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lovesosweeet · 1 year

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better left unsaid // cth

chapter three

in which orion has leukemia, and calum doesn’t know.

chapter zero, one, two

july 13, 2018

los angeles, california

orion

—

There are just over two weeks until Calum leaves for tour. It'll be the longest time we've spent apart since before we knew each other.

Sure, the first few months of our "relationship" — if you could've even called it that then — were spent apart, but I saw him almost every weekend for the first couple of months I was in Spain, and then once I was back in LA, he returned shortly thereafter and the rest is history.

All that to say, I'm devastated that he's leaving. I keep trying to tell myself it'll be the perfect chance to focus on LSAT prep and really do well in my classes this semester, but it's hard when the one person you want to talk to at the end of every shitty day and the one who I want to tell about every essay I get a 100 on will be gone for four months. Living together has put us in such close quarters that any time apart feels stiflingly lonely.

Today hasn't been that different. We both woke up around the same time, but I stayed in bed while he got up and got ready to head to rehearsal. He took Duke out so I didn't need to get up until I wanted to, made himself some semblance of a breakfast sandwich, and gave me a kiss goodbye.

I didn't really want to get out of bed this morning. For some reason, I've been feeling sick almost every other week it seems. My throat is sore, my body just aches, and I feel feverish. It's not flu season, which makes me assume it's just a cold, but I don't understand why it keeps coming back, so I made an appointment at my doctor's office to see if it's a sinus infection or something that we can make go away with antibiotics.

I got dressed in a random t-shirt from Calum's pile of "not quite dirty, but also not clean" clothes and a pair of cotton shorts, washed my face, and then left the house. I stopped at Starbucks for a coffee on my way to the doctor, just to feel a bit more awake, even though I know I'll inevitably feel like a zombie.

When I get to the doctor's office, it's a blur of blood draws, questions from nurses and techs, blood pressure cuffs and other measurements. I've never liked going to the doctor, and today is no different. Normally, I'd have asked Calum to come with me, but with the tour so close, I didn't want to take away from an important workday — even though I know he would've come with me if I asked.

Finally, after waiting in the sterile exam room for what feels like a few hours but was likely only a maximum of 15 minutes, my doctor and a nurse enter the room.

"Good morning, Orion!" He cheerily says.

"Good morning," I say, far less enthusiastically.

"Sorry to hear you're feeling a bit under the weather. Just so you know, we're not seeing anything too alarming just yet, but we're still waiting on your blood panel to get analyzed by the lab." He's rubbing a fresh blob of hand sanitizer into his skin while the nurse makes notes on her pad. It all feels very impersonal, part of a protocol, and almost like no one has thought to even talk to me.

"I wanted to ask," he continues. "Have you ever had a sinus infection?"

"I've had one, yeah."

"What did that feel like for you? Did it feel like this?"

I think back, trying to remember. I'd gotten one after weeks of country-hopping, following Calum around on tour. The plane germs and travel fatigue had gotten to me. I felt horrible, but the main thing I remember was how badly my face hurt. "It was different, I had a lot of sinus pain, this is just more generally... sick? Does that make sense?"

My doctor nods, and the nurse stays silent while she keeps writing. "I understand. Well, given your symptoms and since we haven't heard back from the lab on your blood panel, I'm going to go ahead and prescribe you some antibiotics. While we aren't sure that it's a sinus infection, I'd rather go ahead and treat you for that than wait and do nothing and find out this was our best bet all along."

I nod, my mouth feeling too dry to speak.

The nurse coughs from out of nowhere, and then she and the doctor exchange a few glances that seem to have a lot more meaning than I could ever understand. Then the doctor turns back to me.

"We also noticed that bruise along your collarbone. Is that kind of bruising normal for you?"

Involuntarily, my eyes widen. I can't believe he's just asked me that. "Uh," I start, my cheeks hot. "My uh, boyfriend... it's, it's not a bruise." I cough. I guess a hickey is a form of a bruise, but still.

The doctor's facial expression is unreadable but both he and the nurse then share more glances. "Got it, we're just trying to make sure your chart has all of your symptoms."

—

I leave the office $150 poorer and with a prescription for an antibiotic that I don't think is going to help me, and no answers in hand. The LA traffic makes my drive home take almost an entire hour, and all I want to do is take a nap.

I pull into the parking garage at the apartment building that Calum insisted was the right choice, parking in my space next to Cal's empty one. Our cars stick out in the garage, both older, beat up, and not luxury brands.

Living here wasn't my choice, at least not fully. I'd found us a building where a lot of other UCLA students live, mostly the richer ones whose parents pay for everything, closer to campus, but Cal didn't feel like he'd be able to live there with its central location and lack of security. He doesn't get followed often, but when he does, he doesn't like to cause too big of a scene.

The building we do live in, though, I can barely afford to pay a quarter of the rent for. Cal insisted it was fine, he could pay the whole rent himself without issue, but I didn't feel right letting him do that. We have it worked out so that all I do is pay utilities and occasionally a few hundred toward the actual rent, which even still I have a hard time letting happen, but Calum basically refused to let me set up my account on the autodraft payment for the rent.

I know that sounds like something lots of people would love, not needing to pay any part of the rent, I just hate feeling like I'm taking advantage of Calum and our situation. He kept saying that my education was the most important thing and once I'm making money and out of debt I can contribute as much as I want.

Regardless, I feel out of place parking my shitty car and wearing a worn out, partially dirty t-shirt where I live. We've been here for almost a year and we still don't have any friends in the building. I've gotten pretty familiar with Ron, the main security officer in the lobby, but aside from that, we're only met with snobby glares and passive aggressive elevator encounters.

Ready to just go lay down, I enter the lobby, swiping my fob and dodging a neighbor wearing a suit who’s angrily talking on the phone. Ron is behind the desk in the lobby, as usual.

“Morning,” I call to him. He waves happily back and I keep walking. Normally I’d stop and chat, ask if he’d like me to bring him a coffee, but I just don’t have it in me today.

When I get up to our apartment, Duke is waiting for me at the door. I sigh, wishing I could just go lay down, but he needs to go out. I feel like a zombie as I trudge through the apartment, grabbing his leash and poop bags, hooking him into his harness and then going back to the elevator.

By the time I’ve taken Duke out and gotten back to the apartment, my whole body aches and begs to rest. I turn on the TV and just pick something random from Netflix for white noise.

“C’mere,” I tell Duke, curling into a ball under the massive fuzzy blanket Crystal got me for Christmas last year. I pat a space on the couch next to me, and he hops up, nestling next to me and quickly settling.

I sigh, finally at ease, and lean my head back against the pillows on the couch.

read next chapter

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a/n: guys i’m so happy people are reading this 🥹 shorter chapter. just leading up to the good stuff!!

#5sos #5 seconds of summer #luke hemmings #calum hood #ashton irwin #fanfiction #fanfic #5sosfam #5sos fanfic #calum imagine #calum x oc #boyfriend!calum

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leviiattacks · 4 years

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your angst is really good and i wanted to may i request guard levi and princess reader, they have an affair because they end up falling in love but one day levi can’t protect her because he takes his eyes off her and idk the plot i just felt like crying today and i need a reason so just something angsty😭

note :: i saw this and really wanted to write something but i’m not really sure if i did well it’s shorter than what i normally write but hopefully i did some justice to your request. requests are open so feel free to drop by again and request if you want to !!

++ might make this into an actual fic perhaps,,, minus the dying and what not but guard levi is a very interesting concept to me hmm

warnings :: blood, death, infidelity

No one knows or is able to understand why or how Levi is having such a hard time coping with your death. You are the princess of the nation and he, your guard. Nothing more, nothing less.

At least that’s what everyone else in the Kingdom thinks.

Every night he greets your book shelf like a mad man. Well, it’s all he has to remember you by, why would he ever let it go with ease?

"What you reading? Another sappy romance novel?" He's poked his head from a corner and you grin up at him telling him that you are indeed indulging in another piece of romantic fiction.

For an unknown reason dread fills his gut when he meets your smile, that's never happened before.

It's a bad omen, a sign that he's fallen but is in denial, refutation, rejection, contradiction whatever it is he can't find an appropriate word for it. All he knows is he'll regret this later. He doesn't know why but the sinking feeling in his stomach is an indication that this forbidden romance the two of you share in secrecy will go South.

It’s silent apart from your humming.

"Levi... can you promise me you'll live a long happy life?" The out of place question is worrying. Another premonition and he opens his mouth to voice his concern. However your gaze lingers on his face telling him to not cause a dispute, not right now.

"If you promise me the same, then yes My Lady."

Looking away you're awake but distant. "We are in privacy. You may use my name Levi."

"And, I don't know if I can live a long and happy life. I can try." The slow confession only makes his heart race uncomfortably.

He sighs sitting beside you, your shoulders rub against his. "Then I retract my previous statement. I cannot possibly live a happy life when the princess is discontent."

You flail your arms around, hands are flapping in front of your chest in an attempt to convince him to not think so foolishly.

He narrows his eyes. Expression unreadable, a mix of frustration, maybe even premature grief. It's enough to coax an agreement out of you.

"Very well, I promise to live happy."

Fists clenching your bed sheets he damns himself to Hell for ignoring his instincts. For putting your life in jeopardy all for his own temporary satisfaction.

His forehead hits the plush duvet and he inhales the linen hoping that your smell lingers, hoping that the vanilla is still present. Hoping there’s something left to prove he hasn’t made you up. He fears he’ll forget your scent, your voice, your touch. He fears he’ll forget it all.

If he had followed orders, never let himself grow emotionally involved perhaps you would still be here. Perhaps, if he didn't lead you astray and convince you to betray royalty by pursuing what the two of you shared, maybe just maybe you would still be alive and well.

He'll end up in damnation for all the pain and suffering he's caused you, He curses himself every day for having the nerve to fall in love with a member of Royalty.

No matter how well respected or how strong he was in the military he never had the power to protect you from the political turmoil your family was submerged in. He wasn't of Royal blood, there was nothing he could do to protect you.

One of you would die first, and die you did.

He assumes he was made to suffer through that bleak, unwelcoming night for a reason. That's why he had to see the enemy take you away from him, he needed to be given a reality check.

Royalty and commoners are worlds apart for a reason.

You scream at the world as you call for him, shrieking as the blade erupts from your stomach. It’s throbbing and strumming in vengeance. The contents of your belly become one with the floor but the pungent stench isn't enough to pry Levi away from you. The air is quickly fogging up with the scent of your blood and insides. You whimper, you cry, you sob staring at the heavens.

"You are not dying on me, You can't be dying on me, I won't let you die on me. We haven't said goodbye properly, you can't just-"

"Yes I can Levi. I am not immortal." There you are laughing as you wilt in his arms, you disregard the emptiness you feel, you need to comfort him. Withering away isn't an option for now.

Frantically attempting to staunch the wound to no avail Levi is distraught when he feels you slipping away from him. "You promised to live a long happy life." He murmurs in betrayal, his eyes are glazed over in complete shock.

Panting out of exhaustion and pressing down firmer he's pleading you to not let go of him just yet.

You watch him unravel above you, eyes squeezed shut, he’s lurching forward burying the sounds that want to escape from his chest so badly.

Your shaking hands travel to his cheeks cupping them gently and you draw hesitant circles into his cold skin.

Levi’s tears fall and you sense the dampness coat your fingertips.

"If you were paying attention you would know I promised to live happy Levi, not live long."

You broke the promise, an early death is not dying happy.

He's stunned, he should’ve known you’d pull something like that.

"You made me the happiest Levi."

He thinks that’s a lie.

You break under the pressure and finally admit how you feel.

"I'm scared, what if we never-"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence, we will do what we've planned. I promise." He growls assertive in his point of view.

But, you know it's too late. Placing his unsteady hand above your heart you let your other hand fall from his face. The energy is being drained out of you quicker than expected.

"I dreamt about you last night, dreamt we could be happy.” You hack and gasp desperately for breath but much to Levi’s horrified gaze the blood only trickles down your chin. “I hope we reunite whether that be in the afterlife if that place is real or in another life entirely. We will become lovers but we can't indulge in that luxury right now."

"No, no, no. Shut up, stop talking you're wasting your breath you need to-"

"I love you Levi, please live happily for me."

Then you are limp.

His eyes shoot open as the scene draws to an end. Yet another nightmare has plagued him, one where he is reminded of your passing.

The title of murderer is self appointed, he holds himself responsible for taking his eyes off you. It gave your assassin the perfect window of opportunity to strike, it had been enough to take you out like a faltering light.

Sometimes as he drinks into the night trying to forget it all. He wonders if everything would be different if he had kept his love for you locked away.

Would you still be alive and married to that other man whilst he would have to watch on in pain?

But nothing would be more painful than now, he’d rather watch that instead of accept that you are long gone.

Would you still be alive and forced to bed your horrible fiancé?

Would you carry that man’s children?

He hates himself for confessing and telling you how he felt. He despises that you had to suffer for his sin.

But, that’s the issue with love. It had made the danger in Levi look like safety to you and it had made the danger in you look like peace to Levi.

There are reasons why a guard and his princess should never mingle.

After all, they are worlds apart for a reason.

#levi #levi ackerman #aot #snk #attack on titan #attack on titan levi #aot fanfiction #aot headcanons #levi headcanons #guard levi #levi x reader #levi x y/n #levi angst #levi fanfiction #leviiattacks #levi scenario #this probably isn't that good so i'm sorry anon T____T

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anotheronechicagobog · 4 years

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Connor Rhodes x Reader Motherfucking Done

requested prompt: Hey!😊 Could you write an imagine with Connor Rhodes, like the reader is a doctor, and he is jealous of her friendship with Will? Cute ending maybe. Thank you so much

written by: @anotheronechicagobog

warnings: swearing, pregnancy complications, this is shit, I’ll probably redo it later, but I’m so tired and stressed, oh and Cornelius Rhodes murdered his wife and no one can tell me otherwise

You and Connor returned to the U.S. as fast as you could. Connor more anxious than you, but then again, he had reason to. Two weeks ago you and your husband were at a party thrown by one of his patients at his penthouse. His massive, over the top, Fast and Furious 7 penthouse. It was three stories with a balcony with a pool. You and Connor always felt out of place at these parties, not even Connor had grown up around such extravagant wealth. But you made do, it was part of doctor-patient culture apparently, so you went. You hadn’t been feeling all that well, nauseous and with a skull-splitting headache. Connor had gotten another email from his sister, so you didn’t want to stress him out more than he already was. You and Connor had mostly stuck to the shade of the indoors, but eventually, you both had to go outside. Connor went to socialize with the host while you went to the third floor to the balcony that hung over the pool. There was a bar there, but you weren’t interested in alcohol. You didn’t think you could stomach it, but you hadn’t been able to stomach anything lately. You’d just sat at a table with a large umbrella and ordered a water.

You’d started feeling dizzy, the heat was suddenly beyond unbearable. You started panting and you knew that stressed out or not, you needed to tell Connor what was going on and leave. Something was very, very wrong. You turned in your seat, waving trying to get his attention. You leaned against the railing while still sitting down and he didn’t notice again. So and flimsy, shaking legs you stood up, clutching the railing. Sweat was pouring down your face and neck, it became so much more difficult to breathe, you were about to try yelling his name over the blaring music when, in a matter of seconds, you felt like you were going to faint, your entire body went limp, and you fell unconscious.

When you woke up you were, not only in a hospital, but the one you worked at. Connor, who was clutching your hand and praying in Hebrew noticed you stirring. “Y/N, sweetheart? Oh thank heavens, how are you feeling?”

“Groggy. What happened?”

“You fell off of the balcony at the top on the penthouse, three stories into the pool. Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling well?”

“It wasn’t bad when we left for the party, for most of the time we were there even. It was just at the end, I tried to wave at you, but looking back on it I probably should have just gotten one of the waiters to get you. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Please don’t be. The, uh, the doctors found out what was wrong though.”

“Really? What? Oh please tell me it’s not cancer, you know I’ve got a family history of that.”

“No, you don’t have cancer. You, uh... You’re pregnant.”

“I’m pregnant? Like with a baby?”

“Yeah, heat just doesn’t agree with some women and pregnancy though, so we need to move.”

“I’m pregnant.”

“Yeah, you are... We’re going to be parents.”

“We’re going to be parents.” The dam finally broke and happy tears flooded your face. Connor joined you seconds after, but his tears were a combination of joy and relief, after all, he did watch you fall three stories into a pool.

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You and Will had gone to med school in New York together. You’d been fair acquaintances, but he was a bit too cocky and you were a bit too serious. You both decided to have two specialties, the one you shared was emergency department medicine. You became Facebook friends, but that was about it. Truthfully, you didn’t think you’d see him in person again unless there was a reunion. So you were a bit surprised when you ran into him on your way to your OB appointment. “Y/N? It’s been a while, how are you?”

“I’m doing great. Really, really great, actually. I didn’t know that you came back to Chicago, though. When we were in school you always said you’d never come back.”

“Things changed. Congrats, by the way,” Will gestured to your obviously pregnant belly, “how far along are you? How are the symptoms?”

“Five months. Uh, the symptoms have been really bad. And I’m just on my way to an appointment though so I should get going. But maybe we could get dinner sometime, I’d love for my husband to meet you so that he’ll finally believe all the crazy med school stories I have thanks to you. He works here too, actually.” You weren’t kidding, pregnancy had taken a huge toll on you. You had wretched morning sickness, high blood pressure, gestational diabetes, and a pregnancy-related iron deficiency. It was a quick walk from the entrance to the elevator to the OB ward, so you thought you’d be fine, but you were starting to feel weak and Will noticed. “Hey, are you okay?”

“I need to sit down.” Will whipped around and grabbed a wheelchair for you, helping you to get in. “What’s wrong do I need to call your doctor or husband?”

“Honestly, I already feel better, but would you mind taking me to OB or getting someone else who can? This has just been a difficult pregnancy overall, so feeling faint really isn’t unusual for me.”

“Yeah, I’ll take you, don’t worry.”

“Thanks, I’m just gonna text Connor and let him know, he was going to try to meet me there if he can get away from work for a minute.”

“You don’t happen to mean Connor Rhodes, do you?”

“I do, why?”

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You found out why when Connor burst through the doors just after you and Will had entered. He kissed you on your forehead and gave you a once over. “Y/N, are you okay?”

“Connor, I’m okay. I just started feeling weak so Will got me a wheelchair. I think that I was just on my feet too long, well too long while pregnant. I really hate that I can’t do what I used to be able to...”

“I know, but you should have just gotten help at the door, here let’s go talk to Dr. Hajjar. Thanks, Halstead, I’ve got it from here.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Excuse me?”

“Will!”

“You heard me, Rhodes, why didn’t you meet her at the car or entrance? You can’t really think you’re too important to help your pregnant wife.”

“Will that’s not-”

“That’s enough Halstead, you should get back to the ED, where your obnoxious presence is actually required.”

“Okay, that’s more than enough jabs from both of you. Will, thank you for helping me get here after I tried to get here myself when I probably shouldn’t have, Connor, I’m sorry for being so stubborn and I’m glad you had time today to come to another of my appointments which are happening more and more frequently.”

Will and Connor begrudgingly nodded at each other. “Thanks for getting her here safe Halstead.”

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You decided to hold off on dinner together after seeing how little they got along. Having only realized at that first meeting that the ‘doctor douche’ your husband ranted about so much was your friend from med school. So instead you did what you could to keep the peace whenever you were in the hospital, which was frequent, but their pissing contest was grating on your nerves. It all came to a head the day you went into labour two weeks early. Connor was finishing up a surgery with Dr. Downey so Will was the one in the ED when you were rolled in. “Get Connor, Will.”

“Are you sure Y/N?”

“YES I’M SURE!”

Connor came running into treatment four minutes later and gently kissed you all over your face. “I’m here, Y/N. I love you so much.” Will, who had been holding your hand while you waited for Connor, scoffed.

“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME WILLIAM?! I AM SO OVER THIS SHITTING CONTEST YOU HAVE WITH CONNOR. YOU ARE BOTH GROWN-ASS MEN GET OVER YOURSELVES. YOU ARE BOTH GOING TO APOLOGIZE TO EACH OTHER AND HUG RIGHT NOW BECAUSE I AM MOTHERFUCKING DONE!”

“Y/N-”

“WILLIAM SEAMUS HALSTEAD I KNOW THAT YOUR MOTHER TAUGHT YOU BETTER THAN TO INCUR THE WRATH OF A PREGNANT WOMAN!”

“I’m sorry, Will.”

“I’m sorry, Connor.”

“Y/N Y/L/N you are officially my favourite person in the world, I was just about to ring their necks!”

“No problem Maggie.” You gave a weak smile as another contraction hit and Dr. Hajjar looked under the blanket before nodding. “Alright, Y/N, it’s time to push. If you’re not her husband or part of the delivery team; get out.”

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Five days later you were still in the hospital, because of all the complications you’d had during pregnancy. Dr. Hajjar wanted to make sure your blood pressure wasn’t a high average before she discharged you. So when Natalie went into labour, you could hear her screams from down the hall. You’d also been where Will briefly went to hide with his tail in between his legs after Helen, Natalie’s mother in law, dressed him down. When you heard her screaming for Will, where he was, you gave Connor one look before he sighed and called Will.

Connor briefly appeared at his father’s ‘I-want-control-as-much-of-my-son’s-life-as-possible-so-I-donated-money-in-my-wife’s-name-for-mental-health-when-it’s-mostl-likely-that-I-murdered-her’ ceremony. He only went for the speech, and when it was over he approached his sister. “Connor, it’s nice to finally see you. You’ve been back in Chicago how long?”

“Almost four months. I, uh, want you to meet my wife and daughter.”

“You- what? Who? How?”

“Well I personally have absolutely no idea how I got lucky enough to have a baby with my wife Y/N, much less have her love me as much as I love her, but I’ve decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“How old is your daughter?”

“Five days today.”

“Oh my God... When can I-”

“Now. You can meet them now.”

“I’ll get dad-”

“Claire don’t. Please. He’s the reason I left Chicago, you’re the reason I came back. I just don’t want the happiness I feel to end just yet.”

“Okay.” She hooked her arm around his as he led her out to the hall. “Did you really come back for me?”

“Well Y/N couldn’t stand the heat while pregnant, but you’re the reason we came back here and not to Seattle.”

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You were cradling your bundle of joy and poop, Aviva Nadya Rhodes, in the lounge chair when Connor and Claire came in. “Hi, you must be Claire, I’m Y/N.”

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you too. Is it okay if I hold- Aviva?”

“Sure, here just sit down on the loveseat and I’ll pass her to you.”

“Oh, she’s so tiny. And she looks just like you Y/N. Doesn’t look like she got anything from Connor. You sure are a lucky girl, huh?” Claire had Aviva’s head in the crook of her elbow and was giving the infant an unbridled, beaming smile.

”Hey! Stop trying to turn my daughter against me.”

“Connor don’t worry, you’re going to be an amazing dad and she is going to love you so, so much. I can feel it.”

“Y/N’s right, Connor. You’re going to do great, plus I’m only joking, I promise. Aren’t I, my sweet, sweet girl?”

“She loves my daughter more than she loves me.”

“I’d normally say no and try to reassure you, but she does,”

“And that’s not a bad thing.”

“Yeah, exactly. I love you, Connor.”

“I love you too Y/N.”

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Sorry this was so bad, I’ll probably re-do this at some point cause I really like the whole faint-cause-pregnant-move-to-Chicago storyline I came up with.

Again, sorry.

#One Chicago #chicago med #connor rhodes #connor rhodes x reader #will halstead #maggie lockwood #Natalie Manning

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sennextheassasinkingoflight · 4 years

Text

The Bard, The Flowers, And An Hourglass

Rated T and up for graphic descriptions of injuries' Geraskier/Gerlion featuring a cameo by Regis Cross posted to Ao3

Jaskier hated it. He absolutely without a doubt loathed when the witcher took a dangerous contract and refused to let him come along. Never mind that he hadn't even told him where he would be and therefore where to look if he didnt come back. Normally Jaskier would just trust that Geralt was not going to get himself killed and he would play his lute, sing, dance and be merry until the witcher returned. Not tonight. Tonight could not be any more cliche in his mind.

He stood in the darkened room he was renting and stared out the dirty window waiting for the witchers return. The skin around his nails ached from being picked at and torn while he stared out the window into a dark and writhing tempest. The sky rent open with lightning and the wind ushered to and fro by thunder. The clouds in the sky swirled forebodingly and ominous moving as restless as Jaskier soul. The witcher had seemed concerned about this contract. Something had to be off about it, of that Jaskier was certain. He had informed Jaskier that he would be gone for a minimum of 4 days. It was the fifth night and there was no sign of the witcher.

Jaskier had spent the last three nights playing music. That was his profession after all, no sense in squandering opportunity. He had played the fourth evening as well, though not as late. When Geralt hadn't returned, he'd walked to the town gate and waited in the dark, cloak pulled tight against the sting of spring air. He hadn't slept since against his better judgment and failed attempts.

He couldn't recall all of the details, only that Geralt would have to pass through a very old swamp on the edge of a lake, likely filled with drowners, echinops (if the rumors he'd heard were true) and a variety of other things he didn't want to think of. Of course Geralt could have gone around it, since his contract was to take out an Archgriffin that was pestering a number of farms at the base of the mountain range and near the edge of the swamp. Instead the Witcher was, Jaskier was very certain, being foolish and going straight through it instead of around like all of the normal sane people. Jaskier could hear the excuse clearly in his head, "I need to know how bad the swamp is. Might need to bring the others next spring." Of course Geralt would. How dare he just do the task at hand and move on. For all his airs he really was a good man, better than the people gave him credit for and better than most deserved.

So now, Jaskier is staring out the window of his room in the middle of the night as the first of the spring storms rage, waiting for the bastard to come back. With a sigh and worried eyes, Jaskier pushes away from the window and paces the length of the drafty room instead. The fire roaring in the hearth doing nothing to stave off the chill of rain and night, or the dispare growing every hour in his gut. It sends chills down his spine, so he tries to focus on anything but his missing friend. Maybe he got laid up by the weather, that was certainly a possibility. Still, that it was going to take him 4 days to complete the contract had seemed odd, and he had hoped that it would be significantly less time. Instead it had been the opposite.

The distractions he attempts to conjure don't last long. His mind is fixated on the witcher, not uncommon these days, he thinks. He returns to his vigil and watches the darkness on the edge of town. It's nearing 2 in the morning and he knows he really needs to sleep. He can feel it in his body. He's too tightly wound to try though so he remains at his self appointed post. He blinks bleary eyes and squints at movement caught on the edge of darkness. He turns his head to follow the shape more fully.

"That looks like Roach” His mind supplies as the shape takes the form of a horse and single rider, a silhouette against the black of night. “Oh no." He tears across the room, down the hall and takes the steps two at a time. He pulls the inn door open and darts into the downpour without a second thought. He sprints through the mud slipping and sliding all the way. By the time he reaches the witcher and his stead, his fears begin to come true. Geralt is injured, badly and barely astride Roach. Panicked he does everything he can to keep Geralt in the saddle until they reach the stable. There is nothing but the deafening roar of wind and thunder in his ears, the hammering of his heart in his chest as the rain stings his face. Inside the stable Geralt falls uselessly from Roaches saddle and the stablehand, woken by Jaskiers shouts, jumps to action tending to the mare. He can see that her rider is badly injured, blood oozes from a tear in his armor, and he can’t even stand upright. Jaskeir ducks under Geralt's arm and uses his own around the witchers back to support him. It’s everything he has to get the man to their room, he's practically dragging him along by the time they reach the top of the stairs. Geralt's legs have gone limp and he’s barely standing. Huffing with exertion, Jaskier barely manages to get the white haired man to the chair and starts undoing his armor with dexterous fingers and practiced ease, before he slumps unconscious. This is the epitome of not good. Jaskier will have to go for a healer, but first he will do what he can to stop the bleeding. The armor comes away quickly followed by Geralt's undershirt and the flickering light of hastily lit candles is not enough to tend to the mottled, torn, and bloodied flesh of his friend. Jaskier pushes down the horror in his throat and investigates the wounds as well as he can. The gash is long, it stretches from right hip bone up and over Geralt's left shoulder, diagonally across his chest, and stops just under his shoulder blade. There are large chunks of skin and muscle torn away and flapping loosely now that armor and shirt have been removed. And Jaskier is certain he can see Geralt's ribs; and is that what a stomach looks like? He swallows against the nausea that assaults him at the sight and sets to cleaning the wound. He bites his tongue and clenches his teeth to keep from vomiting as he works. The wound will be bandaged and he will administer a dose of Swallow and then go for a healer. This is the only thing Jaskier can do for his friend now.

Geralt opens his eyes and groans with the pain, which is a good sign. Quickly Jaskier pushes the vial of Swallow, the most important potion, the only potion Geralt had actively taken the time to show him and explain about, to the witcher's lips and he drinks understandingly. His eyes are hazy and Jaskier knows that he needs to get him to the bed now or he will be lying on the floor to recover, so he resumes his position under Geralt's shoulder and tugs until the larger man pushes himself to his feet and stubbles in the direction Jaskier leads him. It's everything he can do to keep his injured partner upright so he can bandage the wound and as soon as he is done he heads back out into the onslaught of rain and wind. There isn’t time to consider that donning his cloak would have been wise. Instead he rushes in the direction of the town's healer. It had not taken him many weeks of traveling with the witcher to learn that the first thing he should do upon arriving in a new town was inquire as to where the healer lived. And this time, like so many times before it had become a piece of information he wished he didn’t need. As he ran through the muddied streets he slipped and fell into the water and mud, dirtying his stockings and doublet. He was completely drenched, shivering and covered in filth by the time he made it to the house. Knocking loudly and insistently his teeth rattled in the cold and his knees knocked together. After what felt an eternity the man opened the door. One look at the bard and he knew the witcher was injured. Jaskier was invited to stand in the entryway while the physician dressed quickly and haphazardly and gathered his supplies. “How bad is the injury?” He asked, calm and composed in the face of emergency. “It stretches from the back of his shoulder across his chest to his right hip bone. I- I can see his ribs in places and I think his stomach. I did my best to clean and bandage it before I came but I’m not a healer.” He stutters out between involuntary shivers.

Regis, it turns out is rather spry despite his looks and old age and they make it to the inn rather quickly. Despite the speed of their travel the doctor too is soaked and shivering when they arrive. It doesn’t stop him from following quickly and silently on Jaskies heels as he takes the stairs two at a time and jogs down the hall to their room. Jaskier steps to the side and stays out of the way as the physician moves towards his patient. Only, in the shadowy and flickering light of the room it almost seems like a predator advancing on prey, and in a way he supposes that is exactly the nature of physician and patient. When Regis asks him to bring the other chair over to the bedside to act as a makeshift table he does so without hesitating. It’s easy to follow the orders of someone so calm.

Regis is the epitome of calm under pressure. He doesn’t flinch away from the carnage of Geralt's torso, doesn’t blink at the vast quantities of blood loss. The physician doesn’t so much as sweat as he works. Finally, Jaskier thinks to inform him that he gave the witcher a vial of swallow, that he knows that another needs to be administered in 4 hours. Geralt had been clear with him about this. It was important when they were on the road miles from help. The witcher hadn’t wanted to disclose the information at all. He had wanted the bard to leave him be and go away, but when it was clear that that wasn’t going to happen and he had been injured a little too seriously one to many times, he accepted that he had help and gave up the information begrudgingly. Regis only hums at him, sideburns twitching with the motion. Jaskier can’t keep up with anything that the man is doing, he moves almost inhumanly fast. But now, as he finishes cleaning the wound his face draws grimm and he looks to the distressed bard. Jaskier swallows, he knows this look. He has seen it before on physicians and healers when someone is near death. He runs a shaky hand through dripping hair and pushes it out of his face, waiting. The action does nothing to calm his nerves. “There is an ingredient I need if I am to save his life. But I do not have it, nor is it found in this town.” Jaskeir blinks dumbly at the man, opens his mouth to say something and closes it. “In fact, I do not believe they keep it in our sister town.” “What is it? What do you need?” Desperation colors his words dripping with despair as he looks wildly between the healer and the witcher. “There is a cliff just under an hour's ride from here, at the top of the cliff is a field. In the field grows orange lilies. I need three of them, root and all. It is the only way I can think to ensure he survives. He may as it is, being a witcher, but the chances are slim. This wound is deep and I fear infection has already settled in, his heart is weak.” “I’ll go. I can get them. I’ll leave now.” He says already moving around the room, gathering what he might need. “The road will take you through the edge of the swamp. Then you must climb the cliff face, there is no path to the top. And Bard,” He turns to meet Regis eyes, they flicker in the candle light and it sends a shiver of fear down his spine. His feet stay planted to the ground where he is and he waits, unmoving, for Regis to finish. “He doesn’t have long, no more than three hours. And the magic in the lilies will only last for one, once they have been uprooted.” He stares at the man, this harbinger of death. He is no physician, he is Charon waiting to usher the dead to the afterlife. Still, this is the best chance he has at saving his friend, the man he loves. With a firm nod he gathers his knife and cloak and a bag to put the flowers in and turns back to Regis. “Three hours?” The physician gives a nod, and as if summoned by magic, produces an hourglass. It was larger than a normal one and Jaskier suspectes it is magic. With a grim smile Regis turns it and the time begins. The physician set back to work and Jaskier raced to Roaches side. +++++ “Roach my dear, I am so sorry about this, but I need your help. You and I both know that Geralt is right and Pegasus is slow as molasses. You’ll help me won’t you? To save Geralt.” His voice is harsh with worry. He knows that Geralt speaks to her often and he has no idea if she even understands but she is amenable to him as she stomps, almost impatiently and whinnies. He moves quickly to saddle her and she's ready to move as soon as he climbs into the saddle.

The rain drops stings like bolts of fire as they pelt against his exposed skin. He squints against the wind and the thousands of ice spears. It’s everything he can to keep hold of Roaches reigns, his fingers have long since gone numb. The road is dark before him and Roach gallops onward into the void before them, following the road as it turns and bends and finally dips into the swamp. He doesn't have time to be concerned with wolves or other creatures of the night. He doesn’t have time to fear what he does not know, or the possibility that he may need to fight the creatures of the swamp. He leans forward over the mare's chestnut mane and ignores the pain in his joints from the cold, or the whipping around of his clothes and hair as the wind sends shutters through the trees. Blowing over those too old and rotten to stand strong against the gales. Branches fly around him and he knows that he is insane. That this entire quest is insane and yet he can’t bear the thought of Geralt dead. Of not having at least tried to save him by gathering the lilies. There is no room for fear or thought as he focuses on trying to remain alive and press on towards the cliff. Steam rises off Roach in puffs of mists. Her nostrils flare and blow steam as she snorts at the shadows surrounding them. The woods are alive and foreboding caging them in on both sides; he doesn't know the road but he knows to keep going. He prays to the gods that he makes it, that Geralt makes it. And presses onwards ignoring the feeling of being watched, of being stalked. Roach seems to know what is happening and carries him quickly out of the grasp of enemies he cannot see. Though he can feel the brush of claws, the breath of a monster too close to his flesh.

Finally the cliffs come into sight and Jaskeir could whoop with glee. He stumbles as he dismounts and barely manages to steady himself by placing a hand on Roaches shoulder. He aches muscles tight from the ride and the constant shivering. He adjusts the now soaked satchel over his shoulder and the dagger he had brought with him in its sheath. Hesitantly he assesses the cliffside and shudders. Slowly he wraps his arms around himself to brace against the cold and his fear. There is no way he can scale the cliffside, none at all. He doesn’t know what he was thinking. Sure he had to try, but now he was here in the dark and the cold and the wind swirling around him and he knows with numb fingers and toes he can’t even attempt to climb the cliffside. It's sheer and steep and flowing with waterfalls and rivulets of ice cold water. Looking at it he isn't even certain he has the strength to climb it.

He steps forwards towards the cliff and stretches out a shaking hand. “Get a grip Jaskier. If you don’t do this… if you don’t do this, Geralt will die. You have to try. You have too.”

Slowly he steps forward and stretches up, taking hold of the moss covered rocks and sharp edges and pulling himself up. He pushes up with his feet and they to find footholds. Craning his head backwards he tries to look for the next handhold and fails, the rain stinging his eyes. Instead he closes them and reaches blindly. He looks down and gets an idea of where he can put his feet to support his weight, but knows he can’t let himself think about how far he could fall. He swallows down his nervousness, fingers convulsing around the rock ledge in his hand. As he climbs he recites tales he had heard ages ago to himself. He needs to keep his mind focused but his heart hammers in his chest and his breathing comes out in ragged puffs as he pulls himself further up the cliffside. He’s halfway up when his worst fear seems as though it will come true. He loses his grip with his right hand and left foot simultaneously. He screams and scrambles to find purchase anywhere among the rough and jagged edges. He feels stone slice into the palm of his left hand as he manages to catch his right foot on an outcropping of stone.

He pulls himself as close to the solid formation of the cliff, irregular edges digging into his chest and hips. He rests his forehead against the stone and gulps down lungfuls of air. Rainwater drips down his neck, trails down his spine and shivers again. When he has settled himself enough he begins climbing again. He tucks his chin to his chest and grits his teeth against the exhaustion and the pain. The ends of his fingers are beginning to come raw as the calluses of many years playing are pulled away from the skin. His muscles twitch with every heave and pull against gravity as he lifts himself inch by inch up the side of the cliff. Finally he pulls himself over the edge and onto a bed of soaking wet grass.

With his eyes closed he breathes deeply forcing his heart rate to steady. He can’t feel the rain as it falls against his skin or the brush of grass. He can’t feel the wind whipping around him slicing into his skin. It takes every ounce of his consciousness not to fall asleep where he is and to sit up instead. He casts his gaze around the clearing, skin buzzing with electricity as he crawls towards the blossoms whisking in the wind, twisting, twirling and fluttering to and fro. When he reaches the nearest one he pulls the knife out and sets to work cutting the flower from the ground and shoves it into the satchel. He repeats the process twice more and makes his way back to the cliff edge.

Fear causes him to hesitate with his legs over the edge. The ground is very far away and he can barely make Roach out among the trees below him. He bandages his palm as best he can and turns onto his stomach. He doesn’t have a choice now. He must climb back down the cliff and he knows that the trip down will be far more difficult than the climb up. His feet slip at the initial contact of sole against stone and it takes a moment for him to regain his composure and try again. The rain slick rocks and hurricane like wind around him distract him from the slowly lightening sky. Looking down he tries to move quickly finding holes for his feet and ledges for his hands. He slips several times as the burning in his fingers and toes and calves increases. Still he pushes himself to climb faster. He doesn’t know how long he has been gone, but he knows he has been gone too long already.

Roach snorts below him and he turns his head over his shoulder to see her, but can’t make out what has her distraught as she stomps around and circles. He hadn’t tied her up, she was too well trained to go wandering far. Turning his head back to the stones he seeks out another foothold and misses, the ache in his shoulders is too much and he falls. Spots color his vision as he looks up at the cliffside, the coppery taste of blood sits on his tongue and his side aches. The throbbing in his arm catches his attention and he manages with a hoarse groan to look at it. White bone, covered in blood sticks through the sleeve of his doublet. The darkness consumes him. When he comes too Roach is nuzzling his forehead and prodding at his chest. He raises an arm to bat her away or pet her and yelps. It comes back to him in a rush, Geralt, the climb, the fall, and the time constraint. Looking at the sky he notes that it is still dark, It’s a good sign, but he has lost time. Agony threatens to rip him apart as he forces himself to his feet. He cradles his arm close to his chest and struggles to mount Roach. They need to fly, speed is the only thing that will save Geralt now, and that's all that matters to Jaskier. All this time and he had never told the man how much he meant to him. That he loves him. Choking back tears of heartbreak and physical pain, he nudges Roach into a trot and then a gallop. It is excruciating, every jostle, every movement in time with her steps sends ripples of pain from his arm to his brain. He bites down on his lower lip until he draws blood to keep from crying out. The swamp seems more dangerous now than it had before and he isn't sure why. The tempest has begun to die down and he can see that the road is clear. The shadows surrounding it are still, eerily so and he flicks his eyes hither and there attempting to scan for danger. He knows that anything predatory can likely smell his blood and fear and so he tries to calm himself. It’s no use his stomach is in knots, he’s exhausted, his best friend is dying and he might be too late to save him. All he can do is lean forward on Roach and pray for a miracle. A felled tree on the road threatens to bar their way but Jaskier nudges Roach on and she jumps it with ease. He screams, his arm, his ribs, his head and all of his muscles protest the movements and nothing but adrenaline is keeping him going. Nothing but the knowledge that if he does not get there that Geralt will die, and he likely will too. He nearly slips from her saddle as the pain keeps him from focusing on the necessity of riding. Finally the town begins to come into view and Roach seems instinctively to go faster. The poor girl is at her breaking point; he's certain, as cold and wet as he is, exhausted from carrying Geralt and himself and still despite her heaving breaths and frothing mouth she carries on dutifully. Absently he thinks to make sure she is given extra oats and to sneak her some sugar cubes or an apple or two when Geralt isn't looking.

He slips from her saddle much the same way Geralt had and when the stable hand sees him he cuts off his ranting and stares. Jaskier moves past him and knows that he will attend to Roach, he will pay the man well tomorrow. There are more important issues to be dealt with now. He pushes himself along the wall, vision swimming and crawls up the stairs and down the hall. At their door he pushes himself to his feet and unlatches the door. Regis looms before him just on the other side. The man's eyes flash over him and he steps back to let the bard in. “How is he?” Jaskeir manages strained and hoarse and stuttered by exhaustion as he removes the satchel and hands it to the physician. He looks at the hourglass and lets out a heavy sigh, there is still sand in the top. He had made it. “Alive yet. Change and sit by the fire. I’ll tend you next.” Moving on instinct Jaskier does as he is told. He feels compelled to obey this man and so he struggles out of his soiled clothing and pulls on a long night shirt and sits in front of the fire. He could sleep if not for the pain and the fear still echoing in every fibre of his being. Regis is grinding the flowers, adding water and other ingredients. The movement makes Jaskiers head swim and he leans over on the floor, stretches out on his back and takes deep breaths. When he wakes the sun is high in the sky and Regis is sitting at the table calm and collected and dressed differently than he had been. There is a pillow beneath his head and a mountain of blankets over him. Taking a moment to gather himself Jaskier sits up using his unbound arm. His head is no longer swimming and he takes that as a good sign. “Geralt?” He tries and fails but Regis looks at him knowingly. He doesn’t have a voice, he can feel the constriction in his throat. He has a cold. He sniffles and stares at the grey haired man.

“The Witcher will be fine, and so will you. You made it in time. Though you seem to have done some substantial damage to yourself in the process.” Ancient eyes bore into him as they pointedly look to his arm and chest and then back up. Jaskier feels the need to join him at the table so slowly he finds his feet and wobbles unsteadily to the empty chair across from him. He braces on its back and manages to find his way into it without collapsing too much. Leaning forward he rests his weight on his good arm, and holds the other protectively to his chest. “Fell on my way back down the cliff.” “I can tell.” The physician lips quirk up on the corners. “You have several broken ribs and your side and back are bruised heavily. You're lucky not to have fallen further or you would be unable to walk.” The man pours him a glass of water and he takes it gratefully. Sitting back he sips at it thoughtfully and lets his gaze slide past him to Geralt. “He may stay unconscious a few days, I recommend poppy milk and bed rest until he is completely healed. Perhaps more of that potion of his.” Nodding slowly he manages to croak, “There wasn’t much time left in the hourglass.” “No. But there was enough.” That isn’t as reassuring as he would have liked it to be. His throat constricts with an ache and tears threaten to spill down his face. It has been a very long couple of days and he wants nothing more than to curl up beside the witcher and sleep. But there are things he must do today. He must speak to the stable hand and thank him, and to the innkeeper as well. “The stablehand and the innkeeper came to check on you both this morning. He seemed overly concerned about you, and he thought that the innkeeper should make sure he didn’t have two dead patrons in his establishment. He thought you were a ghost when you came in soaked through, pale, and with a bone sticking out of your body. They’ve agreed not to bother you until tomorrow at my insistence.” “Thank you, Regis. Uhm…” “Yes?” Blue eyes drift to his broken arm, his strumming arm. “How long until I can play again? I will be able to play again, right? And how long do you think Geralt will be,” he coughs hard and his eyes water as his ribs move freely despite the bandages around his waist, “ Unconscious?” He wheezes out. “Give your arm six to eight weeks. It will take time for the bone to heal properly. You should also wear it in a sling. I’ve treated several witchers before and each healed differently. It could be a couple days or it could be over a week. He was badly injured. The lillies and Swallow will do their jobs. I had best be going, I have other patients to see but I’ll be back to check in tomorrow morning. If he starts to wake, give him two drops of this.” The physician waves a vial of white liquid in front of him and he nods, “Take some too if you need. A drop only.” And with that the physician leaves. Mustering enough energy, Jaskier stands and makes his way to the bed on shaky legs, he sits beside the witcher and runs fingers through milk white strands. He doesn’t have the energy to cry so he lays down and sleeps instead. ++++++++ It’s three days before the witcher wakes and when he does he is on high alert. Regis has gone for the day and Jaskier is sitting at the table picking at lunch and trying to compose song lyrics. It’s much harder without his instrument. Looking up at the rustle of fabric Jaksier locks eyes with Geralt as he sits up and reaches for a sword that isn’t by the bed. “Geralt!” He yelps and the witcher blinks at him. “Jaskier” rasps the older and still badly injured man, “How did I get back here. Who has been here? It smells like…. A vampire?” Geralt's gasps and reaches for his chest. And then looks back to the bard taking him in. “What happened to you? And why am I not dead.” “A vampire, Geralt. I think you’ve hit your head. The only other person to be here is Regis, the town physician. Roach brought you back unconscious and injured four days ago. You’ve been unconscious since. You were nearly dead, Geralt,” He chokes and breathes in deeply through his nose, fights back the aching that the words leave in his chest. “I had to go and get an ingredient he needed to save you. Orange lilies but they only grew at the top of a cliff and I fell on the way back down. I’m alright though, just a broken arm and some banged up ribs. You on the other hand. Dear gods what happened, I could see your ribs, and your organs.”

The walk to the bed isn't a long one and he makes it much more steadily than he had the first few days. Regis had come back with some herbs for his cold and it had cleared up miraculously fast. In part, Regis said, to the herbs, and in part to the amount that Jaskier was sleeping. It was a lot, even he acknowledged that, but it felt good and he was content to lay beside Geralt and hear his heart beat steady and rhythmically in his chest. Very much alive and not dead.

“God, I was worried you’d die. You can't ever do that to me again Geralt. Do you understand? I don’t think I could handle it if you died like that. Bleeding out in my arms. I can’t. Geralt… Geralt why are you looking at me like that?” “You could have died saving me.” “Yes but I didn’t.” He can’t help the sweet smile that graces his lips, it's small and sad but he wants to convey everything he can in it. “You could have, and I don’t think I could handle that too well now.” “And why is that. Am I finally worthy of being considered your friend?” He doesn’t mean for it to be a jab, or to cause pain, but it does and he can see it in Geralt's golden irises, pupils shrunk to avoid the light, it’s so utterly enthralling he can’t tear his gaze away until calloused fingers brush his cheek. “Youre so much more than that to me.” Geralt whispers, agonizingly soft in the midday light of the room and Jaskiers heart beat picks up, hammering in his chest. He wonders if the witcher can hear it, rattling around in there like it has far more room than it actually does. But then Geralt continues and he could shout for the joy that fills his being. “And I wonder, if I am to you.”

Every pretense went out the window. Every reason he believed he couldn’t have this, that it would never exist, that it wasn't a good idea went with it, because in that moment, in that room, sitting beside one another all that mattered was the truth and so he spoke, truely and clearly. “You are. I would have died happily to save you because I love you, Geralt.” Any further words are hushed by uncertain, dry chapped lips, against his own. It’s not the best kiss he has ever shared, but it is the most important.

#The Witcher #Geralt of Rivia #Jaskier/Dandelion #Gerlion #Geraskier #Regis #Angst with a happy ending #First kiss #Love Confessions #Fanfiction #Ao3

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of-another-broken-heart · 3 years

Text

I guess it’s time for another pointless update about the worsening state of my life.

I’ll get the rosy stuff out of the way first.

I finally got in the shower today.

It took 2 days of chilly autumn-like rain for me to be able to rest enough, and then not be overheated into useless exhaustion and nausea, to do it. But I got in the shower. I shampooed my hair, several times, to get through the summer heat sweat and oil. I did conditioner, twice, because I am losing hair and what’s left is thinning pretty badly. I rubbed a bunch of soaked dead skin off my body with just my hands. I tried to finish off a bottle of body soap that I got... years ago. I unloaded an unreasonable amount of soap onto my loofa and made suds and scrubbed for a while. I’ll never feel fully clean until I can actually soak and rub everything off, but it’s better.

A couple days ago, I asked mom if we could go to the beach for a little bit. It had been hot. Unbearably hot. It was evening by the time I asked - still before sunset, though. So we went for a little while, an hour maybe? I waded into the water up to my knees. It was cold. Tide was going out, nearly at low. I don’t love the beaches here. The sand is coarse. There are loads of rocks and shells - plenty with brutal sharp edges. And I didn’t bring water shoes with me. But I hobbled across the rocks and shells, and slimy low-tide seaweed, and the muddy silt in the shallows, to stand up to my knees and just... enjoy the cold water. My mom went in a little deeper than I did. She brought water shoes and a clam rake, so she went clamming. I started feeling some vertigo and retreated back to the towel mom had laid down on the sand. I had brought a book - one of the thyroid books I checked out months ago, and still haven’t finished a single one - but instead I took out my phone and checked some messages, and took a few pictures. Mom brought up 14 good clams. We didn’t linger much after that. The sun dipped below the trees, evening flies and gnats started to come out. We headed home. Mom made some linguini with clam sauce tonight. And some baked clams.

And that ends the rosy stuff.

I’m still plagued with uncontrollable preoccupation with a manipulative, abusive, probably narcissist who took my years of recovery from the last person who fucked me up, and threw it all in the trash, and doesn’t give a single shit about any of it. Someone who knows the language of the damaged and abuses it to get what he wants out of people, and throws them away the instant they don’t fit his desires, or prove to have morals more durable than his lies.

I still miss the biggest lie. The fake person. It will never not hurt, that I fell for a falsehood. That I was so easy to trick and trap and use and abuse and discard. I hate how happy I was, just briefly, and how I’m going to pay for it, for years now.

My heart is failing. There’s no way around it. I’m in bed half of every day. I am taking every possible measure within my grasp to “manage my stress” and none of it has had any real impact on my blood pressure. I try to avoid things that stress me out. Socio-economic struggle is not some scratchy sweater you can choose to remove, though - it’s the air in my lungs and the blood in my veins and I am stuck with that. I “avoid salt” in the way that I always have - by barely eating, because of guilt and shame and poverty and, now, relentless nausea. I “cut back on alcohol” the same way I always have - poverty makes it very easy to be unable to afford it, and if you don’t have it, you can’t drink it. I am “managing my weight” the same way I always have - which is to say, alternating between rolling my eyes at the baseless suggestion, and starving myself in the ways I already mentioned.

My systolic pressure is always high. Always. Even at my lowest readings, it falls in the “Elevated” category. Diastolic varies. It’s usually the high end of normal, but creeps over the threshold sometimes. Pulse has been... weird. Most of my readings were in the 70s, perfectly normal. Recently, with the heat and humidity and relentless stress, I’ve had irregular and elevated heart beat. Still hasn’t crossed 100 bpm (the limit for “normal”) but it’s gotten close.

I have my next doctor’s appointment in a few days. Tuesday. It’s giving me anxiety. I never phoned in to update about the trazodone or lisinopril like I meant to. I want my fatigue taken seriously, and I know it won’t be. I have some tests I’d like to know the results of, and I feel like my requests will get denied, just like my requests for COVID tests were.

I just want a real answer. I’m tired of trial after trial after trial, wasting literal years of my life, and costing what remains of my health, because doctors and western medicine in general would rather I remain undiagnosed and unhelped than concede to an incurable condition that can’t be “exercised” away.

CFS. I meet every criteria. I have met every criteria for years. Even the “loophole” part about symptoms being chalked up to other conditions - even that doesn’t actually stand up any more. Because I have been in treatment for those conditions, and the symptoms persisted, which means there is something else going on and it’s CFS.

It’s summer. We’re poor. We’re trapped here. It’s hot. Unbearably hot. We don’t have A/C. I don’t, anyway. I am a living stereotype, I am stuck in an unfinished cement block basement, surrounded by dust and dirt and cobwebs and moths and beetles and spiders and assorted flying biting things, always. We have humidity here. High humidity. Wet-bulb temperature is low here, the humidity is so high. Human thermoregulation relies on sweat evaporation, and high humidity means evaporation doesn’t happen, which means lower temperatures in high humidity are just as dangerous, even fatal, as higher temperatures in dry air.

I’m alone. I’m so fucking alone. I’m trying, like a crazed person, to reach out to people, every single day, to feel less alone. But the instant the conversation is gone, I’m crying. Because I’m still in this basement, a thousand miles from anyone who cares about me, lit by a single shitty bulb

- not even in the ceiling any more, no! The switch jammed, the pull cable doesn’t toggle into the “on” position any more, so the ceiling light is just an outlet now. At least it didn’t die outright, or I wouldn’t even have my computer, or chargers, or tablet, or phone. It’s my only outlet. But I went nearly a week in total darkness, because we’re poor. This isn’t our house. None of us are electricians. We can’t fix the thing. So my mom, on a day off, when i managed to be awake while the sun was barely still up, snaked an extension chord through the house’s foundation, to plug in an old heat lamp (with a normal bulb, not a heat bulb) and that’s what I have now.

Everything gets worse. Never better. I’m going to die here. And sooner than later. Because my health is getting worse, rapidly, too.

#personal #krash showered

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pi-creates · 4 years

Note

Have you caught covid ever, Pi? Are you nervous about it?

[preface that this is a long winded talk of medical problems - ignore this if that sorta stuff is upsetting to you]

Ok, so this is going to be a longer response than you probably are interested in, so the short version is that I think I got infected with Covid-19 early last year, but due to my inability to get tested until way later, I’ve been told that it’s unlikely I’ll know for certain if I was until there’s blood tests to detect trace amounts of antibodies readily available.

=====

So the long version is that I was having some bizarre breathing problems in February/March (I can’t remember the exact time) last year, and I made an appointment to get tested. When I went to get tested, I was told because I hadn’t been overseas in the past 2 weeks and I couldn’t name a direct link to a confirmed case, then I couldn’t have Covid and therefore couldn’t get tested.

This was utter bullshit because this was around the same time that Tom Hanks was vacationing here and hospitalised at the local-ish university hospital. There was Covid in the community, unless they wanted me to believe Tom and his wife didn’t visit the beach or the shops, or anywhere with people. And aside from that - how does the first person get tested for everyone to connect to later? Funny how it looks like nobody is sick when you don’t let them be tested.

Regardless, I’m not a doctor, so I wanted to believe this guy. I told him I was having breathing issues, random fever spikes, nausea from being hyper aware of my own breathing, and a weird inability to think clearly. I described my breathing problem as “like asthma, but different and in the bottom of my chest instead of the top” and mentioned that along with the bottom half of my lungs feeling constricted, it felt like any air that I breathed deep into my lungs wasn’t doing anything. I only felt like I wasn’t out of breath if I was breathing faster and at the top of my chest – this is not how I normally breathe and it was a conscious effort to change that.

But I apparently didn’t have a low blood oxygen level at the time, and it didn’t sound like my lungs were obstructed. Which I did tell him that I didn’t currently feel out of breath because I had changed my breathing pattern to not feel that way – but that was what was making me feel sick.

He told me what I was experiencing was a complication with asthma and allergies… conditions I’ve had for a long time and know what they feel like. This wasn’t that. It didn’t feel like that. But again, not a doctor, if he wants to prescribe me with more steroids and a red inhaler, then I was open to trying it and seeing if it helped.

Then as I was leaving, he gave me this weird look and told me to continue staying isolated until my symptoms were gone.

But like… in case someone catches my allergies? Or asthma? This didn’t make sense to me. That made it sound like he thought I was infected. Which I think may have been true in retrospect, and that maybe there was some regulation that meant he couldn’t test me without confirmation of a transmission point.

In any case, I got my medication and inhaler. I hadn’t ever used the red inhalers since my asthma is very mild and strictly allergic asthma that I can normally get through without a complete airway closure. And that red inhaler hurt. A lot. It was awful, it made it so much more painful to breathe. And honestly, I don’t feel like it fixed anything.

Still I persisted with the medication. And I got worse.

I couldn’t lie on my back, at all. I would wake up in the night because I had rolled onto my back and lost feeling in my lips and fingers. For some reason I was having difficulty walking properly because my knees wouldn’t “lock”. I couldn’t read because I couldn’t remember enough words in order to understand the context. I had one really weird day where everything tasted wrong. I never again want to taste a roast chicken that tastes like sour lollies.

And the thing is, we were told to not go to the hospital unless it was urgent, and I never had a symptom that I couldn’t at least manage to a degree that made me not feel like I was in danger. I would lean severely forward while sitting and I could breathe better. I would take breaks every half hour or so to lie on my stomach and breathe. I slept a lot and spent a lot of time lying down or sitting because walking was exhausting. Also had a rather long stint where I would fall asleep randomly during the day while sitting up.

And the weird thing was that as the symptoms slowly dissipated over like 3 months, I had roughly 2 weeks where I felt normal again. I thought it was over, and that maybe I’d feel weak for a while, but it was over.

Then it was like getting hit with a second wave. Breathing was weird, but not the same degree, I could not think at all, still couldn’t read properly, I was sooo tired, and now I also was having random heart palpitations and sudden blood pressure fluctuations (I started checking my own blood pressure because I could physically feel something wrong and yeah, I was dropping into low and then going higher than normal on other occasions).

So like…. It was weird.

I went to the doctor and was told I had “post-viral fatigue” … meaning those allergies and asthma, that was a virus. Funny...

And I’m not the only one in my family who got sick. I got sick after trying to take care of my Ma who got sick. She actually managed to push harder on tests because we had all the exact same symptoms (but with me being 2 weeks behind) and she was diagnosed with chronic fatigue syndrome from this – and whether that lasts forever or will dissipates is unknown in this case.

So yeah….

Does that sound like Covid to you?

Because I still don’t feel like myself. Most of the bigger symptoms are gone, but I have so little energy and had mild muscular atrophy from being sick for so long. And it really feels like the more I try to fix my muscular weakness, the more tired I get. More strength, but less stamina. And sometimes I just can’t think at all, it’s like every single thought just leaves my brain. It sucks. I am living in hope that if I keep active that maybe I can push through it…. But like, there’s good days and bad days.

The last few days have been bad days. For a few reasons, but extreme fatigue is one of them.

I do seriously hope that what has happened to me isn’t common with people who do get infected – but it is equally frustrating trying to explain these things to people who don’t seem to understand why I’m so tired. Because there is a lot of focus on how to help people in the peak symptoms (which is a good thing), but that focus is gone once you’re out of the woods (bad thing). I just want to know if what I’m going through will resolve eventually.

And to answer the second part of your question… I’m not nervous about getting Covid anymore - I’m pretty sure I had it and I am very careful around people now. But I am nervous that the lingering effects won’t go away.

#sorry if this is a bit of a downer #the whole experience was a downer

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imagines-for-the-fangirls-soul · 5 years

Text

Return to Me - Chapter Two

Chapter Two: Let Them Try

A/N: Thank you all for the love from chapter one! I’m so glad you’re all liking it. Here’s chapter two! The mission that Leia sent Poe on at the end of the last chapter is the one she sent him on in the Poe Dameron comic (which, god, you should all read) to find Lor San Tekka. Now we’re at the start of The Force Awakens. If you have any questions, let me know! Also, if you want to be tagged, or I missed you somehow, let me know!

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader Word Count: 4,784 Synopsis: After securing the map to Luke Skywalker from Lor San Tekka, Poe is captured by the First Order and tortured for what he knows. Meanwhile, the reader tries to find her place between the Resistance and the world of politics as she returns home to ask for aid to the Resistance.

Tag List: @xeniarocks, @too-many-baes, @araceli91103, @holybatflapexpert, @themihala, @idocarealot, @treblebeth, @treestarrrrrrrr, @thescarletknight2014, @charlottie2998, @ibikus, @mellow-f1, @mrsdaamneron, @trustme3-13 (Some links didn’t work, if this is you, make sure that your settings allow for you to be tagged by people who don’t follow you, so you can still get the tag.)

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

“I had no idea we had the best pilot in the Resistance on board,” Kylo Ren said, stepping into the torture chamber Poe was now being held in.

“It has been a few years, but I haven’t aged that horribly,” Poe said, tasting blood from his pooling lip. Ren paced behind him, standing where Poe couldn’t see. “Have you had some work done? It’s alright, you never were that good looking, so a few plastic corrections—" Poe groaned as his metal restraints tightened.

“Comfortable?”

“Not really.”

“I’m impressed with you, Commander. No one has been able to get out of you what you have done with the map.”

“Might want to rethink your technique.” Ren appeared in front of him again, his facial expressions still impossible to read behind the mask, but Poe could sense his anger. He silently raised his hand in front of Poe’s face, and before Poe knew what was happening, Ren began to open his mind. Poe started to struggle, his head smacking into the back of the hard metal chair he was confined to. He was looking for the memory of what he did to the map, but somewhere in his subconscious, Ren took a turn into more personal matters.

Flashes of you began to appear. Sitting together under a tree a few hundred yards from the old base. Climbing up to his X-Wing to give him a kiss. Swimming in the lakes surrounding Naboo. Laying together in bed.

Poe jerked out of his control, breathing heavy. He looked up weakly at Ren. What must have been a laugh registered from his mask, making Poe feel sicker.

“What nice memories.”

“You’re a pathetic waste of life,” Poe spat, lifting his head up to face Kylo Ren just as he Force pushed Poe’s head back against the metal headrest.

“How do you think Y/N would feel knowing that you are giving away all of the deepest, most intimate details of your relationship?”

“I don’t know.” Poe strained as Ren started invading his mind again. “But I bet she still likes me better than you.”

“When I’m done, you won’t have reason to laugh anymore,” he said, opening Poe’s mind again.

“Where is the map?” he asked as Poe’s face began to redden, the pressure of trying to fight him off becoming too much.

“The Resistance will not be intimidated by you.”

Ren put his full effort into his trick, extracting a scream from the pilot as he searched for his needed information.

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After your trip to the Resistance base, returning home felt like returning to a prison cell. You had only been gone for little more than a day, but short lived freedom was still freedom. You arrived back to Naboo early in the day, and all you wanted to do was crawl in bed, but, as always, you had a full schedule.

“Y/N, please keep your head up,” Loré pleaded for the fourth time.

“Sorry,” you said, straightening yourself in your seat, “I’m just tired.”

“Do you want another cup of tea?” Sondé asked.

“No, I’ll be fine.” You looked into the mirror as Loré tied your hair up in an intricate ponytail and fought off the emotions that were threatening to destroy everything you had built up the last two years. The more time you spent away from the Resistance, the further you felt from who you were back then, and you were starting to wonder if you could ever truly get her back.

“Nové, you’re going down to the military base with Zaisa today, right?” you asked.

“Yes, my lady,” she said, glancing at you with worried eyes, sensing your stress.

“And you’re going to make sure—"

“I know my mission,” she said, nodding. Nové was going down to Naboo’s military base with Captain Zaisa in order to scope out any new recruits who would be a good fit for the Resistance. Nové’s commlink buzzed, and she sighed with a frustrated smile. “The Council is ready.”

“Okay,” you said, looking back at her for an understanding to her frustration.

“Along with Count Lin Ral who just got in from Serenno,” she said. You looked back into the mirror and steeled your demeanor.

“I’ll be right along. Loré, will you go announce my presence? I just need to put my earrings on, and I’ll be right down.”

“Of course, my lady.”

Everyone exited, with Nové bringing up the tail. She gave you a parting look, one last look of encouragement. You clipped on the gigantic earrings to compliment your dress and readied yourself for your council meeting. Although you had already transferred personal credits over to the Resistance, there was still a lot more you wanted to do, which could only be made possible with funds and supplies granted by Naboo’s council. Given that the Resistance wasn’t technically in existence, though, this was going to be a difficult task.

As you stepped into the Grand Council Room, everyone stood. The Royal Advisory Council consisted of five people: headed by Lord Sarsa Broden, with members, Lala Jrul, Rickan Gilkpasc, Sarin Sutaton, and the Gungan representative, Jobee Qod.

Occasionally, your father would sit in on these meetings as he was well versed in all things Naboo politics. Thankfully, though, he was off visiting your mother on Hosnian Prime. If he got wind that you were hoping to aid the Resistance, choosing a definitive side in the cold war between the Resistance and the First Order, when the Senate specifically forbade it, he would personally ask for your dethronement.

“Your Highness,” Broden said, taking your hands in his. “Naboo is once again blessed with your presence.”

“Thank you, Lord Broden,” you said, taking your seat.

“How went your trip to Bith, Your Highness?” Lala Jrul asked with a kind smile.

“Wonderfully well. We have worked out a trades deal that shall be beneficial to both of our planets.” You took a pause, looking at the rest of your council, trying to sense their reaction before they gave it. “My discussion with Bith gave me another idea as well,” you said carefully.

“An idea?” Jobee Qod asked.

“It has been a long time since the building of our Ion Pulse, since any real threat was attempted to our way of life. We have been lucky, but we are not the only ones in the galaxy. Our trades deal with Bith has given me the idea to draft new legislation.” Sondé stepped forward with your plans and projected them on the Holo table. “With our shared commitment to helping others, I have come up with a plan where we can share resources with endangered people and places all over the galaxy. This program would be run by a group of advisors who would decide what issues most need our help and choose the necessary supplies. We’ll make sure to get students and other bright minds from around Naboo to join the program, creating a group of young leaders ready to make a change.”

“Who would you suggest lead this program?” Broden asked after a moment’s thought.

“I don’t have an initial pick right now, but there are a handful of people I would trust as interim until one can be appointed by our council.”

“What about when we need help?” Rickan Gilkpasc asked.

“Of course, the Naboo are our first and most important priority, but with each and every act, we’d be gaining allies who would help us out if we run into trouble. If we ran into a course of action where we needed to step back, then our advisors would decide to do so.”

“Meesa thinks issa splendid idea,” Jobee said.

“Thank you, Councilor.”

“I second that,” Lala added.

“I agree,” Broden said, smiling at you. With his vote, your program would go into action, and you could help the Resistance.

“Thank you for your confidence, and I hope to earn the rest of yours as well once the time comes,” you said, looking to the other council members who looked less ecstatic about your proposed plan.

“You always do eventually,” Sarin said with a smile.

Each of the councilors had their own proposals to discuss, so your meeting lasted for another two hours. Once finished, you were the first to stand and leave. You went out a side exit and waited for everyone else to leave so you could have a word with Broden.

“Your Highness?” a voice asked, making you jump. You slowly stepped away from the pillar you were hiding behind and found Lin Ral standing in front of you. He bowed, making you reluctantly laugh.

“You’ve found me,” you said.

“What is a queen doing hiding in her own palace?”

“Palaces were made for hiding.”

“Is that so?” he asked as he extended his arm to you. With a nod of your head, you took it and allowed him to lead you away from the council chambers.

“When did you arrive?” you asked.

“This morning. A few hours after you did.”

“Yes, the people of Bith kept me for the night,” you said, lying easily. “How are things in Serenno?”

“Wonderful. I wish you would come see it for yourself.”

“Perhaps someday soon,” you said, making him sigh. “What are you doing back?”

“My family sent me to see if we couldn’t tie up the last few strings of our arrangement.”

“Are you here to ask me to marry you?” you asked, looking up at him.

“I am.” You stopped in the middle of the hallway, looking into his eyes to catch a trace of a lie. “But judging by your face, now wouldn’t be a great time.”

“No, I’m sorry, it wouldn’t. I’ve just proposed a lot of new legislation, I have many trips planned in the coming months, this isn’t the time for an engagement.”

“But if it were . . ."

“If you’re asking for an answer, I don’t have one for you. I’m sorry,” you said, unraveling your arm from his.

“Did you meet someone more charming?” he asked. You laughed and shook your head, continuing your walk down the hallway.

“No. I just . . ."

“Can’t marry someone you don’t love,” he finished. You looked back at him, smiling sadly as you carefully nodded. “I didn’t think I could either, but when duty calls—"

“Please, spare me. I’ve heard this from my parents a million times. I have a duty to my people still. I just started campaigning for my next term, if re-elected I will have two more years as queen.”

“Do you want me to wait that long?”

“I can’t tell you to do that.” He nodded and folded his hands behind his back, steeling his demeanor like you had done many times before.

“You’re a very hard person to crack, Your Highness.”

“Years of practice,” you said with a smirk. He bowed his head softly.

“Well, I’ve kept you from your secret rendezvous long enough.”

“Oh, I—"

“There you are, my lady,” Broden said, coming up the hall. Lin smiled at you once more before turning around. “I thought you wished to speak. Did I interrupt?” he asked, glancing down the hall.

“No,” you said, shaking your head to compose yourself. You turned your eyes from the hall and looked up at Broden. “You don’t think they—”

“Suspect anything? Of course not. And why should they? You’re not doing anything wrong. You’re trying to help the right people.”

“The people I think are right.”

“They are. And so are you. You shouldn’t doubt yourself.”

“I try not to,” you said, breathing in.

“Maybe if you delivered the news in person it would put a breath of fresh air in you,” Broden said simply. You looked into his eyes, a smile spreading across your face slowly.

“What?”

“I know you were just there, but I think it’d do you some good to go back to the Resistance base. Perhaps for longer than a night. Sondé can step in for another day or two, but that’s the longest you can stay away. And no more secret missions for quite some time.”

“Absolutely,” you said, quickly hugging him. “Thank you.”

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“Fuck,” Poe groaned, coming to in the torture chamber.

Kylo Ren had collected the information he needed, and once he was done, he pushed Poe’s head one last time against the metal headrest, knocking him out cold. Poe pulled on his restraints, knowing that he needed to warn the Resistance. Ren knew that the map to Luke Skywalker was in BB-8, which meant that everything he had fought for during the last few years was now in jeopardy.

The restraints weren’t budging, and the longer he sat there, the more his mind began to wander. The images that Kylo Ren had managed to salvage from his mind were playing over and over in his mind. He felt like he had betrayed you, showing all of your most intimate moments to that monster.

The doors slid open, taking him from his memories. Poe opened his eyes, unaware he had even shut them, to see another Stormtrooper walk into the room.

“Ren wants the prisoner,” the newcomer instructed. The guard watching over Poe nodded and released him from his restraints. Expecting that he was about to be led to his execution, Poe looked at his guide less than enthusiastically. The new Stormtrooper ripped him down from his shackles, only to handcuff him again

“Come on,” he said, pulling Poe into the hall. He marched him up and down corridors, so much so that Poe couldn’t have found his way back to his cell even if he wanted to. One more twist around a corner and the Stormtrooper commanded him to turn into an abandoned closet.

“Listen carefully. You do exactly as I say, I can get you out of here,” the Stormtrooper said quickly.

“Wh— what?” Poe asked. His mind was still reeling from Ren’s torture, but he thought he just heard the Stormtrooper say that he could help him escape. The Stormtrooper took off his helmet and Poe took him in for a moment.

“This is a rescue. I’m helping you escape. Can you fly a TIE fighter?” he asked.

“Are you with the Resistance?” Poe asked.

“What? No, no, no, I’m breaking you out. Can you fly a TIE fighter?” he asked again.

“I can fly anything,” Poe said confidently. “Why— why are you helping me?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do.” Poe fought the urge to roll his eyes.

“You need a pilot.”

“I need a pilot,” the other man conceded. Poe looked into his eyes, seeing that he was genuine and beamed.

“We’re gonna do this.”

“Yeah?”

They got back into position, the Stormtrooper with his helmet back on, Poe reshackled in his handcuffs. He marched Poe through the halls until reaching the hangar. Stormtroopers were everywhere, but the thought of getting BB-8 back and away from the First Order kept him smooth and steady. His accomplice, however, was anything but relaxed.

“Okay, stay calm, stay calm,” he muttered, glancing around.

“I am calm.”

“I was talking to myself,” the man said. Poe reminded himself that he needed to escape, no matter who with. He readied himself, and at the Stormtrooper’s command, turned to the left and boarded one of the TIE fighters lining the wall.

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You returned to the Resistance base with less decorum than the first time. Sondé was masquerading as you back on Naboo, which meant that you weren’t actually here. You sent Leia a transmission that you were coming, and she met you in the back of the base. There wasn’t a large welcoming committee waiting for you on the base, which was a relief. For the first time in a long time, you weren’t Queen Bhavisama, you were just Y/N.

“Y/N,” Leia said with a smile, taking your hands in hers. She took you in for a moment, your blue dress, and your hair in natural curls down your back.

“Thank you for having me back on such short notice.”

“You don’t need to thank me, this was your home once, too. We’re always glad to have you back. And you’ve come bringing good news, I hope?”

“Yes. The Naboo Royal Advisory Council approved my legislation, which means, through some handiwork of Broden’s, we can transfer credits to the Resistance without anyone taking notice.”

“I don’t know how you managed to pull that off, but all I can say is I’m glad you’re on our side,” Leia said. Smiling, you followed her into the base just as the dark clouds that had threatened to rain all day made good on their promise. You rung out some of the water from your dress and when you looked up, Leia was smiling at you.

“What?”

“It’s just really good to see you. You know, acting like yourself.”

“Well,” you hummed, “I still don’t feel much like myself. It’s been so long since I’ve been anywhere without a trail of people following behind me. I still feel so strange being back here,” you said with a sigh.

“I might have a way to fix that,” Leia said, opening the door to the main, bustling hallway of the base. You looked around the room and saw a group of orange jumpsuits gathered around a Holo table.

“Leia, I’m not sure I’m ready to—”

“Poe’s off on a mission right now,” she said, smiling back at you. “But I thought it would be good for you to see how your donation will be used in our fight.” She led you over to the table and each of the members of Black Squadron looked at her with admiration, and you with anything but.

“General,” Snap said, nodding his head. “Your H—”

“Uh, just Y/N, Snap,” you said with a smile. “Bhavisama is back on Naboo.” He nodded his understanding and even granted you a small smile.

“What brings you here, Y/N?” he asked.

“She comes bearing gifts,” Leia explained.

“My Royal Advisory Council has approved my program to give aid to lifeforms all around the galaxy. Our first donation will be to help the Resistance.”

“That’s wonderful,” Suralinda said. “Thank you.”

“You’re really welcome.”

“We’re supposed to have a strategy meeting about upcoming missions, why don’t you stick around and hear how your contribution will be put to use,” Leia offered.

“Oh, I shouldn’t.”

“I insist,” Leia said, motioning for you to take a seat.

Her debriefing only lasted for a few minutes. She explained to the group vague, but powerful plans for what to do when the credits and supplies started coming in. She spoke about which planets they would start on, where their strongest enemies were, and everything in between until there was nothing else to cover, except one thing.

“Of course,” Leia said, “This all relies on what information Poe is able to gather on his mission.”

“Are you going to tell us where you sent him, yet?” Karé asked. “Or when he’ll be back?”

“No need.” You all turned your head at the sound to see Commander D’Acy walk into the room. “Commander Dameron just returned,” she said. There was a clear look of worry on her face.

“Is he alright?” Suralinda asked, quickly standing. “Can we see him?”

“Of course. He’s in the Medical Wing.” The rest hung around for the rest of the story, but Suralinda took off immediately. As you watched her leave, you felt a twinge of jealousy.

“What happened?” Leia asked.

“He’s fine. Ran into The First Order,” D’Acy replied.

“Did he find the map to Luke?” Leia asked.

“Map to Luke?” you asked in shock. She seemed to remember that you were still here for the first time and immediately stood.

“Y/N, would you excuse us?” she asked, coming over to your side and pulling you up out of your chair.

“What? No. Why? I thought I was supposed to see how my donation was going to help—”

“Yes, but this information is confidential.”

“Are you kidding me? If Poe found information on—”

“Y/N, please understand, now is not the time,” Leia said firmly. You breathed out of your nose, hoping to calm your anger before it boiled over. It felt like you had just been scolded by one of your parents, in front of all of your old friends. You scoffed and looked to them for any needed assistance. They all averted their eyes, frowning sheepishly.

“Fine,” you said, “Let me know when you’d like more than just my money.”

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Leia sat down again after you had stormed out and explained to Black Squadron the mission on which she had sent Poe. They all agreed that with the severity of Poe’s mission, it was best to be careful about who knew what until they could secure the map to Luke.

All eager to see Poe, they went down to the Medical Wing together. As they walked in, they saw Suralinda’s hand wrapped around Poe’s bandaged bicep, smiling at him. He had a few bandages on the rest of his body and lots of cuts on his face and hands, but he had definitely looked worse. When he saw the rest of his friends, he sat forward and beckoned them forward.

“How are you feeling?” Snap asked, touching his shoulder.

“I’ve been worse. Glad to see you’re all worried about me, though.”

“Worried about you?” Snap asked with a grin, “Never.”

“Yeah, we were actually all hoping that Snap would get your job,” Karé said with a smile, wrapping her hands around her husband’s shoulder.

“Well, I’m not gone yet.”

“Not for a long time,” Snap said, taking his hand in a firm grip.

Poe smiled along with his friends until his eyes found Leia’s. For a moment he forgot the monumental fuck-up he had created by losing the map to Luke. He cleared his throat to keep from laughing at something Jessika said and looked at her seriously.

“I’m sorry, General, I don’t have the map to Luke.”

“Lor San Tekka didn’t have it?”

“No, he did, but I stowed the map inside of BB-8 before the First Order captured me.” They all looked anywhere from mildly surprised to downright outraged that he had been taken by the First Order.

“Alright, so let’s go get BB-8,” Jessika said. “Is he still down on Jakku?”

“I don’t know,” Poe said with a sigh. Leia looked at him curiously, sensing that there was something he was hiding. “When the First Order captured me, Kylo Ren took it upon himself to get the map’s location out of me. I wasn’t able to resist him. He used some kind of mind trick—”

“Did the First Order get to the map already?” Leia asked, cutting him off.

“I don’t know. BB-8 wasn’t on Jakku when we crash-landed.”

“Who’s we?” Suralinda asked.

Poe filled them in on his new friend, Finn. He explained what happened when they landed on Jakku, his rescue by Naka Iit and how he got back to base; the entire time, reading Leia’s face to gauge just how disappointed in him she was.

“Well, we must find BB-8 before the First Order does,” Leia said, standing, “Javos, reach out to your contacts in the Outer Rim and have Threepio do so as well. Black Squadron, suit up. Once we have confirmation of BB-8’s location, we’ll need an immediate rescue mission.”

“Yes, General,” they chorused, making their way towards the door. Poe began to sit up, hoping to join them, as Leia put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down.

“Not you,” she said firmly.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not well, Poe.”

“I’m fine. Quick shower and I’ll be ready to go,” he said, once again trying to get out of bed.

“He was in your mind, Poe. It’s not something you can immediately snap back from.” He thought back to the memories that Ren had extracted from his mind, trying to piece them back together. Leia frowned at him, touching his arm softly.

“I have to do this,” he said softly, looking up at her with wide eyes.

“Why?”

“Because I’m the one who lost the map.” It was difficult for him to admit defeat, especially to his mentor. “He broke me, Leia.”

“Even the strongest person would succumb to his powers.”

“Yeah, not me. It wasn’t supposed to happen to me.”

“You’re not invincible, Poe. No matter what you try to convince yourself. It’s okay to be compromised,” she said. He dropped his head with a sigh. “We can get the map back.”

“I know.”

“Then what’s bothering you?” she asked.

“He didn’t just look for the secrets to the map,” he admitted.

“Y/N?” she asked, already expecting his answer.

“Yeah. He decided to take a detour through our personal memories just to fuck with my mind.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. Poe shook his head, looking across the room at nothing in particular. “It’s not your fault.”

“I shouldn’t have let him in,” he said, looking back at her seriously.

“Well, there’s nothing you can do about that now,” she said with a frown. “Except get the map before he does.”

“I thought you said I couldn’t go—”

“I’m not stupid enough to think that you won’t tag along anyways once I leave this room. So, I might as well tell you what you’ve missed before you dash off to save the day.”

“Alright,” Poe said with a laugh.

“Y/N was able to get us the funds we need to keep our fight going.”

“That’s great. Right?” Poe asked, looking at her worried face.

“It is. I just wanted to warn you that she’s here.”

“Here? As in here here?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” he asked.

“She wanted to deliver the good news in person.”

“And?”

“And she misses it here just as much as we miss her. She was just giving Black Squadron the good news when Commander D’Acy said you were back. I sent her away when the discussion turned to Luke.”

“Why?”

“Because Y/N isn’t just a member of the Resistance anymore, she’s the queen of a planet. We won’t always be her top priority. I want you leading Black Squadron when we locate BB-8’s location, but only if you’re up for it. I am worried about you, Poe. You’re only to go on this mission if you’re well enough.”

“I am. I won’t let you down again.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” she said, standing. “You’ll be ready soon?”

“Yes, General.”

“Good.” She smiled as she walked to the door and stopped with her hand on the handle as Poe called her name.

“Leia, is Y/N still here?” he asked.

“For the time being. Why?”

“It’s nothing. I’d just like to apologize,” he said weakly. Leia frowned and walked back to him.

“I’m sure you both have a lot to apologize for, but if you’re going to apologize for what Kylo Ren did, save your breath. Y/N knows the power of his control. She wouldn’t hold it against you.”

“It’s not just that,” he said, taking a deep breath, looking at his bandaged arm.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said with a sigh.

“I meant what I said, Poe. I only want you out there if you’re ready.”

“I am ready, General.”

“Good. Get the map.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Poe said with his most charming grin.

#poe dameron #poe dameron imagine #poe dameron fanfic #poe dameron fanfiction #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x you #star wars #star wars imagine #star wars fanfic #star wars fanfiction #sw #sw imagine #sw fanfic #sw fanfiction #the rise of skywalker

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cloakedandsoaked · 3 years

Text

Wants and Needs

[This is straight-up porn. Don’t read it if you don’t want to read porn. Contains lots of blood, a wee bit of self-harm, consensual non-consent, and probably other things I haven’t thought to warn for.]

As Dantalion threw his head back, lines of fire cutting down each side of him, his last remaining thought flickered in wonder at how he had managed to find himself here. For ‘here’ he most certainly was, covered in sweat and ichor, with a demon he'd just met leaning over him in an unfamiliar bed, to which he was tightly bound. And then the thought was gone, banished with all the others to wherever thoughts disappear to in the throes of ecstasy.

If it had stuck around, it might have elucidated for us the circumstances that had led Dantalion to this peculiar state of affairs. Indeed, it might have told first of the deep itch that had taken hold in his bones some time over the past few days, an itch to which he was all too accustomed. It came in times of stress, in times of boredom, and, sometimes, at least as far as the duke himself could tell, for no particular reason at all.

In the past, he would have ignored such an itch. Or, failing that, he might have tried to scratch it himself, though that usually didn't take very well or for very long -- and it seemed to upset Sahar, which he had no real inclination to do.

But now….

Well, he had been trying to allow himself as much of what he wanted as possible. In the aftermath of his emotional experiments, giving in to desire seemed to help quiet the hollowness, at least for a time.

And what he desired was for someone to hurt him. Properly.

Not enough, of course, to render him unfit for duty; he was needy, not insane. He just wanted someone to, y'know. Rough him up a bit. Take the edge off that grasping, cloying thirst beneath his skin that cried out for some kind of stimulation.

One of the downsides to using his physical form as a sensory muffler was that he sometimes felt too muffled, almost claustrophobic under the smothering blanket burrito of his flesh. And since he wasn't going to leave that flesh unless absolutely necessary, sometimes -- just sometimes -- he needed something to reach between the bars of his self-made prison and touch him for real.

Or, at least, as close to 'real' as it was going to get.

He'd had Sahar set up the appointment for him, even allowing her to select the practitioner. Someone discreet, secure. (Obscenely well-paid, as should be obvious.) Thankfully, she had a shortlist ready and waiting, as it had been for years. It was an old argument of theirs, and, until now, she had never convinced him to book.

With only half an hour 'til the appointment, Dantalion had quite nearly bunnied out, despite the fact that he would lose his deposit. However, he found his mind turning to Asmodeus, and his resolve pulled through. Asmodeus would be disappointed by the idea that he couldn't even visit a professional dominant without turning coward. He took a deep breath, centered himself, and flipped the switch on his nervousness.

That's right, this is supposed to be good, isn't it? The hollowness was back, and with it, the itch, and with the itch, an unsettling but not unfamiliar sort of desire. Yes, this is how it's supposed to be. No more nights spent trying to clench himself together, or worse, trying to find fulfillment in his own claws, but unable to escape his bullet train of a mind even as he bled a pool onto the floor. Straightening his back, he had left his office with a new confidence.

And that confidence held, even through the consultation. Of course, he and Master Rodger (Really? Tal had thought, ‘Rodger’ of all things?) had communicated by email the day before, so both of them knew at least some of what to expect.

Well, Tal didn't expect Master Rodger to have easily a metre on him (Not even counting the horns, stars!); that part was a surprise. And not at all an unwelcome one, Tal noted vaguely in the part of his mind that wasn't focused on maintaining his social mask. Although he knew his mask was going to slip at some point in the evening, and, indeed, that was part of the point, it didn't do to be anything less than a perfect gentlebeing outside of the scene. Manners mattered.

It helped that Master Rodger (For real, that has to be a work name, Dantalion kept thinking. And of course it was.) was warm and open, exactly the sort of person to make one want to reflect those qualities back. It rang a bell of familiarity in Tal's mind; it carried an essence of similarity to the seeping heat of Asmodeus, but much less intense, and without the sense of nervousness and... almost… violation? that always came along with it.

(Then again, he hadn't seen Asmodeus except in picture form since his experiments with the switch method, and next time, the experience might be totally different. It was hard to say. He rather hoped so! That was part of the purpose of the whole affair, after all.)

They discussed the usual necessities. Safewords, limits, aftercare, any other concerns. They settled on the classic traffic light system for safewords; no surprise there. Most of Tal's limits had been outlined in their online communication, but he reinforced a few. I'm in charge of my breathing. I'm in charge of my eye contact. Master Rodger made a point of reminding him of a limit or two of his own, including 'no kisses on the mouth', one Tal actually took quite a bit of comfort in. It wouldn't have been something he'd have listed, himself, but it was certainly not something he enjoyed most of the time.

It did, admittedly, get a bit awkward when Dantalion had to show him (for it was a tricky subject) exactly how he liked and didn't like his hair and scalp to be touched. No amount of warmth and openness could save him there. He felt as if he were on display in a way far more scandalous than was typically possible for the amount of clothing he still had on. The sensation was, if he were honest with himself, a little bit exciting, though that didn't cut through the social ticklishness of the moment.

And then they were ready, and all at once, the nervousness from before sprang again like a tiger to devour him from the inside. In what way, he wasn't sure, but he must have revealed it as they made their way to the back room, for Master Rodger laid a paw in the middle of his back (which was honestly about as low as he could reach with his paw without bending; Stars, but he's tall!), and rubbed a calming circle there. "Just like we talked about, right? Is this okay?"

Tal first tensed at the contact, then relaxed into it. Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself. "First time jitters. It's fine. I'm a high-strung personality. But then again, that's why I'm here." He was babbling, and he realised it. Rather than continue, he nodded at Master Rodger, who opened the door for him.

"Five minutes, and we'll start. You can put your clothes on the chair by the door on the right." It was a solid acknowledgement of Tal's stated preference that he begin the scene already in the nude, and he appreciated it. Master Rodger gave him a once-over, and then corrected: "Make it three; I really don't want you sitting in there fretting a mess."

Tal smiled sheepishly, and went on in.

Four minutes later, he was turned over one comically long thigh, face and torso resting on the edge of the great, black bed, bum in the air.

Not all went so smoothly. Only a few minutes of spanking with some sort of implement (he couldn't see what, but he knew it wasn't a paw) had him flushed and squirming, and not with the response he had most hoped to have. This would have to be rectified. "Excuse me, sir?" he ground out, tense with the sensations and his own pride.

"Yes, kitten?" He stopped what he was doing, keen to listen to whatever it was that had made Dantalion speak up now, when he had been so seemingly reserved.

Tal sighed and shifted against the thick leg that bore him up. "I mean no offense, but this is really… doing more to turn me on than to hurt me." He pinked further in embarrassment, as if the evidence of his cock was not enough to humiliate him. Dantalion was clearly more than a little pent up.

"Already asking for more, eh? Greedy." He ran a single claw up Tal's spine, with just enough pressure to be felt. "I like it."

Tal shuddered at the implication on his skin, and his ears pricked as he heard a rustling noise. The anticipation was almost overwhelming as he waited, breathless, for the dom's next move. He wasn't expecting gentleness.

However, that's exactly what he received; a velveted paw soothed small circles on his arse, coaxing out the too-small sting that had gathered there. Dantalion made a strangled noise between a sigh and a growl, and ground his hips up into the Master's leg.

"You have permission to ask me for 'more' any time you like. Understood, kitten?"

Dantalion twisted his face into the bed until his neck was crooked and only his mouth peeked out. This is torture! Fuck, it can't have even been fifteen minutes yet. "Yes, sir," he sighed, unsure whether either of them had really understood the point of this whole endeavor.

Crack!

Tal arched off the bed, more in shock than pain, though the pain hit him a half-second later, and he welcomed it with a soft moan as he collapsed back down. The moan was cut off with another stroke, followed by three in rapid succession. "Fuck," he hissed, hands scrambling to find purchase on the tight-laid bedsheets.

"Color?"

"Green, sir!" Tal's eyes ghosted closed as another short rain of blows fell with an unrelenting sting that had him panting again in seconds. This time, it was the proper kind of panting; the last thing on his mind was his cock. He spat a few choice swears into the bed, only just managing to 'be good' and stay in place on Master Rodger's knee. Not that he wanted to get away; far from it! But much longer, he knew, and his body would cease to obey him as he gave into the sensation. Tal was a writher.

Seeming to sense this, Master Rodger put a heavy paw between Tal's shoulders, not pushing, but steadying, guiding him back into place. The contact appeared to seep some of the rising tension from Tal's frame, and Master Rodger purred a few words of praise at the quick response.

Tal whimpered lightly at the regard, and was rewarded with a new rhythm of slaps, slow but unceasing and a little heavier than before. His mind began to fog with the first strands of that most pleasant of dizzinesses, and he knew he had to act quickly if he wanted to ask: "Sir, please," he breathed.

"Mn?"

"What in the name of good glorious fuck are you hitting me with?" he asked, voice giddy and a little awestruck. He wasn't gone yet, but he was too far gone to worry about sounding as easy as he truly was, which was a mercy.

Master Rodger chuckled softly, but didn't cease in his work. "Tawse. You said it was a favorite, mn?"

The answer surprised Tal, almost enough to bring him out of his happy place and into a realm more intellectual. Instead, he burst out giggling. He'd never had a tawse used on him over the knee before; it was just impractical for people with an average arm and thigh length to use with any real efficiency. Gods, did Sahar hit the mark with this one.

"Yes, sir," he eventually remembered to reply through the laughter.

"You're making me wonder if I'm hitting you hard enough, there, kitten." The Master's voice was light, but contained a genuine query.

"More please, sir!" Tal chirruped, despite the fact that his tremulous body had already begun to imitate the vibrations of a washing machine on spin.

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

And now, some fifty minutes later, Dantalion had lost his last thought to the claws of Master Rodger. His back was an utter ruin, stuck to the bedsheets with thick, black ichor. He had been flipped at some point, though he didn't have the presence of mind to remember how long ago. Everything was pain and the way his body gloried in it, trembling between the impulse to flee the aversion, and a hunger for more of the sensation lying beneath.

Every few moments, the former would win out, and, whimpering, he would recoil from the agony of claws ripping at the skin over his ribs. But then would come a hushed, encouraging word from the Master, perhaps a soft kiss to the jaw or a tug of hair, and the battle would shift once more in his favor.

This addling metre went on for some time, each pass pulling Dantalion deeper into the whistling throb of his flesh, a flesh which felt more expansive with each shuddered breath. He was crying in earnest, now, whether or not he realised it, and the ends of his hair were coated in the same blood that soaked the bed. Bloody too were his lips, which he had bitten nearly through in places, struggling to process the sensations happening in his body.

Master Rodger would rouse him to reality occasionally, just long enough to get a color from him (always a confident 'green'), but otherwise, Tal was lost.

Lost until he felt an unexpected sensation amidst the singing of his nerves.

He jerked his head up, and looked down through gummy eyelashes to see a rather intense-looking Master Rodger between his legs, one paw stroking Tal's cock. He hadn't even noticed he was hard again (or, perhaps, still), and wasn't that something? The absurdity of the situation overcame him, and he leveled a thoroughly poleaxed look at the dom, tear-reddened eyes awash with bewilderment at the change in circumstance.

Master Rodger took the reaction in his stride, pausing to soothe at Tal's lower belly, which had been left untouched by the methodical mauling of before. "You're okay, kitten. It's alright. You've done so well for me. I'm going to give you a little reward; does that sound good?"

It would be a lie to say the words didn't go directly to Tal's cock, nearly bypassing his mind altogether, as it was still quite muddled. But he managed to nod and mumble something that must have been an understandable affirmative, for Master Rodger resumed stroking him. (Lost to him for the moment was the fact that this had always been part of their plan; the pawjob wasn't meant to have been a surprise.)

The changeover in sensation was its own kind of violence, disrupting the settled flow of back-and-forth between too much and just enough that had categorised the previous stage of the scene for Dantalion. Now, there was no 'too much'; though the tacky sheets clung to the wounds of his back as if with tar, and his whole torso clamoured at him every time he tensed, none of it compared to the incandescence of a laceration in progress. And the pleasure he now felt was of a totally different stripe, tapping into a need less potent, but which he was still all too eager to have filled.

Speaking of being filled -- When Master Rodger was certain he had navigated the change, he allowed Dantalion a moment of respite while he fiddled around with something off to the side. Tal heard the tell-tale click of a lube pump (for what he now realised must be the second time, though the first had been lost in the fog), and had only a second to prepare before something chilled slicked at his entrance.

He tensed automatically, and before he could loosen again, Master Rodger was on the case. "Shh-shh, relax your body for me. Nice and easy. That's a good kitten." He placed a gentle kiss inside Tal's thigh, and his cock twitched in response, both to the praise and the kiss.

The Master slid a wedged cushion beneath his arse, propping him up for better access. It put a strain on his back and legs, and made him feel even more vulnerable than the restraints themselves. Too, it forced his balance backward onto his upper back, pressing his wounds all the more heavily into the bed.

However, something soon distracted him from all of that. A cool pressure captured his attention as the Master began sliding something into him. He had a silent thought of thanksgiving that the dom had listened and furthermore believed him when he had outlined that he required no preparation; the one-two-three fingers game was aggravating at the best of times for one who controlled the tension and dimensions of his own arsehole, and downright torturous at the worst, when all he wanted was a solid pounding. Now was quickly turning into one of the latter times, so it was especially lovely to just get on with things. (Besides, he was pretty sure that that precise configuration of prep was mostly for bad fanfiction, anyway.)

Master Rodger did seem to be taking his time, though. Dantalion wiggled mutinously, fighting for purchase against his restraints. The wedge kept him too off balance to do anything of use, however. "Please."

The Master resumed his pacifying noises, but also the stroking of Tal's cock, which at least put an end to the squirming. And, soon enough, the toy was inserted to its full length. "Sir, please," Tal huffed, kicking one of his legs down against the bed with the little range of motion he had. The not-quite-burn of the stretch inside him was tantalising, but nowhere near the spark-like bursts of pleasure that would come with active thrusting. He did have to give the Master credit, though; the 'little' reward was not nearly as small as he had implied.

"That's beautiful," Master Rodger reckoned. "Keep begging, kitten. Let me know how much you need it."

"Need it." Tal echoed, still too drunk on himself to look for new words. "Please, sir! Please-please-please." In vain he tried to grind down on the toy, and his failure brought to him a mind-clearing sort of panic. "Fuck, sir, please! Fuck me, I can't--" He cut off with a gasp as the toy was pulled out quickly and rammed home again with force.

And it didn't stop there; the Master set a dazzling rhythm with both toy and paw which immediately had Tal arching his ravaged back. Nor did the begging stop but for the brief moment of the gasp; Dantalion resumed pleading as soon as he caught his breath, babblish and inane though it soon turned. Nor did the panic stop, for now there seemed to him something he needed more than he had needed the toy, something hidden in the glowing heat that built in his lower body.

After a few minutes, that heat coalesced into something real and attainable -- the prize was in reach -- and Tal's begging turned to hoarse moans. Then everything went silent except for the slicking sounds of the Master's ministrations, and Dantalion came white strands upon his own stomach. He held his breath for a few short seconds, then slumped, panting and sated.

Master Rodger trilled his approval in soft, sweet words, and removed the toy. Still (and his eye took on an evil gleam), he had no plan to stop stroking Tal's cock. A fact which Tal realised all too quickly, as the sensations morphed from pleasure to acute aversion. "Oh, no," he murmured.

"Oh, yes, kitten," the Master replied lightly. "Hang on tight."

"Oh, no." He was already so wrung out! What did this fucker expect from him?! "Fuck-- No, no, no, no, no!" Tal writhed, trying in earnest to escape the Master's hands, both of which were working him with a fervor. The tears were back in an instant as he thrashed about, seeking relief. He twisted his face into the side of his arm and bit deeply -- anything to distract from the shock of overstimulation.

"Color!" Master Rodger demanded.

It took about five seconds for Dantalion to wage the war on himself, to persuade himself to accept what it was he truly wanted in this moment. "Gree-hee-heen!" he then sobbed, stripped of the pretense that this was anything other than exactly what he had asked for and needed. The admission hurt nearly as much as, or perhaps more than, the electric sensation between his legs. His pride was broken as he lay keening and twisting atop the bed.

But, as all things do, it eventually ended. There was a sensory stillness in the aftermath that couldn't be stirred even by the damage to his torso; it was as if thick cotton had been shoved into the ears of his skin. He vaguely noted that the Master was speaking to him in a kind and mellow voice as he undid the restraints and massaged at the corresponding joints. What words were said, he did not perceive and likely couldn't comprehend if he did.

However, he knew that he had explained as much in their orientation. There was no harm now in drifting. He gave a casual thumbs up, turned onto his side, and curled into the fetal position -- where he stayed for nearly half an hour. Everything was so soft in this place, so fuzzy and self-contained. It couldn’t even be called a ‘happy place’, because happiness required more awareness than Tal could currently muster, or would desire to. But it was peaceful, and that was all he had truly wanted.

Eventually he did get up, though. As his sensory processing came back up to snuff, he was more inclined to move, to speak, to listen. For a while, Master Rodger held him, and they chatted about the ups and downs of the scene while drinking water. When they were both sure of Tal's steadiness, the Master helped dress his wounds, at least insofar as they really required it. Just something to keep the blood in until they healed of their own accord. Tal gave it two days. Four, max, for a couple of the nastiest ones.

When all was said and done, Dantalion returned to his office feeling like a new demon. Now he could really concentrate on work. But first he would have to order three very special gift baskets: one for Master Rodger, one for Asmodeus, and (the reason he would be ordering them himself and not delegating,) one especially nice one for Sahar.

#tales from the library #sahar #master rodger #(not sure why i'm tagging for him but who knows.)#(he MIGHT come back)

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msbarrows · 4 years

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Cataracts - What Surgery Is Like

As previously mentioned, I’d developed cataracts and am now going through surgery for them, and have elected to document a bit about what it’s all like from my viewpoint. Mostly because I think it’d make a nice reference for anyone wanting to write with some degree of accuracy about what it’s like from the inside.

This post contains a description of the surgical process involved and what that actually feels like, I’m trying not to be overly graphic but I’m also not elliding over any of the grosser bits (thankfully and surprisingly very little).

First off, a descriptiong of the preliminaries. This started for me with my vision going blurry over the last couple of years, and finally getting around to visiting my old optomitrist when I happened to be in Toronto over last Christmas (as my one up north just retired a couple years ago, and I hadn’t replaced her yet). Of the several potential causes for the vision loss I was experiecing, what I had turned out to be cataracts, of the variety that occurs at the back of the lens and therefor doesn’t cause easily-visible clouding. Which I actually said “Oh, thank god!” to when the optomitrist told me, since they are the absolute easiest thing to fix, while some of the other options (detached retina, or diabetes-related macular degradation, to name a couple) are much less so. Then he gave me a reference to an opthamologist. Thanks to COVID-19, it was this fall before I was finally able to actually get to the clinic and see her.

From my point of view, the process then went pretty quickly. Note that I was at an eye institute that specializes in cataract treatment; everything is contained in one building (a nicely renovated Victorian brick house in the Annex area of Toronto). So all tests and surgery are done on premises.

First appointment there, they did the same sort of vision tests my optomitrist generally does, plus some extra inner-eye photography to get a good look at what was going on. This was done by two different people, one doing the eye-chart related tests and a different one doing the photography. Then I met briefly with my doctor, who looked over my questionnaire (which included questions like whether near, mid, or distance vision was most important to me, and was there a focal distance I particularly needed to be glasses free for, etc.), and that I didn’t need nor have interest in a lens replacement that wasn’t covered under our provincial health care.

A week later I returned for them to perform eye measurement tests, which are used as a basis for manufacturing the replacement lens. They measure the size and shape of the eye, and mostly just involved staring into various machines while photos are taken. The weirdest one, which they did last, involved dripping numbing drops into my eyes, and then lightly pressing a small sensor to multiple places both directly on the eyeballs and then on the closed lids. Something to do with viscosity I’d assume.

And now for a description of the general surgical process, which you can also find summarized (or in more detail) at a number of medical web sites. In my case, it was a pretty basic surgery being performed; the opthamologist needed to make a small slit in the outer layer of my eye, used a tiny probe to break down the lens using ultrasound waves, vacuum out the broken down lens, then use a largish needle to insert a folded plastic lens into the eye, where it would unfold within the capsular space and could be tweaked as needed into the correct position. The cut in the eye is tiny enough that it usually doesn’t even need stitching, apparently.

I was asked to arrive at a specific time, and had to start applying dilating drops to my eyes an hour, half-hour, and five minutes before leaving for the clinic. No nail polish or facial makeup. Preferable wearing comfortable pants and a loosely short-sleeved button front shirt without any undershirt or long underwear beneath it (which turns out to be a “just in case things go crazily sideways” measure; they didn’t actually need to access anything on my torso).

The first step after I arrived at the clinic was being dressed in PPE - one of their own disposable masks to be sure I was wearing a good enough one (that wasn’t coated in whatever mine had picked up outside), a hair cap, a long-sleeved thigh-length blue plasticized robe (it had thumb holes to prevent the sleeves from slipping), and booties over my shoes.

Then I was taken to their surgical floor, where a nurse began a series of eye drops. These included more dilation, an antispectic, and an antibiotic, that I can remember - multiple drops of all. She also gave me a teeny tiny pill to place under my tongue and let dissolved, which contained a small dose of a relaxant/anti-anxiety med (Sorry, she told me the name of it at the time but it’s dropped out of my memory). I didn’t notice any particular change in my mood, but then I’d been counting slow deep breaths since arriving (4 seconds in, 4 seconds out...) to help keep myself relaxed and give myself something to focus on that wasn’t omfg I’m going to be awake during this! Because yeah, not having a clue what it was going to be like was stressful. Nurse also took my blood pressure to be sure I was fine in that regards, and put a sticker on the gown to remind the doctor that it was my right eye being done that day.

After a brief wait, I was moved into one of the surgical theatres, where there was a dentist chair they sat me in, then connected a blood pressure cuff, fingertip monitor (hence the no nail polish rule) and sensors on the backs of both hands and one ankle (I’m assuming those were measuring a mix of blood oxygenation and heartbeat, with the ankle one making sure my feet were still getting blood when I was spending the surgery in what ended up as a tipped-over-backwards with head lowest position). They then rinsed my eye and the orbital area with bactine (very yellow vision while that happens), then patted the area around the eye dry.

The doctor sat at my head, and applied a medical drape with a pre-cut adhesive-edged opening over my eye, then peeled off a translucent applique that was over the hole. Then they applied medical clamps that held my eyelids in the open position (which thanks to the numbing drops, I didn’t feel at all). A brightly lighted microscope was then positioned over the eye, and I was told to stay as still as possible and stare at the red dot in the lighted area. The doctor then did the surgery as described above. From my point of view, there was very little to feel; occasional dull pressure, some random coldness that I believe was the eye being irrigated. I could hear the occasional very quiet noise the probe made as the lens was sucked away, but mostly it was just staring at the red light as well as I could while my vision distorted oddly and I continue counting breaths. Within what felt like no more than 5-10 minutes (if that), it was all over with.

They had me continue to lie there for a couple minutes while they peeled off the drape, wiped the eye area clean, and removed all the sensors, then a brief rest before having me sit up.

I blinked once or twice, and... DAMN! Sudden near-perfect vision in an eye that hasn’t seen clearly without help since I was in single digit ages. And the saturation. The detail.

Now, my left eye of course still has a cataract (it gets treated next week). I’d been telling people for a while that basically all my right eye was seeing was blur, so my left eye was doing most of the seeing, and I thought my left eye wasn’t anywhere near as bad as my right. With my right eye now seeing perfectly, I could now alternate opening eyes from side to side, and see just how badly (and irregularly) blurred and yellowed the left lens actually is. To which I can only saw, WTF, how was I even seeing anything at all!?

Then they had me sit for a while in the waiting area, where the doctor came and double-checked I was fine, and gave me a kit in a plastic bag of a card that identifies that I have an interocular lens (and info about it), a prescription for two different eye drops (antibiotic and anti-inflamatory) which was enough for both this eye and the eye getting operated on next week, and a shield to wear at night for the first five nights, to be sure I don’t accidentally rub it or put pressure on it.

Then I put on sunglasses (because hugely dilated eye) and walked out.

Side note - they won’t do your operation unless you have a ride home arranged; because that tiny pill means you’re in a slightly altered state, among other reasons. Good thing it was my brother and not, say, a taxi, since among other things it took us three drugstores to find one that actually had both kinds of eyedrops in stock, yay super fun.

Also, remember me talking about the starburst rays I was seeing around lights due to cataracts? While my eye was still dilated (which lasted until after midnight) I was seeing what I can only describe as ‘Ferris wheels’ - a burst of rays expanding out like the spokes of a wheel, and ending in an uneven ring of dots of bright light, each wheel matching the colour of the light causing it. Looked wild at night. Thankfully that effect has now gone away.

Had a follow-up appointment this morning where they did an eye chart and the rebounce test where they puff air at your cornea, and the opthamologist says the vision in that eye tested as 20/20 (WOOO! Finally something good with that number). I can see sharply and clearly for blocks from the mid-range on out. Sadly when I try to use my computer, tablet, etc (near-range and close vision) the eye can’t focus down far enough; some of that may improve over the next month or two as the eye continues healing, and adapting to the lens. In the meantime my sister suggested I try a pair of her reading glasses and, yay, that worked. I am now planning that after my follow-up appointment for next week’s surgery on the left eye, I’ll run around and pick up 2-3 pairs of reading glasses of various strengths (which I will get will depend on what seems to work best with arm’s length and close-in viewing), to carry me through until I go back to an optomitrist in a month or three, and get my vision evaluated to see if I need actual prescription reading and/or far distance glasses.

In the meantime, apart from computer/tablet use, I am glasses free. I can’t even remember ever having such sharp, clear, and saturated vision (since I’ve been in glasses for such a long time). You know the “oh, trees are made of leaves!” effect? I am getting that with every single thing I look at. Oh, that’s how much grey is in my hair? Weird, I never noticed this wall was textured before. Oh geez, that text over there is so small and yet I AM READING IT. I mean, even with glasses I probably was never able to read that from this distance! Etc ad infinitum.

It’s just so, so nice.

And that’s with just one eye finished. I am now really looking forward to next week’s surgery. Stress? What stress!?

#Cataracts #Me Myself and I #If you've ever wondered what having cataract surgery was actually like...#CW: Surgery Details

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realfuurikuuri · 4 years

Link

Chapters: 11/? Fandom: Mao Mao: Heroes of Pure Heart (Cartoon) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Summary:

MissingArm!AU: When escaping the cave, it wasn't his tail that got crushed. In exchange for his innocence, he gained a sordid past. The Pure Heart Valley seemed like a good place to escape. To start a new life with a new family to forge a new identity. However, when the past rears its ugly head Mao Mao's forced to step up or be put down.

AN: Finally back at the end of the century. The reason for no uploads on either the MMHOPH Headcanon blog (it's on Tumblr, go check it out) or on fanfics is because Persona 5 Roya came out and I finished that on Monday at 140 hours. Don't expect things to get to active too soon either, cause finals are next week. Regardless, let things get back to the usual. In keeping with Persona 5 Royal let's make today's song recommendation Beneath The Mask - Persona 5. Follow @spookylovesboba on Twitter and Tumblr and I hope you enjoy the chapter.

Direct AO3 Link: XXX

Mao Mao breathed in the fresh morning air. It was good to be outside again. Even if it was just to drop Adorabat off at school. He waved goodbye to her as she went inside, but he didn’t leave right away. He still felt terrible. It hurt to walk, and he couldn't lean too far on either side thanks to the hole. Camillie gave antibiotics and painkillers, alongside an extensive list of their side effects. The painkillers made his insides feel like cold porridge, and the antibiotics made his stomach feel weird. Nausea they caused together was unbelievable.

Nausea made it hard to remember if the school always had three students. He wasn’t sure, but he put aside his suspicion. It was probably another side effect. It was probably amongst Camille’s list of warnings; he couldn't know for sure. It was way too early for any of this. It was too early for Mao Mao and certainly too early for Badgerclops. He was still asleep, and still drooling on his shoulder.

Mao Mao poked him until he woke up. “Huh, I was paying attention to the movie,” he yawned.

“It’s not movie night. We’re dropping off Adorabat.”

“Oh! Bye,” Badgerclops said waving.

“You’re at nothing, she’s already inside.”

“Oh. Well, that’s good, let's get you back to HQ.”

“No.”

“What? You should stay in bed, off of your feet, doctor’s orders.”

“Yeah, but I want to go out to do something. Let’s get a pizza.”

“Doctor also said no solid foods.”

“Smoothies then.”

Mao Mao revved the engine making Badgerclops tightly grab onto his waist. “You sure you don’t want me to fly,” Badgerclops asked.

“It’ll be fine.”

“A sick man with one arm shouldn’t be driving anything.”

“I said it’ll be fine.”

Mao Mao pulled back the accelerator, letting the Aerocycle fly off. Badgerclops may have had a point, but he wasn’t let anything stop him from enjoying his day.

* * *

Mao Mao was still stubborn as all hell. Not even a trip to the hospital would change that. He and Mao Mao went from one end of town to the other, walking the streets looking for one place that served smoothies. He told Mao Mao more than once that the only food places were Muffin’s Bakery and the convenience store. Watching him Mao Mao hobble around would be funny if he hadn’t nearly died less than a weak ago.

“Hey, Mao Mao!”

“Wha-”

Badgerclops had the small man tucked under like a football before he knew what was happening.

“Badgerclops, I am asking politely, but firmly to put me down before someone -and I mean you- gets hurt.”

“Awww, Is da wittle baby who just got outta the hospital mad.”

Mao Mao didn’t appreciate the humor. He wiggled like a worm and gnawed on his right hand, which probably would’ve hurt if it wasn’t made of metal, so Badgerclops just kind of ignored it. He walked through the narrow alleys towards Muffin’s bakery at the town square. He thought Mao Mao would stop eventually, but if Mao Mao was anything it was stupid. And also stubborn. Chomp! Chomp! Chomp! It was like a toddler using a teething ring. What was kind of funny at first became annoying, and now was just kind of gross to watch.

“You have to stop that before you hurt your teeth, and you and I both know that I don’t know how to schedule a dentist appointment,” Badgerclops said.

“I will when you put me…,” Mao Mao slowly fell silent as they entered the large open plaza of the town square.

“Hey, Badgerclops. What is that?”

“That’s the blob monster.”

“THE WHAT !”

Badgerclops flinched. Mao Mao slipped from his grasp ready to split his head on the pavement, but a cat’s gonna do what a cat's gonna do. He righted himself in the air to land on his feet. A much worse choice. Mao Mao’s eyes went wide from the pain before he fell down on all fours.

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry.”

Badgerclops went to pick him up, but he was waved off. “The blob. The blob. Tell me about the blob.”

“Cool it. Camille high-blood pressure would give you a stroke.”

Mao Mao took a second to gather himself, clenching his fist before letting it all go. “All. Alright. The blob. What is the blob?”

“You should do that more often. You’re a very tense person,” Badgerclops teased.

“The blob.”

“Right, uh, the blob is a blob. Its big, gooey, kidnaps villagers-”

Mao Mao inhaled sharply and he tapped his foot.

“-it’s not all that bad. They’re unharmed, just a little confined. It hasn’t even taken anyone important.”

“Sheriffs? Is that you?”

Mao Mao and Badgerclops leaned forward, craning their necks and squinting their eyes. It was hard to see at first, Badgerclops had to open his cybernetic eye to actually see that King Snugglemagne was now a hostage. Mao Mao rubbed his temples why Badgerclops cursed fate for always making him look like a fool.

“Sheriff! It's utterly dreadful. Could you hurry and get me out? I’d certainly rather you didn’t forgo saving me like last time.”

“I’ve never done anything like that. I do my job, and I do it very well, thank you very much.”

“You did nothing when I was trapped in a net by that ruffian that looked a lot like you.”

For a second, Mao Mao raised a non-existent eyebrow, but his fur stiffened and he reached for his sword.

Aw shit.

Badgerclops stepped in front of the cat. “Let’s slow down. He didn’t mean to insult your son.”

“Don’t worry. I’m just cutting him out,” he said,” if I take a little off the top, oh well.”

He raised his sword up. Badgerclops quickly grabbed the blade before he could bring it down. “No, I mean they blob fights back if you attack it.”

“How do you know?”

“I kicked the blob once and it fought back. It gave me a nasty bruise.”

Mao Mao looked Badgerclops up and down,” where’s the bruise?”

“It was at the beginning of the week. It healed.”

Mao Mao started Badgerclops in the eye with frigid intensity before he sheathed his sword. Thank fuck he believed it.

“So, what do we do,” Mao Mao asked.

“Get lunch?”

Mao Mao nodded in agreement. “Sure. Let’s go.”

“Excuse me? Still stuck! Help!

He and Mao Mao tuned out the king. They turned around and began to walk away.

* * *

“Jellybeans aren’t lunch.”

“Then do you want a milkshake?”

“You know I’m lactose-intolerant.”

“Then hush-up and eat ya’ beans.”

Mao Mao grumbled, doing as he was told. He and Badgerclops sat on the bench just outside the gas station. Muffin’s Bakery was the first, but considering Muffin’s was trapped in the blob (and the broken storefront) it wasn’t open. The gas station was the second choice. It didn’t really offer food. Just the usual cheap snacks, and milkshakes for some reason. The blob had tagged along for what it was worth. Unfortunately, it had to carry most of the kingdom with it.

“Are you going to save me,” the king asked.

“We’ll get to it eventually,” Badgerclops held the drink in front of Mao Mao,” got you a milkshake.”

“I told you I can’t drink milkshakes.”

“Is it like cobbler? A hero's code thing? I won't tell anyone if you do.”

“No! It's ‘cause I’m not a kitten. Adult cats are all lactose intolerant.”

“Can Jǐngtì still drink milk or has it gone the way of the dodo? Might invite him here some time.”

The last part was said quietly, an absent thought that wandered out, nonetheless, Mao Mao’s ears perked up.

“Why would you invite Jǐngtì?”

Badgerclops awkwardly cleared his throat before speaking. “He helped me fix up HQ a bit.”

Mao Mao didn’t say anything. He pressed his fingers together. Thumb to index, thumb to middle, thumb to ring, thumb to pinky in calming repetition.

“Oh, and while we were cleaning we found this.”

Badgerclops pulled out a golden finger. It took Mao Mao a second to realize what it was. How did that happen? Did he do that? Oh shit, he probably did. He had to stop himself from snatching his father’s finger away.

“You know what this is,” Badgerclops asked.

“Think so.” Why did he say that?

“Are you gonna tell me?”

Mao Mao bit his tongue before he could let the name slip out.

“You want it back," Badgerclops asked.

“Yes, please.” Mao Mao wasted no time tucking the finger in his belt when it was handed back.

“So, do you remember what happened?” Badgerclops started.

“What happened when?”

When I was away.”

“No.”

“You don’t? You don’t remember what happened, how you got those wounds, who visited you? None of that?”

“I was pretty wasted and these drugs aren't helping my head, so what were we talking about before this?”

He could catch Badgerclops grimace at the rough change of subject, but Badgerclops was kind enough to oblige. “Something about Jǐngtì and milkshakes? You think he could drink milk?”

Mao Mao paused to think for a second,”...he might. He’s always had some… issues.”

“I don't mean to pry, but do you mind if I ask why?”

“No it's fine, but uh...what I mean is… well, you know how kittens can’t regulate their body temperature?”

“I did not know that, but continue.”

“Well, that’s supposed to go away by like, age 4, but Jǐngtì still can’t do it. It's fine since it's summer, but I’ll probably give him a coat when it starts getting cold.”

“Seems like a double-edged sword. Can’t stay warm, but can still enjoy cheese.”

“Yeah, the doctor’s say it because he’s a hybrid. Certain genes just don’t mix. He also has an issue with his eyes-”

Mao Mao cut himself short. Why was he being so open about all of this? Was it also the medicine?

“You good,” Badgerclops.

“Yeah, I think I’m fine. Where was I?”

“Something about his eyes.”

“Right, Jǐngtì’s pupils are larger than normal, so he can see really well in the dark, but he squints during the day or in a decently-lit room.”

“That’s one reason to wear sunglasses indoors.”

Mao Mao chuckled. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

“I checked on him while you were away. He’s holding up well. He even helped me fix HQ.”

Mao Mao twiddled his tail through his fingers,”...I’m sorry.”

“What? No, no, it's fine-”

“No, I mean it. I shouldn’t have caused you so much trouble.” Mao Mao choked up.

“I- I shouldn’t’ve-”

Badgerclops placed a supportive hand on his shoulder. ”If you ever feel… down again, just know I’ll be there to help you get back on your feet. Don’t be afraid to ask.”

Mao Mao closed in for a hug. He sniffled but managed to wipe the tear from his eye. “Yeah, thanks…I’m feeling better already.”

“Yes this all very touching,” Snugglemane interjected,” but I still don’t see you trying to help me.”

“Oh be quiet,” Mao Mao said, flicking a pink jelly-bean at the king. The shot missed its mark by a decent margin, helplessly bouncing off the blob.

“Geez, if I was the broad side of a barn that might’ve almost hit me,” the king retorted.

Mao Mao harrumphed and waved the king off. He wasn’t in the mood for jackassery. Even if it was coming from the guy that paid him. He was tired of eating jelly beans, so he began throwing them at the trashcan. It wasn’t too different from flicking a paper football. Although, jelly beans were much harder to aim. Badgerclops nudged him, holding out as his hand as they both began to take aim. Everything was going fine if you ignored Snugglemagne. Eventually, Mao Mao got tired of the nagging and flicked a bean at him.

“Stop that,” Snugglemagne whined.

Instead of stopping Mao and Badgerclops chuckled like Beavis and Butthead. At least they were chuckling until Mao Mao caught something out the corner of his eye. He shoved Badgerclops aside before throwing himself back as something smashed through the bench with comet-like fury.

Badgerclops coughed out,” what the hell was that,” as the dust cleared.

When everything settled, Snugglemane was face down in the dirt. Everything fell silent. Badgerclops inhaled sharply; Mao Mao began to laugh.

Badgerclops shot him a glare. Mao Mao quickly cleared his throat,” must be the medicine,” he mumbled.

Badgerclops was really proving himself because his eyes softened after a second. “Do you have any idea what happened?”

“I threw food at it, so it threw ‘food’ at me?”

“That… actually makes sense.”

“So, what do you want me to keep throwing jelly beans at them? It might get the rest of the kingdom?”

Badgerclops placed two fingers to Snugglemagne’s pulse before giving him a thumbs up. Mao Mao couldn’t lie to himself. It was kind of cathartic to watch the blob chuck Sweetipies a 100 MPH. With every toss the blog got smaller and smaller. When the last one was free the blob sorta imploded. It bubbled up before shrinking down with a disturbing noise and spreading goo everywhere.

“What the hell just happened?”

“It got too small thus it lost structural stability and collapsed.”

“I don’t know what any of that means, but I do know that everything worked out in the end.”

“Someone’s going to have to clean all this goo.”

“And it won’t be us,” Mao Mao said,” c’mon we have to pick up Adorabat from school.

* * *

They were only slightly late when picking up Adorabat from school. The rest of the children -or maybe they weren’t actually children Mao Mao honestly couldn’t tell- poured out from the school. She hopped down the steps before flying over.

“Mao Mao! Mao Mao!”Adorabat said as she zipped around them.

Badgerclops metal arm extended out and held the child in place. “Woah, there little buddy. What’s gotten you up?”

“The teacher says we’re going to be doing a play!”

“Really? That sounds nice.”

“The teacher says it’ll be next week. You’ll come, right?”

“Sure. Sounds fun.”

Adorabat slipped out of Badgerclops’ grip, flying an inch from Mao Mao’s face. “You promise?”

“I promise,” Mao Mao chuckled, patting her head.

#MMHOPH #Fanfiction #Badgerclops #Mao Mao #Hurt/comfort #Please give this a read when you have the time

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timelordthirteen · 5 years

Text

Killing Time 21/35

Detective Weaver/Belle French, Explicit

Summary: A Woven Beauty Law & Order-ish AU. Written for Writer’s Month 2019.

Chapter Summary: Belle and Weaver start working their new lead, and relationship status, with some surprising results.

Notes: This was a rough one to get out and I'm sorry it took so long. Here on out there will be two parallel plots: Belle's recovery and relationship with Weaver, and solving the murder of Eloise Gardener. Warnings in this chapter for discussion of PTSD, Belle's attack, and mention of her miscarriage.

Warnings: Miscarriage reference and discussion in some chapters. Please see AO3 for complete warnings and tags.

[AO3] Previous: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16] [17] [18] [19] [20]

The room smelled like paper and tea, a comforting and warm contrast to the steady rain that was falling outside.

Belle pressed her hands over the front of her skirt and looked around the office of Dr. Archibald Hopper. There was a leather sofa flanked by two bookcases with a set of three black and white prints in thick black frames hanging above it. The shelves were arranged with a mix of artistic pieces and leather bound volumes of medical and legal books, looking so perfectly put together that combined with the rest of the room it all had less the feel of Archie, her friend and colleague, and more last month’s Pottery Barn catalog.

“Nice office,” she said finally.

Archie smiled and took a seat in the high backed leather chair across from her. “Thanks. It beats the south wing of the hospital.”

She laughed lightly, recalling the rather dilapidated old patient rooms that had once made up a sizable bed tower and part of the original hospital where Archie had once worked. While the rest of the building was expanded and renovated over the decades, the south wing had been largely ignored and converted into office space for those who didn’t rate mid century modern credenzas and floor to ceiling glass that overlooked the bay.

“Yeah, it definitely does,” she agreed, glancing around the room. “You’ve certainly moved up in the world.”

“It was those excessive bonuses the city paid me for all the consulting hours you demanded.”

His lips curved, and Belle shook her head. “Yes, well, good to know my budget overages were well spent.”

They shared a laugh, and then Dr. Hopper shifted in his seat, mentally moving from friend and colleague to therapist with no more than an adjustment of his body and the picking up of his pen.

“I’m assuming that what brought you here wasn’t a desire to reminisce about the city's lack of funding for prosecution experts.”

Belle looked down at her hands. “How did you ever guess?”

Archie flashed her a weak smile, and let out a breath. “Belle, I know what happened to you - not the details, of course, but enough - and I know that it’s policy to have a psychological review before returning to work. However -”

“That’s not what this is,” she interrupted. “I mean, yeah, I’ll probably need you to fill out the official form at some point, but I’m already back at work.”

Hopper frowned slightly. “I see.”

Belle glanced up. “Midas knows me well enough to know that I feel better being back at work than taking two weeks of leave.”

“And how do you feel being back at work so soon?”

She gave him a look. “Fine. We’re making some progress on, um, the body that was found in the community garden.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because -” she paused and licked her lips, spreading her hands over her thighs as her palms started to feel clammy. “Because it’s when I’m not at work that, um, that I don’t think I’m fine.”

He nodded and made some kind of mark on his pad. “What makes you think that you aren’t fine?”

Her head rolled back against the sofa as she blew out a breath between her lips. “Is this how it works? You just turn my answers into questions?”

“How else would you like it to work?”

Belle’s head lifted, her eyebrow arching. “Ha ha.”

Archie smirked and then made another mark on his notepad before setting it aside. “Look, this is like any other doctor’s appointment, right? You have to tell me your symptoms, as it were, so I know what’s going on and where to start. Right?” She nodded, and he continued, “So, what’s been going on?”

“Oh, you know, the usual,” she said, leaning forward to lean her elbows on her knees. “Got attacked by a serial killer in my own apartment, stabbed him in the leg, and now...”

“Now...what?” Hopper coaxed.

She sighed. “I can’t sleep unless my ex-husband is with me. I keep sort of - reliving what happened, but the memories are - are weird. I feel...I don’t know, like tired but jittery all the time? I only feel okay when I’m at work, when I can focus on the case, focus on doing something about what happened, you know?”

She left out that the only other times she seemed to feel normal was when she was playing house with her ex, eating, sleeping, and fucking like nothing had happened in the last two years, like they hadn’t made a mess of everything.

Archie raised his eyebrows when she mentioned Weaver, and folded his hands. “So, you and Detective Weaver are...?”

She shrugged and straightened. “I don’t know what we are. I stayed with him while my apartment was a crime season, but it’s been cleaned and released. I just haven’t gone back. I haven’t wanted to, I guess.”

“Okay, let’s, um, let’s park the relationship stuff for now,” he said. “Tell me - tell me about your memory of what happened. When does it come to you? What do you recall?”

“Usually when I’m alone,” she replied. “Day or night, doesn’t matter. It’s flashes, mostly, feelings. Cold from his - his leather jacket, pressing against my back. I was told that he’d been hiding out on the balcony, waiting until - until I got home.”

Archie swallowed and crossed his arms. “And?”

“Heat,” she continued. “Like my face is flushed, but it’s - it’s from, uh -

She lifted her hair at the front, exposing the red line where her skin was still healing even weeks later. “He hit me and it, um, made it hard to see. Everything was - was red.”

Dr. Hopper pressed his lips together, his eyes narrowing as her hair dropped back over the wound. “You said that your memories were off. Could you tell me more about that?”

She held his gaze for a long moment, as she bit her lip. His eyes softened and the corner of his mouth curved slightly as he gave her a brief nod. The room started to feel too warm, and she leaned forward to take a sip of the water he’d set out for her.

“It’s strange,” Belle said finally, sitting back against the cool leather. Her hands fidgeted with the ring on her right hand. “Remembering, I mean. It’s like - it’s like I’m outside of myself, but not - not in any kind of weird out of body experience way, more like... I don’t know. I don’t know how to describe it.”

Dr. Hopper gave her a small smile and nodded. “Try. Tell me one thing at a time, and take as long as you need.”

She sighed. “I feel - heavy. Like I can’t move my arms or legs no matter how much I want to. There's pressure too, in my head. It’s kinda like a sinus headache, but without being stuffed up at all, if that makes any sense.”

“It does.” Then he shifted in his chair and crossed his legs. “Does your heart rate increase or is it hard to breathe?”

Belle shook her head. “No, nothing like that. I just have this strange feeling, and there’s a flash of light. Then I look down and - and there’s -”

Hopper’s head tilted. “What? What do you see?”

She breathed in and out through her nose as her eyes fixed on the glint of the light as she twisted the white gold band of her ring back and forth. It was a square sapphire in a pale blue color, about a half carat in size. Weaver had given it to her for their first anniversary. She’d worn it nearly every day while they were together, but as soon as she left the divorce attorney’s office, it had been relegated to a small wooden box at the back of her dresser drawer where she kept some of her mother’s old jewelry. The first night they’d retrieved her things from her apartment, she’d grabbed it without thinking as she was rummaging for some socks.

“Belle, what do you see?” Dr. Hopper repeated.

Belle swallowed and looked up, meeting his eyes. “Blood.”

Hopper nodded, pressing his lips together again as his pen tapped against the pad next to him. It was an action she’d seen from him often when he’d consulted on a case, usually when he was thinking through his response to a question.

“Yours or - or his?”

“Both,” she said quickly, the hitch in his voice making hers waver as well.

He gave her a sympathetic look and took a breath before he asked his next question. “And, um, where is the blood?”

She breathed out again, slowly and took another swallow of water. “On my hands.” She set the drink down and looked down at her palms, blinking a few times as the image of the red, dripping stains flashed into her mind. “My blouse. The counter. The floor.”

Then she took another breath. “And sometimes it’s um -”

Dr. Hopper’s head tilted. “It’s what?”

Belle blinked hard. “Um, on my - my legs.”

“Why only sometimes?”

She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment as she tried to force the image away. “Don’t know.”

The slight shift in Archie’s expression revealed he didn’t believe her, but he seemed willing to let it go for now, and she sighed again.

“Let’s go back to your relationship with Detective Weaver.”

She frowned. “Why?”

Dr. Hopper sat back, crossing his legs, and smiled. “I suspect some of this starts a little further back than Jack Branson.”

Belle huffed and shook her head. “It doesn’t. And you already know the story. We were married, then we got divorced.”

“And?”

“And?” She raised her eyebrows and held Archie’s gaze. “What?”

“And now you’re...?”

There was a low throb starting in her head as she pulled at her ring again, sliding it over her knuckle until it spun freely around her finger. “I told you, I don’t know what we are, not right now.”

“Can you tell me what you’d like to be?”

“No.” Then she sighed. “I let things go too far while we were working on the case, and before you ask, you know exactly what I mean by ‘too far’ Mr. I Accidentally Screwed the Waitress Who Was Also a Witness.”

Archie’s face flushed, and Belle flashed him a brief smile. His affair with Ruby had been problematic at the time, and it had forced him to step back from his role as an expert consultant. Now that they’d been together for a couple of years, it was all water under the bridge, and the switch back to private practice was overall better for everyone. She sighed. “Now everything is...I don’t know. It’s good, but it’s also temporary, so I’m trying not to get complacent or get used to anything, you know?”

Hopper shifted in his seat, his lips pursing for a moment. “Why does it have to be temporary?”

“Because we’re divorced,” she answered flatly.

“Why?”

Belle pushed her ring back on her finger and paused. “Why what? Why are we divorced?” Dr. Hopper’s head tilted again, and she gave him an annoyed glare. “I’m not dredging up our marital issues, Arch. I’ve been there, done that.”

“Have you?” he asked. “Been there, done that?”

She made a face. “Well not like this, obviously, but I think I’ve rehashed it enough in my head for ten therapists, thanks.”

Archie chuckled at that and shook his head. “Fair enough. Though I do get the impression there’s a piece I’m missing here.”

“How do you mean?” She folded her arms over her middle and mirrored Archie by crossing her legs.

He sat forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “You and Ian were good together, Belle. We all saw that. I have to admit that when I heard you two were splitting up, it was - it was quite a shock.”

Belle looked away as he spoke, clenching her jaw as she swallowed against the lump in her throat. She’d heard the same statements from others before, during, and immediately after the divorce. Everyone thought they were so perfect together, but of course none of them had to live with a reticent police detective who didn’t know how to let anyone in. She always thought he’d change, that he’d soften with time, open up more the longer they were together. The night he chose a murder over her and their baby, she’d realized she’d been wrong.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “It was to me too.”

Hopper pursed his lips again and watched her as she tugged on her ring again, slipping it over her knuckle to spin it around her fingertip. She paused to wipe at her eye, and he sat back with another heavy sigh.

“Belle -”

“I had a miscarriage.”

Archie blinked and frowned at the words she’d blurted out. “You - what?”

He licked his lips as his mind grasped for words. Confusion and shock had made him lose his usual quiet coherence, and he leaned forward again. “I’m sorry, I’m just - I’m trying to understand. Was this after - after your attack, or -?”

“No,” Belle said quickly. She met Dr. Hopper’s eyes, her stare firm in spite of the tear that was trickling over her cheek. “No, it was - before. It’s why - why we divorced.”

“Okay,” he breathed. “So -”

She felt her face heat as her vision blurred. There was a faint ringing in her ears that made her shake her head, sending a volley of tears down her face. She was vaguely aware of the tissue box sliding closer, pushed by Dr. Hopper, when she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, and then lurched forward. Her feet stumbled over each other, her shoe coming loose as she stood and tried to walk around the coffee table that was between her and Archie. He said her name as she moved, one hand stretched out in front of her to catch the bathroom door and push it open while the other was pressed to her mouth.

Belle sniffled again, wiping at her nose with the battered tissue before tossing it in the trash can and exiting the small bathroom.

Archie stood up quickly. “Are you alright?”

She nodded and blew out a breath. “Yeah.”

She was surprised how true it felt in spite of how upset she’d been a few minutes ago. It had been a long time since she’d said the words out loud, and once she had it was like the dam had broken, flooding her body with emotions she’d kept at bay for over two years. In hindsight, the miscarriage had bled into the situation with Ian, leaving everything a jumbled mess well before her encounter with Jack.

Archie was right.

“So, Arch, how fucked up am I?” she asked, letting out a humorless laugh.

Dr. Hopper sighed and came closer, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder reassuringly. “No more so than any of the rest of us.”

She shook her head. “I doubt that.”

“Belle, what’s happening to you is normal,” he started. “You were physically attacked in your own home, by a man whose pathology I can’t even fathom right now. Having some PTSD from that is completely expected. Everything else on top of that...? I can’t imagine what all you’ve been through.”

She breathed out, feeling a strange sort of relief at his words. “Yeah.”

“I think,” Archie started, cautiously, “that it would be a good idea for you to keep talking about this.”

“With you?” She blinked up at him, her expression pulled as the steady pulse of a headache grew.

He shrugged. “With whomever you like, whoever you feel comfortable talk to. That’s the only way this is going to get better.”

Belle reached up and pushed her fingers into her hair, rubbing at her scalp. “I don’t think I’d want to talk to anyone else, if that’s okay.”

His mouth curved slightly. “Of course it is. Whatever I can do to help, Belle.”

Belle checked her makeup in the mirror one last time and ran a hand through her hair, trying to smooth it into place. She looked passable, if a bit tired, but then that had been her almost perpetual state since the case had started. Her heels thudded softly on the carpet as she made her way back to her office, her gait stuttering briefly when she spied Weaver sitting at the conference table.

Shit.

She’d been hoping he was still at the station following up on Nick Branson’s former employer in Las Vegas. When she’d made the appointment with Dr. Hopper, she’d had every intention of telling Weaver that she was going, but in the end every moment that might have been right, wasn’t. He’d be supportive, of course, he had been when she’d first mentioned it a week ago, and their history with Archie had only raised the psychologist’s esteem in his eyes. Yet she’d held back that morning when he’d asked her what she was going to get up to while he was tiring his eyes out at a computer screen.

She let out a steadying breath and pushed open the door to the office.

Weaver twisted and looked over his shoulder at her, smiling. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she said, brightly, hurrying over to her desk to set her purse down.

“I was surprised you weren’t here when I got back.”

“Oh, I ran a quick errand after lunch.” She shrugged and looked up at him, knowing full well by the way his eyes narrowed and his head tilted slightly that he didn’t quite believe her. “Find anything?”

“Couple addresses,” he replied. “Some names to follow up on. The construction company Branson worked for went out of business a couple of years ago, but I have contact information for the holding company that took over its assets.”

“Well, that’s something.”

“I guess.” Then he frowned slightly, and pushed back from the table, twisting to face her. “Are you okay?”

Belle sighed and busied herself with sorting through some papers on her desk. “Yeah, fine. Why?”

His expression was inscrutable as he stood and came to stand in front of her desk. “I don’t think we’re going to get much more done today, if you want to take off early.”

She glanced up at him. “Why would I do that?”

Weaver shrugged. “You’re tired.”

She sighed again and straightened, knowing from his flat tone that he hadn’t believed her, but he was still offering her a way out anyway. It annoyed her and she wasn’t sure why. “Well it’s been a long...month.”

He gave a slight nod as his lips pressed together. “Yeah, and we worked a lot of weekends in the last little while. You need some down time.

She shot him a look. “I’m fine, Ian.”

He gave her a look and moved around the side of the desk until he was next to her. “Belle, you look absolutely shattered.” Then he took hold of her hand and started tugging her away from her work. “Come on.”

“Ian...” She pulled her hand away and crossed her arms.

He turned on his heel and faced her. “Belle...”

They stood for a moment, staring at each other with equal exasperation, until Belle’s shoulders sagged. She was tired, that went without saying, both from her appointment with Archie and the weeks and months that had preceded it. There was a standard level of fatigue that she’d dealt with her whole career, brought on by long days in court, and longer nights of composing motion documents and briefs. But this was new. This was a less familiar bone deep weariness that weighed her whole body down, pulling her to the Earth. It didn’t feel like being grounded so much as it felt like being drowned, sucked down under the dark waves and suffocated.

Belle’s head dropped as she exhaled. “I went to talk to Archie after I left Midas’s office.”

Weaver seemed to startle a bit at her words, shifting his stance as his eyes went wide. “Okay...and?”

“And, it was... a lot.” She looked up and blinked almost dazedly.

He moved closer, taking the kind of slow steps one might when they were approaching a skittish cat. When he came within arm's length, she reached for him, all but grabbing the front of his white shirt as he closed the distance between them. She turned, falling against him as he moved to hold her, and buried her face in his chest.

"You sure you're all right?"

She inhaled and exhaled slowly, breathing in his warm, earthy scent. “Yeah,” she replied, slightly muffled. He made a grunting noise, and she looked up. “What?”

One of his eyebrows lifted slightly. “Let’s go home.” She stiffened and he squeezed her against him. “You can take a hot bath, I’ll make the scallops I picked up on my way back form the station, and -”

“You got fresh scallops?”

His lips quirked as her eyes widened hopefully. “You won’t know until you get home.”

Belle pulled back and swatted at his chest. “You don’t play fair.”

He laughed softly, and she shook her head, knowing that what he was suggesting was for her own good. They both needed a break, and the lull while they waited for courts and county clerks to process a pile of paperwork and red tape might just be the thing.

“Yeah, okay. I can write up the rest of the records requests on my laptop.”

“That’s the spirit,” he said, dryly, dropping his arms and taking a step back. “Just not in the bath this time, not after what happened with your iPad.”

She slung her purse strap over her shoulder and shot him a glare with significantly less venom than usual. “Shut up.”

Weaver pulled open the office door, still smirking, and held it for her as she stepped through into the hallway. “Yes, dear.”

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #woven beauty #woven beauty fic #killing time #fic #my woven beauty fic #cw miscarriage

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xtinaboomgirl · 4 years

Text

Rant time.

I had a weird feeling in my throat around this time last year. Kind of like when you get a hair caught back there, except nothing made it go away and it had been going on for days now.

I call up my doctor, give my symptoms to the receptionist - as is required - to be told there’s a cold going around at the minute, best not to waste the doctors time. I tried to explain my throat wasn’t sore, it felt like something was stuck there. Again, it’s just a cold, let’s not bother doctor.

So I don’t, stupid I know, but we’re so conditioned not to fight back against these people. The days go on, the feeling gets worse. I’m aware of the sensation every minute of the day, I keep swallowing to try and make it go away, I feel like I’m going to choke every time I eat something.

I call the doctor back, I mention I’m barely eating and have no other cold/flu/virus symptoms. They give me an appointment for the following week. It continues to get worse until I start vomiting bile every single time I try to eat solid foods and I have this awful tightness right through my chest.

I make it to the doctor, he looks at my throat using the light on his phone. He has a brief feel of my glands. He assures me it’s a virus and recommends manuka honey - but not the cheap stuff - and I’ll feel better in about three weeks. I tell him it’s already been nearly three weeks, he’s already typing my notes up and tells me to get back in touch if things don’t get better. I try to argue this time, tell him I’ve done my own research, tell him I think it’s linked to a prior stomach condition I had (which, if I was correct, also would have given me a diagnosis for said stomach condition 12 years after it first appeared), but no, google isn’t a doctor and if I had said condition, one of the many specialists I saw would have diagnosed it.

Come back in three weeks.

I cried during those three weeks, convincing myself I was dying or had some untreatable condition, my self diagnosis now long forgotten. My swallow reflex was now completely wrong, I had to think about it every time I did, which was now in complete excess of normal. I had started to feel some discomfort on top of the sensation, nothing quite like pain, but definitely not right.

Three weeks end, and I go back to the doctor.

He agrees, finally, this probably isn’t viral. I run him back through my symptoms, my history, a last ditch hope at it being an easy fix. This time he listens, actually gives me more than a ten second exam and he agrees I could be right. He still wants to run a blood test to rule out cancer, but he’ll prescribe me the medication for laryngopharyngeal reflux.

My joy at a potential diagnosis went out the window, until those blood tests came back all I could then think was cancer. I had a huge panic attack, pulse over 150, I felt like I was actually going to die. Not long after I developed a severe eye twitch, just playing into my fears even more that this wasn’t what I thought it was, especially since the medication hadn’t done anything yet.

My blood tests come back, the doctor doesn’t call, the receptionist does. Good news, everything is normal except my folate levels. I knew nothing about folate, my only reference for it was knowing it was something pregnant people need. She couldn’t give me any further information other than to buy supplements, the doctor wasn’t available.

Slowly but surely, my throat started to improve. As it turns out, my oesophagus had been clamping shut to deal with the ridiculous amount of acid my stomach was producing. This meant that the acid that did escape slowly made a path up my vocal cords, inflaming them. (God bless forums) The eye twitch, however, did not go away quite as easily. That lasted for almost three months and I’ve since discovered it’s my fun new thing that happens when I’m overly stressed.

So my throat feels better and my eye twitch is gone, back to normal, right?

Wrong.

I lived for months with something that made every day a mental drain for me. A constant knowing that something didn’t feel right. That doesn’t go away even when the symptoms have. I felt the constant need to check everything felt normal because now, being normal was abnormal to my brain, it didn’t remember normal quite as well as it would have liked.

This made me more nervous than usual, more agitated. My heart rate slowly crept up, I felt like I was heading for another panic attack, my usual mental fortitude was gone. My doctor didn’t have any appointments, advised me to go to a pharmacy and get my blood pressure taken. There I met an angel of a woman.

My blood pressure was fine, but my pulse was 140. She asked me why that was. I felt ridiculous telling her about my newfound health anxiety, but she urged me on, locking the door for privacy. They were 20 minutes from close but she sat with me for nearly 40 minutes, listening to the story I’ve told you from start to finish.

She told me she has health anxiety as well, that I wasn’t being weird or overreacting. She said she sees more and more women with the same issue. Doctors don’t listen to us, they let things get worse before they make an effort to get them better. She took my pulse again at the end, it was 88. She gave me some more advice, some techniques that could help.

We’re now a year on from the start and I’m starting to feel better. Most days I only think about my throat once or twice and it’s a passing thing. The eye twitch comes and goes, usually only lasting a couple of days now and twitching much less than it had. The anxiety is better, I’m getting it under control, sometimes my heart still races a little and my mind can run off, but it’s a work in progress.

The point of this is, that this story didn’t start last year at all really. It started when I was 16 and went to my doctor then with a strange, intermittent stomach pain that had no pattern. My tests for stomach ulcers came back negative, when I had my organs looked at with an ultrasound they appeared normal, when I was almost admitted for intestinal bleeding they couldn’t figure out why, when I had two inconclusive endoscopies, no one thought to look any further. A GI specialist told me two years later at 18 that I was probably looking at a lifetime of medication if they diagnosed me, but I didn’t get a diagnosis. I got “we don’t know what’s wrong” and nothing more.

I didn’t get a diagnosis of LPR because I was considered too young, even though that’s what my symptoms pointed to. I don’t need a lifetime of medication, just a round of tablets if and when I have a flare up (and peppermint tea helps too!). If my doctor had listened to me a year ago, if someone had taken age out of the equation 12 years ago, I wouldn’t have gone through the trouble I have this past year.

I realise my condition, my story, isn’t as bad as what some of you have been through, but I saw myself change, I felt my mental health crumble. We need to stand up for ourselves, advocate. Take someone with you if you don’t feel comfortable, give them a list of what you want to ask the doctor, ( advice from my pharmacy angel) even if it’s just so you don’t forget. Don’t let them make you a statistic.

#rant #lockdown rant #personal #medical #tw anxiety #anxiety

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discjockeyetc · 4 years

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How I Got Here: One Year (and 85 pounds) Later

On October 14th, 2019, I began a journey that would change my life (and my health) for the better. I’ve told the whole story to a few people here and there, but never really put the whole thing down in to words. I figured the one year anniversary would be a good time to do that.

On October 14th, 2019, I weighed 250 pounds. As I’m writing this today, on October 14th, 2020, I weigh right at 165 pounds.

With that, here’s what happened, and how I got here... one year (and 85lbs) later.

It all began on Friday, October 11th at about 12:00pm. I was working from home, Jill was at work, and Turner was at school. Sydney had been dealing with a nasty body rash, so we had kept her home from school. We were dog sitting Jill’s parents’ dog Goldie, so Sydney and I were standing on the patio watching Goldie and Freddie play in the backyard. As we were standing there, I suddenly felt this rush of numbness take over the entire left side of my body. From the top of my head to my toes. Total numbness. My left hand felt like I had been sitting on it for a half hour. My mouth had that sensation (or lack of sensation, as it were) of just receiving a shot of novocaine from the dentist.

This was, as you can imagine, pretty strange, so I quickly gathered the dogs and Sydney and went back inside. I sat back down at my desk while the episode was happening. After about 60 seconds, it stopped. Just went away. I didn’t pass out or get dizzy or anything. I didn’t get droopy-faced or drop anything I was holding. Just numbness (with a little tingling).

It would happen a couple more times that afternoon and each time would last about the same amount of time; about 60 to 90 seconds or so. I had a wedding to do that Saturday (which I was NOT going to miss) and had multiple episodes of this random numbness throughout that day and night.

That Sunday, we made our annual pilgrimage to Burt’s Pumpkin Farm and Hillcrest Orchards, and it would pop up a couple times that day. All in all, from Friday around lunch time to Sunday night, I had probably 20 of these little episodes.

[Quick important side story: I made two BIG mistakes here, and I’m not afraid to admit them. Mistake number one: I didn’t want to make a big deal out of this, so I did the stereotypical “male” thing and swept it under the rug. I had a wedding to do, and we had our pumpkins and apples trip... and I didn’t want to miss ANY of that... and I absolutely would have. Mistake number two: I didn’t really tell Jill what was going on, and that’s one of my biggest regrets in ALL of this. I needed to tell her, but I didn’t really mention it until Sunday night. This is a mistake I will NEVER make again... and I only share this as a testimony for all married couples on what NOT to do in serious situations like this. We had just celebrated our 17th wedding anniversary... and even though we’ve been married a good long time, I still got this wrong... but never again. Okay... back to the main story]

I didn’t have a primary care doctor at the time, so I figured I’d go to the urgent care near my house first thing Monday morning. Now, I realized that an urgent care can’t “fix” this, but I had to start somewhere, right? After I described what I experiencing, the PA did all of normal cognitive tests (”squeeze my fingers”, “What year is it?”, “push against my arms”, and so on). The PA went to talk to the main doctor at the primary care, and while she was gone, I had another episode. I popped my head out of the exam room to let them know. No sooner than I did that, the PA was returning from her conversation with the doctor... and they were ready to point me in the direction I was seeking. That direction was the emergency room.

Jill and I were both working from home that day, so I reached out to her and let her know that I needed to go to the ER. The urgent care wouldn’t let me leave on my own, so I either had to take an ambulance, or have someone come pick me up. Jill ran right up to the urgent care, and off we went to the hospital.

I showed up at the emergency room VERY nervous and unsure about what would happen, but I explained what was going on, and they checked me in. Remember, this was pre-Covid, so I was able to get in with no issue and very little delay. I reached out to my work supervisor to let him know what was going on and that I’d be away from my desk for a while. All good there. I was taken back to the ER area and got the ball rolling.

After my vitals were taken, tests were immediately ordered. Luckily, the BIG tests (MRI, CT scan, heart ultrasound) appeared to be normal. *whew* Good news there. I also did the whole gauntlet of blood and urine tests. Now, I always knew that I was pretty overweight and that my eating habits were NOT good. I was also expecting my blood pressure to be less than spectacular (whih it was, of course). I hadn’t taken any medications for cholesterol or BP. This was mainly due to a condition that Jill and the ER nurses referred to as “manitis” (aka male stubbornness). %100 guilty of that FOR SURE.

While all this is going on, I would have a couple more episodes of that same numbness while sitting in an ER bed.

I wouldn’t end up talking to him until later in the day, but the Neurologist who ordered and reviewed my tests instructed the staff to inform me that I would be admitted to the hospital right away. That’s when the fear REALLY sunk in.

I was taken to a room on the fifth floor and got settled in. The IV was installed, and I got “dressed” in my gown. Private room, too. Not bad. They continued to monitor my vitals... especially my blood pressure which was still far too high. I was started on a drip and began taking medicine to help my BP.

The Neurologist came by to tell me what he believed was going on. In his estimation, the numbness was probably caused by blockages in microscopic veins/arteries (NOT a stroke or a series of mini-strokes), so, this was welcomed news. Blockages are treated with cholesterol medication (something I figured was coming at some point).

It was around this time that another person (a nurse, I believe) came in and said something to the effect of “Oh, and by the way... you have type 2 diabetes.”. Wait, what??

The results of the blood work I had done earlier showed my A1C level was WAY WAY WAY too high. If you’re not familiar with A1C, it’s a three month average of your blood sugar. A normal, healthy person’s A1C is probably 4.5 or so. Mine was 11.1. As my work supervisor said, I should have been in a diabetic coma! That’s an incredibly high and dangerous number. So, not only did I begin treatment for high cholesterol to help ease these numbness episodes, I immediately began treatment for type 2 diabetes. This included regular insulin injections throughout the day... in addition to the medication I had begun taking for the blockages.

The meds I was taking for the numbness seemed to have worked. I had one last episode around 5:00pm the day I checked in to the hospital. And now, exactly a year later, I haven’t had another one since then. I was told that I would stay the night in the hospital for further observation. If my BP could get under control, I would be able to go home... tomorrow. I was spending the night in the hospital.

I’m not going to lie. I was incredibly scared at this point. How would I explain to Turner and Sydney what was going on? How long would I have to stay here? Am I going to be okay? What’s actually going on? The questions were swirling. Jill brought the girls up to the hospital that evening and I explained to them, in plain english, exactly what was going on. They understood, which is good... because I didn’t want to hide anything from them (or Jill) anymore.

A new journey was already underway.

After Jill and the girls left for the night, I had a little bit of a meltdown. Okay, maybe two... but they were interrupted by the constant flow of nurses coming to poke me with needles. I’m a good patient, though, and complied with all of the instructions I was given. The way I figured, if I followed instructions and did what I was told, I would get to go home sooner.

It worked. I was ultimately discharged at about 5:30 on Tuesday... about 36 hours after arriving.

I met with a diabetic counselor to start the learning process (which is ongoing until this very day). I started on insulin while I was in the hospital and began checking my sugar (finger pricks) 4 times a day. I also made an appointment with a new primary care doctor for later that week. I was on my way!

After meeting with my doctor (which I’ve done regularly for the past year), I was able to get on a path to wellness. I used to eat absolute garbage... and HUGE portions of it, too. I also dropped the diet coke right away. To this day, I still don’t take in ANY caffeine. I immediately went low/no carb, low/no sugar, HIGH protein. I did have to drop beer, which is sad. I really enjoyed my nice, locally crafted IPA’s, but they have WAY too many carbs. I switched to bourbon, though. A suitable replacement, if you ask me. Ha ha! All throughout this process, I found that I have far more self control and will power than I ever imagined. At the risk of sounding cliche’, if *I* can make these changes, literally anyone can.

In more recent days, I’ve found that I can take in a bit more carbs (and even some sweets) and still keep my sugar under control. I still can only eat smaller portioned meals and get full much quicker than I used to. I’m good for usually one big meal a day (usually dinner). I still keep the carbs way down, though. I’ve been able to learn how my body reacts to certain kinds of carbs and adjust my meals based on that. For instance, pizza doesn’t really affect me too terribly bad. French fries, however, aren’t as good. It’s stuff like that I’ve had to train on. It’s been a lot of trial and error, but in the long run, it’s worth it.

It hasn’t always been easy. There were plenty of times where a delicious piece of cake was waved under my nose... or a big pile of french fries were put in front of me. It was that fear of poor health that kept me away from those things, though. It was the motivation of wanting to walk my daughters up the aisle at both of their weddings. It was the notion of growing old with Jill, holding our grandchildren, and living a FULL. Once I found that motivation, it got easier.

Early on in the journey, I would do things that weren’t so smart... like purposely withhold meals. I would say I wasn’t hungry, when in truth, I was afraid of food. I’m not proud of this and it’s definitely NOT the way to go. But you have to understand... I was making a complete 180 degree change in my lifestyle, and I didn’t really know what I was doing. There was also a medication had the main purpose of controlling my blood sugar levels. One of its side effects was that it would completely zap my appetite. That also caused me to skip a lot of meals. These days, my appetite is much better and healthier, and I rarely ever skip a meal. If I do, it’s because the previous meal was on the bigger side.

In the months that followed, I would make regular visits to my new doctor (which I still do to this day... about every three months). I have also been able to adjust my medication to almost nothing. Eventually, I was able to drop the insulin (and later, the metformin which is a popular drug for diabetics). I still take one pill to control my sugar as well as medication for cholesterol and blood pressure.

The main thing that’s helped me was diet... because I HAAAATE exercise. Definitely not a fan. I admit that I probably would have gotten much further much quicker had I done literally ANY kind of exercise, but it is what it is. These days, I could probably stand to do some kind of exercise just to tone up what I have... and what I have is still kind of a “dad bod”... it’s just 85 pounds lighter than it used to be. ha ha!

I’ve had to get a completely new wardrobe, too! I went from a 40 inch waist to a loose 34 (33 would be perfect). I was squeezing into XL sized shirts (2X in some cases)... now, I’m mostly wearing size MEDIUM. Depending on the brand, LG shirts are sometimes a bit too loose. I tell ya what... the clothing part ALONE absolutely blows my mind! I had taken MANY BIG BAGS of clothes to a local thrift store. Also, we took Turner and Sydney to Old Navy a couple weeks ago to get new pants for the fall. While we were there, I decided to try on a couple shirts. You see, Old Navy doesn’t make clothes for people like me (or like how I used to be). The occasional XL sized t-shirt, maybe. But generally speaking, Old Navy wasn’t my store. Well, not only was I able to fit into a shirt, it was MEDIUM sized... not even large! Not gonna lie...I teared up a bit. That was a moment for sure. I brought home about 6 or 7 new shirts for the fall that day. I mean, wow.

I’ve been writing this blog in my heads for several months, and I feel like I’ve gotten everything written out, so I’ll wrap this up. I never knew how miserable I was before until I actually got healthy. I feel better now than I ever remember feeling. I’m sleeping better (and not snoring anymore, according to Jill), I have SO much more energy, and life, in general, is just.... better.

As of today, I’m 85 pounds down, my blood pressure and cholesterol are at normal, healthy levels, and most importantly, my A1C is 5.0... well below the diabetic range. Even though my numbers are good, I’ll *always* be a diabetic, so I’ll always have to be careful about what I eat.

Thank you to everyone who has expressed their congratulations. It means a lot... and hearing “Wow, you look great!” never (NEVER) gets old.

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the-quiet-winds · 5 years

Text

A Thousand to One, A Million to Two (part one)

[Co-written with @ichlugebulletsandcornnuts. TW for blood and violence]

[Part 1: I’m the One Who’s Selling You Out]

the letter itself hadn’t scared jane at all.

when it was sealed in its pristine white envelope, addressed from her landlord, it wasn’t threatening at all.

it’s when she opened it that things go south.

due to a change in the housing market, jane’s landlord was increasing her rent by two hundred pounds a month.

two hundred pounds, jane thinks, can’t possibly be that hard to save. she trims her budget a bit - buying slightly less food, spending less on herself, and most importantly making sure katherine doesn’t notice.

but this slimming isn’t enough.

the due date is creeping closer and jane is still short on the check. she knows that kat would contribute wholeheartedly, but jane can’t bring herself to ask. katherine deserves to save her money, put it away for if she ever wanted to travel or finance an education. jane wouldn’t impede on that.

so she decides to try and get a second job.

she sends out some feeler applications, promising kat she would work mornings.

“i’ll get out early and be back before you even wake up, love,” she tells the nervous katherine. “you won’t even notice i’m gone.”

to jane’s relief, within a week she’s been offered an interview for a part-time job. it’s nothing too well-paid but it’ll boost her income just enough to be able to afford the rent, and at this point jane isn’t too picky. it’s a job at a warehouse, preparing online orders for delivery and helping the delivery drivers load their vans, and they offered her an early morning shift, about 5am to 10am.

katherine is still hesitant about the idea, but jane feels a weight lift from her shoulders. they wouldn’t have to change house, jane would arrive home just as katherine would be waking up anyway, and everything seemed to be getting back on track.

her first day altogether isn’t terrible. she’s put in charge of stock and inventory, finding what needs to be shipped out and making sure they has an accurate count of what they do and don’t have.

she returns home just as katherine is waking up, and she’s immensely relieved to see jane in one piece, not all that worse for the wear.

day two, jane finds, is drastically different.

she’s no longer under the warehouse manager’s wing, and things go strange.

the other workers smoke in the warehouse, horrible combinations of tobacco and marijuana, even though it’s explicitly against the rules.

jane asks one of the linemen about it, and he simply blows his smoke in her face and roughly tells her, “you snitch and this job’ll get a hell of a lot harder for ya, darlin’.”

after that, jane resolves to keep her head down and get her work done without engaging with the other workers, if possible.

most of the other workers were men, and jane was surprised how little men had apparently changed in the last 500 years. for example, some of them seemed to consider spitting on the floor a totally acceptable practice, and they had no qualms in pushing jane out of the way if they wanted to get past her.

there was one other woman in her immediate working area, a middle aged woman with close-cropped hair and a tired expression. jane learns that her name is Sara and she works here in the mornings, before leaving at half past 8 to take her kids to school and going straight to her second job at a supermarket. she’s relieved to have another woman’s company during her shift, and even though sara doesn’t talk much it’s clear she appreciates jane’s presence too.

by the end of her first week of working in the warehouse and doing eight shows, jane is dead tired. she forgoes the usual end-of-week-drinks in favor of getting a few extra hours of much needed rest.

on the third day of her second week, one of the line workers, clive, comes in raging. clive was built like a weightlifter, with massive muscles and standing a full foot taller than jane herself.

jane tucks herself in one of the corners of their unit, counting computer parts and telly remotes.

“we need seven webcams!” jane hears clive yell. she sets down her clipboard and counts out seven cameras and carries them over to where he is waiting with the box.

only three steps away, she hits a patch of water no one had bothered to clean up and stumbles. one of the cameras rolls out of her hands and hits the floor, the lens breaking.

“oi, seymour!” he yells, preventing her from hurrying back to pick up another. “clean that up.”

she does as told without any argument. she kneels down and starts cleaning up the remnants of the camera’s lens when a piece of glass slices her across the ring finger and she hisses in pain.

“clean it up,” clive commands again, ignoring the blood pooling on her hand.

when she’s finally done, her entire finger is red and she has tears in her eyes from the pain.

“back to work,” he gruffs. “don’t go lame on me now, seymour. you need this job, remember that.”

jane tries her best to get back to work but her finger is still dripping blood. she still has an hour left of her shift and, as sara has already left, she has to do it alone. she pulls her handkerchief from her pocket and ties it around her finger, wincing in pain as she puts pressure on the wound. it’ll have to do, she decides, as Clive is already barking out orders to bring him another webcam to replace the one she broke.

by the time jane gets home that day, her handkerchief is covered in blood and she feels exhausted. as she unlocks the door she hears katherine making her way sleepily down the stairs, and in a panic jane shoved her injured hand into her coat pocket and fixes a smile on her face.

“morning, love,” she greets gently. katherine, still half asleep, leans against her in a half hug. jane kisses her forehead. “how did you sleep?”

katherine murmurs something along the lines of ‘good,’, then gives a tiny smile as jane kisses her head again. “do you think you can manage breakfast for yourself, love?” jane asks. “i really need a shower before we go do the matinee.”

katherine scrunches her nose a bit then agrees, saying something about toast. she disappears into the kitchen and jane heads upstairs.

as she undresses the wound, she bites her lip harshly to not cry out in pain or disgust. she’s still bleeding quite a bit, and, frankly, should go to the clinic and get stitches or something, but can’t bring herself to worry katherine. so she showers, ignoring the fierce stinging in her finger, then wraps the still bleeding slash in three neutral colored bandages.

she manages to keep her hand surreptitiously hidden throughout the morning, all the way until they’re getting ready for the matinee at the theatre. jane is just pinning her hair into place when one of the bandages snags on a hairpin, ripping it away from the cut and making jane gasp in pain.

katherine turns suddenly from where she was doing her makeup at the sound, eyes wide with concern.

“you okay, mum?” she asks.

jane forces her grimace into a half smile. “just a snarl in my hair, love,” she calls back. she looks down and sees the blood beginning to pool around the base of her finger again. “i’ll be right back, kat, don’t worry.”

katherine can’t help the slight anxiety she feels, but she reassures herself jane is fine, it’s all fine.

jane holds herself together until she gets to the bathroom, then lets out a pained gasp as she removes the rest of the bandages. she’s bleeding profusely, the wound having not even healed a little since the morning. she sighs and bites her lip as she runs her hand under the sink, washing out the wound painfully.

there are only a few bandages left in the first aid kit under the sink, but they’ll have to do as she forces the stiff pieces to meld around her finger tightly, hoping to prevent another incident.

the bandages manage to hold while jane finishes getting ready, and through the first half of the show jane thinks she might get away with it. between the shows she could pop to the doctors as quick as she could and get an emergency appointment to get stitched up, and then be back in time for the evening show without any worry.

it’s in the middle of Get Down that jane starts to notice the blood beginning to seep through the bandage. instantly she starts to panic, not least because katherine’s song was next and the choreography required her to put her hands on katherine. what if katherine noticed the blood? and jane couldn’t rightly put her blood-soaked bandage against katherine’s skin, it would be incredibly unhygienic.

her mind is so busy fretting along these lines that she doesn’t seem to recognise the more pressing issue of losing more and more blood out of her cut every second, and although it may not have seemed much she had been bleeding almost solidly for seven hours.

she feels herself growing lightheaded during the transition to katherine’s song, to the point where she can’t even react when katherine ‘mocks’ her. she gnaws on the inside of her cheek, forcing herself to stay conscious.

katherine’s song starts with the familiar drum beat, and jane does everything in her power to avoid using her damaged hand. she’s so focused that she doesn’t recognize where they are in the song, her feet are on autopilot and her facial expression excruciatingly neutral.

black spots flicker in front of her eyes during the climax of the song, and jane finds herself struggling to keep her eyes open.

she manages to stumble offstage on cue with the rest of the queens, leaving katherine alone on the stage to finish the song. jane places her uninjured hand against the wall to steady herself, scrunching her eyes closed and then opening them again in an attempt to stop them from hurting.

onstage, katherine takes a brief moment to enjoy the applause but part of her mind is taken up by worry for jane. katherine had noticed the blank expression on her face, had tried to make eye contact with her, only for jane to ignore her gaze completely. what’s even more worrying, however, is how jane doesn’t follow the other queens back onstage.

the dialogue begins as normal, but all of the queens share slightly worried, barely perceptible looks of concern as to jane's disappearance.

just as they all begin to argue, jane finds her way back to the stage.

"well it looks like jane finally figured out where the stage was," boleyn ad libs a zinging joke. the audience is so distracted by uproarious laughter, the other queens all give jane a concerned look. she doesn't give any answer, but does speak through her mic. "well, anne," she says, "at least i know how to keep my head attached to my body."

the audience loses their minds. jane sees the confused and slightly hurt look in anne's eyes, but the pain in her hand and the fuzziness in her head keeps her from fully responding.

cleves tries to keep the show moving and introduce parr’s song, and jane spends the next few minutes trying to keep upright. the rest of the show is a struggle, and the second the final beat of Six ends jane breathes a sigh of relief. she needs to do something about her hand, she knows that, but to rush off before the end of the megamix would make katherine undoubtedly more worried than she already was, so instead jane practically counts down the seconds. only about two and a half minutes, and then jane could get help for her hand. that’s all she had to last.

she moves on autopilot through the rest of the song. her voice may have cracked during her solo, but she couldn’t say for sure.

as soon as the megamix ended, she danced her way off stage and beat it to the dressing room. she sloppily changed, hands shaking, before grabbing the car keys and practically bursting out the stage door to avoid any fans and, more importantly, katherine.

she drives probably far too fast to get to the hospital, knowing she’s too far gone for just her normal physician.

“stitches, please,” is all she can say to a nurse on duty.

jane gets brought into a waiting room to wait for someone to become available to stitch up her cut. the wait isn’t all that long considering, but her headache is steadily increasing and every second that ticks by is one that will make katherine worry, she knows. she bounces her leg restlessly, sending endless glances at the time on her phone and noticing that she had no signal in the hospital; if katherine or anyone else tried to contact her it wouldn’t go through.

finally a nurse calls her name and shows her to a bed. he talks to her while he sterilises the wound. the conversation is friendly enough, but jane supposes he’s really checking if jane is cognitive enough after losing all that blood.

he frowns a bit at how spacey jane is. “you really should have come in earlier,” he says.

“didn’t have a chance,” she answers.

he gives another frown but begins to stitch her up.

another twenty minutes pass before she’s free, after the doctor closed the wound and bandages it, then all but forced her to have a cookie and some orange juice like she had just donated blood.

as soon as she steps outside her phone explodes. messages and missed calls from all the queens appear at once, and ‘my PERFECT daughter <3’ had sent her nearly thirty messages and called her seven times.

“please talk to me, mum,” the most recent text reads. “you’re scaring me.”

she walks to the car while waiting for the phone to connect.

“kitty-kat,” she says soothingly as the call patches through, and she hears katherine’s panicked, albeit slightly relieved breathing. “it’s mum. i’m here, love. i’m okay.”

“oh, thank god,” jane hears her mumble, before katherine’s voice gets slightly louder. “where are you?”

“i’m on my way back to the theatre,” jane says, avoiding the question. “don’t worry, love, everything’s okay.”

there’s a moment of silence on the other end of the line before jane hears a choked noise.

“i was so worried.” katherine’s voice is thick with the built up stress and emotion of the past hour.

jane hushes her gently. “i know, love, i’m sorry. but i’m coming back now, okay?”

katherine mumbles out an ‘okay’ and jane feels secure enough to hang up.

she’s pulling into the theater lot when she gets another phone call.

clive.

she answers it and his voice immediately begins to bark at her through the receiver. “oi, seymour, we need you down here now.”

“i can’t,” she says, “i’m at my second job.”

“that little stage show? please,” he gruffs, “get down here to the real job or don’t bother coming in tomorrow.”

he hangs up.

jane resists the urge to throw her phone and instead calls grace.

“can you cover for me?”

“of course, jane, what’s up?”

she sighs. “something came up. just tell the others i’m not feeling well, alright?”

grace gives an awkward sigh on the other end of the phone, then after a brief pause she says, somewhat apologetically: “katherine’s not gonna buy that.”

“i know,” jane closes her eyes briefly. “i’m sorry. i have to go, though.”

“i’ll give vicki a heads up in case she has to go on as well,” grace says, and then her voice gets a tiny bit more serious. “jane, i know it’s none of my business, but i hope whatever it is gets sorted soon.”

jane gives a half smile. “thanks, grace. i’ve got to go now.” after a quick goodbye jane hangs up and puts her phone down, and begins pulling back out of the car park. it takes her just under fifteen minutes to get to work, and she runs in as fast as she can. clive was not a patient man and she didn’t want to keep him waiting any more.

“look who decided to show up,” he grunts with a twisted smile.

“what do you need me to do?” she asks, hoping whatever this is is well worth her missing the show, and katherine.

“massive outhaul to a third party tonight, we need all hands on deck.”

she holds up her clipboard. “where am i going?”

he laughs again. “not that kind of outhaul, sweetheart.”

she looks at him, confused, before he jabs a thumb over his shoulder.

jane leans around him to see several of the other line men carrying paper and duct tape wrapped squares.

“is that...” she trails off.

“cocaine? yes.” he gives a devilish smirk. “new buyer tonight.” he takes her clipboard and pen. “go help them out, darlin.”

jane stares at him, open-mouthed. “you can’t be serious!”

“serious as a heart attack, sweetheart,” clive grins.

“but... but that can’t be legal,” she protests, and clive’s expression rapidly falls.

“listen, seymour,” he growls. “you let me worry about that, while /you/ get on with the job you’re being paid to do, or you’ll find that you don’t have a job any more. understand me?”

jane’s gaze darts from clive to the piles of wrapped parcels.

she know she needs this job, she can’t let her and kat lose the house. so she forces herself to lug the parcels around with the other linemen, bringing what must have been ten kilos out to the delivery van driver.

“seymour! you’re going with,” clive commands.

her jaw falls open. “no way, i won’t.”

he glares. “we need someone unintimidating to help deliver.”

“i won’t go,” she protests fiercely.

“you will or you’re fired.”

part of jane wants to shut up and do what she’s told, but another part of her knows that if she gets caught then that’s that. prison, most likely, and katherine would be left on her own, and she definitely wouldn’t be able to cope with jane being in prison. she can’t bring herself to do this, not even for the money. she would do anything to keep katherine safe, and that’s why she couldn’t do this.

“no,” she stands her ground. “i’m not going.”

clive stares at her for several seconds. “fine,” he grunts. “sara, you go instead.”

sara’s eyes widen. “me?” she asks. “but- but I need to pick my sons up from school soon, they’re too young to get the bus by themselves.”

“well, /jane/ has decided she’s too good for this job, so it’s down to you,” clive sneers.

jane panics mentally. she couldn’t do that to sara, with two boys even younger than katherine. she looks around wildly.

“what about nick?” she cries out. “he’s ‘unintimidating’.”

nick was a scraggly, redheaded guy around clive’s age but looked far younger.

clive contemplates for a long few seconds, then agrees.

nick and the delivery driver, as well as a few others, take off.

“looks like it’s just us now, ladies,” clive says with a shark like smile.

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tag list: @percabeth15 @kats-seymour @qualquercoisa945 @jane-fucking-seymour @a-slightly-cracked-egg @justqueentingz @annabanana2401 @wolfies-chew-toy @broad-way-13 @tvandmusicals @lailaliquorice @aimieallenatkinson @sweet-child-why03 @gaylinda-of-the-upper-uplands @funky-lesbians @thinkaboutitmaybe @hansholbeingoesaroundzeworld @messanaa @beeskneeshuh @prick-up-ur-ears @theartoflazy @justqueentwo @brother-orion @paleshadowofadragon @lafemmestars @beautifulashes17 @jarneiarichardnxel @idkimbadwithusernamesandstuff @ladiez-in-waiting @mixer1323 @boleynssixthfinger @aimieallen @elphiesdance @boleynthebunny @krystalhuntress @lupin-loves-chocolate @bellacardoza16 @bluify @katherines-choker

#six the musical #six musical #jane seymour #katherine howard #julie and jess write #a thousand to one a million to two

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