covered with foam, even the walls. The foam were all dirtied and probably ripped from the mattresses or things he found outside.

The room was completely covered in foam and you placed your bag on the table. Firefly lights were all around and even a radio was near where your bag was placed. You reached for it and saw the stations.

“I tried to listen for people-” You turned around and held your hand up to stop him, your eyes widen in fear by his voice. You held your other hand to your lips. His reaction was calm and he pulled his hand up to you. “Relax. Nothing can hear us down here. The foam.” You look around the room to hear anything above you two. Nothing heavy or loud growls.

Your breathing was so heavy, it was the only thing you could hear. “As I was saying. The radio is damaged but I was able to fix parts of it and I tried every station. I couldn’t hear anyone. I even tried the departments. Military,” He says. Your gaze follows the walls and your hand grazes the edge of the table.

“Is there anyone else with you?” You asked quietly as if you weren’t confident and brave enough to speak even if he told you it was okay to. His face told you the story already with the frozen look, you could see he was reliving the whole event in his mind. “No. I lost my son in a coma a year ago. My wife was killed later on.” 

“Did it get her?” You ask another.

His eyes turned away and his chest rises to take in the thin humid air of the basement. You see the blood drip down his arm and you grab your bag. “Here.” You take your bag in hand and helped him to the chair, “Sit down.” He follows your order and sat in front of you. 

“This might hurt,” You say to him. He doesn’t say anything as he watches you pull his sleeve back. A large gash in his arm, you couldn’t help but wince at the scene. “What happened?” You asked, grabbing the belt from the bag and wrapped it around his arm.

“I was in town, looking for-” You cut him off when you tighten the belt above his gash to stop the bleeding. He groans in pain. “Fuck!” He hisses. You cringe to the sight of blood gushes out. You pull something out of your bag and held it up. “Bite on this. You’re not going to feel pleasant for this.” You pull out a bottle of alcohol and he grits his teeth. “Jesus Christ.” He puts the item between his teeth and he cranes his neck back to not look down. He looks back down out of fear just as you poured it onto the wound and he shouts in pain, his other hand slamming onto the armrest. 

“Are you a doctor?” He asks, after spitting out the object in his mouth. His chest heaves up and down. Your brows furrowed into a focusing stare, “Medical Academy in high school. Felt like Dr. Meredith Grey in Grey’s Anatomy.” Andrew chuckles, breathlessly till you cut him off again by adding your skills onto his wound. You stitched it up, patched it and wrapped it tight but enough to let the blood flow through his body again.

“Try not to use it,” You warn nonchalantly. He nods once and rolls his bloodied sleeve down, “I’ll try not to.” You were calm around him throughout the rest of the day. The creature didn’t seem to roam the neighborhood but he had been staying in the basement ever since.

“I guess I tend to snore very loud,” He jokes, making you smile at the least. The first night you stayed with him, it wasn’t too uncomfortable. You believed it was the best sleep you’ve had for a long time. You never worried about how loud you were. Your brain was the loudest of it all. It made so much noise of static, you tossed and turned. 

It was Day 304. Almost two weeks with Andrew had never been more comforting than it was alone. Without a doubt, you felt his hand come to contact with your back. But in your head you didn’t think of it. You were sure your mind was making up some kind of comfort. But it was Andrew. 

That morning you were packing your things in your backpack. Andrew shift awake and saw you. “Where you going?” He asks with what was his hoarse voice. Your backpack swung on your shoulders and you paused for a beat. “I need to go. Look for supplies for your arm.”

His eyes glance at his arm that was seeping a bit with his blood so the man grunts, sitting up. “His head hung, “If you’re going I’m coming with you.”

There was no reason to argue with him. Even if you did, it would be you two quietly arguing back and forth. You waited for him to get himself ready. His sleeves rolled up to his elbows, you noticed how dirty his shirt was covered in. The sweat collecting on his forehead already from the basement heat. He nods to encourage you both to head up and officially become silent as a mouse. 

Andrew was the first to step out into the neighborhood. He made sure nothing was around and he held his hand out to motion you forward. Once you met at his side, his hands lifted up, brows raised up. “Town is down the street. Might be a good idea to go.” You nodded on where he pointed.

He points again, “Cold Spring Park is not far.” He motions you to follow him and so you did. You both were barefoot. Feet dirtied, bruised and cut from the journeys you took to get yourself here. His weren’t as bad as yours. You both walked onto a trail with the large sign, Cold Spring Park. You weren’t familiar with it but Andrew always made eye contact with the creek in the park. 

The trail ended and there were schools, homes and supermarkets. Cars were impacted either with each other or into poles and stores. Andrew’s eyes were squinted to look upon the street ahead. It was silent. You held tightly onto your backpack straps and felt his hand latch onto your shoulder and pointed to the open store. You both walked over there and he points to the shattered glass. Watch your step.

He was the first to enter through the shattered window and he turns to you, holding his hand out for you. You took his hand and watched your step as he somewhat carried you in. You both took foot into the store and saw a bit of what remained in the store. Andrew glances over to you and points at one of the aisles. I’ll head down this one.

You nod at him and went your own way down the other. Searching what was left, you picked things up from the shelf and then checked their dates or read what they could do to help you and your partner. Canned foods were found along the shelves and they weren’t things you liked but they had to be something. Looking over the shelves, Andrew was not in your sight. Your brows furrowed, you couldn’t call out for his name. You watched your step as you tried to make your way to the end of the aisle. 

Just as you got to the end, you jump to the sight of him almost lunging at you. Your breath was caught in your throat as he holds his hand up to you. Then he puts it to his chest in a fist, “Sorry.” The sincere look on his face was believable so you continued your way to the back of the store. Andrew makes his way to the back of the room, entering another room for employees only as you scanned the shelves of small debris and rotting food that were probably scavenged days ago. 

You find more medical supplies that were remaining and then you felt Andrew tap your shoulder. You turned and your eyes look down to the large shotgun in his hands, your eyes widen and the pair look back up to him, shockingly. His head tilts and his face drops, shaking his head. You mouthed, “No.”

He turns you around so he could slip the shotgun into your bag, it stuck out of the bag but he managed to get it to fit. He then lifts up his hands, brows raised up to reason with you, “Not loaded. For our safety.”

Your hands lift up, brows furrowed in fear to show him how nervous you were, “How would it help?” Andrew pauses for a moment and your head tilts to the side. He sighs softly, “It will help. Trust me. There are still people out there.” You couldn’t argue further because he did have some points in his reasoning. You never saw people when you walked around town, but if you and Andrew were both still alive, there was a sign others would be out there.

And they don’t plan on trusting others on their team.

That day, the sun was slowly coming down. And Andrew insisted on taking the trail again, before you two went down that road, you looked into a car to find things. The doors were open, glass were all on the floor and on the chairs. Blood stained the seats and the keys still remained in the ignition. Andrew watched your back as you did this, you slowly opened the glovebox and found a small music player. 

It was still in good condition. The earbuds were attached and you thought about it. You took them. It wasn’t useful, but it would be something to calm you in your sleep. Andrew never minded what you were doing and you walked back to the basement with him. It was quiet throughout your walk. Dumbfounded at yourself, you had to. You had to keep your thoughts of questions memorized throughout the walk back.

Caught a couple snap of twigs in the forest but they never triggered any other species around. 

Andrew let you go first down the stairs and followed behind, closing the door. Once you both stood in the basement, Andrew goes for the shotgun first. You slightly gasped, “Be careful with that, Andrew.” He pauses for a moment and lays it on the table, “I will. Trust me. This could do us some good.”

“But it can draw attention.”

Andrew ignores your last comment and pulls the shells for the gun on the table. You continued to pull out the medical supplies, “I’m gonna need to replace your bandage,” You say. Andrew doesn’t fight you back to say I’m fine. He sits down and you put his arm in your lap and unraveled the bandage. “Andy.”

You peer up at him, his eyes watched your hands carefully till they meet yours. “Not many call me Andrew. If it’s better, you can call me Andy.” You grin softly and shook your head. “They’re both two syllables. Nothing too different about them.” Andy grins and watches as you peeled the used patch off, revealing the ruined skin.

Andy hissed a bit as you cleaned the blood around it, the skin that was stitched together was evident like a large vein. You cleaned it enough to finish it off by patching it again. “I would’ve died from bleeding or an infection if you weren’t here.” You grinned softly at that and lifted your head up at him. “I guess we’re both lucky.” His stare on you was longer than you expected.

Once you wrapped his arm, you looked up to him. His blue eyes searched for some spark in your eyes, shifting from your left to your right. Then when his eyes landed on your lips for a split second. You knew what was going to happen. Your head turns, inhaling softly, “We should head to bed.”

He didn’t show any signs of embarrassment. He could only nod and sigh, “Yeah. We should. We can go out. Look for some things out there. Useful to us.” He began to get comfortable on the one bed he had and shared with you. You two always stayed apart and you thought to ease your nightmares, toss and turns, you took out the music player you had. 

Surely the creatures could not hear the music, you hoped it had good songs. Calming and safe songs. You got into bed and turned your back to Andy, facing the wall. You felt him pull the covers over you and turned away like you did. Back-to-back as usual. The heat in the basement wasn’t good for you. The music played and you slipped the buds into your ears and found the songs calming.

Your mind going to the places where this wasn’t happening. Where you had a nice family, friends and a good job. At that moment, you stayed up for hours, going over those memories. You sighed softly and turned onto your other side and your eyes opened slowly to see Andy facing you. His eyes were closed but he looked tensed like you were. Nervousness. Fear. His eyes opened to feel your gaze and he sees you looking at him for an answer. Neither of you had one.

You didn’t know what to say.

Roslyn by Bon Iver played on a loop. You took the idea and slipped one of the buds out of your ears and handed it to him. His eyes followed your hand and took it, not hesitating to put it in his ear, curiously wondering what you were listening to. Once he did, you could feel his shoulders relax in that moment. He sees your eyes close to listen to the soft music play in your ears. His grin softly lifted but it dropped slowly. 

Eyes opening to look at him, his lips parted to say something. He felt more embarrassed to sit there dumbfounded till his body lifts up and your back turns to lay flat on the mattress as Andy head hovers over yours and his lips crash onto yours. The music still playing in your guys’ ears, you kissed back. His hand gently on your hip. His other arm resting near your head, your head tilts to deepen the kiss and Andy sighs on your lips when your hand tugs his jeans.

Day 315

The next weeks, you and Andy tried to stay alive. You cut your proportions on canned food. Shared a can a day. The markets here weren’t stocked as much as you two hoped. Your cans were stack on stack but they seem to get lower every week. It worried you but traveling around wasn’t much. When you do go out, Andy makes sure he grabs the shotgun, loaded. 

Never once you ran into someone else. It would be some relief for someone to be alive but the fear of them being the enemy. Andy’s arm had began to heal, you made sure no infections were forming. It was a sign of relief. The creatures were never caught near you, yet. Not one of you had made the mistake of making noise.

Andy held the gun tightly to his chest like a man in war. He stood behind you at all times, keeping your back covered as he watched every turn. That endeavor between you and Andy. It became a usual thing. He became more protective than you expected. Nights where he made you forget at times. Nights where you both listened to music. Danced to the slow songs. 

It was something you thought was official. Nowhere to turn. You both had nowhere to run off to. So why leave each other?

You see Andy point to the store, he puts the gun under his arm and his hands lift up, “I’ll be in there, wait here.” He goes in the small store and you looked around to see a car. The doors were all open. Making your way over to the vehicle, you searched every crevice. Newspapers. Keys. Toys. Junk food. You made your way to the passenger side and opened the glovebox. 

Your eyes widen to see something heavy fall from the glovebox and you went to reach for it. And your foot steps on a toy.

“Let’s count to ten!” The toy cheerfully says.

Your heart drops.

“One…” You look around the street to not see anything come just yet. 

“Two…” Your breathing is what you hear. Heart banging against your chest like a bass drum.

“Three…” You’re losing your own hearing, frozen on the spot. “Four…” Tears began to form your eyes. This is it. “Five…” This is it. “Six…” 

This is how you’re going to die. “Seven…” You could hear the birds fly in the sky by something disturbing their rest in the trees. “Eight…” You feel someone pull you away. “Nine…” You hear a loud growl and your hearing comes back. “Ten!” Andy has your hand locked in his. He ducks when the creature crashes into the car where you were at and Andy shoves you to the side. 

“Fantastic!” The toy shouts, leaving it off with a short melody and then stops. You’re 8 feet away from where Andy laid. Both of you stumbled on the ground and the creature’s head turns. The layers on its face peels open like scabs of its skin. The loud purring sound made you hold your breath. Andy has his gun pointed at the creature, ready to blow its head off. 

You’re mentally screaming at him not to. You’ve seen the military take on these things on the news. Their armor is strong. He has no chance. Andy finally looks over to you and he sees you shake your head. His eyes are soft towards as his mouths his last words.

“Run.”

You turn back to the creature and see it walk towards Andy but doesn’t sense him yet. You’re panicking, mind thinking of a plan. Scream. Distract him from Andy. Throw something. You both have the chance. But no better route to escape from. The gun was an option but the armor was going to be a bad idea. Your eyes land on the car keys on the ground. You look over to Andy and he’s completely on his back, gun just a feet away from the creatures face. Its drool landing on Andy’s shirt and staining. He could smell the rot in its breath.

The rumbling sound of its purring felt like thunder. His grip tightens on the gun. Andy’s waiting to do it. 

You grit your teeth.

That will not be your last word, Andy. You push the alarm button on the keys and the car alarm goes off. The creature’s skin lifts up to hear for a split second till Andy fires the shotgun. The creature lunges up and collapses to the side, legs twitching near Andy as he scoots back and you stop the car alarm. Andy stands up and runs over to you. Taking your arm, he drags you both to the alley way. You knew you drew in more of those things by the loud alarm sound.

Andy limping on his foot, he manages to get you guys back home without another scratch. His foot had been aching and you didn’t let him sit down once you got to the porch. You instantly brought him into a hug, letting out a huff of relief. His arm wraps around you securely as he grins softly. 

You pull away and cup his cheek, eyes of worry. He nods with a soft grin. I’m okay. His hand comes up to your cheek, brushing the tear away from yours. 

We’re okay.

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[pinkhairedlily]

Chapter 5 - Student Council President Sakura

SCPS AO3 | PREVIOUS CHAPTER

When Naruto let go of that pitch, Sakura knew their school had won. She hugged Hinata who was also overjoyed, and she turned to her side to give Sasuke a high five then she realized he was still not back.

As she moved along the bleachers, she rallied her schoolmates to give a resounding yell routine. Disappearing within the noise, she moved along the halls below the benches, and there she found the group.

When the fist made contact with her face, she almost blacked out. The pain came rushing in after a few seconds of numbness, her sight a complete blur, a slight disorientation, and her hearing muffled. The scuffle played out before her as her eyes refocused, Sasuke kicking and punching the goons on the stomach, but it seemed she got it wrong when Kakashi’s eyes drifted to her as a pair of glaring daggers.

His one foot was on the wrist of the guy who punched her. When the blood finally dripped from her broken nostrils, Kakashi broke the guy’s hand, thankfully echoed by the screams from the bleachers. “You’ll get expulsion and multiple restraining orders just for the hell of it.”

While Kakashi called the security, Sasuke went to Sakura’s side with a mix of an irritated but worried look on his face. Ah, he was wondering why.

“I’m okay,” she tried to say despite receiving no question, but the words came out wrong. Oh my gods, are my teeth broken? How embarrassing?

As if summoned by her thoughts, he stood before them right after the guards took away the passed-out bullies. “Let’s get you two to the clinic.”

--------------------------------

“I can’t call Naruto. I left my bag with Hinata,” she tried to say again but the words were coming out jumbled like I con kor Nar-u-o…I re ma ba wi Hina-a…

Kakashi was trying not to laugh as she communicated with Sasuke who was on the other bed, being checked by a doctor with curtains drawn. The school clinic recommended them to go directly to the hospital.

“He would have to wait for our congratulations,” Sasuke replied.

“I see you wincing in pain, young man. That’s a broken rib right there,” the doctor noted from the other side. When the curtains were swept to the side, Sakura saw her raven-haired classmate clutching at his side. When his eyes opened to find hers, he glanced away and let go of his pained expression.

“Ms. Haruno, I will be referring you to our plastics. Would be a waste if your student council president loses her pretty face.” The doctor tapped Kakashi’s shoulder as she walked out of their ward.

“Thanks, Nohara,” he called out after her.

Sakura deduced he was friends with the doctor, but she could ask him that some other time. She looked a bit older than the Math teacher so they might not be together. Regardless, shouldn’t she be more engrossed of having a crooked nose in front of Kakashi than his personal love life? When he turned her attention to her finally, she instinctively covered her face with her hands.

“Sakura, you should tilt your head upwards, just a little bit. You had a nosebleed earlier, didn’t you?” She did what he said, but gods, this was so embarrassing. She tried to look at him through her fingers, and his beauty mark moved as he chuckled. Ugh, why is he so perfect?

His phone suddenly pinged, and he took a moment to read the message. “Hmm. I need to leave and go explain things to the board. Nohara might advise bed rest and school leave for at most three weeks so get well soon, all right?” Then, he turned to Sasuke. “You don’t have to worry about it.”

Sakura wondered if she should ask a favor from Kakashi. Asking him to stay was a tad too much, and asking him to contact the council would be too irresponsible. Maybe she could sneak out after his exit and find a way to contact the council. She should also call Naruto – second on the task list. He would be devastated without their congratulations.

A hand on her head stopped her thoughts. “Stop thinking at hundred miles per second, and rest. I will take care of the council and inform Uzumaki of your situation. I assume you three are friends?”

“No.” “Yes.” Sasuke and Sakura answered respectively.

Kakashi smiled, finding amusement in their dynamics. “See you soon.”

“Shi yo,” she muttered through her broken nose, unaware of her fingers already fidgeting the rubber band on her wrist.

--------------------------------

She was back in the hospital the following week. While Sasuke was advised to be confined, she was sent for home care. The mandated rest did not even last a day because she needed to show up to her shifts in the café and showed up she did in some elaborate mask to cover her bandaged nose and a sketchpad for conversations. To appease the constant nag and flood of messages from her councilmates, she stopped showing up in school for three days and turned the tables on them by doing all the nagging and demanding daily updates.

On the fourth day, she was up and running through the school halls to reach the board inquisition in time. She gladly accepted an annoyed litany of precautions and reminders from Kakashi.

“I never thought you could be this stubborn, Sakura.” He was visibly exasperated. “I can’t tail you every time and remind you that you’re injured.”

But you could. “I’m sorry, Sensei. I promise to not push myself so hard for the next days.” Sakura gave him a peace sign which he jokingly waved away.

“Pull your energy back, like 60 percent of it.” He patted her head softly, like an adult would to an unreasonable kid, and never have she felt more insulted. “If only I could take care of you.”

Like a babysitter would? She immediately put distance between them, feeling angry for no reason, and she stormed off, leaving him clueless in the middle of the hallway about her sudden rigid behavior.

Now she was back in the hospital after a week of mild recuperation. When she went to check on Sasuke, she found him asleep, probably from the sedatives. It amused her that even in slumbers, his brows would furrow, yet a part of her worried that there must be something looping him in nightmares. She left her presence with a basket of fruits and a medium-sized carton of tomato juice which Naruto mentioned was his favorite. Several juice boxes of the same flavor were stacked on the other side of his bed and a plastic bag filled with instant ramen bowls. She would ask the maintenance staff later to take out the trash.

When she finally reached the door of Dr. Aki Nohara, her assistant gestured for her to wait for a while outside. She figured she can loiter in Sasuke’s room and have one of the nurses get her until she heard Kakashi’s voice inside the room.

“I know you literally accelerated throughout school, but you need to act more like your age.” Her doctor scolded her teacher like an old friend. She was aware of her eavesdropping, but she hoped to learn more of his life. “I’m saying you should visit Rin.”

“Does she miss me?” It was and wasn’t his voice. She didn’t hear his usual nonchalance when he blurted out those words. Ah, a weird ache was forming in her chest.

“Do you even need to ask that from me when the answer is already so obvious?”

“Hmm. I’m just not ready….yet.”

“Well get on with it and put a ring on her finger or others will!”

Ah, her sensei was apparently planning to get married? So he had someone after all, someone named Rin. Sakura felt the room crowd her in, almost suffocating her, and she accidentally bumped into a passing staff and a tray cart of medical supplies.

Her small disturbance brought the occupants outside the room. “Ah, Ms. Haruno, you may come in now. You look pale, dear.”

Kakashi waved at her, his teacher persona already up in arms, then he turned to Dr. Aki. “Your medical advice for my heart is noted, but not now, maybe in the far, far, far future.”

Dr. Aki tsked at him. “Off you go Hatake. I have a patient waiting. Oh thank heavens, the color is returning to your face.”

He’s not marrying her……yet. Would it be silly to think I have a chance?

--------------------------------

A whole two weeks have gone in secluded rooms – a week alone in a hospital room because of Itachi’s connections and another week alone cooped up in his apartment. He got radio silence from his brother, and he almost wished he gave him an earful of insults instead – many of which should have called out his cowardice, especially when the clash had an avoidable casualty. He looked so stupid next to cool Kakashi, Kakashi who was only five years older than them, Kakashi who smoked and read with baseball playing on the background, Kakashi who took on all four people at once with no scratch on his body, Kakashi with his silver hair being friends with doctors and bigshots, Kakashi with his beauty mark laughing at Sakura.

If there was any further downside to this, that was also the angry flood of texts he got from Naruto the night of the game, and then nothing. He was too drugged with sedatives he didn’t have the right mind to reply and process them. He was too drugged to wake up with a clear mind even. He didn’t bother to text or call back. Whatever, whatever, whatever. He took a look again at his phone, checked the time, found no new messages, and put it back on his side table.

His past self would have enjoyed this momentary social isolation, but he couldn’t help the nagging feeling of missing company however, he can’t bring himself to admit this aloud.

The next time he opened his eyes, he scrambled out of bed in panic and cold sweat. Someone was incessantly ringing his doorbell. When his eyes tried to find the clock, he found that it was already eight in the evening. He was sure he wasn’t expecting any guests tonight.

He trudged on to his door and mustered some strength to look through the peephole. Blue irises looked back at him, moved away a few steps, and struck a pose with a pink-haired girl with bandages still on her nose. The door never opened so quickly during the length of his stay.

“Are you stalkers or something?” were the first words he spat.

“Dr. Aki Nohara said it’s okay to visit you now!” Naruto whined. “And Sakura brought food!”

Sakura presented several paper bags. “It was Naruto’s idea actually. He nagged me for a week.”

“Yeah and I couldn’t understand her in the first few days,” the blonde said, rather straightforwardly.

Sasuke held back the urge to slap his hand on his forehead, but he moved to the side as he allowed them to venture inside his apartment. On second thought, did he put his underwear on the laundry basket?

“We figured you didn’t have dinner yet,” Sakura told him as she laid out the food containers on the dining table. “Mind if we use your utensils?”

“I forgot to say please make yourself at home,” Sasuke snapped sarcastically.

“Eeew, you’re still in your pajamas.” Naruto made a face at him while he opened his fridge and scoured for water and fruit juices. “That makes the two of us who didn’t shower!”

“You idiot. I showered this morning.” Nevertheless, Sasuke sat on the seat beside Sakura, allowing her to give him a bowl of ramen and some serving of okonomiyaki. A large platter of takoyaki was placed in the center of the table, first to be consumed by impatient hands and hungry mouths. Sakura had one hell of an appetite and fast metabolism to boot.

“Anyway, congratulations idiot,” he said while munching on the last piece of takoyaki. “Aren’t you supposed to travel to Fukuoka for the semis?”

“Yeah, next week! It doesn’t start until next month, but Captain Haru said we need to train,” Naruto replied as he proceeded to open a bowl of instant ramen. “The board also granted us exemption from exams. My brains are saved.”

“Your training camp really coincided with the school field trip,” Sakura noted. “Maybe we could visit you in between?”

“That would be the best!” Naruto grinned sheepishly, but Sasuke swore there was a tinge of red in his cheeks.

Finally rid of all food and dishes, the three lounged around in his living room, browsing titles in Netflix – Sakura wanted gore, crime, and horror while Naruto wanted adventure and fantasy films.

“What genre do you want, Sasuke?” Sakura asked. She was in possession of the remote and was seated on the other end of the couch. Naruto was on the floor with an open packet of chips and soda.

“And if I said romance?” he chided, weirdly enough to catch them offguard, but Sakura landed on the Twilight series and pressed play without second thoughts. “I was joking.”

“And it’s now starting,” she said back.

“How long are you gonna stay here?” He lost track of time – not the first instance this happened but the first occurrence without the burden of something heavy. “It’s past midnight.”

“I thought I was slow but you’re actually slower,” Naruto teased. “We’re staying over, grumpy.”

“I would love for a vampire to bite me,” Sakura quipped out of context.

Sasuke figured he didn’t have the energy to refute their uninvited sleepover at his unit. By the time New Moon played on screen, Naruto was sleeping on the floor with his mouth hanging wide open, and Sakura was lying fully on the couch, her feet stretched out on his lap. He slid out of this awkward entanglement and strode quietly to his drawers where he took out spare blankets to cover them with. On his bedside table, his phone lit up with a message notification.

Happy birthday, Sasuke. – Itachi

AO3 LINK | NEXT CHAPTER | CHAPTER 6

[vxlkyrieee]

first blood

Endgame!Steve Rogers x Nurse!reader

Word count: 3352

*set during the latter part of endgame (some mentions of infinity war)*

Who would have ever thought that Captain America would need saving?

He appeared the picture of flawlessness. With a tall muscular build, pretty white teeth and a daunting stare, it was so easy to categorise Captain America as completely perfect and invulnerable.

Surely, living with a reputation like that would be exhausting. As someone that was expected to do no wrong all of the time, Steve was constantly on edge. He only ever disregarded his prestige if his moral compass took the unconventional route; he'd done that so many times, especially for Bucky. It usually cost him more than he would've liked.

But he's in too deep this time, and he can't pay for his salvation. Only you could do that for him. And it would cost you all your innocence.

You were never supposed to be a part of this shit. Steve mentally cursed himself, and he may or may not have mumbled a "fuck" when he first realised Thanos was attacking the compound, because you were still here with them. Why didn't you just go home when Steve insisted you'd worked enough hours?

You were his best girl, sweet and oh so gentle. Of course, you always held your own with more than enough handfuls of grit, but Steve believed you would never hurt a damn fly, and now you're all caught up in his mess.

The rubble seemed to deliquesce around your limbs as you try to recover from Thanos' artillery attack. Bruce, Rocket and Rhody, who were stuck with you, point out the arrival of water. It cascades down, sloshing into the confined space, and you couldn't help but start to sob. With every movement, the wreckage would attempt to submerge your body, leaving you struggling to keep your head above the surface. Rhody held your hand with cold, armoured fingers and Rocket clung to your arm for dear life. Here you were, just a mere woman among heroes.

Yet, that didn't matter right now.

Because Rocket was crying with you, The Hulk was struggling to hold up remnants of thick concrete, and War Machine couldn't move right without a full functioning suit. Just as the last flicker of hope was dimming, Ant-man squeezed his tiny body through the splits of rock and rubble, and added more sparks to your optimism. Still panting, Scott gives the three of you a hand and pulls you out.

"C'mon, guys! I'm pretty sure the whole band's back together now."

Making your way out into the open, you watch as the two adversarial sides yell their battle cries, and merge into a disorderly fight. A war, if you will. Leading the chaos was Steve, who now had everything to lose. The love of your life was throwing himself at a fucking Titan and his army, and all you were doing was spectating.

What the hell were you supposed to do? Wait on the sidelines until someone screamed "medic"?

It was as if that thought had climbed out from your skull and materialised before your eyes, when Steve took a particularly heavy blow. His shield was cracked, and if the vibranium was so easily broken, then what of Steve's bones?

As soon as he staggered to the ground, the cracks and fissures in your confidence began to make themselves known. Slowly, they paved paths along your heart, because what if Steve doesn't make it? What if he can't get back up? What if he's already dying?

Your sight becomes tunnel-visioned and you run towards Steve: the light at the end of the tunnel, as both earth and sky become one ash-ridden thing.

He saw your figure amongst the other Avengers, and they all fought tooth-and-nail around you, making sure you made it to Steve without an extra scratch.

"No! No, you've gotta get outta here now, Darlin'! Go!"

You hadn't moved from his side, and this was the only moment Steve ever wished you weren't so stubborn.

You stare at him, his face mottled with blood and freckles. At this point, Steve had trouble blinking without dirt invading his eyes. Instead of obeying his demand, or answering him, you ignore him completely. There were still many other Chitauri, that much you were sure of.

What you weren't sure of, was if Steve could make it to the end of this fight alive with the injuries he had, even when he could wield Mjolnir. His forearm had been torn open, the muscles just hanging onto their ligaments and bone. Steve being Steve, merely tightened the strap of his shield around the forearm, hoping that that would keep it in place. Another deep wound was opened on his thigh, blood soaking through the thick fabric of his uniform, forming a dark stain. He could feel the pain, like electric shocks, tingle down from his leg to his feet.

The same feet that you had once taught to dance.

The last five years haven't been easy. The first year was especially bad. There were days where you and Steve didn't get out of bed, hoping that your heads would stop spinning if you buried them under pillows for long enough.

This would count two times where Steve survived, and his best friend didn't. What made him so worthy of living?

Everyone would all tell him, the thoughts will pass. It's all in your head. But that was the problem. His head was so full with what he could've done, weighted and heavy like a dumpling, bursting and pounding with tears that never seemed to stop.

Steve could be all cloak-and-dagger sometimes. He was a marvellous arrangement of welded armour plates and kevlar, hiding behind a facade. But if you said the right words, touched him gingerly, held his gaze long enough, he'd dismantle and out would escape his affliction. Defences would crumble as he'd break down in your arms, and you in his. Castles and kingdoms collapsing together.

Even on the good days, Steve's blood flowed differently in his veins. His limbs were almost always exhausted, tired of waiting for some sort of breakthrough, holding on white-knuckled to a weakening hope that threatened to dissipate out of existence. Just like his friends.

But on the good days, the flurry of guilt and dust and Bucky and Sam, would shrink a little, even if by the tiniest fraction, to make enough room for something new. Those days meant slow dancing barefoot in the compound, cable-knit sweaters, ice cream flavoured kisses, filtered sun rays through windows, and tender bear hugs.

Those were the days where you had managed to get Steve's smile to reach his eyes: piercing blue, watery with laughter and flecked with tiny mellow greens. Eyes that glued themselves to your feet as he held your frame, swaying to the beat of soft jazz in the background.

On those days, he'd say "good morning." He'd have one hand in his pocket, and the other one wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee. His eyes adorned with dark circles, almost a purple tinge to the skin, but smiley nonetheless.

On those days, he'd buy you a double-scoop cone when you passed an ice cream truck in Central Park, even when it was so cold, your breath would become mist in the air. He'd even try leading the dances you'd have in the afternoon sun, waltzing a little faster so you'd follow in kind, giggling as you did so.

And he'd stumble sometimes, but never once did he give up.

It reminded you of the Avengers' early days, when Steve had planned on courting you. When you were still somewhat an unfamiliar face, only appearing sometimes by Dr. Cho's side. But Steve had his eye on you. Determined to confidently allure you, despite how many times he stumbled over his words in your presence. Instead, he had slipped, fallen really, into a romance he couldn't ever recover from. It was like having his feet swept from under him in a panicked rush, only to land face first into your welcoming arms. It was scary, but he loved it.

And the closer you got to Steve, the closer you got to the rest of the Avengers. Even after the snap. You tried to distance yourself from them at first, as to maintain a professional relationship, but they had a pretty strong magnetic field. Especially the girls. It was like gradually being pulled by gravity into the orbit of a planet you hadn't known existed. It was only then you realised that the Avengers were people too. Human. Well, most of them anyway.

You'd found sisters in Natasha and Wanda who were lost much too soon, and unexpectedly strong bonds with both Nebula and Rocket. There were times before all of this time travel, that you and Nat missed Wanda so much, you cooked all her favourite Sokovian dishes together, from chicken Paprikash, to stuffed Sarmale. It was in her honour you supposed. May as well mourn with good food, right?

On one particular day, you'd made Smazeny Syr, and Nat absolutely insisted the two of you eat it in the unconventional way Wanda loved: with blueberry jam. The smell of frying cheese had lured Rocket and Nebula into the kitchen and you took both their hands, hurriedly dragging them towards the stove.

"It's fried cheese. But, you guys have to try it how Wanda used to eat it. Otherwise you get none," you said with a giggle. Nat cut a piece, stabbing it with a fork before adding a generous dollop of jam.

"Ugh, no thanks I'm out," Rocket sneered.

"Your loss."

Natasha lifted the fork, and Nebula accepted it, albeit with a grimace painted on her face. As she chewed, her expression gradually changed from disgust, to surprise, and finally, delight. She nods her head, humming as she swallows.

"See."

Rocket waved off Nat's 'I-told-you-so's, shaking his head in a disapproving manner.

"Some freakshow you guys are."

You gave him a pointed look, raising an eyebrow and crossing your arms for emphasis. His demeanour faltered under your stare a bit, and he clumsily tried to save himself by favouring you. "'Cept you, (y/n). I kinda like how ya scratch behind my ears."

The room erupted into laughter and muffled complaints from Rocket. "Okay, that's enough outta you, racoon," Nat smiled smugly.

That signature Black Widow smirk. The one that either meant she was amused, or she was gonna kick your ass. You miss that smirk. And your memories of her were smothered with it, mocking you, the memories themselves unraveling into demons of sorrow.

Because now your heart has been broken once again. Your sisters are gone and they'd left you behind. And you will mourn of course, go through the motions of unbearable pain, until eventually it becomes tolerable enough to go back to routine.

But Steve was different. Steve was riddled with more guilt than was possible to endure. And now he could bleed out right in front of you if you didn't do something. But amongst a cold-blooded war, you'd have to avoid being killed too.

You had no weapon on you, and Nebula appeared to be the only one who noticed. So she tossed you a dagger, one that was idly sheathed on her leg anyway. A Chitauri warrior ran straight for you, and Steve was already rendered helpless laying in the dirt. You did the first thing that came to mind. You plunged the dagger right into the warrior's abdomen with a grunt, then ripped it back out, effectively killing the alien without leaving Steve's side.

Steve wished he could have done something. He wished you didn't have to do that. Because although the Chitauri wasn't human, you had just taken the life of a living being, in order to save his. You killed for him, with no reluctance whatsoever.

That was an action that would never be reversed. It was an action that came along with a side dish of guilt that would always make a home in the depths of a person's mind. Steve knew this all too well, coming back from a world war, and having to experience killing other opponents on many occasions. But that was something he wanted to isolate you from. He was the soldier, and you were the nurse. That's how it was always meant to stay, so he could suffer the mental trauma for you. So you'd stay safe from the horrors of having blood on one's hands.

Unlike your usual nature, you end up killing many more Chitauri while trying to clean the site of Steve's wounds.

All you could see was red. The anger and anxiety was so potent, it pressed heavily on your chest, rendering a physical ache in your ribs. Thanos had ruined a lot of things for you. And right now you'd kill as many of his sons of bitches that would dare come near you and the love of your life.

As you apply pressure on Steve's leg, a wave of 5 years worth of longing crashes into you with the force of a meteor shower, when scarlet coloured sorcery crosses your vision. Soon you're up, leaping, flying into Wanda Maximoff's arms. A bone crushing hug steadies the way you tremble against her, and before you know it, her hair is wet with your tears. Of course, time had passed differently for Wanda, but her eyes were apologetic as she caressed your cheek for a second, and you knew she understood how much her absence hurt you.

"C'mon, Princezna. I'll help you with Steve."

Wanda assists you in her progress, stitching Steve's wounds quickly and messily with magic and thread.

Steve notices how his head feels detached to his own body, all his thoughts flooding and melding into one giant entanglement, making it impossible to take a proper look at who was tending to his injuries. Shit, he couldn't even lift his head, weighted by the beginnings of dizziness.

"Is that you, (y/n)?"

"It's me, Baby, it's me. I'm gonna fix you." Fix him. Haven't you already tried countless times? You had thought you could smooth over his creases with love and affection, with time and effort. That was before you realised, no one can fix anyone.

However, Steve knew your efforts weren't wasted. You could never fix him or make him forget about the damage done to him over time. But you always helped him adapt. You helped him carry his burdens. You'd given him space and time to open up his baggage, then even unpacked some of it with him. You had done so much more than fix him.

You made him a new person. Different, sure. But still yours.

Once you had Steve in a stable condition, your adrenaline begins to wear off, and all the noise that previously pierced through the air, had suddenly dissipated. You weren't sure how the battle ended, but

you begin to realise exactly what you had done.

It felt good. As much as you hated to admit it, the bite of sharpened metal into wicked alien flesh was exactly what you needed. Or maybe you needed a minute away from everything. Weren't you supposed to feel apologetic? You were a nurse, for goodness' sake. Your purpose was the exact opposite of what you'd just done. Regardless, you knew Steve would be right there to comfort and console you if need be.

But right now, he needed you.

Bucky makes an appearance amongst the other avengers, and he comes forward, taking Wanda's place beside you. He helps Steve lay down on a stretcher, and into a helicopter sent by who knows who. All you know is, it isn't Thanos, and that's enough consolation for you.

Steve slips from consciousness while in the air, and you catch up with Bucky. He tells you you look different. You tell him you like his hair half-up, half-down.

You all end up inside the home of Tony and Pepper, and it becomes a sort of refuge. A place where everyone can wind down after the chaos and just be. Bucky carries Steve into one of the spare bedrooms, and you properly attend to his wounds. You start by unclipping and disregarding his helmet, before passing your fingers through his flattened hair. Bucky takes it from you, putting it by the window sill.

The bottom half of his face was painted with ash, which despite his predicament, makes you bite your lip to keep from giggling. He smirks at you, and you smile back warmly, wiping his face with a washcloth and a bucket of warm water, careful not to disturb his blooming bruises. You examine them softly. Your fingertips tickle against Steve's chin, but he doesn't complain. You hand him the bucket and he spits in it, ridding most of the blood in his mouth.

Whilst the bucket became more and more clouded with the backwash of the battle, Steve looked more and more like himself. You were so tangled up in Steve, you almost forgot Bucky was there until you hear the sound of his voice. His tone seemed to be sweetened by the sight of how his two friends have grown so much closer than when he left them.

"I'll give you lovebirds some space."

Before he turns to leave, (and supposedly find Sam) Steve clasps his hand on Bucky's arm. "It's good to have you back, Buck. We missed you."

Bucky gives you both a warm grin, nods, then leaves the room, closing the door behind him.

You take off Steve's uniform with languid movements, and he releases a sigh of relief. He was still sore, and unbelievably lethargic, but being this close to you made his brain all fuzzy, blocking out physical pain, to just feel you. He leans forward, resting the weight of his bare shoulder on you as he kisses you softly. The kiss was full of a strong ardour that seeped right into your bones, yet fragile enough, so that both your insecurities shone through. You'd have to rebuild much of yourselves later on, especially after today. Brick by broken brick, you'll both assemble your castles again. But for now, the kiss was enough to put a band-aid over everything.

"Love you, darlin'"

His voice spirals down your ear canals like melted chocolate, almost making you forget your own name. It made you drunk and alert at the same time, a familiar buzz running through your body. And when you smiled down at him, as sweet and soft as whipped cream, you didn't have to return the phrase. He knew. Steve had always been sentimental in that way, even when he wasn't there beside you. Like the months he spent AWOL as a fugitive after the whole Winter Soldier incident in Washington. He'd send you cuttings of your favourite flowers in an envelope, every now and then. No address, no name, no sender, but you knew it was him. You knew they meant 'I love you, be safe, I'll be back when I sort everything out.'

You pull away slowly from his lips, giggling, eliciting Steve to chuckle too. Such a sound was too rare nowadays, and you savoured it, locking the sound in your head to replay over and over later on.

"Okay, Cap. No more distractions, I gotta get you all clean and patched up."

"Only if you kiss me like a war just ended," he bargains.

"Alright, baby. But no frisky business. I'm exhausted."

Steve winks, adding a flirty little salute on the end "Yes, ma'am."

You'd left the curtain half open, hanging the fabric over the top of the window frame like a limp puppy ear. That way, the sunlight came through the window pane in mellow slices, coating your skin in a warm blanket of light while you indulge in Steve's kisses again.

He tasted like salt and cinders, but among that, after five long years, he finally tasted like Steve again. He was starting to heal. And it had cost him the mantle of Captain America, but planning to place it in Sam's care, it was a price he was willing to pay.

 Taglist:

@asgardiangurll @avengingnatasha​ @whyamihere-bro​

[leechobsessed]

One of the Drunks

A night out at the Raven is just what they needed.

Characters: Ella the apprentice, Julian Devorak, Isabel the apprentice

Words: 2639

Ella fiddled anxiously with the piece of parchment in her hands. She glanced down at it briefly, rereading the elegant handwriting to be sure she was in the right place, even though she had read the directions enough times to recite it by heart. Returning her gaze to the building, she frowned as she read the worn wooden sign above the door inviting her into The Rowdy Raven.

She didn’t really want to venture this far into the city tonight, but Isabel had asked, no, demanded, that Ella meet her out at the Raven. 

Isabel had very quickly become Ella’s closest friend at the palace. She was an incredibly intelligent medical apprentice, working directly with Dr. Satrinava. Isabel was always willing to teach Ella about medicine, and she was very interested in using magic to assist treatments, which wasn’t something Dr. Devorak was comfortable with. Over the last few weeks, Isabel and Ella had spent lots of time together. 

“You work too hard,” Isabel had said earlier today, pulling the almost-completed reports from Ella’s hand. Ignoring Ella’s pleas for her work to be returned, Isabel had scribbled quick directions on the bottom of one of the pages before handing them back to her. “You need a break. Come out tonight. No is not an answer I’ll take.”

“You know I have to redo that page now,” Ella had pouted as she snatched the page back from Isabel. “I can’t come out. I have a lot of work to get done.”

Crossing her arms and narrowing her deep brown eyes at her, Isabel shook her head. “I better see you tonight. I have a surprise lined up for you.” Before Ella could protest, Isabel had turned and exited the office, tossing a wave behind her shoulder. “I’ll see you tonight!”

So here she was. Ella sighed and tucked the parchment into her bag, pulling her cloak tighter around her. Isabel was right, she did need a break. In the weeks she had been working at the palace, she had barely found enough time for herself to eat, let alone leave the palace. She didn’t mind the work, but… it was definitely time for a break.

She just wasn't sure an establishment called the “Rowdy Raven” would be a good place to unwind. 

Ella hadn’t been to the South End in years. Although she was sure she knew the way, she almost got lost multiple times on her way into the city from the palace. She supposed that was because Asra had always led the way, so she never spent much time focused on the directions. 

The Raven was nestled snugly in between its neighboring buildings, with a soft glow of light and the sound of upbeat music, clinking glasses and laughter drifting out of the partially opened windows. Sighing one last time and tucking her hair behind her ears, she pushed open the doors to the tavern and stepped inside. 

The tavern was crowded. Patrons lined up at the counter ordering drinks, others sat at tables scattered throughout the establishment, and more still were gathered toward the back, dancing in time with the music. Ella removed her cloak as she scanned the crowd, maneuvering carefully through the people in search of her friend. 

It took a moment for Ella to find Isabel, sitting at a table near the band, laughing at something an unseen companion had said. As if sensing eyes on her, Isabel looked Ella’s way and waved her over, a smile stretched across her pretty face. 

“Ella, you made it!” Isabel called out as Ella approached. “Come, pull up a chair!”

“Yes, well, you didn’t give me much of a choice now, did you?” Ella tossed Isabel a fake exasperated expression before smiling. “Anyway, thank you for inviting me out.”

“Have you ever been here before? It’s quite the place.”

“No, I can’t say I have.”

Isabel nodded as she took a sip of her drink. “It doesn’t quite seem like it would be your go-to establishment.” She quickly gave Ella a once-over and smiled. 

“You look good, honey. Trying to catch someone’s attention?” Isabel wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, laughing at Ella’s flustered expression. “Oh, I’m just teasing. What are the odds you’d run into him here anyway?”

Blushing, Ella rolled her eyes, feigning innocence. “I don’t know who you could possibly be talking about,” she said, but she found her mind immediately pulling up images of a mess of auburn curls, misty gray eyes, long, pale limbs...

Isabel’s voice pulled her attention away from her wayward thoughts. “Sure, love. Drink?” Ella nods, and Isabel calls over a barmaid, orders three more drinks and turns back to Ella, her dark eyes glowing with mischief. “You’re lucky you came tonight, the band is on fire.”

Ella followed Isabel’s gaze to the band, where four members, each with different instruments were striking up a chord to start a new song. The women at the table listened to the music for a few minutes, tapping their fingers in time with the beat, before Isabel turns her gaze back to Ella.

“How have you been? I feel like I haven’t seen much of you around lately.”

“I’ve been working,” Ella says, nodding to the barmaid as she dropped off the drinks on the table. “There’s been lots to do. Dr. Devorak has taken on more patients, and is trying a new combination of treatments.”

Isabel pulled one of the steins toward her, taking a long sip before leaning back in her chair, her dark braids falling over her shoulder. “Hm. Dr. Devorak keeping you up late into the night?” She wiggled her eyebrows over the rim of her drink as she took another sip.

Ignoring the suggestion, Ella brought her drink to her lips, hoping the blush spreading across her cheeks wasn’t too obvious. As the drink touched her tongue, she grimaced, quickly setting the drink back down. “Oh, gods. What is this?”

“Salty Bitters,” a deep voice from behind her said, causing her to jump in her seat. “They start to taste better the more you have.”

“Ah, Julian. Nice of you to find your way back to the table,” Isabel said, her eyes focused on Ella’s reaction. “Ella was just telling me she had to break out of the shackles you left her in to get here tonight. You’re working her too hard, Julian.”

Dr. Devorak slid his thin frame into the chair next to Ella, reaching for the third, untouched drink on the table. Ella felt her breath catch in her throat when his forearm brushed her hand as he pulled the glass toward him. 

“Ah, yes, well. Ella is the most dedicated apprentice I’ve ever worked with, I suppose I was just trying to take advantage.” He turned to look at her, a lazy, half-drunk, sexy smile spreading across his features. “I am surprised you managed to break out of the shackles, though. I had Valdemar themselves design the restraints.”

As Isabel laughed, Ella blushed, tearing her eyes away from the doctor’s. She took three long sips from her drink, wincing before slamming the empty cup on the table. She shot Isabel a look, trying to telepathically express her fury with her friend over the fact she was not warned her boss, and her crush, was the surprise Isabel had in store for her.

Why in the name of the gods had she told Isabel she found him attractive?

Isabel smirked, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of her full lips. “Another, Ella? You look like you need it.”

“Please,” Ella hissed through gritted teeth. 

This time, instead of waving over a barmaid, Isabel stood up from her chair and made her way over to the counter to order, leaving Julian and Ella alone at the table. The two of them sat in silence, Ella’s eyes focused back on the band. After a moment, the doctor cleared his throat. 

“I am surprised you came tonight,” Julian hums, leaning back in his chair. “Isabel mentioned she invited you, but… You seem like you’re always working.”

Ella shrugs, turning her gaze back to him. “I could say the same about you, Dr. Devorak. I don’t think I’ve seen you leave your office all week.”

Julian sighs, taking another sip of his drink. “I hadn’t. That is until Isabel threatened my life if I didn’t come out tonight.” 

The corners of Julian’s mouth pull upward as Ella laughs, tucking a loose strand of hair back into place behind her ear. “You too, huh? She’s quite demanding. And quite dramatic.” She glances toward the counter, where Isabel catches her eye and gives her a thumbs up.

Mentally kicking herself for ever revealing her feelings for the doctor to someone, Ella turned back to Julian, who still had his eyes fixed on her. 

“Mm, yes. Quite dramatic. She’d be wonderful in theatre. Thankfully, she’s a brilliant apprentice, so it’s easy to overlook her bossiness.”

“She is very intelligent. And she’s a wonderful friend. Also very eager to use magic in treatments.” She tilted her head to the side and offered a smirk. “Unlike some people.”

Julian let out a laugh as he brought his drink back to his mouth. Ella found herself unable to tear her eyes away from his lips as they pressed against the stein, wondering what they would feel like pressed against her skin...

Flushing furiously at the direction of her thoughts, she brought her hand to her cheeks to cover the blush creeping across them. 

“I’ve never understood magic.,” Julian starts. “Don’t get me wrong, my dear, I’m sure you’re very good at what you do…” he hesitates, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looks toward the band.

“I sense a ‘but’ coming.”

He smirks, his gray eyes settling back on hers. “But it's all just…” He waves his hand in the air as he grasps for his next word. “Weird.” 

Before Ella can respond, Isabel returns, holding two drinks in her hand. She hovers momentarily to drop off the drinks, hurriedly informing the two at the table that she would be leaving with a friend and that she would catch both of them at work tomorrow. 

After waving quickly goodbye and shooting daggers at the back of her friend’s skull, Ella pulls her drink to her and takes a deep drink, wincing again much to Julian’s amusement. 

“I promise, by the third one, it’ll start tasting better.” He flags down the barmaid who sets two more down on the table.

In unison with Julian, she downs her drink and reaches for the other one. They must be fairly strong, she can already feel the alcohol warming her cheeks and the tips of her ears. “Dr. Devorak, are you trying to get me drunk?”

Julian splutters into his drink, his eyebrows creased together as he quickly turns his eyes back to her, only to catch her amused expression. Once it dawns on him that she was only joking, his worry ceases and a smile returns to his thin face. 

“Maybe.” He pauses, his drink hovering in the air. “Will that get you to dance with me?” He raises his eyebrow, a crooked, dashing smile spreading across his features. 

Ella takes another sip of her drink to try to wash away the excitement caused by the image of his hands on her. She taps her fingernails on her chin, pretending to think about it. “I don’t know. I am a pretty good dancer. I wouldn’t want to show you up.”

Julian laughs, standing up and offering Ella his hand. “I’d love to see you try.”

Accepting both his hand and the challenge, they make their way to the dance floor, just as the band plays the opening notes of a new, upbeat song. A bit cautiously, Ella places her free hand on his chest as he rests his hand on her waist, looking to her to ensure she’s okay with the contact. She feels slightly dizzy; whether it's from the Salty Bitters or her proximity to Julian, she isn’t sure, but she nods all the same.

As the song picks up rhythm, she and Julian glide effortlessly across the floor, Julian taking the lead. They move together as if they had been dancing together for years, each footstep matched, each movement mirrored. Every now and then she catches Julian’s eye and her heart nearly stops.

As they near the climax of the song, Julian leads them toward the edge of the dance floor. “Do you trust me?” He asks, his eyes glimmering with mischief and sincerity.

Ella nods, her hand tightening the grip on his. Julian grins, leading Ella toward a chair next to a table. Together they step up onto the chair, and with an effortless spin, they take another step up onto the table, carelessly knocking empty steins onto the floor. Without pause, Julian steps down onto another chair, braces her weight, and supports her until he steps down to the ground. 

Ella is vaguely aware of the patrons of the Raven cheering as Julian lowers her into a dip and pulls her upright as the song ends, but her eyes are focused on Julian’s. His eyes are locked on hers, wearing a smile so wide it seems to stretch across his entire face.

He releases her hand from his and straightens out his shirt, running a hand through his hair to push his auburn curls back off his glistening forehead. “I must say, you’re almost a better dancer than me. And that’s saying something.”

“If that’s the best I’m going to get, I’ll take it. I suppose I’ll just have to pull out all the stops next time.”

Julian’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline. “Next time, hm?”

Ella reaches forward, fixing the wayward collar of the doctor’s soft linen shirt. “Next time,” she echoes as she pulls her eyes upward to meet his.

His eyes darken fractionally as they shift from her eyes to her lips, to her hands resting on his chest, before returning to her eyes. Suddenly fully and painfully aware that he is still her boss, Ella pulls away, flushing with embarrassment.

She clears her throat, smoothing the front of her dress out as she takes a step back from him, nearly knocking over a nearby patron. A piece of hair falls in front of her face as she stumbles over her words. “Well, Dr. Devorak, ah, Julian, thank you for the dance, but I should be getting home…” She turns quickly on her heel, heading off the dance floor.

Julian frowns as he follows her back to the table. “You’re not planning to walk back to the palace tonight, are you?”

“Oh.” Ella pauses, thinking over her options. “Well, no, I suppose not. But my shop isn’t far from here, I could stay there for the night.”

Julian nods and pulls her cloak off the back of her chair, wrapping it around her shoulders before grabbing his own coat and gloves from another chair.

“Let me walk you home.”

She waves her hand, dismissing his offer. “Oh, no, I’ll be fine, I know the way—”

Suddenly, Julian reaches out, tucking the stubborn wave of brown hair back behind her ear. His touch lingers there for a second before he slowly pulls his hand away. “Let me walk you home,” he repeats, softer this time. 

Ella hesitates, focusing on remembering to breathe. Eventually she nods. It was probably smart. She didn’t quite know her way out of the South End, especially in the dark, and a little drunk. 

“Where will you stay?” She asks as they exit the Raven. It’s gotten much colder since she arrived, and she can feel rain on the horizon. She glances both ways down the street before turning left. 

“I’ll probably stay in my clinic,” he responds simply, offering her the crook of his arm.

“The clinic full of sick patients?” She gives him a look before shaking her head. “No, you’ll stay the night at the shop.”

“Ella, I’ll be--”

“It’s not up for debate.”

Julian laughs. “Hm. And I thought Isabel was the bossy one,” he joked, nudging her with his elbow. “Come on, let's get you home.”

[skinks]

mr wentworth yes i help my son with his goofy voices yes i am a dilf tozier has the salt n pepper hair of god (oscar isaac) and the sexy librarian glasses to match

god I had never even considered that... the range of this...

Went starts going gray at 32 when Richie is 5 and it’s all the church women’s group can talk about... indirectly, of course. Oh, but he’s so young. Oh, he’ll be balding next. Oh I don’t know, doesn’t he look... distinguished? Mrs Nash from just down their street sees him doing rock-paper-scissors with his son Richard in the grocery store to determine whether or not Richard is allowed ice cream, and Dr Tozier is laughing because he’s winning, and he’s winning because Richard doesn’t know his father can see his little hidden hand reflected in the freezer cabinet, tucked behind his back. Richard’s laughing too, even though he’s losing, and bleats, “Again! Dad again,” eyes shining big as planets with coke-bottle rings.

“Don’t you know what best two out of three means? That was four draws ago.”

“No! No, I’ll win!” The boy shakes his head so hard his whole body rocks from side to side, then clings up at Dr Tozier’s middle with sticky hands. His very... trim middle. Helen’s own Rory, God love him, he enjoys a sudsy six-pack too much these days to keep a middle like that. “Two outta three! Three ice creams please Dad please please Dad please watch I can count to a hundred—”

“Well, we’re not playing hide-and-go-seek right now, Rich. And I beat you, didnt I?”

“Yeah!”

“Right. So why don’t you go get Dad six apples instead, alright? If you can do a hundred, six’ll be pie.” Dr Tozier claps his big hands gentle to the boy’s round cheeks, until they goldfish.

“Easy as,” they chant together. Helen props herself up with the handles of her own cart, the can of little hotdogs going slack in her hand.

“Six apples, then come right back. You got that, doc? You pick the color.”

Richard nods like he’s trying to detach his own head. Dr Tozier puts one hand just briefly on Richard’s dark mophead hair, like he’s giving the boy a blessing for his apple adventure. His hand is really quite broad, thinks Helen, popped out square at the thumb-joint. Matches that jawline of his, something whispers darkly in her stomach. Then the boy’s off, tearing down the aisle on a squeaking chariot of scuffed-gray sneakers and babbling what sounds like a Bugs Bunny impression, repeated on a loop. What’s up doc what’s up doc what’s up doc, fading around the corner to the fruit. Peculiar. Helen once saw the Tozier boy eat a worm at the park while pushing her youngest on the swings, after another solemn-eyed little boy with a faceful of freckles had carefully presented it to him in the sand box. Most peculiar.

Dr Tozier watches him go, then turns back to the freezer cabinet, and sticks two cartons of ice cream into his shopping cart—the very sugary kind. And the man is a dentist!

Helen puts her hand on her chest to calm the trilling schoolgirl rush of her heart, and then stops herself at the sight of her own wedding ring. Get a hold of yourself, Mrs Nash! For Pete’s sake! She trundles her cart over for some chit-chat. Afternoon, Doctor, she says, lovely weather. A perfect neighbourly opener. It is lovely; bright and warm and clear and golden, like honey outside. She’s quietly smug about her new blowout. Dr Tozier is wearing a crisp shirt with buttons like neat soldiers and short sleeves, exposing lean forearms. Yes, a lovely day. Helen swallows.

“Yes, good for the lawn,” replies Dr Tozier.

“We missed Margaret at book club this week,” Helen hedges.

“Oh, that’s right,” says Dr Tozier, and the fine lines at the corners of his eyes when he grins are even more distracting without the facemask he’s usually wearing, when Helen drops in for her check-ups. He pushes his spectacles up the strong slope of his nose. They’re wiry like him, steely gray to match his eyes. “She meant for me to tell you, or Diana. Maggie’s been in Skowhegan for the week at her mother’s. My mother-in-law is a woman of... nervous disposition, shall we say. Maggie didn’t think she’d cope with two Tozier men at once, now that Richie’s started losing his teeth.”

“Ohhh,” Helen coos. That must explain the ice cream. She puts her hand near to Dr Tozier’s arm, then away, then near, then away again for good. A neighbourly distance. Margaret is a lovely, lucky woman, even if she does wear flared pants. Hippie to yuppie pipeline’s alive ‘n’ flowin’, Rory always grunts whenever the Toziers come up in conversation. Helen imagines a picket fence between their bodies, and calms. “My Wendy was the same, I’m sure you remember.”

“Yes,” says Dr Tozier mildly. “You brought her in six times as I recall it, Mrs Nash.”

Mrs Nash. Honestly, like she’s his schoolteacher. It’s a little rude. Admittedly he does look quite, quite young with his faintly curling weekend-hair, if not for the new gray blazing a trail back from his temples like virgin snow. Helen is undeterred, even if something quivers inside at the thought of the word virgin in conversation with Dr Tozier. Music tinkles tinny through the ceiling speakers, and it puts Helen in mind of potted plants, or elevators. This is a lovely chat. “Well, you hate to see them suffer, don’t you? I’m sure Richard’s the same, lots of tears—”

“No, actually, Richie keeps on finding things to hit himself in the face with and knock out more teeth,” Dr Tozier interjects. He raises his eyebrows and speaks hushed, as if this is a secret for Helen’s ears alone. The thought makes her dizzy. “It’s my fault, I made the mistake of giving him a quarter for the first one. That’s why he’s not invited to Grandma’s. Lot of antiques.”

“Oh,” says Helen, taken aback. She has three girls; little boy behavior is as yet mystifying. “Well.”

“I’m joking, Helen,” Dr Tozier says cheerfully.

“Oh. I—I see. What a relief.”

He opens a freezer chest to examine a bag of frozen peas. “Maggie’s mom is deaf as white cat, she’d never notice.”

Helen tries to wipe her clammy hands on her dress without being obvious. Her face is hot, but she hopes her cardigan conceals the effect that the chill of the freezer aisle is having under her bra. She also hopes that it doesn’t.

He really does have such a slender, pleasant face, always with an air of casual, amused expectancy hanging around him. Haloing him, like that bright yellow light above the chair in his practice, blocked out when he leans over and slips his fingers inside. Helen supposes that’s what graduating medical school must do to a man, what marrying and fathering young and having one’s own practice by the end of such a turbulent decade as the nineteen-seventies must elicit. The ability to put people at ease, to—to say open wide and know the people of Derry trust him enough to comply. To open themselves. Helen’s breathing catches. Dr Tozier idly checks his sensible watch, still smiling the unhurried smile of a man who very rarely does his own grocery shopping anymore. Everyone knows you pick up the ice-cream last.

Helen gathers herself. This is the longest conversation she has entertained with Dr Tozier without children or the squeaking of latex gloves between them, and she’s gripped by the terribly silly need to be interesting. “Speaking of white cats, I couldn’t help noticing your hair, Wentworth—”

“DADDY!”

Dr Tozier blanches, whipping around to scan the end of the aisle. He is a long line of tense instinct tuned to thrum into action at one specific frequency, knuckles white on the cart handle. His cart bumps into Helen’s. It is thrilling.

“Fuck,” Dr Tozier mutters, and that’s thrilling too, he swore, oh, the boy’s probably fine Wentworth, don’t go, why don’t we just stay right here with the frozen goods and—

Then Richard comes barrelling back down the aisle like a colt on new legs covered in old Band-aids, with his arms full. The fluorescent strip-lights gleam white on Dr Tozier’s broad shoulders and he sags, like snow dropping from a branch, with relief.

“Hey, lunkhead,” he says, sounding shaky, but Richard is only five and would never know it. He’s babbling again. Seems to Helen like the boy’s as a hydrant overflowing on a hot day; entertaining and welcomed at first, until it becomes a nuisance when you begin to understand it won’t shut off, and have to call the firemen.

“Nyyeeeeeah,” Richard greets his father, tousled and bug-eyed with clear adoration, breathing hard from his Supermarket Sweep. Then he makes the carrot-noise. Looks like Bugs, Helen thinks of the boy’s new adult front teeth, the beaverish jut of them exacerbated by his missing canines on either side. Then she feels abruptly un-neighbourlike for being jealous of a child for his father’s attention, good grief.

Dr Tozier regards his son for a long moment. Then says, “What’s up, doc?” in a spot-on Mel Blanc whine. Richard giggles so hard his too-big glasses start slipping. “How many apples is that?”

“Gotta apples and I was gonna put ‘em in a bag but I forgot and Dad, Daddy look, s’a dinosaur on the box for my dinner when Mommy’s at Grandma’s—”

Dr Tozier sighs, putting one hand on his hip and dragging the other over his clean-shaven mouth, watching Richard drop his armfuls everywhere, scattering the linoleum. He has two apples, four boxes of brightly colored cereal, a handful of pencils topped with cartoon-character erasers, and a kiwi fruit. For a moment, Helen sees the shining enamel of Dr Tozier’s everything-will-work-out-with-another-cup-of-coffee amusement slip, wear away to worry underneath.

“Rich,” he says, interrupting Richard’s blabbermouth, firm and patient. Helen’s thighs burn suddenly under her skirts at the tone of his voice, and she looks down, rearranging her own groceries. She should leave them to get on. She could offer to help. Margaret’s out of town, poor things, they probably haven’t eaten a cooked meal all week!

“Richie,” Dr Tozier says again. “Listen and pay attention when Mom or me ask you to do something, remember? How many apples did I ask you to get?”

Richard has to crane his neck to meet his father’s eyes. Dr Tozier is one of the tallest fathers in the Derry Elementary catchment zone, Helen has checked. “Six!”

“And how many’ve you got, Elmer Fudd?”

“Um.” Richard’s pale little face creases in thought, then brightens. When he speaks again his voice is strange, accented. “Twooo.”

“Some apple hunter you are, huh.”

“Sorry, Daddy.”

“That’s fine.” Dr Tozier stoops to gather Richard’s detritus, and Helen knows she has something to contribute, watching the boy stick one of the pencils up his nose.

“You know, apples are very good for you,” she says. Richard turns to her, slack-jawed, as if seeing her for the first time. “You should listen to your Daddy, Richard, an apple a day keeps the doctor away.”

Richard stares for another few seconds. Then he bites down on his boogery pencil so that it threads through the gaps in his teeth, and hollers, “MY FRIEND BILL SAID THAT’S A PILE OF BULLSHIT.”

“No shouting indoors, Rich,” says Dr Tozier, still gathering. Helen rocks a step backwards, clinging to her cart like a life-preserver.

“Bill and my’s friend Eddie eats a thousand apples and sees the doctor all the time though Dad, and Miss Spiegel said if we eat apples we don’t have to see the doctors but Eddie eats them and—Bill said—”

“Pile of bullshit, yeah, I liked it. Bill’s an eloquent guy,” says Dr Tozier. This is the second time Helen has ever heard him curse in as many minutes. It comes out easy and amused as everything else does in his pleasant tenor. His legs and his jaw are so lean and angular that Helen can see the suggestion, the shadow of the shape of his perfect, swearing teeth through his cheek as he grins helplessly at his son, the fruit of his loins and someone else’s loins who isn’t Helen, and all of a sudden she feels a slick pulse of wet heat, up between her thighs.

She squeaks. Flutters her hand to her face without knowing why, perhaps to catch the noise before Dr Tozier notices, just another quivering Derry leaf tossed along by his breezy manner. He looks up anyway, with a frown.

“Everything alright, Helen?”

“Just—fine, yes,” she manages. Dr Tozier is still down on one knee, kindly face level with her skirts. She can see right down under his starched collar from this angle, a slivering glimpse of smooth, dark hair. No undershirt. Helen has lain naked against Rory’s nakedness before without feeling this alive, in every part of her body. She feels like a heart, beating.

“Oh, hang on.” Dr Tozier says, eyes widening, and turns Richard by the shoulders to face her. One pencil for each nostril, now. “Apologize to Mrs Nash for cussing, Richie.”

“Sorry!” Richard shouts, sounding less like he’s apologizing and more like he’s just deemed Helen it during a game of tag.

Helen is still floating in a dazed state of mild panic. Like a prey-mouse, bewitched into slack compliance by her own body’s snaking desires. “That’s alright, dear.”

F-word, Dr Tozier had said. Maybe cussing could be quite neighbourly when applied in the right context, thinks Helen.

“You mentioned my hair, earlier,” says Dr Tozier, straightening back up with a knowing sort of arch to his eyebrow as he smiles genially at Helen. He tilts his head down at Richard. “There’s the reason. Every last one, sprinkled onto my head at the tender age of thirty-two by the great salt-and-pepper shaker of fatherhood. Especially this week, with Maggie on sabbatical. Had to bring you to work with me, didn’t I, buckaroo?”

Richard bites and swings and tugs on his father’s long arm, a tearaway kitten with a much obliging scratching post. Dr Tozier hardly seems to notice. “Yeah! Daddy’s got fishes at work!”

Dr Tozier grimaces slightly at Helen, but also as if he’s seeing right through her to some past unnamable horror. “I liked those fish. Calmed down the nervy patients.” He sighs again.

Helen wonders briefly whether or not the residents of Dr Tozier’s waiting-room fish tank suffered the same fate as that worm in the park, and decides she’d rather not know.

“Well, you needn’t worry about it,” she says, gamely. She watches her hand reach towards Dr Tozier’s silver-black brindle, then snatches it back from his bland expression to brush the tips of her own feathered-out hair. “The gray, I mean.”

Dr Tozier blinks.

“It’s very—that is to say, you look, it makes you look, I mean, I think it’s—”

Dr Tozier’s left eyebrow joins his right, raised up high.

A tidy little jet of hysteria shoots up from Helen’s knotting stomach to spin like a top in her chest. She hears herself stutter out the word, “Dashing,” and immediately wishes to flee the store, leaving her cart abandoned like so much collateral damage.

But Dr Tozier only barks a laugh, a short, smooth hah like everything else he says. Entirely unperturbed. “Well, thank you.”

Too unperturbed. Helen is struck by a sudden bolt of terror, at the thought of the things Dr Tozier must surely hear every day, when people are lulled by the hypnotically intimate environment of a dentist’s chair and a touch of the laughing gas. Oh, this is terrible. Her face is on fire.

“But they—they make products for men now,” she says, and why, oh why can’t she stop talking? “Hair dyes, I mean, if it really does bother you? I’ve seen them in Keene’s.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” says Dr Tozier, looking down at Richard then with a soft edge, at his bouncing noise and scabbed knees and gently curling hair like a black spaniel’s. Like his father’s. “I find I’m rather grateful for it, truth be told.”

“Plus,” he continues, as if Helen wasn’t already melting harder than the Tozier’s ice-cream, as if Johnny Kitchener the shop-boy isn’t going to have to come along with a mop and bucket to clean up on aisle seven, “Maggie’d kill me if I got rid of it.”

Then Dr Tozier winks.

Oh Lord, oh Lord, Helen’s whole ribcage is so tight she can’t squeeze out a reply, because who could blame dear, pretty, annoyingly friendly, lucky, lucky, lucky Margaret for that when Dr Wentworth Tozier DMD is so—

So f—

So fffffff—

So fiddlesticksing handsome!

“Well, we’d best not keep you, Helen. This one is in dire need of a bath before his mother sees him, and hands me a divorce on the spot,” Dr Tozier says, when another few moments have passed and all Helen can do is try to desperately smooth the creases from her breathing. He’s humming mild interest at something Richard is saying, knelt back down to the linoleum to tie the boy’s loose-worm laces presumably before he gives himself any more skinned knees, and they’re leaving. Dr Tozier is leaving, and Helen hasn’t done anything but act like a ninny this entire time. She doesn’t want him to think her a ninny, a simpleton. She wants him to leave this bright, liminal church of bold colors and jazzy waiting-room music and return to his lemon-yellow two-storey house thinking my, what a lovely chat I had with Helen Nash.

She wants to linger, as he lingers. Like an amiable spirit hanging over the women’s group at church, waiting to be summoned at a moment’s eager notice. I bumped into Dr Tozier at Palmer’s on Saturday, she’ll say to the other jealous ladies, with triumph, and we had such a nice talk. He called me Helen.

“And when—when does Margaret get home?” she blurts. A very secret part of Helen wants Dr Tozier to leave this conversation with Helen and his wife both, entwined by association in his mind. She tries very hard not to think about the Toziers divorcing, because that is un-neighbourly, and feels least neighbourly of all when a dopey, dreamy look crosses Dr Tozier’s face like a brief sunbeam at her question.

“Ah. Tonight. Not too late, hopefully.” He jerks one of his knuckley thumbs at his shopping cart, licking the other to wipe something unidentifiable from Richard’s grubby face. “That’s why we’re here, stocking up for her miraculous return. Like a couple of noble emperor penguins in Antarctica, eh Rich?”

“Penguins like from Batman! Ka-pow.”

Helen takes a peek into their cart, curiosity getting the better of her now that permission is granted. Dr Tozier might not know it, but looking into another person’s cart is bad grocery etiquette, especially in a town like Derry, where gossip grows like a fungus in every sweaty and close little huddle of people. Not that Helen would know about that. Anyway, there isn’t much to gossip about besides the unfortunately liquefied ice-cream, the severe lack of crunchy vegetables characteristic of a young man in 1981 trying to provide for a tooth-shedding son, and—

A little cardboard box. Tossed unashamedly between the Wonderbread and a magazine about sports. Prophylactics. Rubbers.

36-pack. XL

Helen knows her jaw is hanging open and strains to close it, the back of her neck and her shoulders feeling hot and tight and shuddery. She kneads a fist into her skirts. Crosses her legs at the ankles as demurely as she knows how, because the very last thing she needs is for frank, sensible Dr Tozier to see right through her with that easy doctor-patient-confidentiality smile, and know she’s soaking through her underwear at the sight of his Saturday grocery run, and all it implies.

Dr Tozier is laughing, nudging Richard in the direction of the register, or perhaps the apples. “Ka-pow is right. I’ll make sure to use that on Mom, thanks. Say hello to Rory for us, Helen. Have a nice day,” he says from over his shoulder, startling her. Holds up one long hand in a wave with a grin, and is gone, shadowing the boy’s haphazard attempts to push the cart despite not being able to see where he’s going.

Helen stands amongst the humming freezers, trembling. “You too,” she rasps, but Dr Tozier has rounded the corner, and is evidently going to have a nice day and a much nicer night, regardless of whether Helen wishes it for him or not.

All the bright little branded characters are watching her from their shelves, a silent jury. Helen Nash opens a freezer cabinet with a weak arm, and stands there for a while, staring at a leg of ham and thinking cooling, neighbourly thoughts.

[stardust-and-snickerdoodles]

Spitfire

fandom: Star Trek

pairing: Leonard McCoy x Reader

summary: Leonard McCoy comes to check on you when you’re stuck with a killer migraine.

warnings: migraines

word count: 1445

“Dammit Jim, I can’t just go gallivanting off into the blue to save damsels in distress at all times!”

Jim Kirk looks into the eyes of his best friend and tries to ignore the annoyance there. “Listen, Bones. First off, you’re not 'gallivanting into the blue.’ It’s just a couple floors down the ship. Second, she’s no damsel in distress, trust me.” Jim chuckled. “She’s got enough fight in her for a whole army. Except for when she’s down with a migraine. Seriously Bones,” Jim pleads, “just take a look. I’d really appreciate it.”

Leonard McCoy looks into the eyes of his best friend and tries to ignore the pitifulness there. But to no avail. “Fine. But you owe me.”

The resulting smile is like a sunbeam struck Leonard straight in his face. He rolls his eyes and turns to go gather his supplies.

…

Your head is exploding.

Or at least, it feels like it is.

The last hour of your life has been plagued by numerous hot and cold flashes, overwhelming nausea every time you move more than an inch, this killer headache, and an unwelcome call from your concerned cousin who also happens to be the Captain of the Enterprise.

This is not normal for you. You can expect at least two migraines a month. But this one is different. Yes, you’d had all the warning signs in the days leading up to the attack, but it’s like the intensity of your symptoms has been kicked up forty notches.

You try to stay as still as you can as you call out for the lights to lower completely. Up until then, they’d been set to 15% and you hadn’t had the energy nor the willpower to turn them off all the way (even if it felt like your eyelids were burning).

The quiet knock on your door feels like thunder crashing through your skull. “Dr. McCoy here,” a gruff voice calls out. “Lieutenant Y/L/N?”

You let out a soft moan. The last thing you want right now is to be poked and prodded to find out what’s wrong. This is Jim’s doing, you know.

The doctor’s voice comes again, quieter this time. “I’m going to use my medical override to come in.”

You groan silently. You know you probably looks like you’ve been hit by a truck. You haven’t brushed her hair, you’re lying in bed with only a pair of short shorts and a sports bra, and your makeup from last night is probably smeared all over your face. But you can’t do anything about it now, as you can hear McCoy punching in the code and it hurts too much to move.

The door opens with a click and the doctor steps inside. You open your eyes to narrow slits and are just able to make out his silhouette against the light of the hallway. You snap your eyes shut again as his quiet footsteps pad over.

“Hey,” McCoy’s voice is gentle. The bed dips to one side as he sits on the edge. “Jim wanted me to come check up on you. Said you’re down with a pretty bad migraine.”

Somehow McCoy’s voice is just quiet enough that you can listen to it without feeling like your skull is being beaten to death. You make a noncommittal noise and open your eyes again. The doctor’s features are barely visible in the dark, but you easily recognize the face of your cousin’s best friend.

McCoy reaches out to place the back of his hand against your forehead. It’s warm, but not alarmingly so. He does, however, notice the thin layer of perspiration there. “Do you think you could answer some questions?”

You murmur a quiet “yes” and close your eyes again.

“Scale of one to ten, what’s your headache at right now?”

“Eleven.”

McCoy feels his lips quirk up into what might be considered a pitying smile. “Light sensitivity, too, I’m guessing.”

“Yup.”

“Nausea?”

“Yup.”

“Vomiting?”

“Not yet,” you grumble. You expect it soon though.

“Anything else right now?”

“Hot and cold flashes every couple minutes.”

McCoy frowns. While hot flashes are a less than common migraine symptom, having both at the same time (and so close together) is concerning. “When did they start?”

You shrug and instantly regret the movement. Your neck and the base of your skull pulse with pain. You grit your teeth and answer slowly, “About an hour ago.” The pulsing diminishes to a dull throbbing and you sigh audibly. “Got any painkillers, doc? My head feels like the bass drum in a marching band.”

McCoy lets out a low grumble of laughter, but it is laced with regret. “Sorry kid, I want to find out what’s going on first. Any medication would dull your symptoms and make diagnosing you harder.” He eyes your form curled up in the bed, just barely able to make out the shape of your body in the darkness. He notices how your start shivering, first slowly, and then gradually increasing in intensity. “Cold flash, I’m guessing?”

“Y-yeah,” You say through chattering teeth. You can feel the goosebumps forming on your arms and torso. A soft blanket is suddenly draped over you, and you clutch it tightly. “Thanks,” you murmur, trying to control the trembling. The steady whirring of a tricorder helps you drift off into a feverish haze.

McCoy reads the results of his scan with a furrowed brow. The screen is bright and clear in the dark of the room. “When was the last time you ate?” he questions.

You startle out of your dream-like state, the movement sending your pain skyrocketing again. “I don’t remember,” she says, exhaling heavily. “What day is it?”

“Tuesday. Time eighteen hundred.”

“Hm,” You think as best you can through the haze in your mind, “Sunday, I think? Breakfast or lunch. I’ve been laid up here since then.”

“Your blood sugar is dangerously low, only 35 mg/dL. I’m honestly surprised you’re not on the brink of a coma yet.” McCoy looks again at your curled-up form. “Then again, maybe you are… Either way, we need to get your blood sugar back up.” McCoy takes out his penlight from his pocket and uses it to rummage around his medkit. “You’re going to have to eat something for me. Here,” he holds out a wrapped bar, “see if you can get that down.”

You reach out from under the covers and take the bar. Now that the doctor has mentioned it, your stomach is feeling extremely empty. You unwrap the bar as quietly as you can, flinching at each crinkle of the paper. Your first bite is hesitant, McCoy’s scrutinizing face still illuminated by the penlight. The bar is sweet and chocolatey, with a subtle medicinal taste.

“Slowly,” McCoy warns as you continue to take small bites. “Don’t want you puking all over the bed now.”

You grin slightly and finish off the bar.

McCoy scanned you with his tricorder again and reads the results with approval. Your blood sugar is already rising, the medical bar working quickly as he had hoped. He packs the tricorder back into his medkit. “Feeling better?”

You sigh contentedly and murmur, “Much. Thank you.” Your head is still being split with occasional lightning strikes of pain, but the shivering has mostly subsided.

“How often do you have migraines?” McCoy asks.

“At least twice a month,” You respond. “They’re not usually this bad, but I still have to take a day or two off most times.”

McCoy frowns. Migraines are hell to deal with and there is only so much he can do. But he doesn’t want to have you completely indisposed during an attack. “You should have come to see me if they were that bad,” he grumbles as he pokes around in his medkit again. He pulls out a hypo already preloaded with painkillers.

“Well I would have,” you say with as much ferocity as you can muster, “but I couldn’t exactly get out of bed when my head was exploding.”

McCoy smirks. You really are a spitfire. “I still want to run a complete scan when you feel up to it. Just to make sure there’s nothing serious going on.” He warns you of the incoming hypo and administers the medication.

“Ouch,” you say halfheartedly, already feeling drowsy. “Now I can see why Jim runs away from you.”

The doctor chuckles and packs up all of his things. “Go to sleep. I’ll be back in a few hours to check up on you.”

“Sure thing, doc,” comes your tired reply. You allow your eyes to drift closed and fall asleep before McCoy has even left the room.

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

omg just read your teacher au ahhhhh. Love it smsmsmsm. Any chance if a sequel because omfg I love you're writing and will take anything ahah. If not no biggie. But omg love your writing a lot ahhh. Sorry if this is a lot but wowowow.

Hello Anon! SO SO SO glad you enjoyed it! They are just the blushiest, most clueless losers aren’t they?

Also me whenever anyone says they like my writing:

THANK YOU DARLING!!!!!!!!

And i am but your humble servant so here is a continuation of the first part. This really was supposed to be a quick drabble and it ended up being 1,5K+ words but no-one is surprised at this point :/ ;)

Masterlist

------------------------------------------------------------------

The week passed by in a blur of classes, coffee, and contemplation over a certain black-haired, green-eyed professor. Jason was becoming fed up with how much he thought about the marine biologist, but everything reminded him of Percy Jackson.

Just yesterday he had passed by a little kid with a dolphin backpack and his first thought was Percy probably knows what species that is. It was such a bizarre and unexciting thought he almost knocked his own teeth in. Now it was Friday: the day he would be surrounded by Percy and everything marine related. He wasn’t sure he was going to survive.

With a deep, calming breathe he hopped out the car and headed towards the Biology and Oceanography building. 

“Jason!” A bright voice called.

He turned around, a smile already taking over his face, “Good morning Percy,”

“How are you doing? You ready for today?”

“I’m doing great thanks. Kind of excited.”

Green eyes twinkled, “Well that’s nice to hear, at least one of us is.”

Before he could ask what that meant Percy shoved a cup into his hand, “I got us coffee. Figured we’d need the energy if we’re going to be chaperones for a bunch of over-excited sea creatures.” He winked.

Jason laughed, “Are they a handful?”

“Nah,” Percy chuckled, “They’re just excited for this because we haven’t been able to go for two years.”

“Good morning Prof!” An energetic yell from a dark-skinned, bouncy-curled girl echoed behind them.

“Good morning Hazel,” Percy gave her a dazzling smile.

“Oh and good morning Dr Jason. Prof told us you’d be joining the trip.” He didn’t have the chance to return the greeting before she plunged on. “I hope you’re ready for today, Leo and Frank are bound to do something dumb and end up in a fish tank,” She rolled her eyes, “You know they always manage to break something when we’re in labs. Isn’t that right prof?” She turned to Percy who was smiling unrestrained.

“Yep, I swear those two are more chaotic than I was.”

Jason’s mind immediately conjured up a twenty-one-year-old Percy, tucked into a lab coat and goggles; a frown etched into his forehead and his tongue sticking out in concentration; black hair probably poking up in all directions, and skin bronzed from a combination of his Hispanic heritage and a well-spent summer. He had no doubt the biologist had been a sight for sore eyes even then.

“What’s got you all caught up Dr Grace?” A voice startled him out of his thoughts.

He shook his head, smiling, “Sorry, not fully awake.”

“This is the very reason they invented coffee.” Percy laughed, tipping his own cup in point.

“Hello everyone,” A girl with flowers in her hair and about a dozen pins tacked to her backpack greeted.

“Hello Katie, I like the daisies.”

“Thanks Doc, they’re the easiest to pin down and I figured today was not the day for something elaborate like hibiscus or chrysanthemums. Too many petals you know?” She mused.

Jason was fast realising why Percy was so close to his students. They interacted with each other so easily and with completely unique personalities.

“I’m sure you know Dr Jason Grace,”

“Hello,” He smiled.

“Oh I most certainly know Dr Grace,” Katie grinned, giving her professor a look.

He didn’t miss the blush creeping up Percy’s cheeks.

“Where is everyone?” She frowned, turning to Hazel with a smile and a hug.

Percy checked his watch, “I don’t kn-“

A chorus of hellos, and how are you’s filled the space as students poured in.

“Guys!” Hazel squealed and rushed towards the group.

Once everyone had gathered around and gotten through their various catch-ups, they turned their attention towards their Professor.

“Right I see you’re all here so lets quickly do introductions and then we can pile on the bus. Everyone this is Dr Jason Grace, he’s a neurologist and a professor in the medical department. He will be our first-aid and a chaperone to help me handle you chaotic bunch.”

They all said good morning, exchanging glances and hushed whispers.

A curly-haired blonde grinned, “Hello Doc, how do you feel about swimming with sharks?”

Jason’s eyes widened, turning to Percy.

With a sigh the biologist gave his student a look, “Will, stop trying to get people to go shark-tank diving with you. I told you Dr Grace only has to do what he’s comfortable with.”

“Yes Prof,” The freckles on his face bunched as he smiled cheekily.

“Now let’s get going. We have a guided tour at ten and my mother said only two things are important in life. Punctuality and pancakes.”

“Yea, yea we know,” They all grumbled.

One torturous bus ride later in which Jason was only a couple inches away from Percy they arrived at the Conservation Center.

“Alright everyone, we have a tour now and then it’s free time till one. After that everyone meets up in the main exhibit so we can Feed the Fish and then we’ll make our way to the shark-tank diving for anyone who wants to do it.”

Even though Jason had no idea what was being said half the time the tour was still incredible. The way sea life interacted with one another was fascinating and some of the creatures were mind-boggling, in  looks and in activity. The best thing about the tour though, was seeing Percy and his students light up, huge, curious eyes and rapt attention plastered to the various tanks. He knew it wasn’t a regular aquarium tour because the guide and Percy got into intricate details about the anatomies and functions of corals, fish, predators vs. prey and various other topics. The students were fully attentive asking and answering questions like they knew exactly what they needed to know and how they needed to know it.

When it finished at half-eleven the group were chattering incessantly, comparing notes and discussing all sorts of ideas.

Percy’s eyes were lit up with pride and passion as he thanked the guide and turned to his class, “Alright seaweed-brains go enjoy your time. Hazel, Leo and Katie please set alarms to be back here by one.”

“Yes Prof!” They shouted, already bounding away and into the exhibits once more.

“They will all stick together?” Jason asked, wondering why only three of them had to set alarms.

“Yea, they do everything together. I’ve caught them messing around in the library or all grabbing coffee at the café a number of times. I don’t know what it is about this group but they really like each other.”

“And you are very fond of them,” He observed, looking straight into those glowing green eyes.

“Yea, they’re complete chaos but they’re good people and they’re really passionate about my subject. It’s hard not to like them.”

“I’m sure with a professor like you it’s not hard to have passion about anything. I’m sure you’d make rocks interesting.”

“Actually,” Percy lit up, “Rocks are really interesting. There’s so many different types and they all have different functions. Also it’s fascinating to understand why some rocks look this way and others developed that way and-“ He cut himself off, blushing profusely, “Sorry you probably don’t care.”

“I think I care more now than I did before,” Jason grinned, willing to do anything to keep that brightness in those sea-green eyes.

Percy’s cheeks turned a deep shade of ruby, “I minored in geology because there was a lot of useful information regarding formation that helped with marine biology.”

“How’d you get into marine biology anyway?”

He shrugged, “I’ve always been fascinated with the ocean. It’s a whole ecosystem living by a completely different set of rules to land-systems. How did you get into neurology?”

“A lot of head injuries as a kid,” He smirked.

Percy burst out laughing, “What?”

“Yea, I fell on my head a lot as a child and I got a concussion a few times. It fascinated me that my brain could be impacted by it. I mean falling on your leg doesn’t generally stop you from walking, A scrape, maybe some blood and tears, and a band-aid is all we think of it. But falling on your head causes much more damage and it could affect your whole body.”

“That is... dedicated,” Percy gasped, still laughing.

“I was a weird child,” His mouth twitched in amusement.

“Any other strange anecdotes that decided your future?”

“Hours’ worth of them,” He grinned, “I can tell you about the time we lived near a wolf sanctuary and my mother thought it’d be a good idea to have me interact with them. I interned there for a little while so i’m pretty good at analysing wolf injuries and anatomy.”

“I-“ Green eyes blinked in surprise.

“Can I entertain you with my peculiar childhood over dinner? Tomorrow night?” He asked, voice scratchy with nerves.

The smile that graced Percy’s face could make flowers grow, “I would love that.”

“You would?” Jason could not believe what he was hearing.

“Very, very much. And I’m glad you had the guts to ask because I’m ninety percent sure my students were going to throw you in a shark tank and make me rescue you just to get us together.”

It was Jason’s turn to dissolve into laughter. He had never been so full of the future but gods it was invigorating.

[uschangelings]

Did you know that Agatha Christie wrote sci-fi??

“The Hound of Death” by Agatha Christie (short story)

I.

It was from William P. Ryan, American newspaper correspondent, that I first heard of the affair. I was dining with him in London on the eve of his return to New York and happened to mention that on the morrow I was going down to Folbridge. He looked up and said sharply: ‘Folbridge, Cornwall?’ Now only about one person in a thousand knows that there is a Folbridge in Cornwall. They always take it for granted that the Folbridge, Hampshire, is meant. So Ryan’s knowledge aroused my curiosity. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Do you know it?’ He merely replied that he was darned. He then asked if I happened to know a house called Trearne down there. My interest increased. ‘Very well indeed. In fact, it’s to Trearne I’m going. It’s my sister’s house.’ ‘Well,’ said William P. Ryan. ‘If that doesn’t beat the band!’ I suggested that he should cease making cryptic remarks and explain himself.

‘Well,’ he said. ‘To do that I shall have to go back to an experience of mine at the beginning of the war.’ I sighed. The events which I am relating to took place in 1921. To be reminded of the war was the last thing any man wanted. We were, thank God, beginning to forget … Besides, William P. Ryan on his war experiences was apt, as I knew, to be unbelievably long-winded. But there was no stopping him now. ‘At the start of the war, as I dare say you know, I was in Belgium for my paper – moving about some. Well, there’s a little village – I’ll call it X. A one horse place if there ever was one, but there’s quite a big convent there. Nuns in white what do you call ’em – I don’t know the name of the order. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Well, this little burgh was right in the way of the German advance. The Uhlans arrived –’ I shifted uneasily. William P. Ryan lifted a hand reassuringly. ‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘This isn’t a German atrocity story. It might have been, perhaps, but it isn’t. As a matter of fact, the boot’s on the other leg. The Huns made for that convent – they got there and the whole thing blew up.’ ‘Oh!’ I said, rather startled. ‘Odd business, wasn’t it? Of course, off hand, I should say the Huns had been celebrating and had monkeyed round with their own explosives. But is seems they hadn’t anything of that kind with them. They weren’t the high explosive johnnies. Well, then, I ask you, what should a pack of nuns know about high explosive? Some nuns, I should say!’ ‘It is odd,’ I agreed. ‘I was interested in hearing the peasants’ account of the matter. They’d got it all cut and dried. According to them it was a slap-up one hundred per cent efficient first-class modern miracle. It seems one of the nuns had got something of a reputation – a budding saint – went into trances and saw visions. And according to them she worked the stunt. She called down the lightning to blast the impious Hun – and it blasted him all right – and everything else within range. A pretty efficient miracle, that! ‘I never really got at the truth of the matter – hadn’t time. But miracles were all the rage just then – angels at Mons and all that. I wrote up the thing, put in a bit of sob stuff, and pulled the religious stop out well, and sent it to my paper. It went down very well in the States. They were liking that kind of thing just then. ‘But (I don’t know if you’ll understand this) in writing, I got kinder interested. I felt I’d like to know what really had happened. There was nothing to see at the spot itself. Two walls still left standing, and on one of them was a black powder mark that was the exact shape of a great hound. ‘The peasants round about were scared to death of that mark. They called it the Hound of Death and they wouldn’t pass that way after dark. ‘Superstition’s always interesting. I felt I’d like to see the lady who worked the stunt. She hadn’t perished, it seemed. She’d gone to England with a batch of other refugees. I took the trouble to trace her. I found she’d been sent to Trearne, Folbridge, Cornwall.’ I nodded. ‘My sister took in a lot of Belgian refugees the beginning of the war. About twenty.’ ‘Well, I always meant, if I had time, to look up the lady. I wanted to hear her own account of the disaster. Then, what with being busy and one thing and another, it slipped my memory. Cornwall’s a bit out of the way anyhow. In fact, I’d forgotten the whole thing till your mentioning Folbridge just now brought it back.’ ‘I must ask my sister,’ I said. ‘She may have heard something about it. Of course, the Belgians have all been repatriated long ago.’

‘Naturally. All the same, in case your sister does know anything I’ll be glad if you pass it on to me.’ ‘Of course I will,’ I said heartily. And that was that.

II. It was the second day after my arrival at Trearne that the story recurred to me. My sister and I were having tea on the terrace. ‘Kitty,’ I said, ‘didn’t you have a nun among your Belgians?’ ‘You don’t mean Sister Marie Angelique, do you?’ ‘Possibly I do,’ I said cautiously. ‘Tell me about her.’ ‘Oh! my dear, she was the most uncanny creature. She’s still here, you know.’ ‘What? In the house?’ ‘No, no, in the village. Dr Rose – you remember Dr Rose?’ I shook my head. ‘I remember an old man of about eighty-three.’ ‘Dr Laird. Oh! he died. Dr Rose has only been here a few years. He’s quite young and very keen on new ideas. He took the most enormous interest in Sister Marie Angelique. She has hallucinations and things, you know, and apparently is most frightfully interesting from a medical point of view. Poor thing, she’d nowhere to go – and really was in my opinion quite potty – only impressive, if you know what I mean – well, as I say, she’d nowhere to go, and Dr Rose very kindly fixed her up in the village. I believe he’s writing a monograph or whatever it is that doctors write, about her.’ She paused and then said: ‘But what do you know about her?’ ‘I heard a rather curious story.’ I passed on the story as I had received it from Ryan. Kitty was very much interested. ‘She looks the sort of person who could blast you – if you know what I mean,’ she said. ‘I really think,’ I said, my curiosity heightened, ‘that I must see this young woman.’ ‘Do. I’d like to know what you think of her. Go and see Dr Rose first. Why not walk down to the village after tea?’

I accepted the suggestion.  I found Dr Rose at home and introduced myself. He seemed a pleasant young man, yet there was something about his personality that rather repelled me. It was too forceful to be altogether agreeable.  The moment I mentioned Sister Marie Angelique he stiffened to attention. He was evidently keenly interested. I gave him Ryan’s account of the matter.  ‘Ah!’ he said thoughtfully. ‘That explains a great deal.’  He looked up quickly at me and went on. ‘The case is really an extraordinarily interesting one. The woman arrived here having evidently suffered some severe mental shock. She was in a state of great mental excitement also. She was given to hallucinations of a most startling character. Her personality is most unusual. Perhaps you would like to come with me and call upon her. She is really well worth seeing.’  I agreed readily.  We set out together. Our objective was a small cottage on the outskirts of the village. Folbridge is a most picturesque place. It lies at the mouth of the river Fol mostly on the east bank, the west bank is too precipitous for building, though a few cottages do cling to the cliffside there. The doctor’s own cottage was perched on the extreme edge of the cliff on the west side. From it you looked down on the big waves lashing against the black rocks.  The little cottage to which we were now proceeding lay inland out of the sight of the sea.  ‘The district nurse lives here,’ explained Dr Rose. ‘I have arranged for Sister Marie Angelique to board with her. It is just as well that she should be under skilled supervision.’  ‘Is she quite normal in her manner?’ I asked curiously. ‘You can judge for yourself in a minute,’ he replied, smiling.  The district nurse, a dumpy pleasant little body, was just setting out on her bicycle when we arrived.  ‘Good evening, nurse, how’s your patient?’ called out the doctor. ‘She’s much as usual, doctor. Just sitting there with her hands folded and her mind far away. Often enough she’ll not answer when I speak to her, though for the matter of that it’s little enough English she understands even now.’  Rose nodded, and as the nurse bicycled away, he went up to the cottage door, rapped sharply and entered.  Sister Marie Angelique was lying in a long chair near the window. She turned her head as we entered.  It was a strange face – pale, transparent looking, with enormous eyes. There seemed to be an infinitude of tragedy in those eyes.  ‘Good evening, my sister,’ said the doctor in French. ‘Good evening, M. le docteur.’  ‘Permit me to introduce a friend, Mr Anstruther.’  I bowed and she inclined her head with a faint smile. ‘And how are you today?’ inquired the doctor, sitting down beside her.  ‘I am much the same as usual.’ She paused and then went on. ‘Nothing seems real to me. Are they days that pass – or months – or years? I hardly know. Only my dreams seem real to me.’  ‘You still dream a lot, then?’  ‘Always – always – and, you understand? – the dreams seem more real than life.’  ‘You dream of your own country – of Belgium?’  She shook her head. ‘No. I dream of a country that never existed – never. But you know this, M. le docteur. I have told you many times.’ She stopped and then said abruptly: ‘But perhaps this gentleman is also a doctor – a doctor perhaps for the diseases of the brain?’  ‘No, no.’ Rose said reassuring, but as he smiled I noticed how extraordinarily pointed his canine teeth were, and it occurred to me that there was something wolf-like about the man. He went on:  ‘I thought you might be interested to meet Mr Anstruther. He knows something of Belgium. He has lately been hearing news of your convent.’  Her eyes turned to me. A faint flush crept into her cheeks. ‘It’s nothing, really,’ I hastened to explain. ‘But I was dining the other evening with a friend who was describing the ruined walls of the convent to me.’  ‘So it is ruined!’  It was a soft exclamation, uttered more to herself than to us. Then looking at me once more she asked hesitatingly: ‘Tell me, Monsieur, did your friend say how – in what way – it was ruined?’  ‘It was blown up,’ I said, and added: ‘The peasants are afraid to pass that way at night.’  ‘Why are they afraid?’  ‘Because of a black mark on a ruined wall. They have a superstitious fear of it.’  She leaned forward.  ‘Tell me, Monsieur – quick – quick – tell me! What is that mark like?’  ‘It has the shape of a huge hound,’ I answered. ‘The peasants call it the Hound of Death.’  ‘Ah!’  A shrill cry burst from her lips.  ‘It is true then – it is true. All that I remember is true. It is not some black nightmare. It happened! It happened!’  ‘What happened, my sister?’ asked the doctor in a low voice.  She turned to him eagerly. ‘I remembered. There on the steps, I remembered. I remembered the way of it. I used the power as we used to use it. I stood on the altar steps and I bade them to come no farther. I told them to depart in peace. They would not listen, they came on although I warned them. And so –’ She leaned forward and made a curious gesture. ‘And so I loosed the Hound of Death on them . . .’  She lay back on her chair shivering all over, her eyes closed.  The doctor rose, fetched a glass from a cupboard, half-filled it with water, added a drop or two from a little bottle which he produced from his pocket, then took the glass to her.  ‘Drink this,’ he said authoritatively.  She obeyed – mechanically as it seemed. Her eyes looked far away as though they contemplated some inner vision of her own.  ‘But then it is all true,’ she said. ‘Everything. The City of the Circles, the People of the Crystal – everything. It is all true.’  ‘It would seem so,’ said Rose.  His voice was low and soothing, clearly designed to encourage and not to disturb her train of thought.  ‘Tell me about the City,’ he said. ‘The City of Circles, I think you said?’  She answered absently and mechanically. ‘Yes – there were three circles. The first circle for the chosen, the second for the priestesses and the outer circle for the priests.’  ‘And in the centre?’  She drew her breath sharply and her voice sank to a tone of indescribable awe.  ‘The House of the Crystal . . .’  As she breathed the words, her right hand went to her forehead and her finger traced some figure there.  Her figure seemed to grow more rigid, her eyes closed, she swayed a little – then suddenly she sat upright with a jerk, as though she had suddenly awakened.  ‘What is it?’ she said confusedly. ‘What have I been saying?’  ‘It is nothing,’ said Rose. ‘You are tired. You want to rest. We will leave you.’  She seemed a little dazed as we took our departure. ‘Well,’ said Rose when we were outside. ‘What do you think of it?’ He shot a sharp glance sideways at me.  ‘I suppose her mind must be totally unhinged,’ I said slowly. ‘It struck you like that?’  ‘No – as a matter of fact, she was – well, curiously convincing. When listening to her I had the impression that she actually had done what she claimed to do – worked a kind of gigantic miracle. Her belief that she did so seems genuine enough. That is why –’  ‘That is why you say her mind must be unhinged. Quite so. But now approach the matter from another angle. Supposing that she did actually work that miracle – supposing that she did, personally, destroy a building and several hundred human beings.’  ‘By the mere exercise of will?’ I said with a smile. ‘I should not put it quite like that. You will agree that one person could destroy a multitude by touching a switch which controlled a system of mines.’  ‘Yes, but that is mechanical.’  ‘True, that is mechanical, but it is, in essence, the harnessing and controlling of natural forces. The thunder-storm and the power house are, fundamentally, the same thing.’  ‘Yes, but to control the thunderstorm we have to use mechanical means.’ Rose smiled. ‘I am going off at a tangent now. There is a substance called winter-green. It occurs in nature in vegetable form. It can also be built up by man synthetically and chemically in the laboratory.’  ‘Well?’  ‘My point is that there are often two ways of arriving at the same result. Ours is, admittedly, the synthetic way. There might be another. The extraordinary results arrived at by Indian fakirs for instance, cannot be explained away in any easy fashion. The things we call supernatural is only the natural of which the laws are not yet understood.’  ‘You mean?’ I asked, fascinated. ‘That I cannot entirely dismiss the possibility that a human being might be able to tap some vast destructive force and use it to further his or her ends. The means by which this was accomplished might seem to us supernatural – but would not be so in reality.’  I stared at him.  He laughed. ‘It’s a speculation, that’s all,’ he said lightly. ‘Tell me, did you notice a gesture she made when she mentioned the House of the Crystal?’  ‘She put her hand to her forehead.’  ‘Exactly. And traced a circle there. Very much as a Catholic makes the sign of the cross. Now, I will tell you something rather interesting, Mr Anstruther. The word crystal having occurred so often in my patient’s rambling, I tried an experiment. I borrowed a crystal from someone and produced it unexpectedly one day to test my patient’s reaction to it.’  ‘Well?’  ‘Well, the result was very curious and suggestive. Her whole body stiffened. She stared at it as though unable to believe her eyes. Then she slid to her knees in front of it, murmured a few words – and fainted.’  ‘What were the few words?’  ‘Very curious ones. She said: “The Crystal! Then the Faith still lives!”’  ‘Extraordinary!’  ‘Suggestive, is it not? Now the next curious thing. When she came round from her faint she had forgotten the whole thing. I showed her the crystal and asked her if she knew what it was. She replied that she supposed it was a crystal such as fortune tellers used. I asked her if she had ever seen one before? She replied: “Never, M. le docteur.” But I saw a puzzled look in her eyes. “What troubles you, my sister?” I asked. She replied: “Because it is so strange. I have never seen a crystal before and yet – it seems to me that I know it well. There is something – if only I could remember . . .” The effort at memory was obviously so distressing to her that I forbade her to think any more. That was two weeks ago. I have purposely been biding my time. Tomorrow, I shall proceed to a further experiment.’  ‘With the crystal?’  ‘With the crystal. I shall get her to gaze into it. I think the result ought to be interesting.’  ‘What do you expect to get hold of?’ I asked curiously.  The words were idle ones but they had an unlooked-for result. Rose stiffened, flushed, and his manner when he spoke changed insensibly. It was more formal, more professional.  ‘Light on certain mental disorders imperfectly understood. Sister Marie Angelique is a most interesting study.’  So Rose’s interest was purely professional? I wondered. ‘Do you mind if I come along too?’ I asked.  It may have been my fancy, but I thought he hesitated before he replied. I had a sudden intuition that he did not want me.  ‘Certainly. I can see no ob jection.’  He added: ‘I suppose you’re not going to be down here very long?’  ‘Only till the day after tomorrow.’  I fancied that the answer pleased him. His brow cleared and he began talking of some recent experiments carried out on guinea pigs.

III.  I met the doctor by appointment the following afternoon, and we went together to Sister Marie Angelique. Today, the doctor was all geniality.  He was anxious, I thought, to efface the impression he had made the day before.  ‘You must not take what I said too seriously,’ he observed, laughing. ‘I shouldn’t like you to believe me a dabbler in occult sciences. The worst of me is I have an infernal weakness for making out a case.’  ‘Really?’  ‘Yes, and the more fantastic it is, the better I like it.’  He laughed as a man laughs at an amusing weakness.  When we arrived at the cottage, the district nurse had something she wanted to consult Rose about, so I was left with Sister Marie Angelique.  I saw her scrutinizing me closely. Presently she spoke. ‘The good nurse here, she tells me that you are the brother of the kind lady at the big house where I was brought when I came from Belgium?’  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘She was very kind to me. She is good.’  She was silent, as though following out some train of thought. Then she said:  ‘M. le docteur, he too is a good man?’  I was a little embarrassed. ‘Why, yes. I mean – I think so.’  ‘Ah!’ She paused and then said: ‘Certainly he has been very kind to me.’  ‘I’m sure he has.’  She looked up at me sharply. ‘Monsieur – you – you who speak to me now – do you believe that I am mad?’  ‘Why, my sister, such an idea never –’  She shook her head slowly – interrupting my protest. ‘Am I mad? I do not know – the things I remember – the things I forget . . .’  She sighed, and at that moment Rose entered the room.  He greeted her cheerily and explained what he wanted her to do. ‘Certain people, you see, have a gift for seeing things in a crystal. I fancy you might have such a gift, my sister.’  She looked distressed.  ‘No, no, I cannot do that. To try to read the future – that is sinful.’ Rose was taken aback. It was the nun’s point of view for which he had not allowed. He changed his ground cleverly.

‘One should not look into the future. You are quite right. But to look into the past – that is different.’  ‘The past?’  ‘Yes – there are many strange things in the past. Flashes come back to one – they are seen for a moment – then gone again. Do not seek to see anything in the crystal since that is not allowed you. Just take it in your hands – so. Look into it – look deep. Yes – deeper – deeper still. You remember, do you not? You remember. You hear me speaking to you. You can answer my questions. Can you not hear me?’  Sister Marie Angelique had taken the crystal as bidden, handling it with a curious reverence. Then, as she gazed into it, her eyes became blank and unseeing, her head drooped. She seemed to sleep.  Gently the doctor took the crystal from her and put it on the table. He raised the corner of her eyelid. Then he came and sat by me.  ‘We must wait till she wakes. It won’t be long, I fancy.’  He was right. At the end of five minutes, Sister Marie Angelique stirred. Her eyes opened dreamily.  ‘Where am I?’  ‘You are here – at home. You have had a little sleep. You have dreamt, have you not?’  She nodded. ‘Yes, I have dreamt.’  ‘You have dreamt of the Crystal?’  ‘Yes.’  ‘Tell us about it.’  ‘You will think me mad, M. le docteur. For see you, in my dream, the Crystal was a holy emblem. I even figured to myself a second Christ, a Teacher of the Crystal who died for his faith, his followers hunted down – persecuted . . . But the faith endured.  ‘Yes – for fifteen thousand full moons – I mean, for fifteen thousand years.’  ‘How long was a full moon?’  ‘Thirteen ordinary moons. Yes, it was in the fifteen thousandth full moon – of course, I was a Priestess of the Fifth Sign in the House of the Crystal. It was in the first days of the coming of the Sixth Sign . . .’  Her brows drew together, a look of fear passed over her face. ‘Too soon,’ she murmured. ‘Too soon. A mistake . . . Ah! yes, I remember! The Sixth Sign . . .’  She half sprang to her feet, then dropped back, passing her hand over her face and murmuring:  ‘But what am I saying? I am raving. These things never happened.’  ‘Now don’t distress yourself.’  But she was looking at him in anguished perplexity. ‘M. le docteur, I do not understand. Why should I have these dreams – these fancies? I was only sixteen when I entered the religious life. I have never travelled. Yet I dream of cities, of strange people, of strange customs. Why?’ She pressed both hands to her head.  ‘Have you ever been hypnotized, my sister? Or been in a state of trance?’  ‘I have never been hypnotized, M. le docteur. For the other, when at prayer in the chapel, my spirit has often been caught up from my body, and I have been as one dead for many hours. It was undoubtedly a blessed state, the Reverend Mother said – a state of grace. Ah! yes,’ she caught her breath. ‘I remember; we, too, called it a state of grace.’  ‘I would like to try an experiment, my sister.’ Rose spoke in a matter-of-fact voice. ‘It may dispel those painful half-recollections. I will ask you to gaze once more in the crystal. I will then say a certain word to you. You will answer another. We will continue in this way until you become tired. Concentrate your thoughts on the crystal, not upon the words.’  As I once more unwrapped the crystal and gave it into Sister Marie Angelique’s hands, I noticed the reverent way her hands touched it. Reposing on the black velvet, it lay between her slim palms. Her wonderful deep eyes gazed into it. There was a short silence, and then the doctor said:  ‘Hound.’  Immediately Sister Marie Angelique answered ‘Death.’

IV.  I do not propose to give a full account of the experiment. Many unimportant and meaningless words were purposely introduced by the doctor. Other words he repeated several times, sometimes getting the same answer to them, sometimes a different one.  That evening in the doctor’s little cottage on the cliffs we discussed the result of the experiment.  He cleared his throat, and drew his note-book closer to him. ‘These results are very interesting – very curious. In answer to the words “Sixth Sign,” we get variously Destruction, Purple, Hound, Power, then again Destruction, and finally Power. Later, as you may have noticed, I reversed the method, with the following results. In answer to Destruction, I get Hound; to Purple, Power; to Hound, Death, again, and to Power, Hound. That all holds together, but on a second repetition of Destruction, I get Sea, which appears utterly irrelevant. To the words “Fifth Sign,” I get Blue, Thoughts, Bird, Blue again, and finally the rather suggestive phrase Opening of mind to mind. From the fact that “Fourth Sign” elicits the word Yellow, and later Light, and that “First Sign” is answered by Blood, I deduce that each Sign had a particular colour, and possibly a particular symbol, that of the Fifth Sign being a bird, and that of the Sixth a hound. However, I surmise that the Fifth Sign represented what is familiarly known as telepathy – the opening of mind to mind. The Sixth Sign undoubtedly stands for the Power of Destruction.’  ‘What is the meaning of Sea?’  ‘That I confess I cannot explain. I introduced the word later and got the ordinary answer of Boat. To “Seventh Sign” I got first Life, the second time Love. To “Eighth Sign,” I got the answer None. I take it therefore that Seven was the sum and number of the signs.’  ‘But the Seventh was not achieved,’ I said on a sudden inspiration. ‘Since through the Sixth came Destruction!’  ‘Ah! You think so? But we are taking these – mad ramblings very seriously. They are really only interesting from a medical point of view.’  ‘Surely they will attract the attention of psychic investigators.’  The doctor’s eyes narrowed. ‘My dear sir, I have no intention of making them public.’  ‘Then your interest?’  ‘Is purely personal. I shall make notes on the case, of course.’  ‘I see.’ But for the first time I felt, like the blind man, that I didn’t see at all. I rose to my feet.  ‘Well, I’ll wish you good night, doctor. I’m off to town again tomorrow.’  ‘Ah!’ I fancied there was satisfaction, relief perhaps, behind the exclamation.  ‘I wish you good luck with your investigations,’ I continued lightly. ‘Don’t loose the Hound of Death on me next time we meet!’  His hand was in mine as I spoke, and I felt the start it gave. He recovered himself quickly. His lips drew back from his long pointed teeth in a smile.  ‘For a man who loved power, what a power that would be!’ he said. ‘To hold every human being’s life in the hollow of your hand!’  And his smile broadened.

V.  That was the end of my direct connection with the affair.  Later, the doctor’s note-book and diary came into my hands. I will reproduce the few scant entries in it here, though you will understand that it did not really come into my possession until some time afterwards.  Aug. 5th. Have discovered that by ‘the Chosen,’ Sister M.A. means those who reproduced the race. Apparently they were held in the highest honour, and exalted above the Priesthood. Contrast this with early Christians.  Aug. 7th. Persuaded Sister M.A. to let me hypnotize her. Succeeded in inducing hypnoptic sleep and trance, but no rapport established.  Aug. 9th. Have there been civilizations in the past to which ours is as nothing? Strange if it should be so, and I the only man with the clue to it . . .  Aug. 12th. Sister M.A. not at all amenable to suggestion when hypnotized. Yet state of trance easily induced. Cannot understand it.  Aug. 13th. Sister M.A. mentioned today that in ‘state of grace’ the ‘gate must be closed, lest another should command the body’. Interesting – but baffling.  Aug. 18th. So the First Sign is none other than . . . (words erased here) . . . then how many centuries will it take to reach the Sixth? But if there should be a short-cut to Power . . .  Aug. 20th. Have arranged for M.A. to come here with Nurse. Have told her it is necessary to keep patient under morphia. Am I mad? Or shall I be the Superman, with the Power of Death in my hands?  (Here the entries cease) VI.

 It was, I think, on August 29th that I received the letter. It was directed to me, care of my sister-in-law, in a sloping foreign handwriting. I opened it with some curiosity. It ran as follows:  Cher Monsieur,  I have seen you but twice, but I have felt I could trust you. Whether my dreams are real or not, they have grown clearer of late . . . And, Monsieur, one thing at all events, the Hound of Death is no dream . . . In the days I told you of (Whether they are real or not, I do not know) He who was Guardian of the Crystal revealed the Sixth Sign to the people too soon . . . Evil entered into their hearts. They had the power to slay at will – and they slew without justice – in anger. They were drunk with the lust of Power. When we saw this, We who were yet pure, we knew that once again we should not complete the Circle and come to the Sign of Everlasting Life. He who would have been the next Guardian of the Crystal was bidden to act. That the old might die, and the new, after endless ages, might come again, he loosed the Hound of Death upon the sea (being careful not to close the circle), and the sea rose up in the shape of a Hound and swallowed the land utterly . . .  Once before I remembered this – on the altar steps in Belgium . . . The Dr Rose, he is of the Brotherhood. He knows the First Sign, and the form of the Second, though its meaning is hidden to all save a chosen few. He would learn of me the Sixth. I have withstood him so far –  but I grow weak, Monsieur, it is not well that a man should come to power before his time. Many centuries must go by ere the world is ready to have the power of death delivered into its hand . . . I beseech you, Monsieur, you who love goodness and truth, to help me . . . before it is too late.  Your sister in Christ,  Marie Angelique  I let the paper fall. The solid earth beneath me seemed a little less solid than usual. Then I began to rally. The poor woman’s belief, genuine enough, had almost affected me! One thing was clear. Dr Rose, in his zeal for a case, was grossly abusing his professional standing. I would run down and –  Suddenly I noticed a letter from Kitty amongst my other correspondence. I tore it open.  ‘Such an awful thing has happened,’ I read. ‘You remember Dr Rose’s little cottage on the cliff? It was swept away by a landslide last night, the doctor and that poor nun, Sister Marie Angelique, were killed. The debris on the beach is too awful – all piled up in a fantastic mass – from a distance it looks like a great hound . . .’  The letter dropped from my hand.  The other facts may be coincidence. A Mr Rose, whom I discovered to be a wealthy relative of the doctor’s, died suddenly that same night – it was said struck by lightning. As far as was known no thunderstorm had occurred in the neighbourhood, but one or two people declared they had heard one peal of thunder. He had an electric burn on him ‘of a curious shape.’ His will left everything to his nephew, Dr Rose.  Now, supposing that Dr Rose succeeded in obtaining the secret of the sixth Sign from Sister Marie Angelique. I had always felt him to be an unscrupulous man – he would not shrink at taking his uncle’s life if he were sure it could not be brought home to him. But one sentence of Sister Marie Angelique’s letter rings in my brain . . . ‘being careful not to close the Circle . . .’ Dr Rose did not exercise that care – was perhaps unaware of the steps to take, or even of the need for them. So the Force he employed returned, completing its circuit . . .  But of course it is all nonsense! Everything can be accounted for quite naturally. That the doctor believed in Sister Marie Angelique’s hallucinations merely proves that his mind, too, was slightly unbalanced.  Yet sometimes I dream of a continent under the seas where men once lived and attained to a degree of civilization far ahead of ours . . .  Or did Sister Marie Angelique remember backwards – as some say is possible – and is this City of the Circles in the future and not in the past?  Nonsense – of course the whole thing was merely hallucination!

[ablanariwho]

Quarantine Story - An Antidote

“Doctor saab, doctor saab!” Someone was calling from outside. The doctor was sleeping on a rickety couch. It was the 9th day of his quarantine. He rubbed his eyes and picked up his steel banded wristwatch kept beside his pillow. It was 6 in the morning. The soft sunbeams were entering from the half open wooden window. He could see lot of dust particles floating in the air.  

“Who was calling me? Or was I dreaming?” he thought sleepily.

He looked around the room from inside the mosquito net. He remembered the first day when he unlocked the rusted lock and opened the creaky door of this room. A musty smell hit his nose hard. The paint and plaster on the walls were peeling off in many places. Thick cobwebs were hanging in almost all the corners. Layers of dust, droppings of insects and lizards covered the floor. In some places, mites had built their nests.

The apartment, allotted to one of the staff doctors of the hospital, was vacant for quite a long time. He had his own house in the city, much better than this staff quarter of the government hospital. Every day he traveled to the hospital from his own home. The doctor had to get the keys of this flat from one of the neighbors to use it for his quarantine.

The mobile phone started ringing. It was cousin Amulya.

“Good morning brother. I got to know you have been staying in quarantine. What happened?” he asked.

“It’s all because of that irresponsible idiot, you know. He came to see me with all the symptoms of covid-19,” the doctor came out of the mosquito net while speaking on the phone.  “I don’t understand how such well-to-do, educated people can be so callous and irresponsible. He didn’t inform the clinic before arriving and waited with other patients. After the check-up, when I asked him to go for isolation and tests, I could already sense his reluctance. Later I came to know he had gone into hiding. He was a medical student studying abroad. How could he be so negligent?"  the doctor narrated agitatedly while going towards the washroom.

  "I know. Such people not only risk their own lives, they also cause risk to others," the cousin brother adds.

  "There are few doctors in the hospital now, you know. Most of them stay in the city. They are either not able to or willing to come and attend their duties. I am the only one who stays here and now I am also stuck. Who will see the patients in the hospital, tell me?" the doctor shares his concern.

Eight days ago, the doctor had called his mother in the afternoon.

“Maa, I am going to stay here, at Dr Sinha’s flat on the ground floor. Namita will tell you the whole story. Don’t worry. This is only a precaution. I will be fine,”  the doctor assured his 82-year old mother.  She suffers from anxiety and paranoia. “I needed to tell her the truth. No point in hiding. Eventually, she will feel assured knowing I am in the same building and doing fine,” the doctor thought after speaking to her.

His mother broke into tears. “I told you not to go to the clinic. Why didn’t you listen to me? You are no more a young guy. You are almost 60, about to retire shortly. Now if you get the virus, what will happen?” “Maa, I understand your worry. Even I am worried. It is most likely nothing will happen to me. That is why taking precaution,”  he tried to explain to his mother. The old lady continued ranting. But there was not much time to listen to her or engage in the conversation. The doctor needed to make arrangements for staying in the room. He had asked the sweepers to come and clean it. Damodar, the head sweeper, came with his twenty something son Srihari almost immediately. Damodar had retired recently. Both father and son got down to work.

After giving them instructions, the doctor called his mother back. “There is no furniture in that flat. Are you going to sleep on the floor? I am afraid you will anyway fall sick if you stay there,” she complains. “I will not sleep on the floor Maa. Don’t worry. I am making some arrangement. Damodar and Srihari are cleaning the room for me. You take care of yourself. I will see you after 14 days’ quarantine. Okay?" the doctor said. "Listen Maa, Corona wants me to go for a 14 day-exile like queen Kaikeyee wanted Rama to go for 14 years’ exile to the forest. But Rama defeated Ravana. Right? I will also defeat Corona. I won’t let it get to me,"  the doctor tried to be humorous. He thought it would divert his mother’s mind and assuage her anxiety.

“Doctor saab, doctor saab.”

The doctor was brushing his teeth when he heard him.

“Someone is calling me. Who is this? No one comes near my room in fear of catching the infection. Neighbors do not even respond if I try to talk to them from the window. Hope everything is fine. It sounds like Srihari, the head sweeper’s son,” the doctor  washed his face and walked back to the room.

Srihari was standing outside the window.

“What happened, Srihari? Is everything okay?” the doctor asked  while wiping his face with a towel.

“Yes, doctor saab. Everybody is okay. How are you doing, doctor saab?” asked Srihari, with real concern on his face. He was a primary school drop-out. Being Damodar’s eldest son, he had to join his poor father in helping him quite early in life.

  “I am okay Srihari. Thank you for asking,” the doctor said in a relaxed tone. “Keep this with you doctor saab. It must be very difficult for you to stay in this room. Isn't it? No AC, no proper bed. My grandmother says these leaves purify the air. Very healing,” Srihari extended a bunch of twigs with fresh, green Neem leaves on it.

Illustration: Vidya Bhamre

The doctor was amazed by the genuine concern and thoughtfulness of this youth. Such a gesture is usually least expected from the likes of him. Society looks at them as illiterate, uneducated and lower class.

“What a contrast between an educated youth and him. They must be of the same age,” the Doctor thought.

Tears welled up in his eyes.  He felt ashamed and guilty. He felt so grateful too. “What happened doctor saab? Take this.” He pointed towards the bunch of Neem leaves he had kept on the windowsill.  

“I know you are a doctor. You give medicines. But our mother nature is also a good doctor, you know. She has a cure for everything. We have to trust her,” said Srihari with the wisdom of a sage, yet a childlike smile on his face. The doctor picked up the bunch. He could hardly utter the words “Thank you.” They got drowned by the surge of emotions in his heart.

Srihari looked relieved and grinned.

“Don’t worry doctor saab. You will be fine and will come out soon of this room. Whenever you need me to clean your room, just let me know. I will come and clean it. Take care doctor saab,” - Srihari disappeared from the window.

[commander-rahrah]

RESIDENCY (AN OPEN HEART FIC): PART TEN

Pairing: MC (Jordynne Holland) X Ethan Ramsey X Bryce Lahela; MC X Bryce; MC X Ethan

Masterlist: Click Here 

Chapter Rating: M (Swearing, Kissing, Smut, NSFW!) 

Word Count: 3900+

Description: Jordynne tries to find a distraction from a certain attending, and seeks in the form of her “more than friends” surgical intern. Ethan finally admits his feelings to himself. 

Disclaimer: Characters, storyline, and parts of the dialogue are taken from Pixelberry’s Choices. They fully own the characters, dialogue, backgrounds, etc. MC Jordynne’s background is my own creation, based loosely off of MC in-game’s personality and provided with more details.

Author’s Note: Okay, so spicy scene with Bryce so NSFW! Really starting to try and flesh out Jordynne’s feelings for these two men. Also, giving more details of how I think Ethan processes his feelings for MC/Jordynne and how he deals with them! 

Taglist: @drakewalkerfantasy @owleyes374 @professorortegasstudent @mayar-mahdy @mindlessdreaminxo @paisleylovergirl @nicquix @octoberreighth @jenp02cutie-blog @llamasgrl @timmagicktoad @lilyofchoices

Previous Updates: Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine

PART TEN

They both couldn’t sleep that night.

Jordynne laid in bed, tossing and turning over and over — her blonde hair ratting at the nape of her neck. She flipped open the little black notebook on her nightstand again, flicking on her lamp and jotting down another note.

Ethan was sitting upright on his bed, his pillow up against his back as he read through the manilla folder one more time. Jenner was laying on his ankles, a soft snore coming out of his snout.

They both had Naveen’s case on their mind. They had run through so many different tests on their lunch breaks the past few days — squeaking in as much time with him in between “official” patients. Naveen hadn’t been too happy when Ethan brought Jordynne into the room the first day — but after he had explained how desperate he was for some help, his friend understood. They had gone through so much information, Jordynne had started writing notes in a notebook she kept in her messenger bag.

Stretching over to his nightstand, Ethan grabbed onto his phone. The movement caused his dog to stir. He scratched at his bare chest, fighting his own thoughts. Temptation and curiosity got the best of him, and he found himself searching Jordynne’s name into Pictogram.

He chewed his lip as he started scrolling through her photos — pictures of her new apartment, going out to Donahue’s, graduation day, baseball games. He paused at the photos of her, searching the tiny squares for her face. Alone in his bedroom, he could admit to himself how striking she was. The camera didn’t do her justice — the green of her eyes wasn’t as vibrant on the screen. Sighing, he clicked to see the photos she had been tagged in, and he felt his stomach flop.

The very first one was of her and Lahela — his arms wrapped around her waist easily, both of their mouths open as they laughed. The next was a photo of her laying in a bed, her hands covering her face but her smile was still peaking through. More with her intern friends, another with Lahela right next to her side. Maybe she had lied to him — maybe they really were dating? In a few of the older photos she was posed next to a man he hadn’t seen before — maybe the ex from Oregon? He swallowed, realizing this was just making him feel worse.

Sinking back into his bed, Ethan grabbed onto his duvet and covered himself up. Tossing the phone away onto his mattress, stopping himself. A loud sigh escaped him, as rolled onto his side — trying to find any way to go to sleep.

She wasn’t his. Jordynne could take photos with anyone she wanted, be with anyone she wanted. He was just her boss, her attending. And she was his intern. End of story.

But he knew that wasn’t true. She wasn’t just his intern, the resident, the rookie. She was his confidant now. Jordynne knew his biggest secret, and not only had she kept said secret, but she was also helping him. He had told her they were friends — and they were. He had few of them in the world — one had died, one was dying, one was his boss and now, Jordynne was all he had.  

_______________________________________________________________________

The noise of the busy street was drowned out by the music pumping through Jordynne’s headphones. Her feet hit the concrete lightly as she jogged down the street, her heart pounding in her chest as she dodged pedestrians and cyclists. Her blonde ponytail swung behind her, sweat trickling down her forehead and into her eyes.

She had needed a distraction — the notebook sitting in her bag at home was digging a hole in her mind.

It had kept her up for most of the night. And then when she finally fell asleep, she was plagued with dreams. Even through her sweat, she felt her face flush hot as she recalled her dream. A certain attending had been in it, and she had woken up with her tan legs tangled in her sheets with want.

Jordynne just needed a day to escape it, to distract herself from whatever it was that was developing inside her. She couldn’t like him, not Ethan. It was a cliche. Her boss? Her first hospital after eight years of medical school and she got the hots for her Attending?

Shaking her head at herself, she trudged ahead struggling to keep up her breath. Running had always been an outlet for her — Jason would take her with him when he was training for the academy, and she ran track in high school. But it had been a while since she felt like she needed a distraction like this.

She had just been following her feet — not really paying attention to where she was going. As she rounded a corner, her eyebrows furrowed as she realized she was starting to recognize the neighborhood. Looking up, she realized she was nearing Ramsey’s apartment building.

“Shit,” She muttered to herself, embarrassed as she realized she had subconsciously headed towards the man’s apartment. Gulping, she looked around her trying to find a building to duck into. The last thing she needed was to run into Dr. Ramsey covered in sweat and flustered after having a restless night thinking about him.

Running into the little cafe, she spent too much money on a bottle of water before hiding in the restroom. Locking the door behind her, she slumped against the door.

She needed to keep her distance — she couldn’t have him. How she was going to keep her distance from the man that she was suddenly spending all of her spare time with on a secret case no one else in the hospital knew about? No idea.

Running wasn’t working. It wasn’t distracting her from Ethan at all. She needed a better distraction.

Licking her lips, she pulled out her phone, scrolling through her messages until she found him. Posing in front of the mirror, she pulled down the top of her shorts — revealing her black thong and midriff. Sweat glistened on her chest, highlighting her breasts that were pushed together in her small sports bra. Taking the photo and clicking send, she waited for a moment until she got a quick text back.

How fast until you can get here? sent 8:54am

Smiling wickedly, her thumbs quickly typed back a reply before she left the cafe and started jogging back in the opposite direction.

By the time she got outside of the apartment building, she was completely out of breath. Her ponytail was falling out, and her blonde hair was swinging wildly. A devilish smile spread across her lips though, as she noticed the familiar surgical intern sitting on the front steps. He jumped at the sight of her, biting his lip with his perfect teeth.

Bryce greeted her with a hungry kiss, his hands immediately grabbing onto her bare midriff and pulling her into him despite being out on the sidewalk. “Hey,” He growled into her ear. “What are you trying to do me?”

“Get in your pants,” She whispered back, grabbing onto the drawstrings of his pants.

He let out a groan as he grabbed onto her fingers, and dragged her into the apartment building. The pair ran up the stairs, their fingers intertwined as they ran up to his apartment. The door slammed behind them, and they were instantly all over each other. Jordynne jumped on Bryce, wrapping her legs around his strong core easily. Their lips crashed together in need, their tongues swirling in their mouths and teeth grazing each other’s skin.

He carried her into the kitchen, placing her gently onto the sleek countertop. Breaking the kiss, Bryce moved down onto her neck and collarbone while his hands explored the elastic band of her sports bra. “I’m— I’m assuming,” She said through ragged breaths, “That no one is home?”

He dug his fingernails into her ass, rubbing himself in between her thighs. She could feel how hard he was already. “Just you and me,” He muttered into her skin between kisses.  

Her tan fingers trailed down his chest to his stomach, feeling his hard abs for a moment before cupping him through his track pants. “Good,” She pushed her fingers through his waistband and grabbed onto him causing Bryce to let out a grunt. Jordynne could feel herself pulsing in anticipation, her stomach tightening with want. It wasn’t Ethan — that wasn’t what the dream was about. It was just pleasure, the intimacy she craved — not him. Right?

Bryce repositioned her on the kitchen counter, grabbing her hips and turning her around to bend her over on the cold counter. He tugged her shorts and thong down together, revealing herself to him. She could hear the rustling of plastic. His fingers found purchase on her hips, and she closed her eyes as she felt the heat of Bryce enter her from behind, his hardness pressing against her easily.

“Fuck,” He muttered and Jordynne let out a soft moan, her hips rolling into his as they fell into pace with each other. Pushing herself into him, she allowed him to move deeper into her. Dropping his head into the crook of her neck, Bryce kissed the back of her neck and increased his pace — pumping into her.

She squirmed underneath him, her stomach pressed against the cold counter and her mouth open in bliss.

“God, you’re so hot,” He said with ragged breath, his hand slipping around her waist and pass her navel to her sensitive nub.

She cried out, squeezing herself around him as a familiar sensation started building through her body. Her knees starting to shake as it became too much.

“Jordynne,” Bryce chanted her name, before thrusting into her one last time — his fingers digging deep into her flesh and his forehead touching her back.

The pair stayed like that for a moment — catching their breath. Finally, he stepped back before helping Jordynne with her shorts. He pressed a kiss to her lips. “That was unexpected,” He said to her, pushing back her wild hair from her eyes.

“Yeah, I just…” She hesitated, swallowing, “Was in the neighborhood.”

He furrowed his brows at her, before kissing her again, “Well, you can come over to do that whenever you want.”

The pair chuckled, before Bryce shuffled his feet, “I actually gotta get ready though,” He started heading to the bathroom, starting to strip his clothes. “I picked up a shift, Collins is still sick.”

Jordynne followed him, awkwardly playing with her hair. She heard the sound of the water turning on, as Bryce stepped into the shower. He had left the door open for her, and she quickly stripped before stepping in with him. A megawatt smile spread across his face as she entered, and he hugged her to his chest bringing her into the water with him.

The water fell over them, washing away their sweat and relaxing them again — catching their breaths and heart rates returning to normal. The pair shared a few more kisses, sharing stories as they caught each other up on their previous night. Bryce stepped out first, wrapping a towel around his wet body leaving Jordynne in the shower alone for a moment.

She turned the heat of the water up, the temperature turning her tan skin red. Closing her eyes, she gulped and let out a loud sigh. It had helped — for a moment. Bryce had proven to be a good enough distraction to stop her whirling thoughts for some time, but now she was having to convince herself now not to think about it, to think about him.

And now her only distraction was going to leave her alone with her thoughts again.

_______________________________________________________________________

The line in between Ethan’s brows was deeper than usual as he started intently at IV hook, ignoring Naveen’s question.

“Ethan, I know you heard me.”

His blue eyes flashed to him, giving his friend a look before he went back to playing with the bag.

Naveen let out a sigh, before asking again, “Why her, Ethan? Why did you tell her specifically?”

Breathing out of his nose, Ethan finally turned around to speak to Naveen, “First of all, Dr. Holland followed me here. She found out first, I didn’t tell her.”

He shrugged, his hospital gown scrunching up at his shoulders, “Curiosity. That’s good in a doctor.” Readjusting the sheets on his bed, he spoke again, “So she found out. But you told her everything, Ethan. Why?”

Ethan licked his lips, shaking his head at the incessant questions, “Because she is a good doctor. She’s number one in the competition. She’s intelligent, and could help.”

His dark brows furrowed, “If you wanted a good doctor, you would have asked Harper.”

Ethan crossed his arms over his chest, “I can’t ask Harper, it would be too complicated. You know that.”

Naveen’s dark eyes met Ethan’s light ones, searching them, “So then answer my question, Ethan. Why her?”

Mind reeling, he hesitated for a moment — wondering how much he should reveal. “I trust her.”

“Because…?”

“Because she’s all I’ve got now, Naveen.” Ethan let out a heavy sigh, sitting down onto the edge of the bed

“That’s not true. I’m not dead yet.” He let out a chuckle, that turned into a cough. Ethan grimaced at the comment.

“So, she’s intelligent. Trustworthy. Pretty, too, hey?” Naveen wiggled his eyebrows at Ethan.

“Naveen,” He hissed, flashing him another look.

“I may be old, but I’m not blind. I’ve seen the way you look at her, and the way she looks at you.”

Ethan’s mouth went a little dry. She looks at him? The way he looks at her? He had been guilty of stealing glancing at her the last few days, but he never noticed her doing it back, “What are you talking about?”

“I can tell she looks up to you. But there’s something more.” He intertwined his fingers together and placed them on his stomach, “Is there something more?”

“She’s an intern.”

“So?”

Ethan shook his head, “It’s unethical. And impossible.”

Naveen let out a playful scoff, “I didn’t think anything was impossible for the great Dr. Ramsey.”

“This is.”

Sitting up straighter, Naveen reached over and grabbed the other man’s wrist, “Don’t be like me, Ethan. Don’t be alone.” His brown eyes wavered, “I sit here in this bed, day after day — thinking about what I’ve missed. Don’t make the same mistake as me.”

Ethan opened his mouth to speak but closed it — flabbergasted.

“Stop being so afraid.”

He was afraid. Nobody had infected his mind like this before. Jordynne was plaguing his thoughts, his dreams. He looked for her in the hospital hallways, hoped to see her at Donahue’s. She had come into his life so fast, and he liked it. He liked her — more than he had planned. He selected her to come to Edenbrook — to be his intern, his mentee, someone to push and mold into an amazing doctor. Instead, she had reversed everything — she was changing him, he realized that now. He was learning from her — how to carry grief, express himself, ask for help, maybe even how to lov—.

Ethan cut himself off. He couldn’t admit that — not even to himself. But he would admit one thing — Jordynne Holland terrified him.

_______________________________________________________________________

Jumping up from her bed, Jordynne grabbed her ringing phone off of her dresser and looked down at the screen. Her stomach tightened as she looked at the name.

Sliding her finger across the screen, she brought it up to her ear nervously. “Dr. Ramsey?” She questioned.

“Jordynne, hi.” He didn’t sound too serious, not like anything was wrong.

“Hi,” She sounded breathless. Her fingers began to twirl her blonde ponytail, waiting for him to speak.

“I, uh—“ He coughed as he stumbled over his words, “I was actually calling to see if you wanted to meet tonight. Review the “case” some more.”

“Oh, yeah. Of course.”

“Maybe, we could do it over dinner? I haven’t eaten.”

Jordynne swallowed, hesitating for a second. He was asking her out for dinner? Like a date? No. He wouldn’t. “Sure, I could eat.”

She swore she heard him let out a sigh of relief. “Okay. I can come to pick you up.”

“That’s probably not the best idea. My roommates may get suspicious.”

“Right.”

“I’ll meet you,” She offered instead, “Where are we going?”

“Alessandro’s? Just after nine?”

“I’ll be there.” She ended the call, falling back onto her bed in a daze. Slowly, Ethan was slipping into more than just her work life — the boundaries of work/life balancing fading.

She could’ve just said no to him. She should’ve just said no to him. But she couldn’t. Jordynne knew it was a bad idea — all of this was just for the case, to help Naveen. It would just be torture for her — spending all this time with him when she knew there was no way he would feel the same. But she couldn’t resist.

_______________________________________________________________________

The restaurant Alessandro’s was a quaint family-owned restaurant, tucked in the corner of a strip of shops. It was usually quiet there — a hidden treasure deep in downtown Boston not a lot of people went to. That’s why Ethan had picked it — they were less likely to be interrupted there or noticed.

He was already sitting at the table, tapping his foot nervously as he waited for Jordynne to show up. She wasn’t late — he had arrived early, unable to sit in his office and wait around any more.

She had seemed so casual on the phone — easily agreeing to meet him there. He had been so nervous — he was just asking to review the case with her, update her after her day off. Maybe brainstorm over their food. That was it. But Naveen had gotten to him — he was complicating everything. Everything was fine when she was just some intern. But she wasn’t that anymore. She hadn’t been for a long time, he knew that. She was his rookie, she was Jordynne.

His mind set off alarms throughout his body when he noticed her walk through the front door, awkwardly checking with the hostess. She was wearing a jean jacket, a short blue dress that flowed around her thighs, a knot tied in the middle of it accentuating her waist, her usual messenger bag on her shoulder. Her wild blonde hair was let down in loose waves. Ethan suddenly felt self-conscious, playing with the rolled up sleeves of his button-up shirt he had been wearing all day.

The hostess brought Jordynne over to the table, and Ethan got up to greet her so fast he hit the table slightly — causing the silver wear to shuffle and clink. He flushed red with embarrassment.

She pretended not to notice, grabbing onto the back of her chair. “Hi, Dr. Ramsey,” She said quietly, moving her chair out to sit in it.

Ethan frowned slightly — he had wanted to do that for her. Gulping, he sat down, “Rookie,” He greeted her, “You look — different.” He said carefully.

She let out a laugh, smoothing down her dress, “I thought I told you that you needed to work on your compliments.” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, looking down at the table, “But thank you.”

The waiter appeared, offering to take their order. Jordynne ordered water at first, but after Ethan ordered a glass of wine, she changed her mind and ordered the same. The pair clinked their glasses together, before sipping the dry white wine, staying silent for a moment. Ethan swallowed it happily, feeling some of the tension in his shoulders release.

“How was your day off?” Ethan watched her hesitate, licking her lips as she thought of her answer.

“Not as distracting as I wanted it to be.” When he furrowed his eyebrows at her, she continued, “I just couldn’t get a lot of things out my head.”

“Like?”

Her pink mouth twitched, “Naveen. The hospital. Just taking work home with me.”

Ethan studied her face — she was avoiding meeting his eyes, instead staring intently down at the menu. She was lying about something — or not telling him the full truth at least.

“How was Naveen today?” She asked, changing the subject.

He let out an involuntary sigh, remembering their conversation. He couldn’t tell her that. “I’ve started monitoring for fluid overload — with the dialysis and IV, I’m noticing swelling.”

“In his limbs? Abdomen?”

The waiter returned at that moment to place down their food, “Not the strangest conversation I’ve overheard as a waiter,” He teased, flashing the pair a look before leaving them to the quiet corner of the restaurant.

“In his legs,” Ethan explained, tucking into his pasta dish. “I’m going to run blood work tomorrow, check his sodium levels.”

Jordynne nodded in agreement, grabbing a forkful of her own dinner. Ethan took a hearty swig of his wine as she let out a moan. “God, this is good.” She said, grabbing another bite.

Wiping her mouth with her napkin, she finally spoke again, “We should test his potassium levels too. Just in case of Hyperkalemia? I know he’s in a bed 24/7 right now, but he has complained to me about fatigue, feeling weak.” She stopped for a moment, pulling out a black notebook out of her bag and she started jotting down notes.

Ethan’s blue eyes watched her, a small smile spreading across his face. She was good — he hadn’t thought of that. He realized how full the notebook already was — even though it had only been a few days since he had told her everything. “What else is in there?” He asked, nodding towards the notebook.

The pair sat like that — Jordynne reading out from her notebook in between bites, Ethan listening carefully as he chewed his food and sipped his wine. He would question her, asking for her reasoning on symptoms, or attempted diagnoses. She would defend it until she was blue in the face, reciting textbooks worth of information she had memorized in medical school.

Ethan lost track of time as they spoke, their pasta dishes long cleared away, their wine glasses replaced with coffee, and dessert bowls now empty. Even though they were discussing Naveen, trying to solve his case — he hadn’t felt this relaxed in a long time. He realized he was at ease around her. As he stared at her chatting away, her long fingers trailing over her notes as she read them to him, Ethan’s stomach tightened with a familiar feeling of want. He wanted this desperately. It felt so normal, so easy sitting there with her. Like any other couple, chatting after a long day, enjoying a meal out.

Why couldn’t he have met her at some conference? Or at a lecture? Or out of state? At a different hospital? Literally anywhere else. Why did she have to apply to Edenbrook? He could have met her anywhere — but the universe was cruel, and twisted his fate.

Jordynne looked up from her notebook, noticing his silence. Her green eyes wrinkled with worry as she studied him, “Ethan, you okay?” She asked gently, reaching out to grab his hand on the table.

He gulped at the action, her fingers slightly cold on his hot skin. Electricity going through him at her touch as per usual. “Yeah… I’m okay.” He lied, his stomach twisting.

Part Eleven

[bubblesthemonsterartist]

Slide (lemon)

Professional Cuddler AU Masterlist

One would think that Dr. Shirayuki Lyon has been blessed with an interesting life. Never a dull, mundane moment to be had. If you were to believe the tabloids, at least. 

When she was eighteen, she fled her country, befriended the Prince of the neighboring state, and immediately enrolled in Royal Medical School. There, she had the dubious honor of becoming the obsession of paparazzi and journalists and… eccentric nobility alike. Some just wanted her picture through the heavy shade of trees, leaning in close to their beloved Prince. Something to put on a glossy front page. Most, however, were hungry to tear her apart.

Much to their chagrin, she did not give them much fodder. First by passing all her marks, top of the class. Then by becoming the second youngest resident Lilias Research Hospital had ever seen. She was the primary researcher on the Olin Maris Project, pleading her case to parliament, knights circles, to Kings, and meeting success in every direction.

But what no one seems to know, or rather, what no one seems to care about other, is that she also has chronic insomnia exacerbated by a panic disorder. According to the hospital psychiatry department.

Strange how that particular detail never made it into the news.

Not that she was complaining. It’s not that much of a surprise, though. It used to just be generalized anxiety… once, when she could blame her GPA. Or her MCAT. Likely her residency, too. But that was in the past. She has a job now. A career. Respect in her field and esteem among her peers. She should be falling into her bed, curling into that memory foam mattress Yuzuri insisted she buy and luxuriating in a well-deserved rest, but-

Things have changed.

These days, it’s not rote memorization or endless case studies or even the errant photographer outside her window that has her startling awake, heart pounding, but crushed metal and the splatter of water echoing off of empty walls. Each night, with heavy eyes and a heavier heart, she slides between her sheets and hopes that it will be better. And a not so small part of her begrudges her in her younger days, smiling away classmates concerns by proclaiming, I’ll sleep when I have my MD.

What an arrogant child she had been.

But things were… getting better. Slowly. Surely. 

The cameramen and journalists were gone now, for one, off to cover more exciting things than a doctor in mourning. And for every shift she arrived at, vision blurred and eyes gritty, there was a fresh cup of coffee being pushed into her hands by a smiling face, Yuzuri already cheerfully detailing What Kazaha had done this time as Shirayuki slowly reacquainted herself with the world of the living. For every hint of migraine threatening to hole her up in a dark room for just a moment of peace, there was Suzu, flapping some new article in her face, Can you believe the National Endowment funded this tripe? There was Shidan, eyes sliding right past her as he reassigned her to pediatrics when the ER became too much. Ryuu, who would tug on her sleeve as she passed by, claiming he needed an extra set of eyes in the lab. And Garrack, dragging her to a nearby bar to “catch up” whenever she was in town, only to ply her with a shot of gin and a stern reminder to eat.

She was blessed, really, with so much kindness. So many helping hands and warm smiles and gentle encouragement that made each passing day since the accident that much easier. It was therefore that much more frustrating that even with all this support, it still wasn’t enough to get her through the night.

This, however, sometimes was.

Sleep lifts from her sweetly on an inhale, and she wakes as content and warm as her childhood days, buried beneath one of her grandmothers winter quilts in the depths of winter. Everything is hazy, but in a good way. Weighted down into her mattress, there’s a familiar sort of heat at her back, one that has become nearly second nature in the last few months, even more so when mixed with the smell and sound of home.

Home…

Her eyelashes flutter, taking in the shadows of her dresser, her closet door, the lamp on her nightstand, and- that’s right. This isn’t the studio. She invited Obi over to her place. To spend the night. To sleep, even, with all the rules of the Cuddle Clinic and none of the time restraints.

Breath pours out from her, body curling deeper into his hold and seeking every inch of that heat. With just a little wiggle, the low of his belly is flush against her, knees stacked on top of the other like the right pieces to a puzzle, and his hips fitted snugly against her ass.

Behind her, Obi grunts, disturbed, his arms tightening and pulling her closer still. It’s… nice. Pleasant enough to let her eyes fall closed, to let her barely there wakefulness unravel - there’s no need to be awake anyhow, but-

There’s pressure. A wanting sort of yawn between her legs. Desire, warm and sleep damp, but- that’s not unique. The heat coiled deep in her belly is safe and… manageable. It’s always an ever present burn, simmering on low during their sessions and this time is no different. Obi’s doing his job - a rather admirable one if she says so herself - and it’s only natural that her body react. It’s been so long, after all, and she’s so rarely touched these days-

Breath fans out across her neck, palms flexing against her with a sleepy groan, and Shirayuki’s brain fizzles out, overridden by the way her body is suddenly aware.

O- oh.

At her breast one broad hand, tipped with calluses and worked hard, cradles her, the palm of his other branding the flare of her hip, thumb sweeping the jut of her hip bone and-

Shirayuki inhales sharply, thighs clenching against the sudden rush of heat. Catching a whimper between her teeth, she carefully brushes her fingers across the fine bones of his, past the knob of his wrist and the flex of his forearm, dipping towards her own body and confirming what she already suspected. And maybe, in some shameful, hidden place in her heart, wished for.

Her nightshirt has ridden up, all the way to her armpits. She’s bare skin all the way from toes to shoulders and snug against his clothed crotch and torso. The arm circling her stretches her shirt as far as it can go, to the point that the scratch of flannel blanket is more present against her skin than the touch of cotton.

Shirayuki bites her lips, struck breathless, and God, why did she think scheduling overnight service was a good thing? She’s so wet, she can feel it against her thighs and when she remembers to inhale, the skin of his inner forearm so soft again her exposed ribcage, and she- she squirms, involuntary-

Head thudding back to rest against his collarbone, Shirayuki takes a deep breath- tries to steady it out- and this was- this was fine. She was fine. Obi grunts again, the hand cradling her hip shifting her back, other arm banding tighter around her, and oh- oh-

Right against her inner thigh, she feels it. Through well worn fabric, the swollen length of him, half-hard, rests just so against her inner thigh.

And she’s awake now, fully, panting and flushed, the heat between her legs nearly unbearable. All it would take is a shift in angle, a slight parting of her legs, and she could- she could feel him completely, grind herself against his cock and-

And see what he was like when he was ready.

Shirayuki shakes herself, rubbing her thighs together to ease some of the pressure. No, no, this was fine. Manageable and... fine.

Obi makes a sound too like a whimper for comfort, mouth relaxed in sleep resting against her skin in a way that makes her shiver. Stubble drags along the line of her jaw, his lips just barely touching the shell of her ear, and- she’s only human. She moans, the sound slipping from her more like a whine, arching into his palm and it moves, just slightly, his thumb dragging around an already peaked nipple, forefinger coming around to pinch and roll-

Her low back arches like a cats, ass pressing back so she can feel the growing length of him against slip against her.

“Obi,” she gasps.

All at once, he breathes in, starting out long and pleasant before turning sharp, and it’s not fair how quickly he wakes up, the safe relaxed strength of his body going rigid.

“Miss,” he starts, voice rough with sleep, and she wants to tell him more, that she wants to hear him say more against her skin, but he’s pulling his hands away, pulling his body away.

Her hands latch around his wrists, holding him in place, and she rolls her head along his shoulder, arching her neck up to see his face.

“Don’t stop,” she breathes, catching just the shape of his eye as it widens and she lets go of the hand at her breast to reach up and urge his head down. His hair is so soft. “Please. Don’t stop.”

“Ha-” is the only answer she gets before his mouth is on hers, soft and giving and wet as he groans against her mouth. Lips parting to his urging, she opens to him, reaching up with her other hand to sink all her fingers into the bristle of his hair and he slides his tongue against hers, so good it must be sin. Her ankle hooks around his calf, and he tastes like sleep, but- ah, ahh-

The palm at her hip scratches up her stomach, taking her other breast fully in hand and he rolls both her nipples between his fingers.

Shirayuki cries out, body surging up into his hands, and Obi takes the advantage, tilting his head to press his kisses deeper, harder, dirtier, and she grinds back against him, each little spark of pleasure muffled by his lips and tongue, ah, ahh, Ahhh-

For as often as she’s imagined this, for as gentle as he is with her in their sessions, it still comes as a surprise with the way his hold doesn’t bruise, how he can be filled with so much restrained strength even as he takes her in his palms and squeezes.

The sessions-

“Wait,” she pulls back, panting against his lips, toes curling when he whines with want into her mouth. “Wait, Ah-” Her eyelashes flutter, swallowing hard when he pinches, and he does- stop, that is, parted lips resting against hers and he just… breathes into her mouth. “Aren’t you still working?”

“I’m off the clock,” he murmurs, voice raspy like gravel, tongue flicking on her lower lip.

“Oh,” she gasps, fingers fisting in his hair. “Okay.”

Obi hisses, teeth bared against her lips, but he rears back, cock twitching impatiently against her backside.

“Rules?” he grits.

It takes her a moment, maybe even two, but she gains enough clarity to stare at him in disbelief.

“You haven’t gone too far yet.” She bites at his lower lip, goading him to come back to her. “I’ll let you know if you do.”

That’s all he seems to need. Groaning, he takes her mouth again, rolling her beneath him and his hands are everywhere. His palms catch against her ribs, against her thighs, grasping beneath her knees and lifting them sharply up to coil around his waist.

“How are you so damn soft?” he complains breathlessly against her neck, the hard line of his cock flush against her sex as his lips drag across her pulse, teeth nipping at the line of her jaw.

“Salt baths,” she manages, mindlessly running her hands over his shoulders, over his neck, rolling her hips up-

He pulls his away, back shaking, and noses her nightshirt towards her chin. “Is that so?” he murmurs against skin, biting the valley between her breasts.

“Mm.” She can barely see, let alone form words, so it’s something of a miracle that she opens her mouth and says, “It’s very nice. You should try- Ah!”

Obi’s mouth is… very nice. And distracting. Every time he uses it, he finds a better application, a better way to steer her away from her thoughts, and this time is no different. It’s opening, taking her whole nipple inside and sucking, wetly laving at her nipple and nibbling at its peak.

Writhing beneath him, straining against his hands, part of her considers how strange it is that she thought she would feel guilt if she ever… had a chance at being touched like this again. Stranger still how she feels anything but.

His fingers tease across her legs, flirting with the crease of her thighs. And when his knuckles brush against her damp curls, guilt is the last thing on her mind.

“Please, please, please-” she chants, nearly sobbing, grabbing hold of the pillow above her head for dear life.

Humming against her skin, he trades one breast for another, knuckles slipping through her folds, testing-

“Fuck,” he hisses, one finger extended to dip into her entrance. “Fuck, you’re so wet.”

Whining, Shirayuki bucks her hips, exchanging her grip on the pillow for her own hair. “Then do something about-”

He does. One finger slips deep inside her, crooking just right, and her vision goes white.

“Obi!” Her hands are scrambling now, holding him to her as his mouth slides down the curve of her breasts, licking at the line of her ribs, and he pumps his hand, slow and steady, a second finger sliding in just as easy as the first.

“I got-” She loses track of what she’s got, knees falling to the side when his thumb brushes her clit. Obi hums, interested, pressing a kiss to the dip of her solar plexus.

Hand slamming against the top of her nightstand, it wildly slaps against the surface, knocking over books and her phone until she finds the handle of the drawer and flings it open. Mindlessly reaching inside, she grabs hold of the sharp edges of a paperboard and throws it in Obi’s direction.

It bounces harmlessly off of his arm and Obi lifts his head, grunting a question.

“That’s-” She gestures towards it, she thinks, staring sightlessly at her ceiling. “That’s for you.”

His fingers still in her all the way to the last knuckle, Obi lays his weight on her and takes it in his free hand. “Why, Miss,” he purrs, thumb brushing her clit in reward and she- she whimpers.

“Hurry,” she pants, the flat of her feet against his ribs, coaxing him up.

The box returns to the bed with a dull rattle. “In a minute,” he grins, dropping his mouth back to her belly.

She doesn’t have a minute. She doesn’t even have a second, not with the way she aches. Not with the way each slow pump of his hand makes it worse and not better.

He exhales, sharp and through his nose, the cool air fanning right above the hair of her sex, and that’s all the warning she gets before his mouth his on her, lips circling her clit while his fingers stab sharp and deep.

She screams.

So many things fall from her tongue after that, so many sweet and terrifying and lovely things, but she can’t remember any of them, so completely lost in the way his tongue drags, his fingers curl, his mouth sucks-

It’s really no wonder that she comes apart as quickly as she does, so completely and unapologetically.

Her lungs are burning when she finds herself again, her chest heaving, and Obi is still there, tucked between her legs and kissing her thighs, fingers deep inside her.

“Obi.” She wriggles against his hand, gasping at the sudden jolt of pleasure, and she’s so greedy. “Please. The- you have to- condom-”

Two gold eyes peek up at her, sly and dark, his mouth still pressed against skin. “Condom?” he murmurs, and any other time she would be annoyed at the smug curl of his lips, but-

This was an emergency.

Shirayuki nods rapidly, hands already back in his hair and dragging her to him. “Yes. That.”

His mouth swallows up anything else that he may have said, tasting a little bitter and a little smokey and it makes her strain against him, hopelessly seeking out some bare part of him that can touch her.

Obi takes her by the hips, dragging her down and aligning her sex with his. He’s growling with he pulls back, when he grasps at the mess of blankets for the box and nothing happens when he shakes it.

“Wait,” he pauses, tearing his attention from her long enough to squint at it. “Is this a new box?”

“Why are you still talking?” she whines, grinding her sex against the line of his erection.

A strangled groan leaves him, the sound of paperboard tearing open and plastic tearing along the perforated edge nearly drowned out. Her hands are already at the stretchy waistband of his pajamas when he tears the packaging open with his teeth, pushing them down just far enough that his cock springs free.

Oh.

Oh my.

She’s not given nearly enough time to enjoy the view. His fingers shake when he wraps them around himself, rolling the condom down the length of him, and her hand joins his, pushing it down faster.

He hisses and laughs in equal measure, mouth opening, likely to tease, but she fists her fingers in his shirt with her other hand, pulling him down and-

Ah!

God, it’s been so long, and she was expecting some difficulty, some pain from not being used for such a length of time, but the soft head of his dick parts her lips, disappearing inside her slowly, easily. He fills her up, stuffing her full, and she opens to him just as effortlessly, stretching around the girth of him and wholly thankful for it. Two fingers were not nearly enough.

She can’t breathe fast enough, hands somehow beneath his shirt, petting down the soft skin of his back. “Obi... Oh god, yes...”

Groaning against her neck, his fingers clench on the swell of her hip, pressing her down into the mattress as he slides in all the way and, oh, this is why Yuzuri recommended the memory foam-

When his hips stop, flush to hers, his chest is heaving, whole body trembling. “Miss,” he pants into her hair. “Miss-”

Her ankles hook around his back, hips bucking against his. “Shirayuki,” she whines, nails dragging down his back. “Say my name, Obi.”

“Haa, yes,” he moans like he’s dying, drawing out. “Yes, Shirayuki-”

His pace is fast, deep, leaving her body only by half before surging back forward, filling her up and driving her into the mattress. He keeps one hand at the nape of her neck and the small of her back, pressing her to him as he sinks into her again and again, each thrust that hits her right there drawing out a cry that she muffles against the fabric of his shirt.

“Shirayuki,” he moans over and over like he is making up for lost time, tilting her head back to whimper it again into her mouth. His hands slide up her thighs, lifting her into his thrusts and she wraps her arms around his head and neck, keening against his lips, taking him in every way that she can.

Her body is hot, burning, and her toes sneak beneath the stretch of his waistband, pushing it down so her toes can curl against the hard muscles of his ass, feeling their flex as he pushes deeper, harder-

His pace stutters, no longer smooth but frantic, and he’s still swallowing every one of her breaths and cries when his hand slides up her thigh so his thumb can brush where they join-

She comes so hard tears gather at the corner of her eyes, riding him out as he rides her, as his hips slap desperately against hers and he groans out a high keening noise. With one last surge that nearly drives her up the bed, he comes to a stop. Shivering against her skin, his breath catches and then shakes out of him, and his hips jerk a few times more, trying to press himself deeper before he just… melts, all at once, face landing on the pillow next to her.

“Ha,” he swallows hard, gasping when his hands flexing against her skin one more time. “Haa, I didn’t-”

Shirayuki’s mouth finds his neck, lips catching the rapid rhythm of his heart and holding it beneath her tongue and teeth.

Sighing, the tension pours out of him again, hips squirming against hers. “Ah, ah, stop,” he laughs, breathless. “You’re going to get me started again.”

With a pleased grin, she does, looking up at him beneath the fan of her lashes when he pulls back just far enough to look her in the eyes. When his forehead touches hers, there’s a question there. One that she answers with a smile.

Shirayuki tugs him back down to her, sliding her lips against his, tender and soft, and whatever tension was left in them pour out of them both all at once. Legs sliding down his side, she lets them collapse onto the bed with a whimper and he sighs, pulling his body from hers.

Sitting back on his heels, Obi hisses, just a little, the wet slap of latex echoing somewhere in the dark, and he just… sits there. On his knees. With a mussed head of hair, a used condom in hand, and an adorable look of bufflement on his face as he looks helplessly around the room.

“Next to the nightstand.” Her arm flails absently. She has no energy to do more than that.

Bracing one arm against the mattress, he leans out, neck arching as he seeks out the bin. The second after she hears a dull thud, he collapses onto the bed next to her, drawing him to her.

“Was that okay?” he whispers into her hair, petting back the sticky strands of hair that cling to her face.

Her hands snake under his shirt again, and it’s cool and damp like their skin. “More than.”

[atmilliways]

Stuck on the Outside Failing to Look In (Just Like in Real Life)

This @mtl-trick-or-treat​ fic is for @tanyonlee​, who asked for either a treat of “Very cute Skwistok!!” or a trick of “Skwisgaar and his gmiltf girlfriend XDDD.”

It’s your lucky Halloween dude, because I wrote BOTH. In five parts. I hope you like 8300+ word fics. 💩 

Here’s part one! (1412 words)

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Excerpt from Skwisgaar Is Ams Dick by T. Wartooth, chapter four (“Skwisgaar Is Ams Slut”), pages 132-133:

Everyones knows that Skwisgaar will does just abouts anybodies. That ain’ts the halfs of it! Every times ol’ Toki starts talkings to a beautiesful girl, Skwisgaar rolls right ups and starts the whisperings horny nothings to her ear what’s like I’m not theres. Fucking rudes! Then he goes and screws thems. Sometimes they don’t even bothers to leaves the room! And it’s not evens like whats the ladies are really sluts. Some ofs them ams real nice, whats have hopes and dreams and real goods teeth and everything. Some even haves the boobs thats am all naturals, just like mothers makes ‘em, though nots veries often ‘cause most groupies gets them sized ups whats to catch our attention betters.

But anyways, the ladies ain’ts the sluts, Skwisgaar ams. The ladies only wants to sleeps with likes four, maybies five guys, because we ams super mega famous. Skwisgaar ams the ones who doesn’ts cares whos he puts the you-know-whats sausage into sides of as longs as he gets to does it! You barlies ever see his ass with the sames lady twice!! He ams physicallies uns-capable of even gettings that close to settling downs and I can proves it. Ins this chapter I wills...

~

“... In other news, Toki Wartooth seems to be on the Toki Warpath! He’s been arrested seventeen times in the last two months alone, and at last night’s Dethklok concert in Washington DC actually lept from the stage and started it all-out brawl. The incident ended up outing several ultra-conservative Senators and House Representatives as closet Dethklok fans, despite having made so much effort to distance themselves from the group in the past. Thanks to the staff at prominent DC hospitals that leaked copies of the intake forms to the press, they’ve got quite a bit of explaining to do to their constituents.

“And that’s the Dethklok Minute!”

~

Groupie Debriefing Transcript

ID: 174849464438

               [ x] Returning                [ x] Approved for return

On file:

    [ x] Pain waiver     [ x] STI screen upon arrival     [ x] STI screen prior to debriefing     [   ] Paternity waiver     [ x] Medical record of infertility due to                [   ] Hysterectomy                [   ] Tubal ligation                [ x] Menopause                [   ] Other: ________

Name: Beulah Rosenberg

Rating: GMILF

Debriefing Agent: 7982

7982: Please state for the record which members of Dethklok you interacted with on this visit.

ROSENBERG: Just Skwisgaar.

7982: Skwigelf?

ROSENBERG: Is there more than one Skwisgaar floating around here, dear?

7982: Just being thorough, ma’am.

ROSENBERG: Oh good. I don’t think he would like that, he’s a very sensitive boy you know. Being unique is very important to him.

7982: I’m aware, ma’am. And what was the purpose of your visit?

ROSENBERG: I don’t kiss and tell, dear.

7982: Um, okay. And you were with him from approximately 3:15pm yesterday to 8:45am this morning, is that correct?

ROSENBERG: That sounds about right. And we spent most of that time talking, for your information.

7982: Talking? With Lord Skwigelf? Instead of, uh... I mean, isn’t that a bit unusual? In your experience? Which... you’ve been on file here for several years now.

ROSENBERG: Eight years, nine next September. It is a bit of a change, but not necessarily a recent one. He’s been more introspective ever since... I’d say a little bit before his little band mate got kidnapped, but definitely more so after that.

7982: And I see from our records that he’s been requesting your presence more often since roughly that time. Was all that, uh, mostly taking as well?

ROSENBERG: Well... mostly.

7982: Grandma!

ROSENBERG: Oh for god’s sake, don’t be such a prude, Denis.

~

Therapy session transcript 5-625148-TW, excerpt:

TWINKLETITS: So what’s been on your mind lately, Toki? What’s going on in that noggin?

WARTOOTH: Nothings.

TWINKLETITS: Toki, Toki. You’ve got to be honest in this room, okay buddy? It’s been a big year. Lots of things going on. Lots of things that sooner or later you’re gonna have to face head-on one way or another, and wouldn’t it be nice to do that in a safe, supportive environment?

WARTOOTH: Not reallies.

TWINKLETITS: I know what’s been going on. You’ve been picking fights, breaking windows... you’re scaring people, Toki. All your friends are worried half to death about you.

WARTOOTH: [unintelligible]

TWINKLETITS: That’s a big load of bull pats. Why would they go through all that trouble to get you back if they didn’t care?

WARTOOTH: The bands—

TWINKLETITS: They found you. Do you think that was easy?

WARTOOTH: [unintelligible]

TWINKLETITS: Toki, have they talked to you at all about what it was like getting to you?

TWINKLETITS: Toki?

WARTOOTH: [unintelligible]

WARTOOTH: Noes.

TWINKLETITS: Well they told me. They didn’t have any idea what they were doing, but they went anyway, and followed any crazy idea they could pull out of their asses to do it. Pickles guessed they should look in the place where you played your very first gig as a member of Dethklok—

WARTOOTH: The Depths of Humanities? That shitshole?

TWINKLETITS: Exactly! And Skwisgaar—

WARTOOTH: I don’ts wants to talk about that asshole! Fucking bastards don’t gots no time for anything but sluts—

TWINKLETITS: Toki, no!

WARTOOTH: [unintelligible yelling, smashing furniture]

~

From: c.f.ofdenson@mordhaus.metal.dk

To: s.skwigelf@guitargod.metal.dk

CC: n.explosion@brutal.metal.dk, p.the.drummer@fuckoff.metal.dk, w.murderface@planetpiss.metal.dk

Subj: Consider this a band meeting

Skwisgaar, I don’t know why Dr. Twinkletits is still calling me, but can you think of any reason Toki might be angry with you?

Kind regards,

Charles F. Ofdenson

~

From: p.the.drummer@fuckoff.metal.dk

To: c.f.ofdenson@mordhaus.metal.dk, n.explosion@brutal.metal.dk, s.skwigelf@guitargod.metal.dk, w.murderface@planetpiss.metal.dk

Subj: Re: Consider this a band meeting

uSUal reason right? not giving hm sodas? back ne up her gays

8=====D doodily doodily dooo

~

From: p.the.drummer@fuckoff.metal.dk

To: c.f.ofdenson@mordhaus.metal.dk, n.explosion@brutal.metal.dk, s.skwigelf@guitargod.metal.dk, w.murderface@planetpiss.metal.dk

Subj: Re: Re: Consider this a band meeting

SOLOS!

8=====D doodily doodily dooo

~

From: n.explosion@brutal.metal.dk

To: c.f.ofdenson@mordhaus.metal.dk, p.the.drummer@fuckoff.metal.dk, s.skwigelf@guitargod.metal.dk, w.murderface@planetpiss.metal.dk

Subj: Re: Re: Re: Consider this a band meeting

No. He’s just still fucked up from being kidnapped.

Hey Charles, you ever going to fucking visit us man? Thought you were hamburger time again. Answer your phone when I text you. Dick.

~

From: w.murderface@planetpiss.metal.dk

To: c.f.ofdenson@mordhaus.metal.dk, n.explosion@brutal.metal.dk, p.the.drummer@fuckoff.metal.dk, s.skwigelf@guitargod.metal.dk

Subj: Re: Re: Re: Re: Consider this a band meeting

Hey fuckfaces,

You’re all wrong!!! Take it from me, a real lady’s man. He’s upset over some chick who went and broke his stupid heart!!! I’ll take some booze over to his room later, we’ll talk it out, problem solved. Nailed it. ;)

—WM

ps, What’s with the “kind regards” signoff, Charles? Pretty gay.

~

From: p.the.drummer@fuckoff.metal.dk

To: c.f.ofdenson@mordhaus.metal.dk, n.explosion@brutal.metal.dk, s.skwigelf@guitargod.metal.dk, w.murderface@planetpiss.metal.dk

Subj: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Consider this a band meeting

ahahahahha mface thinks charlies pretty

cuz hes gay mface is gay THATS THE JOOKE

8=====D doodily doodily dooo

~

From: c.f.ofdenson@mordhaus.metal.dk

To: n.explosion@brutal.metal.dk, p.the.drummer@fuckoff.metal.dk, s.skwigelf@guitargod.metal.dk, w.murderface@planetpiss.metal.dk

Subj: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Consider this a band meeting

OK, thank you for all your responses.

Pickles — That’s a good idea, it could be the lack of solos. I appreciate your input.

Nathan — Recent trauma is also a strong possible explanation as to why Toki has been acting out lately. Also, I am sending you a text right now. Please text back whenever convenient, and perhaps we can schedule an actual call.

William — I’m not sure alcohol is necessary in this situation, but otherwise I agree, Toki would probably benefit from having a friend to talk to right now.

If anyone could advise me as to why Skwisgaar is not replying to emails, that would be appreciated. Good afternoon, gentlemen.

Kind regards,

Charles F. Ofdenson

[just-breathe-fight-cf]

Movies, TV Shows & Literature Of Cystic Fibrosis

     As mentioned in my last post, cystic fibrosis is rarely featured in movies, TV shoes and literature that isn’t a medical school lesson. Some of the TV programs pull at the deepest emotions and some of the TV programs make you wonder what the writers were thinking. Some of these programs I’ve never seen and will not give comment about my viewpoint as a CF patient.

                                Foreverland | Film | 2011

     In this Canadian film, cynical 21-year-old cystic fibrosis patient, Will (Max Thieriot), has given up on trying to find a job or relationship because of his obsession with the idea that many with CF don’t live to their 30s. He goes on a road trip to Mexico and rediscovers his thirst for life in the process. The film uses salt as a thematic symbol — a clear connection to cystic fibrosis patients’ salty skin. It also shines a light on the daily life of a CFer: treatments, the feeling of ‘drowning’ in mucus, uncontrollable coughing fits, and an overprotective mom who worries about the sound of his ‘soupy cough.’

________________________________________________________________

                      Red Band Society | TV Show | 2014

     In this now-cancelled show, patients with various medical conditions have adventures in the ward of a fancy L.A. hospital called Ocean Park. A rebellious character named Dash Hosney (Bradley Brian, Jr.) has cystic fibrosis and is in need of a lung transplant. Despite being in end-stage disease, his first scene features him in a hazy closet sharing a marijuana joint with a friend without ever coughing. He also runs and skateboards easily without need for oxygen. Not all end-stage CF presents itself in the same way, but his high energy is a head scratcher at times. At other points, the disease does show itself, such as when he coughs up blood during an argument. I’ve watched this series and found that the writing for cystic fibrosis is terrible.

     For example; Dash was listed as a lung transplant patient which has to honor five requirements to qualify for a transplant: 65 or younger. (1)No smoking or substance abuse in 6 months. (2)BMI less then 30%. (3)No prednisone for 6 months. (4)Have a social support system. (5)FEV1 lower then 30% and/or on oxygen. The only one he passes was the BMI and no prednisone. His history of smoking marijuana and drinking alcohol violates number 1. We never see his parents or friends which violates number 4. His ability to be physically active without oxygen and his energy is confusing for a terminal patient needing a lung transplant. The only time we see some symptoms of CF is in the last two episodes when his condition matches his symptoms.

________________________________________________________________

                          Bates Motel | TV Show | 2013–2017

     A re-imagining of Alfred Hitchcock’s 1960 classic, Psycho, Bates Motel features a character with cystic fibrosis named Emma Decody. She’s 17 years old, on the waiting list for a lung transplant, and on supplemental oxygen. The show, taking place in present day, casually mentions her life expectancy is 27 years old, while the actual reported average life expectancy is 37. Despite her end-stage disease, Emma climbs up a mountain without much trouble then easily sprints through a forest without a single cough at the end of episode two. While hiding from the men chasing them, through the mountain, protagonist Norman whispers to Emma, “Don’t even breathe.” Then he remembers her cystic fibrosis: “Sorry.”

________________________________________________________________

                           Ghosts | Graphic Novel | 2016

     This story is about middle-schooler Catrina’s relationship with her little sister Maya, who has cystic fibrosis. The girls and their parents move to Northern California’s coast in hopes that the salty sea air will help Maya’s lungs. Maya has advanced disease and so the topic of death is thematically explored — Maya has an obsession with ghosts. Basic information about cystic fibrosis symptoms are nailed, as is the effect of salty ocean air on lungs and the common feelings of resentment the disease can produce.

________________________________________________________________

         No One Dies in the Garden of Syn | Book | 2016

     Synthis (Syn) Wade is a teenager with cystic fibrosis who is pushed into a pond that portals her to a new world where illness and death do not exist. Most of the book has Syn cured of her disease, but the basics of cystic fibrosis are still covered for background purposes. In the normal world, she has morning treatment routines, coughs because of thick mucus, and has very little energy. This is the first book in an ongoing trilogy, so there is room for the disease to be explored more in-depth.

________________________________________________________________

  Everyone Dies in the Garden of Syn | Book | 2018

     When Synthia (Syn) Wade discovered a secret world where illness and death did not exist, for the first time in her life she didn’t have to worry about her cystic fibrosis. However, a dark truth and a dangerous foe were waiting in the shadows.

     Syn must now return to the Garden to save a loved one held captive by a madman and the odds are against her. The secret world is overrun by the terrifying Creepers. Her one-time allies have turned their backs on her. And worst of all, the healing powers of the Garden are no more. This time Synthia fears fighting alone, without respite from her life-threatening illness. The last time Syn visited The Garden, death was held at bay. Now Everyone Dies in the Garden of Syn.

________________________________________________________________

                                            Teeth | Book | 2013

     A boy named Rudy is forced to move with his family to a remote island in an attempt to save his 5-year-old brother Dylan, who has cystic fibrosis. The fish at the island have magical healing properties if eaten, but Dylan must eat them for the rest of his life if he is to remain cured. Rudy enters a strange, violent friendship that forces him to choose between his happiness and his brother. The book describes common CF symptoms as well as its potential for lethality, though much of the story takes place with Dylan being cured of these symptoms because of the magical fish. It’s fantasy, if you haven’t guessed.

________________________________________________________________

                                         ER | TV Show| 1997

ER Episode (season 3, episode 14) Who Apply Now?

     Dr. Doug Ross treats Jad Houston (Chad Lindberg), a 17-year-old cystic fibrosis patient who wants to die, but isn't old enough to sign a DNR.

ER Episode (season 3, episode 16) Faith

      Jad Houston (Chad Lindberg) turns 18 and requests that Doug take him off the respirator which has been keeping him alive.

________________________________________________________________

                         Grey’s Anatomy | TV Show| 2011

(Season 7, Episode 16) Not Responsible

      Ricky was in the hospital for a lung transplant to treat his cystic fibrosis. When Altman found out that he was dating another person with cystic fibrosis, she said she wouldn't do the transplant unless they ended the relationship, so they agreed to break it off.

________________________________________________________________

                                      House | TV Show| 2009

Episodes #514 "The Greater Good"

________________________________________________________________

                                     NY Med | TV Show| 2012

Season 1 Episode 6 

     A woman with cystic fibrosis needs new lungs; an ER nurse makes a startling personal decision after hearing an elderly couple's story about their 65-year marriage; surgical residents share tales of hazing by senior surgeons.

________________________________________________________________

                                    Lifebreath | Movie | 1997

     When lovely New Yorker Chrystie Devoe (Francie Swift) is diagnosed with the life-threatening disease cystic fibrosis, her schoolteacher husband, Martin (Luke Perry), does everything in his power to procure a lung transplant for her. Chrystie's rare blood type limits the possibilities, so Martin resorts to extreme measures to ensure his spouse's survival with a plan that involves Gale Pullman (Gia Carides), a real estate agent who is a perfect donor candidate -- and unfortunately quite healthy.

[suki-schiffer]

Information about gum graft

So I had a gingival (gum) graft done today and I have decided to makes this post in hopes that others will find it helpful. I found very little online about what the experience was like and it would have really calmed me down if I could have read about it beforehand. 

My situation:

Not everyone’s procedure will be the same. I had recession on one of my lower front teeth my dentist pointed this out to me right after I got my braces of and sent me to a periodontist (gum specialist) then. I found the woman very rude and having blood/injection/injury type phobia decided I was not going through with the graft and hoped that it just wouldn’t recede anymore.

Fast forward four years not only has the recession continued I am now experiencing pain (not sensitivity), some days it just feels weird some times it is tender and throbbing, decide that I need to get this graft done and start looking up periodontists (because I’m not going back to that rude bitch).

First piece of advice is to do your research, look for a periodontist who is well rated (esp for grafts). You do not have to commit after the consultation, do not let them make you feel like you have to, if you don’t like the individual find someone else. 

Price:

I saw a lot of people on the internet asking how much the procedure cost. For my one tooth it was 660$ (number$ denotes Canadian currency). I also had to pay 140$ for level 3 sedation (we will discuss sedation in a moment). Finally, it was 75$ for the initial consultation. Of course this will vary depending on how many teeth you have to get done, in how many sittings, and on individual office differences.

What a graft does and does not do:

If you are like me before the consultation I was under the impression that a gum graft would cover up the recession, the graft only prevents further recession by strengthening the remaining tissues and preventing it from thinning/receding. I was warned that sensitivity pain due to root exposure would not be corrected with a graft. Luckily I have not been having sensitivity and if you are there is a “cosmetic” procedure where they can pull a healthy gum back up over the root of the tooth (I don’t know what the name of it is). I was told that all other pain would stop after the procedure (and healing).

Sedation:

I can’t have blood work done without bursting out in tears so of course I needed to be sedated for this procedure. When I looked up this doctor online they only mentioned two types of sedation, oral and IV. During my consultation I was told there are five different levels (at this place at least).

Lvl 0: apparently the majority of people that have this procedure don’t need/get sedation of any kind, only localized anesthetic (numbing cream followed by injection into the gum and palate).

Lvl 1: The above + N2O (nitrous oxide/laughing gas) administered through a large tube that sort of fits over your nose.

Lvl 2: Weak pills in addition to the above

Lvl 3: Strong pills with lvl 0 and lvl 1. For me there were five pills in total, one was a Tylenol, two were anti-anxiety, two were the sedative. 

Lvl 4: IV sedative (apparently stronger than the pills) administered by an anesthesiologist. Originally I went in thinking I wanted the strongest level of sedation but then I found out the nurse only came once a week for a few hours (I imagine this is common as when alarmed I asked the previous perio, “Wait you want to do this to me while I’m CONSCIOUS!!!” I was told the had sedation appointments once a month). Since the day they did IV sedation happened to occur on the same day I have lecture and considering needles make me anxious I ended up opting not to have IV.  

Lvl 5: This is complete sedation, apparently for all the other levels while you might be quite out of it you are still conscious for this one you will be unconscious. This again involves an IV sedative administered by an anesthesiologist. They also need to stick a breathing tube down your throat if you are unconscious. 

IF YOU GET SEDATION YOU HAVE TO HAVE SOMEONE DRIVE YOU HOME! It isn’t a matter of just making sure you aren’t driving either, they won’t let you walk or bus.

I found out after the consultation (actually yesterday via voicemail reminding me of the appointment) that since I was getting sedation I could not eat or drink after midnight. Through my own research I can tell you that for N2O you cannot eat or drink two hours prior to its administration. Some other surgeons’ websites also stated not to eat/drink for 10 hours before, others said six hours. I imagine this no eating or drinking rule is to prevent vomiting and nausea but I did have to take the pills with water so I assume a few sips of water would not have had an adverse affect; however, since I do not know exactly what I took, or what you will take, best just follow whatever the doctor tells you. If I were doing it again during the consultation I would have asked if there I could eat or drink before the operation and if there were exceptions (e.g. is water okay?). 

Being anxious eating is one of the ways I get my body to calm down. Regularly I drink a fair bit of water but when I am anxious I become really dehydrated due to sweating and the speeding up of the digestive tract. I am also a person that has to eat breakfast in 20 minutes of waking up or my stomach will start to roil and I’ll feel nauseous and sometimes start dry heaving. In addition to all this I have medical conditions that require me to take medication (obviously with water and) with food at the same time everyday (so I do this when I get up) this dietary restriction messed up my medication schedule and I can tell you my joints are paying for it now. tl;dr if I had known I couldn’t eat or drink I probably would have chosen a sedation method that was less tedious.

The effects of lvl 3: So I had to arrive about 30 mins before the appointment to take the pills (apparently so that they are effective). After taking them I alternated between reading (to try to ease my anxiety) and pacing (to try to burn off anxious energy). Thirty minutes later the nurse comes out with a wheelchair and calls my name, I’m mid pace, I haven’t been looking at the time but it feels like only a few minutes have passed, it doesn’t feel like they have taken effect yet as I’m still shaking. I ask the nurse if I should feel anything she tells me she’ll take me to the room and I can lay down and I still have to have the gas so not to worry. Despite obviously being able to stand and walk fine she insists I sit in the chair, was very embarrassed when when my pant leg got caught in the foot rest and I tripped and fell into the thing almost knocking the poor nurse off her feet, this was definitely the most embarrassing thing that happened while I was “sedated”.  So if you are worried about spilling secrets, having no control over your body/mouth, and generally embarrassing yourself don’t worry I never felt like I had lost control. 

When we got to the room and I was in the chair they asked me to take my glasses off, I’m pretty blind so this was as good as putting a blindfold on me. They fitted me with the N2O tube, not really sure how it fit, there was no band around my head, it was a large ribbed tube and a black piece sat over my nose. The started the thing on what I assume was the low setting because when I asked the doctor when he came in if I should be feeling as aware as I was he said he could turn it up. I’m not sure if it was just the way this thing was structured or if there was a hole but even they noticed it was blowing gas into my left eye, the nurse moved it a bit and it wasn’t too bad but this continued throughout the procedure.

The procedure:

Rewinding a bit to after the nurse put the tube on me she applied numbing cream to my gum and palate. When the doctor came in he injected local anesthetic into my lower gum and the roof of my mouth where the tissue would be taken. The injection on the roof of my mouth was the most painful part of the whole procedure as after the prick it stung like hell for a good minute. About a minute later the doctor poked and prodded with something sharp to see if I could feel anything, the far side of my gum wasn’t completely numb so another injection. Tested again, numb, good to go. 

The reason I chose the office I did was because everyone was really nice. Unlike the dentist’s office these people knew that when they had sharp things in your mouth it isn’t smart to try to involve you in conversation. Instead the doctor and nurse had a conversation about the nurse’s weekend and something stupid her boyfriend got up too, the doctor only addressed me a few times asking me to open wider or angle my head. Since I was without glasses and laying more or less flat I saw next to none of the procedure, I only remember seeing some gauze and the thread as he was sewing me up (I was so numb I honestly can’t tell you if he was doing my palate or gum at that point). The sound of the N2O was loud enough that with the conversation and the noise outside I didn’t hear any scraping (that sound really sets me on edge at the dentist). Because the tube also covers your nose I didn’t smell blood/flesh either, another bonus. 

During the consultation I was told the procedure would be about 15 minutes, it felt like it was over much faster than that and the doctor must time himself or something because when he was finished and I told him that felt like under ten minutes he told me he had been in the room for 13 minutes and 20 seconds. Maybe the sedative took effect, but once he had started I was no longer afraid/anxious and like I said the whole thing flew by. After the procedure I did feel rather dizzy and accepted the wheelchair ride to the car without complaint so I’m assuming the medicine did have some effect (it might be worth noting though that I was so anxious I couldn’t sleep the night before and the night before that I was only able to sleep 3 hours so my lack of sleep may have amplified the effect). 

According to my mother, who was in the room with me, the doctor did not stitch the roof of my mouth only put a special plaster (band-aid) over it. After the doctor had left and the nurse was helping me get up and asking how I felt I noticed this thing and started gagging because of it, it felt like it was too far back and was triggering my gag reflex, she took a look and said it was the right size and secured properly. She also told me I only had to put up with it until it fell off which would likely be in no more than three days. 

The recovery (so far):

As mentioned above while in the office the plaster was setting off my gag reflex, quickly realized this only happened when I was talking or if I moved it around (this thing really felt like I had put a band aid in my mouth, it moved like fabric and I could even feel the quilted texture). The plaster has been the most unpleasant/painful thing thus far. 

After the procedure I was still starving and needed to have my morning meds, I had brought two muffins and my water and medication with me and ate/drank with no problem on the car ride home. Once home I was exhausted (I had barely slept in two days and might have still been feeling the effects of the sedative) I slept for five hours.  

The numbing had obviously worn off at this point and my mother was wondering how much pain I was in and if she should go to the store to get a blender and liquid foods so I could eat. Minus the plaster I felt fine, only a bit of tenderness around my tooth but I had experienced this before the procedure. During the consultation I was told solid foods were fine so long as they were soft and would not scratch the sites (they told me if I could squeeze it between my fingers and it mushed instead of broke it was okay to eat but a few people online said they could only have liquids because of the pain). To test out if I could eat solids or not I tried a few gummies (which was probably the only soft thing in the house) I had no problem chewing them with my molars and only had an issue when they touched/moved the plaster causing me to gag. 

My mom went out for food and I decided to take it easy, I studied a bit and watched tv, I got hungry but seeing as there was only hard foods (apples, cereal, kale, nuts, etc.) I made myself a tea. Other people complained that they had hot/cold sensitivity, hot tea was actually soothing. 

Once my mother was home I had a yogurt, again, perfectly fine. For dinner I had macaroni and cheese (from a box so no tough cheese or breadcrumbs), having not really had breakfast or lunch I managed a bowl and a half no problem. After dinner I realized that the plaster had likely fallen off and I had eaten it  (*facepalm* oops). There has been no bleeding and I feel much more relaxed without the plaster. 

This post has taken a lot longer to write than I anticipated and while I am a bit tired (likely due to lack of sleep) I still intend to do yoga later tonight. The only thing I have apprehension about is brushing my teeth before bed, I was told normal brushing is fine just not to brush the graft site. 

Other considerations:

From the limited information I could found online it seems like different doctors perform a gum graft differently and therefore there a different instructions. The first perio I went to said that they would have to make a retainer for me to that it covered the roof of my mouth so I didn’t tongue at the donor site. When I asked about it at this place they even admitted that was likely a money ploy as they would only use a plaster, stitches, or combination of the two depending on how much the area bled. 

In a youtube video from a British woman she said that she had been instructed to do salt water rinses whenever she ate, not to brush her teeth for a week and instead to gently swish some prescription liquid tooth paste. While I was offered prescription liquid tooth paste (I think it’s just fluoride) they told me it was a matter of preference and that so long as I didn’t brush the graft for a week I could do my regular dental routine. 

It sounded like some people had been prescribed special pain killers my doctor said to take Tylenol or Advil if there was any pain. I haven’t taken anything yet as nothing really hurts (it feels like my muscles are tender because I over did it at the gym, except in an odd spot, again I was feeling this tenderness before the appointment for a few weeks so it’s not something I feel I need pain killers for).

I know a lot of people on the internet ask about insurance that will all depend on your insurance company, even the periodontist office can’t tell you if the procedure will be covered and how much you will be reimbursed. 

I know the British woman mentioned previously said she had to get stitches out, personally that sounds horrible, when I asked my perio they assured me they used dissolvable stitches.

So far there has been no swelling.

At the previous perio I went to the woman said she would cut off the skin attaching my lower lip to my gums, this freaked me out and I didn’t understand why she had to do this and feared it would cause my lip to sag or minimize the control I had over my lower lip. This procedure is called a frenectomy and is necessary for grafts on the bottom front teeth to prevent lip movement from moving the graft/ripping the stitches (I originally thought it was an intense procedure in and of itself but they literally just make a single cut with the scalpel).

During the consultation I noticed that I found the building rather cold so I wore layers, putting on my jacket once we got to the office, I was already mentally uncomfortable, I didn’t want to add physical discomfort to that. I advise assessing the office on your first visit and dressing appropriately. 

Summary:

Price of graft: 800$ (including taxes and sedation)

Time from consultation to procedure:  15 days

Time procedure took: ~15 minutes (was at office for 45 minutes total)

Expected recovery time: 10 days (until I’m not supposed to feel anymore pain and can eat anything again)

Procedure prep: consultation, (apparently they need x-rays so you either get them there or have your dentist email them), no food/drink from midnight on before the graft

Post-op: only soft food (for ten days), don’t brush/poke/prod graft or donor site, follow up appointment in three weeks

Thing that caused the most anxiety: anticipating the procedure

Anxiety pre-procedure: 9/10 (I don’t like extremes but was tempted to rate this one a 10, I have never feared anything more in my life), anxiety during procedure: 4/10

Most painful thing during the procedure: local anesthesia to palate (burning sensation)

Most painful thing about recovery (thus far): gagging on the plaster

How much procedure has interfered with my day-to-day life (so far): 2/10

Overall pain: 1/10

Well that’s about everything I can think to cover thus far, will update later with how recovery proceeds. 

I hope that this post can help alleviate someone’s anxiety about this procedure, I know having this information would have made me felt a bit better and I know one of my co-workers is also supposed to get a graft and has be procrastinating because she too is terrified so I’m sure there are others out there that this can benefit.

On that note if I have missed something or you have any questions you want to ask my feel free to PM (DM? inbox? what do we even call it on this site?) me and I’ll try to answer your questions. 

UPDATE:

There was a plastic plaster under the cloth one that fell out the next morning when I was eating oatmeal, after it was gone the roof of my mouth felt as it had pre-surgery.

Most painful/difficult thing about recovery was washing my face and putting on makeup (because I had to touch my chin).

I quickly gave up on the soft food diet, I was eating pistachios three days after the surgery and binged on chips a week later. Realized early on that while hard foods were easy enough to manage I couldn’t bite food off with my front teeth so I couldn’t take sandwiches to class and had to eat pizza like an ostentatious person.

Turns out there was some kind of plaster over the graft site as well that was held in with dissolvable stitches except not all of them dissolved so it was hanging on by a thread and became very annoying to brush/eat/drink with. Doctor removed it at check up, seemed to be the cause of zombie mouth.

Zombie mouth. Seriously I was so self-conscious about how bad my breath smelt, I even woke myself up a few times. With the exception of the graft site I was brushing regularly and even using mouth wash but the smell did not abate until the plaster was removed.

Didn’t take any medication during the healing process, didn’t really have any pain unless I touched the area or tried to bite off food (and that was probably in my favour otherwise I might have gone something that ripped the stitches and caused the graft to fail).

I have one more post-op appointment in September but apparently everything is healing nicely and I’m allowed to eat normally and brush the area again.