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willowbird · 3 years ago

Note

hi! im a sucker for mutual pining so can i ask for roommates!au+ childhood friends + “you know i’ll do anything for you.” for pynch? 💛

You sure can lovely, you know I'll do anything for you 😉 (see what I did there?)

I also decided to make this a sick fic because I can. Hope you enjoy!

Ronan Lynch woke up feeling like death warmed over. Now this wasn't an altogether unfamiliar sensation, but it usually followed a night of heavy drinking and too many tacos sourced from questionable food trucks. Last night Ronan had been fucking responsible, thank you. He could have gone out and gotten trashed with some not-quite-friends he knew from around town. Instead, he had specifically stayed home and not gotten shit-faced because he had important shit to do today.

See, responsible. He could do it. Fuck you, Declan.

With an enthusiastic groan of anguish, Ronan rolled over and made to push himself up into a sitting position. His hand slipped off the edge of the bed in the attempt, however, and two seconds later he was in a heap on the floor with absolutely no energy nor motivation to try again.

At least, not until he heard a light knock on the door followed by a familiar voice calling, "Ronan? You alright in there?"

"Fuck," he grumbled to himself - except his face was trapped between his arm and the floor, so it came out more like 'frushk'.

The door creaked open and Ronan managed to summon the energy to lift his arm just enough to see Adam's bare feet peak into the room. How had he never noticed how elegant Adam's ankles were? The man could be a dancer if he wanted to, Ronan was sure of it - not that he knew anything about dancing or what dancers bodies should look like. Adam was wearing his pajama pants still, which was odd because Adam was always up way before Ronan and was usually fully dressed by the time Ronan dragged his ass out of bed - which he only ever did when the time was still in single-digits if he had absolutely no other choice (or if Adam was making breakfast... so... almost every day, but then he went back to bed). It was a shame, though, because Adam's calves were elegant, too. One wouldn't think men's calves could be pretty, but Adam's were. They fit the line of his legs like calligraphy, gently curving while holding all of this strength. That was to say nothing for his thighs. Ronan would happily be crushed by Adam's thighs.

"Um..." said Adam, and Ronan realized that he'd grabbed the hem of Adam's pant leg and was lifting it up, his body attempting to listen to his (likely fever-induced) inner ramblings and desire to see more of Adam's (perfect) legs.

With no energy to explain or defend himself, Ronan grunted and just let his hand drop back to the floor. A moment later he felt the air shift around him and when he realized he'd closed his eyes he forcibly peeled them open again to see that Adam had crouched down beside him.

Ah fuck, look at that bedhead. This was unfair. Ronan should get to see Adam's cute bedhead every day. But no, Adam had to be one of those people who got up at the asscrack of fucking dawn. He had to be one of those jerks who owned a comb. Despicable.

Adam caught his hand, the wayward limb having lifted to reach for aforementioned cute bedhead against Ronan's will.

"Alright, come on now Lynch, let's get you back in bed." Adam's voice was soft and very close now, which was funny because Adam was supposed to be far away. Adam was always too far away. Except this next time when Ronan opened his eyes he realized that Adam wasn't far away at all, he was right there, with his arm around Ronan, helping him sit up.

"When'd you get buff, Parrish?" Ronan grumbled as Adam all but deadlifted him from the floor to get him back on the bed.

Adam's quiet chuckle brushed against the side of Ronan's neck like a kiss. "What, did you think me going to the gym four days a week was for show? Gotta be able to lug your ass around."

"You calling me fat?"

"Yes."

"Bitch."

This time, Adam's laugh was a bit more full but it stayed quiet, like Adam knew about the angry cotton that had taken over the inside of Ronan's skull and didn't want to antagonize it.

Ronan was horizontal the next time he opened his eyes and Adam was woefully far away. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, adjusting the covers, which really wasn't all that far, but look -- it was too far. His hands were eager to obey his inner ramblings apparently, because without Ronan's say-so they had lifted again, reaching for Adam.

Adam caught them easily in his own and squeezed. "I hope you didn't have any big plans today, Lynch. You've definitely got a fever."

"No I don't," Ronan protested, half-distracted by how nicely his and Adam's hands fit together. He'd almost forgotten that, how good it felt to hold Adam's hand. They used to hold hands all the time when they were kids -- because that's what kids did. He remembered always reaching for Adam's hand. Sometimes to pull him up when he fell down, sometimes to grab him to go play, sometimes just because it felt... good to do it. They've been best friends since the summer before kindergarten, them and Gansey and Noah. But it was always Adam's hand Ronan wanted to hold.

But boys don't hold other boys' hands once you reach a certain age. Which, actually, was utter and complete bullshit and Ronan was going to do something about that as soon as he was able to get vertical again. He didn't know what, but he would come up with something, dammit.

"--nan? Ronan? Hey, you still with me?"

Ronan blinked away some cobwebs and focused back up at Adam's face, which was drawn together in concern. "The fuck you talking about Parrish," he rasped out. "I didn't go anywhere."

One of those strong, elegant hands dropped his - but before Ronan could mourn the loss it reached forward to press gently to his forehead, then to his cheek. "Maybe I should take you to the doctor," Adam said through a frown.

"'m fine," Ronan growled out with attempted authority. Adam only stared at him and Ronan rolled his eyes. "It's just... just a stupid cold or something."

Adam was already shaking his head. It took all of Ronan's willpower not to whine when he pulled his hand away, but he managed.

"What're you doing?" he grumbled suspiciously as Adam produced his phone from the pocket of his sweatshirt.

"Texting my boss."

The shock of confusion that lanced through him at that was sharp enough to kickstart his brain and wake him up a little bit. "What? Why?"

Adam gave him another look, and damnit if the man didn't look like a sexy, disapproving librarian - even without the glasses. "Ronan, you're sick. If that fever gets any higher you really will have to go to the doctor."

"So?" Something was not computing. Why should Ronan's stupid body being stupid sick have anything to do with Adam texting his boss? Did Adam's boss know something about fevers?

"So I'm not leaving you by yourself all day."

"You're asking your boss to hire a fucking babysitter?"

"No you ass, I'm calling off for the day."

Ronan blinked. He closed his eyes, counted to three, then opened them again - but Adam was still there. He was looking down at his phone, swiping across it as a message came in. Then he gave a nod and looked back at Ronan. "And it's done."

"Wait. What?"

Adam's expression clouded with worry again, lips pursing and brow drawing in. "Ronan, I just told you..."

"Shit. Fuck. Yeah, I got that. Wait. You're calling in?" Adam Parrish had never called off of work a day in his life. Ronan would know - since he'd been a part of it for about twenty years now. Three weeks after they'd moved in together, Adam had come down with strep throat and had still tried to go into work. His boss had ended up calling Ronan to come haul his ass out of there since Ronan was listed as his emergency contact.

"I'm going to call the doctor..."

Ronan cut him off with a wave of his hand. "I'm not a fucking amnesiac, Parrish. Why the fuck would you call off work for my sorry ass?"

Adam gave him a look, then, and it was a look that had the rest of Ronan's confused protest dying before it even reached the tip of his tongue. When Adam spoke, his voice was softer and his hands - his hands - had abandoned the phone and had returned to take both of Ronan's.

"C'mon, Ro," he said in that quiet, steady voice, "you know I'll do anything for you. Don't you?"

Ronan's throat constricted and his hands curled into fists, except Adam's hands were already tangled in them so he only ended up gripping those hands tighter. It took a moment for him to process that, his brain addled by fever and distracted by confusion.

When the words and the tone and the look in those blue of blue of blue eyes finally clicked, Ronan swallowed hard. Then he opened his mouth, maybe to say 'no I don't' or 'do you mean that the same way I do?' or 'if you fucking no-homo me on this shit Parrish I will kick your ass'. Instead, he rasped out a dazed, "What the fuck time is it?"

Adam blinked, then gave a tired grin and shook his head. "A little after five."

"...AM? Five in the fucking morning? Jesus Christ."

"Don't blame me on this one, Lynch. You're the one who threw yourself out of bed before I even had a chance to shower."

Ronan snorted, then looked up at the other man through bleary eyes, considering his options here. After a long moment of deliberation (that honestly might not have been that long, considering how wobbly his interpretation of time was this morning), Ronan laboriously shifted his body over on the bed so that he was tucked more against the wall. He then patted the newly empty space beside him. "C'mon."

Adam looked at him, then the bed, then at him. "What?"

"Should I call the doctor?" Ronan mocked, then rolled his eyes. "Come on. You don't have to work, and you're up to early. This way you can make sure I don't die in my sleep."

"Not funny, Lynch," Adam warned - but he also set his phone on the bedside table and crawled onto the bed, letting Ronan hold the covers up for him so he could sink into the warmth. Their apartment was too drafty for Adam's bird blood to put up with that sleeping on top of the covers shit. Besides, they'd had how many sleepovers growing up? Sharing a bed was nothing new to them.

The flutter in Ronan's chest when Adam met his eyes, that wasn't all that new either.

"Go back to sleep, Ro. I'm right here."

Ronan sighed, but being given that permission to say 'fuck it' to the rest of the day and just sleep off the haze of sickness clinging to the backs of his eyelids and slinking down his spine was enough to sap the rest of his energy. He closed his eyes, sleep already tugging at him. Later, he wouldn't remember whether or not the soft press of chapped lips to his forehead was real or a dream.

Fun little prompt thingies

#asks #of stars and moon #ficlet prompts #trc fanfic #pynch #ronan lynch #adam parrish #sick fic #childhood friends #roommates fic #also they share a bed #and there's a forehead kiss #pining #lots of pining

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a-storm-of-roses · 3 years ago

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October Fics Day 3: Black Cat

Pairing: Rodney McKay/John Sheppard

Rating: G

Words: 1411

Summary: Rodney gets a pet. John and Rodney test their luck.

Read on AO3 or below!

“Maybe we should bring it back with us. You know, so the zoologists can examine it?”

“Since when do you pick up presents for the zoologists, Rodney?” John asked skeptically.

On the ground, Rodney didn’t answer, too busy scratching the belly of the fluffy, white animal in his lap. It was about the size of a young labrador, but looked like a cross between a fox and a cat. Rodney was clearly charmed by the creature, had been ever since it had wound its way around his legs and begun trilling in a way that was almost reminiscent of a purr.

“Aren’t you a beautiful… uh… whatever you are. Oh! And smart too!” The animal had managed to paw open one of the pockets of Rodney’s vest, and was currently using it’s small, sharp teeth to tear into a power bar. With its tail, it grabbed a chunk of the bar and dropped it into its mouth, trilling again as it gnawed on its new treat.

“Can’t take it back to Atlantis. It’s a white vreelt. They’re bad luck.” Ronon said, eyeing the creature suspiciously, his hand resting light on his stunner.

“What? Don’t be ridiculous. There’s no such thing. Look, it’s a small mammal, with a prehensile tail, and it’s clearly smart. The zoologists will have a field day.”

“The Athosians share the same belief. Vreelt were not native to Athos, but our stories still warned against the white ones. Misfortune follows those who cross paths with a white vreelt.”

“Huh. Like a black cat then,” John muttered.

“Exactly!” Rodney added. “And that’s pure hogwash, nothing but uneducated superstition.”

“Could there be anything behind it?” John asked. “Maybe something biological you didn’t know about? Something to do with the Wraith?”

Teyla shrugged.

“I do not believe so. We have many old folktales like this. But I admit, I have rarely come across a vreelt in my travels, and never a white one.”

“Well there you have it,” Rodney said, pulling the vreelt into his arms and standing. The creature went easily, nearly too easily for a wild animal, wriggling just a bit, before settling happily into the crook of Rodney’s arm.

And god help him, but Rodney looked so soft, so happy, so besotted with the little fleabag he was holding, that John just couldn’t bring himself to say no.

“Fine, we’ll bring it back.”

“Bad idea,” Ronon grumbled as they made their way to the gate. Rodney harrumphed and the vreelt trilled, a bit deeper than before.

When John twisted his ankle on a stray root, just a click from the gate, Ronon said nothing, but his eyebrows definitely said I told you so.

---

For some godforsaken reason, Rodney named the vreelt Pearl. And to his credit, he did leave Pearl with the zoologists for about four days. But while her (and Pearl was a her, it turned out) tail was of general interest, not much else about her was. When Major Lorne brought back a small creature that looked like a cross between a mouse and frog, but turned out to asexually reproduce, the zoologists forgot all about Pearl and she moved back in with Rodney.

Rodney brought Pearl everywhere - to the labs, to the mess, to team movie nights, even though both Teyla and Ronon insisted on sitting as far from her as possible.

She was sweet and smart, and generally well behaved, especially given that Rodney spoiled her rotten, feeding her off of his plate and petting her absentmindedly, every time she begged for attention. And sprained ankle aside, John was sure Teyla and Ronon’s fears were unfounded.

Sure, Rodney spilled blue jello, all down the front of his newly cleaned shirt. And Teyla had lost her best pair of bantos, the ones her father had carved, and Ronon seemed to have developed a persistent stomach issue, which Carson thought might be a gluten intolerance, but none of those things had to do with Pearl.

And it wasn’t Pearl’s fault that the chemistry lab burned down, when there hadn’t even been any active experiments running. Or that the Daedulus somehow brought salt instead of sugar, and everyone was subjected to six weeks of bitter coffee and savory food.

But by the time the ZPM malfunctioned, and the shields failed, John was ready to reassess.

56 long hours, fuelled by adrenaline, bitter coffee and a judicious application of uppers, and John had reached his limit. Rodney was stumbling back to his quarters, crashing already, another crisis averted, when John waylaid him in the transporter.

“She has to go.”

“Who has to what? Sheppard, I’m too tired for this.”

“Pearl. Ronon’s right. She’s bad luck.”

Rodney’s eyes narrowed.

“I’m sorry, has your brain finally abandoned ship, let your hair take control of your body? Do you hear yourself? She’s an animal! A pet! There’s no such thing as bad luck.”

“You have to admit Rodney, things haven’t been going our way recently.”

“This is the Pegasus galaxy, Colonel, when do they ever go our way? I’m way too tired for this nonsense.” And with that Rodney hit the control panel and stalked out of the transporter, striding with purpose, even though John was sure they were nowhere near his quarters.

---

In the cold light of day, and after nearly 16 hours of straight sleep, John could admit he had perhaps been a little rash. He apologized to Rodney, brought Pearl a power bar and a leather chew toy, and glared right back at Ronon whenever he eyed Pearl a little too viciously.

But things kept happening.

They lost power in the central spire, for no apparent reason, faced a shortage of ammunition when the Daedalus was delayed. John caught the Pegasus equivalent of strep throat and lost his voice for a week, and Rodney burned his hands doing a standard rewire on a control panel.

But, bandaged hands aside, Rodney was happy. Softer, lighter somehow, as if having something to love, and something that would love him back, uncomplicatedly, was all he’d really been missing. Pearl adored him, spent her hours sprawled on his lap, or wrapped tightly around his feet, and Rodney doted on her in return, brushing her soft, white fur, and baby talking her when he thought no one else was around.

She was a sweet thing, trilled happily when she saw the rest of the team, even Ronon, who continued to glare suspiciously. John had to admit he’d grown fond of the little puffball, even he did sometimes feel a twinge of jealousy when Rodney stroked her fur and called her beautiful.

---

“What have you done to Pearl!”

“Nothing! It just happened naturally!” Zelenka was stood square in the lab, glaring Rodney down, as a cheerful, but notably darker Pearl, ran circles around Rodney’s feet, trilling in pleasure.

“When I left here, Pearl was very much white. Get it? White? Like a pearl? How the hell did she end up looking... sooty?”

“Pearls can be black too,” Zelenka shrugged.

“Maybe she’s like an ermine,” John suggested, just to watch Rodney splutter some more.

“Don’t be ridiculous- of all the stupid-”

---

As it turned out, Pearl was like an ermine, or a stoat as the zoologists kept calling them.

“She’ll probably turn white again in a few months time - it’s hard to know how the move to a new planet might have affected her rhythms,” Dr. Patel assured him.

“The name doesn’t make sense anymore,” Rodney lamented, even as he held Pearl close, his hands stroking through her darker, slightly rougher fur.

“I mean Zelenka wasn’t wrong.” Rodney fixed him with a blank stare. “Pearls can be black.”

Rodney sighed.

“Least she isn’t bad luck anymore,” Ronon offered.

And when they stumbled on a ZPM on a routine archaeological mission, well that had nothing to do with Pearl either. Nor did the discovery of a bean that tasted suspiciously similar to coffee, or the reappearance of Teyla’s bantos.

And John certainly wasn’t going to credit Pearl for Rodney kissing him, sweet and a bit shy, or the shining happiness in his eyes when John kissed him right back, revelling in the soft press of lips, the warm touch of skin. With a high trill, Pearl summarily interrupted them, head butting Rodney’s arm in annoyance at the lack of attention she was receiving.

As one hand stroked through warm dark fur, and another twined in short brown hair, maybe, John thought, their luck had finally turned around.

#Rodney deserves all the pets #Pegasus superstitions #Seeing Rodney with animals does something to John #Fluff #john sheppard #rodney mckay #stargate atlantis #mcshep #October Fics

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statticscribbles · 4 years ago

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Strep

Summary: Sweet Pea/Archie Friendship Request: strep throat is going around school and sweet pea and archie both catch it again get sent to the nurse and get check out (sore throats fever aches etc) they get sent home but sweet pea home life obviously not that good and papa fred decides bring sweet pea home as well . Sweet pea about it because hes never had anyone care for him ill. and take care of the 2 sick teens, which includes now them actually bonding becoming friends.

Archie refuses to admit he’s leaning on Sweet Pea and Sweet pea will say the same. Fred Andrews manages to sneak a picture when they think he’s talking to the nurse and they’re too tired to move more than the faint grumble of a hello. “Nurse said it seems you two caught the strep throat going around; you both have fevers though so home it is.” Archie groans as he stands stumbling and slumping over to shuffle forward. Sweet Pea glares as his head thunks agains the wall now that Archie’s left his side.

“Alright come one you two. Bedrest and maybe ice cream if you feel up to it.” “’kay dad, nurse said I should get pills too, from the doctor.” Archie slurs coughing and cringing each time. “Archie I understood maybe five of those words, we’ll give it two days then make a doctors visit alright?” “Just up turn up here; Mr. Andrews.” Sweet Pea speaks coughing only slightly. “I know how to get home Sweet Pea. I’ve lived there for years.” “Wrong home.” He sighs slumping against the window shaking his head. “I’m pretty sure I’ve always lived on Elm street, now come on; out of the car, we’ll get you set up on the couch so you two can watch some horribly corny movie.” “Mr. Andrews I should go home I don’t want-“

“Archie’s already sick; besides he told me you live alone, what if you choke on a cough drop.” Fred nods as he nudges Sweet pea to sit on the couch placing a bowl of cough drops next to the two extra boxes of tissues. “We have strep throat, not a cold.” Archie glares at his dad. “Son, I’m almost fifty, I’ve had strep throat more times than you’ve been alive, leave the tissues alone.” Sweet Pea laughs into the blanket before it turns into a cough and he reaches for a tissue spitting phlegm into it grimacing. “See.” “Thanks dad.” Archie sighs leaning against the back of the couch, while Sweet Pea curls into the opposite side.

Archie wakes up to hear Sweet Pea mumbling and coughing as Fred sits in between them. “Sweet Pea it’s fine, we have the space; it’s no trouble, I don’t like the idea of you being home alone. Seriously it’s no problem; Arch is going to have to go to the doctor anyways it’s no problem.” “Allergic, it’ll cost more.” “What do you mean?” Fred questions and Archie ignores how he brushes sweet Pea’s hair back hand hovering to feel for a fever. “Allergic to Penicillin; the other medication costs more.” “That’s fine; you know strep can go away on it’s own, the antibiotics are just a precaution is all. Just in case. You don’t need to take it. There’s a bed in the spare room if you need; please, just ask.” Fred leave to the kitchen and Archie pretends to wake enough that Sweet Pea turns watching him. “S’okay you know.” Sweet Pea rasps.

“What?” “You hatin’ me still, I know being sick doesn’t change anything. Probably makes you hate me more. Stealing your couch and blankets.” Sweet Pea coughs, hacking as he reaches for the tissues which Archie nudges over. “If anything this is helping me view you as an equal; not that I don’t think you are just-“ “Liar. I know you hate me; you turn away any chance you get.” “Scared.” “Scared? You have a gun, that way outranks any damage I could do to you.” “That’s why. I could hurt you worse, you were trying to defend your friends and I could’ve seriously hurt you, or them and-“

“It’s the past. Stop worrying over than shit, the guns gone anyways. Doesn’t matter anymore.” “It does; it-“ “You gonna get another gun and wave it around? No, then it’s not a problem.” Sweet Pea grumbles putting a hand firmly on Archie’s shoulder. “You need to stop worrying about how everyone feels about you and-“ He breaks off for both of them to cough and Fred to peer his head in. “You two hungry? Try some ice cream at least.” He nods to them when they shake their heads. Sweet Pea chuckles when he’s offered a bowl. “What?” “Your dad worked at Pop’s.” “What makes you say that?” Archie tilts his head and Sweet Pea nods to the ice cream.

“He put a smiley face in the whipped cream, Pop’s used to to that when- when I’d get ice cream there.” “You went to Pop’s before coming to Riverdale?” “Yeah once or twice, it’s Riverdale’s best burger joint.” “It’s Riverdale’s only burger joint; it’s why it’ll never close.” “Could’a fooled me with that retro night they had.” He laughs and Archie turns confused. “You were there?” Sweet Pea shakes his head. “Nah, Fangs went to pick up shakes for everyone; he’s the reason Toni got with Cheryl.” “No he’s not, is he?” Archie questions and Sweet Pea smirks.

“Whatever that performance she put on he got a few clips of it, Toni lost the plot when she saw Cheryl on the roof.” Archie tries to laugh but it just devolves into a coughing fit with Sweet Pea hovering nervously with the tissue box. “Thanks, water’d be better if you-“ Sweet Pea moves to stand crashing onto the arm chair instead of towards the kitchen. “Jesus Christ Sweet Pea.” Sweet Pea cringes slightly gripping his head as he stands slowly. ‘Sorry Mr. Andrews I-“ “Are you okay?” “What?”

“Are you okay, here, sit.” Sweet Pea sits back and Archie drapes his blanket over Sweet Pea’s shoulders. “It’s fine, just stood up too fast. It’s fine; just a little dizzy.” “When did you last eat?” Sweet Pea turns to Fred. “I had breakfast it’s only like 11 now.” “Fangs said you didn’t-“ Sweet Pea glares at him and Archie keeps his gaze before Fred’s hand nudges his shoulder. “Sweet Pea, I can make you-“ “No, it’s fine; really I can eat when I get home so you don’t have to do anything.”

“Just let my dad help you Sweet Pea. You won’t be weak, we’re not going to rat you out to the Serpents.” Sweet Pea sighs looking away from them and reaching for the tissues. Neither Fred or Archie say anything about him wiping his eyes. “I’m not scared of being weak; I don’t know what to do when people are nice to me, it’s just; it doesn’t make sense why anyone would help me. I’m nothing; not any good at anything besides being a snake.” He mumbles and Archie hesitates arm wrapping around his shoulders.

“You’re a good sick buddy; I heard from Fangs you’re great at movie commentary, you ever watch National Treasure?” Archie smirks and Sweet Pea laughs. “Are we really going to watch the declaration of independence get stolen?” “Did you know I convinced Jughead it was a documentary for an entire month.” “Seriously?” Archie nods and Sweet Pea almost chokes again as he laughs. He smirks pulling his phone and taking a picture of the loading screen captioning it with a “best documentary award goes to” Archie gets five angry texts in a row and both he and Sweet Pea have to take five minutes with there head between there knees while Fred pulls there phones away and dims the living room lights they end up laughing so hard. “I don’t want to have to explain to Dr. Curdle why you two died watching national treasure; that poor man goes through enough on his own.” “Yeah I hear people are dying to get to visit him.” Archie chokes on his water and Fred points at Sweet Pea in warning.

Support My Writing?

#Archie x sweet pea #swarchie #sweet pea x archie #archie andrews x sweet pea #sweet pea x archie andrews #riverdale #riverdale reader insert #riverdale request #stattic

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godsofmonster · 5 years ago

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Blame Game ≽

Reader x Seokjin- Couple’s Therapy

Word Count- 3,4k

Warnings- angst, explicit language, toxic relationship, mentions of cheating, mentions of physical abuse, just drama, etc.

Let's play the blame game, I love you, more. Let's play the blame game for sure. Let's call out names, names, I hate you, more.

We passed through the door frame into the dreadful room. The large set of double doors, painted white, shut us inside with nowhere to run. There was a well-mannered gesture making its greatest effort to make us feel comfortable. This was supposed to be a safe space but we only appeared to be content. The truth was we hadn't been comfortable in a long time- that's why we were here.

Even as we went to sit down on the pearl leather couch, we were as far away from each other as the seat allowed. The silence between us was only apparent during this time when we were forced to face it. There was nothing for us to find distraction in. It was appalling and overwhelming, to say the least. Still, I pulled out my phone, hoping to enjoy a bit of diversion before we started.

However, within my scrolling, It wasn't long before I could sense his cold stare watching me. His voice was just as icy.

“Do you mind, (Y/n)?” Jin harshly whispered beside me.

I didn't even try to look in his direction, I could already imagine the face he was making, as I lied through my teeth.

“I'm just turning it off,” I mumbled.

I did turn it off about fifteen seconds later, by then, the young woman was stepping toward her seat in front of us. On a gray-colored couch chair, she adjusted her long, artificial, raven hair. She held a notebook on her exposed thighs, crossing one over the other to expose a bit more. Offering herself to the lingering eyes of her patient.

She didn't think I noticed her skirt went up an inch with every meeting we had. I couldn't remember her name- not that it mattered anyway.

Afterward, she took in a deep breath, and her pretty eyes, like a wildcat, found their way to my boyfriend.

“How are you two feeling today?”

Her words were empty. A recording of what she had been taught to say, and what she was saying every time we came back here.

“Fine.” We both lied. We were very good at doing that.

She jotted something down in her notes, whatever our perfect lies told her about us before continuing.

“I wanted to start today by going back to the beginning of your relationship,” She adjusted herself comfortably, leaning back and studying us like lab rats. “How did you two meet?”

The image of the memory already began to engulf my mind. The smell, the music, and the light that illuminated his face of an angel. A faint recollection from a past life, it seemed like.

"At a charity ball about two years ago," Jin replied. "(Y/n) used to be very active in those kinds of organizations, and we were asked to speak at the event.”

To anyone, it must have seemed as if Jin was the only one who wanted to give couples counseling a fair try. The way I saw it, he simply took advantage of any opportunity to talk down to me.

All I did was listen half of the time, as he spoke about the people we once were.

"It took her over a year to even go out with me,"

The comment might have appeared harmless, but no one knew him the way I did. I could hear the resentment in his voice.

“Of course,”

I straightened myself out of the slump I had grown accustomed too. My eyes looked only at her, thinking she might finally see what was going on.

“I didn't think I was worthy of being seen with the great Kim Seokjin; worldwide handsome, and a member of the biggest k-pop group in the world.”

My voice was drowning in bitterness and sarcasm. When I turned to look for Jin's begrudged stare, he simply couldn't even bear it. He looked away without a word.

“Would you say Seokjin’s profession puts a strain on your relationship?”

What a stupid question to ask.

“I only see him three months out of the year,” It even drew a sour laugh from my mouth. “What do you think?”

She remained unfazed by my sharp tongue. In the past few months, she had experienced much worse from my behavior.

“How have you two been handling it up to now?”

I noticed Jin was about to jump in with a pair of virtuous words for an answer. So I spoke before he could ever make a sound.

“You mean, how I've been handling it,” I corrected her.

“Jin has too much on his plate and, believe me, I am the last thing he worries about.”

Jin knew everything about talking to people, it was a part of his life. He gave interviews constantly. My boyfriend had perfected the art of righteously answering a question, without giving away too much information. He had used it on me a million times before.

“I have a demanding job!” His voice raised in volume. His red lips poked out in a pout, and a vein strained out of his neck. “I have six other people relying on me!"

I had heard this all before, every last word about it.

"I'm not out drinking, or gambling, or fucking girls!" He yelled. "I'm working my ass off! For her. To pay for everything she wants!”

The story between us was always the same as a play on Broadway, scripted. Fighting, sex, money, and then came the silence.

“That's the problem!" I chimed in, my voice matching his in intensity. "He thinks that's what I want- he thinks that’s all I need!”

But we could never seem to understand each other.

“I've never heard you complain," He spoke directly to me this time. "Not once! Any single time I bought you something or gave you money. You didn't have a problem with it then."

His voice was tormenting. We were too blinded by our rage to ever understand. It was almost too much.

I hated everything about this. I hated that we ended up here, fighting in front of a stranger once a week to stay together. I hated that being here was our last chance. That’s why I couldn’t look at him half of the time. I saw us and almost nothing had changed physically, but we were two strangers.

“Well, for this to work you both need to be honest- not to me, but each other." She tucked a side of her hair behind her ear as she continued to write things down in her notes. "If you haven’t been honest with your emotions before, this is the place to start.”

Maybe there was something to that.

Anyone who had seen us fight would think there was nothing we held back, but they couldn't be more wrong. There was so much we never said, never dared to speak out loud. Neither I nor Jin knew if we could make it if we did.

“It’s important to have a plan, any idea of what exactly you two want to get from this experience." I loathed the way she tried to be sound attentive. "You don’t have to say it out loud right now, you may want different things, but these are some questions to think about as we talk,”

Those questions would be the end of us, I just knew it. They would have to be faced regardless. Jin and I needed to start taking a step in our relationship, even if that step was backward.

“How do you truly feel about your relationship?"

She let the idea spill into the air. "One of you might feel like the relationship is salvageable, but the other... might not."

That idea terrified me.

"Though, since you’ve both agreed to get this counseling, chances are there is still something left to work with.”

Though I loved him, neither one of us knew what it meant to be in a healthy relationship. It was the only thing I was sure of, and I knew that love wasn't good enough.

“What issues are most important to you?" She continued. "You should always air your views on what you think the most important issues are so that the two of you can work on them together."

The things that matter the most to one often seem insignificant to the other. In itself creates a bad foundation for the both of us, that's why we couldn't get anywhere. Jin and I always discarded each other's concerns. It was always a mixture of revenge and self-indulgence.

“Do you trust one another?"

We didn't even know what trust was. "Trust is one of the most important factors in any relationship. If you have a hard time trusting the other, you will find it difficult to connect on any level."

She looked at each of us, wondering if her words had managed to reach into our thick heads. They had settled in the depths of our only reasonable part of the brain. All we could do was nod in the stillness.

We were only guessing what the other was thinking at this point, and we were both terrified.

“Great,” She said.

“Let me ask each of you, why do you want to work things out? Please don’t interrupt each other and listen to what the other person has to say.”

We nodded again.

“Seokjin," She turned to him, full-body and everything. "Why do you want to work things out with, (Y/n)?”

I could tell the question made him uncomfortable, he tensed up and struggled to make eye contact with either of us.

He sighed and shook his head, shrugging his shoulders as he was unsure of how to respond. He ran his tongue over his lips that were full of doubt. Jin wasn’t good at opening up to anyone, including me.

“I... rather argue with her than be with somebody else.”

It was like the first time he tried to tell me he loved me- he simply didn't know how.

How could I be satisfied with a man that couldn’t even admit it?

"But sometimes, after a fight, I dismiss it completely."

Jin cursed under his breath, not enjoying the vulnerability that was about to slip past his mind. “Sometimes it’s like forget arguing, harvesting feelings, I'd rather be by my fucking self."

My throat strep with the pain of holding back tears. It wouldn't disappear even as I gulped my feelings down.

“Until about 2 a.m...” I say softly. I watched him from the corner of my sight as he remained ashamed.

“I call her back and start to blame myself.” He was asking for somebody to help.

She wrote in her notes and proceeded to ask me the same question.

"He's not perfect but he made life worth it," I replied bluntly.

“That’s why I’m here. That’s why I’ve been here- for him." I could feel tears sheer over my eyes in a bit of anger and pain.

"Is that what it is?" Jin asked as if he knew that it wasn't. "You love me for me? Could you be any phonier?"

We both were hurt at our true feelings and insulting each other was the only way we ever got past it.

"I stuck around hoping, one day, some real feelings might surface."

I wish I could have told him that to his face, but I was never strong enough.

"What are your arguments like?" She asked.

What was it like to argue, when all I knew to do was lash out in insults and defensiveness? What was it like to argue with a man so consumed by his pride and ego? Where could I even start to begin?

“He’ll call me bitch, for sure...”

I wanted to be honest, even though honesty always seemed to turn into a fight with us.

“As a last resort,” Jin said, trying to justify.

“And your first resort.” I corrected it.

There was a venom in his eyes when they looked at mine. It was a wave of anger he could restrain for only so long. There was nothing more Jin hated then admitting he was wrong.

“She'll call me motherfucker for short,” He argued back. Even though at the end of it, we knew we both were wrong.

"You two are playing the blame game,"

She said, her voice becoming a warning for our way of life. "Where none of you will win, and the only thing you'll lose, is each other."

The blame game was where you went to lose your soul. There were no smiling faces and warm kisses, just lost control, slamming doors, and breaking dishes. Constantly screaming that we didn't miss each other, followed by a slap to the face or an uppercut.

“But we love to play the blame game…” I spoke to myself, knowing that it was too late for us.

We were vicious by nature, not because we hated each other.

"You know," Jin said in the abysses of our silence. He worked up the courage to say what he's been holding in, all this time.

"You should be grateful someone like me ever noticed you."

After years of fighting, he didn't even have to say it for me to know. “Because you're noticeable, and no one can keep control over you?” I remarked with the pound of my chest in my ears.

I never felt insecure about dating an idol. I didn’t think about the money or the millions of women after him. I was only ever insecure because he was the one who would think about it.

It sounded like the drums of war as I locked eyes with him. His eyes black and glossed with rage, skin pale and red lips, his black hair vailing over him. Then I realized that I hadn’t looked at him this long in almost a year.

"But the way things used to be... now they’re not." His voice was brutal.

Tears blurred my image of him, distorting his gorgeous face before the tears fell and streamed down my cheeks. "All this time we disguise ourselves as public lovers when we’ve become secret enemies.”

"I can't love you this much..." I cursed myself. "No, I can't love you this much!"

“It is completely normal for something to bother you about your significant other. It shouldn’t-"

We were both completely ignoring her. Her voice faded into nothing as our eyes studied one another, speaking without words, I knew what was coming.

I could hear his voice, like silk, saying it over and over in my head. The words matching his very eyes, looking deep inside of me, as he asked why?

A topic- my mistake, that we both tried to ignore.

“I know you weren’t getting this type of money from that local guy."

It happened about six months ago while he was on tour. I was alone and it had been days since he bothered to call. I was in the bad company of my thoughts and very expensive wine. The next morning when Jin called, my mind was mud, and splotches filled my memory as to how the man beside me had gotten there.

He knew, I didn't know how, but he did.

At a certain point, we just stopped asking questions, instead chucked dirt on each other like mud wrestlers. So we were satisfied being in love with the lie and who to blame, you to blame, me to blame for the pain and it poured out whenever we spoke.

We played the blame game.

"You don't remember but I called you that night," I could see the words pull on his emotions, tears threatening to escape his eyes. "It just rang and rang..."

I barely caught a glimpse of him pulling out his phone from his pocket. “You didn’t pick up but your phone accidentally called me back... and I heard the entire thing.”

I couldn’t see what he was doing but it didn’t take long to find out. Jin shut his phone and dropped it on the couch in the space between us.

The audio was playing and I soon recognized my drunken voice.

“Holy fuck… Where did you learn to do that baby?” He was breathing hard. The rustling of sheets and springs of the bed are the only things that could be heard in between. “You were so good.”

He continued to praise me in our intoxicated states. Not even his voice sounded familiar to me. I couldn’t even remember his face. “Where did you learn that?”

I could hear my obnoxious giggling echoing through the room. All I could do was shut my eyes and cowered away from the truth.

“My boyfriend taught me.”

I felt sick to my stomach as our voices mingled in laughter. I didn’t dare to look up from the protection my hands gave me. I buried myself in shame.

“God, just look at you…” I heard the sound of lips pressing against bare skin. He spoke his words after every peck and continued to tease. “Who taught you to talk dirty like that?”

“My boyfriend taught me.”

The smallest glance that I could get of Jin was reckoning for me. He stared at the phone in rage, completely disillusioned. He stared at it as if he had been hearing it for the first time but I knew he probably spent nights listening to it, over and over again

“You know what? I have to thank your boyfriend.” We laughed some more. Laughed and laughed behind his back not knowing that he could hear every word. "I’m serious! I’m going to buy the album. I’ll download it right now!”

I caught the glare of the woman who just remained seated in front of us. She knew she had no part in this any further, and wouldn’t know what to do anyway.

“Where did you learn to treat a man so good?”

“Jin taught me.”

“He taught you well- your boyfriend taught you well.”

The rustling fell silent, the short audio held heavy in the atmosphere. There were no words that could come close to worthy of being said.

The only sound that followed was Jin silently rising to his feet, sparing me a final glare before grabbing his phone and walking out of the room. The door slam left a ring in the depths of my ears. The tears had stopped and only the cold traces remained as evidence.

“How do you feel about the relationship?” I said, repeating the questions she told us to keep in the back of our heads.

“I feel that we lack the understanding of what empathy truly is. We cannot embody it in our day to day life, while also so desperately lusting for it.”

She pressed her lips together and looked down at her notes. She felt pity and uncomfortable at the truly horrendous side of relationships.

"What issues are most important to you?"

I tried my best to wipe the tears off my face, to take responsibility for what I had done, but they just wouldn’t stop flowing.

"Our issue is that, even after all of this, he’ll call me tonight... and I’ll answer. We could have a hundred million reasons to stop this now, but one is all we need to stay.”

That’s not how it should be. We should walk away like strangers in the street, be gone for eternity, erase one another. After so far from where we came, with so much of everything, we were left with nothing.

“Do we trust one another?"

That was an easy answer.

"Of course not." I grabbed my phone and handbag, cleaning the mess under my eyes and fixing my hair. I said to her,

“But that hasn’t stopped us before.”

I made my way out of the room, sure that we would never return. There was no hope in helping those who didn't want to be helped. We were addicted to the chaos of each other. Our sin was the sensation, like making love to the angel of death, it was worth dying for.

The sun had hidden under a cloud where Jin waited for me on the inside of the black vehicle. His bodyguard showed me the way to his side.

We sat together as the lack of visual empathy equates the meaning of love. Anything but us is who we truly were. Our hatred and attitude tear us entirely, that's what happens when you play the blame game.

Masterlist ≽

#Blame Game #seokjin x reader #bts fanfic #bts one shot #kim seokjin #bts angst #bts jin #bangtan #bts #bangtan scenarios #bts scenarios

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lihikainanea · 5 years ago

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Tiger getting sick and is so grumpy yet soft because she feels so gross. Bills trying his best to help, but it’s a sickness that just passes with time, so he does what he can. She’s fussy to put to bed and she’s so tired, hot and cold all over. And of course it’s while she’s visiting his family for Christmas so she tries to go to another spare room to sleep, cause she did feel guilty about waking him when she got sick, but he woke up and brought her back.

Ohhh my heart. Listen, I am the biggest baby in the world when I’m sick and at the barest hints of a sniffle, I’m throwing myself across your lap and demanding that you take care of me. I get walloped real good every second year or so--I tend to go big or go home. I’ll never just get a flu or a cold--I’ll get a flu, tonsillitis, and a double ear infection at the same time. Or I’ll get the stomach flu, strep throat, and bronchitis all at once. It usually puts me out for like, a fucking month.

I think tiger is probably a little different--I have a #sick tiger tag dedicated just to how she gives Bill fits when all he’s trying to do is make sure she’s hydrated and that her fever is under control.

I died at she’s fussy to put to bed because goddamnit, my heart is always with caretaker Bill. Tiger is probably a real pain in the ass when she’s sick, for the sole purpose that she refuses to admit she’s sick and instead of resting, she’s doing everything to convince everyone that she is absolutely 100% not sick. Valter is going snowboarding? Cool, she’s coming. A 10km snowshoe trek in the woods? Yep, she’ll race them all.

But maybe this is a real bad flu that’s knocked her out, and Bill knows she’s feeling terrible because she’s finally not fighting him. She’s not fighting him, but she still definitely is fussy because her fever is so high and the poor thing is going from shivering to sweating, can barely eat anything, and doesn’t have the energy to do much other than just lie there while Bill gives her some gentle head scritchies. You know those fevers, those flus that are so bad it hurts just to keep your eyeballs open? Tiger is so sore everywhere she just can’t move, can’t drink, can’t eat, can’t sleep. Bill’s a little worried but not overly so because there are two doctors literally in the same house, so when her fever doesn’t break for a few days he gets one of them to come in and check on her. Maybe it’s his mom, because that’s sweet. Tiger is fine, it’s just a real bad virus that needs to run its course, but she also hasn’t eaten and hasn’t been able to drink anything so dehydration is a bit of a worry. His mom mentions she may have to get her hooked up to an IV if she can’t drink enough to help break her fever.

Bill takes a few layers off of her, because she’s probably bundled in like 8 of them which isn’t good for her fever even though her teeth are chattering. He refills her hot water bottle, then presses a cool, soothing hand to her forehead. He pops a thermometer in her mouth but--yep, still a high fever.

“Hey kid,” he gets his arms around her, lifts her up into a sitting position as she whines, “I know you feel awful. But you need to drink a little bit, okay? My mom said if you don’t, she has to hook you up to an IV so you stay hydrated.”

He sees her wince at the mention of an IV, because an IV means needles and that’s a solid no for tiger.

“Just try, okay? It doesn’t have to be a lot,” he coaxes, and she nods. He disappears to get some liquids and some more meds for her fever, and comes back in with a small mug of clear broth soup. He gives her the pills and she swallows them back with a wince, and then he dips a spoon in the broth and holds it to her lips. She’s basically asleep sitting up so he pulls her forward a bit, tucks her under his arm so he can help her stay upright while he feeds her little spoonfuls. She manages half the mug before she literally just cries because she doesn’t want anymore--poor bean, she really feels awful--and Bill will deposit her back onto the pillows, gently scratch her head until she’s asleep.

He does it again after an hour. And the poor thing, the way she whines when he wakes her up just breaks his heart but she’s had a lot of rest and while she still needs more--she also needs to break this fever. He comes back with Gatorade and she’s able to take a few capfuls of it. And when the liquids don’t seem to be working--dreamy sigh, Good Dude Bill--you know he strips down picks her up, and carries her into an ice bath. He sits in there with her because she’s really just sobbing at this point, and he’s trying to comfort her as best he can.

But maybe the poor thing still needs the IV at the end of the day, because she’s just not able to get enough liquids in and her fever is just too high. Bill has to hold on to her real tight, wrap her in his arms and talk to her while his mom puts it in her arm. She cries after, definitely, and Bill just doesn’t let go of her for the whole night. She’s shivering and sweating and he just keeps getting her what she needs, whether it’s cold towels or her hot water bottle--it just needs to run its course.

#sick tiger #BFF!Bill #bill skarsgard #bill skarsgard drabble

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swimmingnewsie · 5 years ago

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Of Coffee and Cookies (Chapter 7)

...You know I used to be patient and methodical with my upload schedule. But now I just want to share with the world my work <3 So enjoy two chapters in less than 24 hours.

Link to AO3

---

"I just don't understand why she can't tell me what's wrong. Obviously there's something, and maybe I could help if she would just let me in!" Maren said in frustration as Ryder drove.

It had been three days since Maren had walked out on Elsa in the cafe, and she hadn't heard from the woman since. What was so bad that Elsa couldn't bring herself to talk about? It wasn't like they hadn't had deep conversations before. They had talked about everything from miscarriages to the death of parents to mental health crises. What was so bad Elsa couldn't even name?

"Have you considered the chance that maybe she's still processing whatever it is? And that she wants some sort of grasp before she tries to talk about it with someone else?" Ryder suggested, eyes focused on the open road ahead of them. There was no destination today, but Maren had a feeling that Ryder was doing this so she would talk candidly. They had never been good at a direct face-to-face conversation. Driving provided an easy environment for them both.

"Maybe, but she's my girlfriend, Ry. I'm supposed to be there to help her with stuff," she exasperated. All she wanted was to be there for Elsa. Why was that so hard?

"You may be her girlfriend, but she's still her own person. She's allowed to keep her secrets if she wants. That's just something she does. Have you tried talking to her about it?"

Maren shook her head. "I told her to come back when she was ready to be mature about things. She needs to come to me first."

Ryder raised an eyebrow. "But is that fair? You're the one who walked out on her because she wasn't talking. Do you really think that's the best way to get what you want?"

Maren rolled her eyes. "No, but- but- I don't know!"

"Then put your stubbornness aside and apologize. She may have done things wrong, but so did you." Ryder said, looking at her. "You yelled at her for not opening up when you knew full well the shit show that the last week has been for her with Anna being so sick.

"Look I don't know Elsa as well as you do, obviously, but I do know this: she internalizes her feelings while you externalize your feelings. If you guys are gonna make this work, you’re gonna have to learn to deal with that."

Maren looked stunned at her brother. Where the hell had all that come from? Her brother had grown a lot from that flighty boy who wouldn't talk to anyone for anything. Maren laid her head back on the seat. "When did you get so wise?"

"I'm dating a self-proclaimed love expert who was raised by actual love expert marriage counselors. You pick up on this kind of shit," he said simply. Ryder sighed, turning the car back towards home.

Maren could hear the sadness in her brother's sigh. She was far more adept at her brother's emotions than anyone else's. "Well, I may not be able to pick at my girlfriend's mind right now, but I can pick at yours. What's running in that pretty little head of yours?"

Ryder gave a hint of a laugh. "Just trying to solve all the world's problems today, aren't you?"

She nudged her brother in the shoulder. "Maybe," she said with a slight smile.

"You're worse than Anna about meddling!" he teased.

"Am not!" Maren slapped her brother's shoulder.

"Hey! Hey! No hitting the driver!" Ryder called out laughing. "And answering your question would require whiskey, and considering we both have work tomorrow, that is not an option."

Maren rolled her eyes. "So you're not going to tell me? Even after everything I've gone through with Elsa?"

"Dramatic much?" he asked, mirroring her eye roll. "We'll talk about it Friday. I promise."

Ryder held out a pinky that Maren happily linked. "Friday," she agreed.

"And in the meantime, you are going to your girlfriend's and talking this out."

"As you command, Mr. Love Expert."

---

"Hi, Maren! I wasn't expecting to see you today." Maren was greeted at the door by a sleepy looking Anna. She looked much healthier than the last time she had been by. Her face had more color, and she seemed far perkier.

"Hi, Anna. How are you feeling?"

"Tired still," she admitted coughing in the sleeve of her sweatshirt. "But what can you expect when you get the flu and strep throat at the same time?"

"Oh, Anna, that's terrible," Maren frowned. "I'm sorry. Have they been able to give you anything to make you feel better?"

Anna nodded. "Antibiotics for the strep and cough syrup to help me sleep at night. Seems to be doing well enough. Elsa's in her room if you want to come in." Maren nodded in reply, entering the apartment. "She had headphones in earlier, so she might not hear you if you knock."

"Thanks, Anna," she said sincerely. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Honestly? Get my sister to go to bed," she said with tired eyes. "She won't say anything, but I heard her coughing all night and I'm worried."

Maren's eyes softened. Of course Elsa wouldn't say anything while Anna was still sick. "I'll do my best."

"Elsa?" she said as she entered the bedroom quietly. Her heart ached at the sight. Books and tissues were scattered on Elsa's bed while Elsa herself was passed out in the middle with her laptop open on a half finished word document and Marshmallow curled up at her side. Her face was much paler than usual- something Maren had thought was impossible- and she shivered violently on the bed clinging to the fluffy cat for warmth. Maren placed a gentle hand to get girlfriend's head; she was burning up. Their discussion could certainly wait, she thought.

Marshmallow meowed up at her. Maren didn't know cats could looked worried, but he certainly did. She gave him a comforting pet. "Don't worry, Marshie. We'll take care of her." He meowed in reply before rubbing up on his owner again, pleased with her words.

"Hey snowflake. Can you wake up for me?" she asked softly. Elsa couldn't be comfortable like that, and if she was hiding her illness like Maren suspected she was, then she was going to get her the rest and medicine she needed.

Elsa's eyes slowly opened to reveal glassy blue eyes. "Maren? What are you doing here? You were mad at me. I'm- I'm sorry," she managed before coughs overtook her chest, scaring Marshmallow off the bed. She sounded terrible.

Maren shook her head, patting Elsa's back to help with the cough. "That's not important right now. How long have you been feeling sick?"

"'m not sick," she said, sniffling as her runny nose betrayed her.

"While you make a very compelling argument, snowflake, do you think you could you tell me the truth?" Maren asked wrapping an arm around Elsa.

Elsa tried to recoil from the touch. "Don't want you to get sick," she said hazily.

"So you admit you're sick," she said with a small smirk. "Love, I teach middle schoolers. My fear of catching a cold is long gone. Now how long have you been feeling bad?"

"Monday."

Monday. Monday was when they fought. A wave of guilt passed over her. "And have you been going to school and work every day like a bad sick person?" Elsa nodded wearily. "Oh, love," she sighed.

Maren moved from the bed, beginning to pick her up her papers and books. "What are you doing?" Elsa asked, clutching at some of her books. "I still have work to do."

"That may be true. But if you have the same thing Anna does, you need to rest more than you need to work. Did you even tell your sister you weren't feeling well?"

Elsa shook her head. "I didn't want to worry her. She has enough to worry about."

"I think you failed that mission, snowflake. She told me she heard you coughing all night last night. Meaning you probably didn't sleep and that you definitely shouldn't have been teaching today." Maren turned to Elsa's drawers. "What pajamas do you want? You aren't resting in those clothes."

Elsa slowly relinquished control, allowing Maren to help her change, something the brunette was very happy about. How Elsa had still been pushing on stunned her. She was running a temperature of 103 and yet here she was still working away on research. But Maren had told her enough was enough, and Elsa was settled in bed with two quilts and a dose of nighttime cold medicine.

"I'm sorry," she said sleepily looking at Maren.

"What for, snowflake?"

"For not calling, not talking to you, not telling you. I know you just wanted to help," Elsa said teary eyed. The combined illnesses must have been making her more emotional than usual, Maren thought.

"I'm sorry too. For yelling and running away on you. But we can talk about those things when you're feeling better, okay?"

"But I was so mean to you," she said before being interrupted by a sneeze.

"Bless you. You were getting sick and under a lot of stress, sweetheart. I can't hold that against you. Especially when you're still so unwell."

"But I don't- but I don't want to sweep it under the rug like it never happened." Her voice cracked, clearly strained by all the talking.

"We won't. There's a difference between sweeping an argument under the rug and waiting until you're well enough to talk without your body interrupting." Maren brushed a hand against her girlfriend's hot forehead. "We will talk about all this another day."

"Promise?" she asked.

"I promise. Now shush, don't strain your voice anymore." Elsa happily snuggled up against Maren, eyes shut. Soon enough, her wheezy breathing evened; and Elsa was fast asleep.

Maren was still just as confused as she was three days ago, but that didn't matter. Elsa was here with her, willing to talk. They would take it one step at a time, one breath at a time. They would figure this out. They would be fine.

#frozen #frozen fanfic #nattura siblings #elsamaren #frohana #my fic #yes i wrote more sick fic #let me live my best hurt comfort life

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stattic-writes · 5 years ago

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Strep

https://statticscribbles.tumblr.com/post/639099629845233664/masterlist

Support My Writing?

#archie x sweet pea #sweet pea x archie #archie andrews #sweet pea #kj apa #kj apa imagine #jordan connor #jordan connor imagine #riverdale #riverdale cw #riverdale imagine #riverdale fandom #riverdale fanfic #riverdale fanfiction #written

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moonlitjiminn · 6 years ago

Text

Neighbour Part 7 | Jimin, You

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13

If I know what love is, it is because of you.

“Ara!” Eunji’s cheery voice made Ara jump, but she kneeled down instead, spreading her arms for the child to crash into.

“Hey sweetheart,” she gushed, “How have you been?”

“Good! So good! I played with Minho this morning and we had so much fun! He just got a treehouse and it’s so high I was sitting up in the clouds when we were in it!”

Ara laughed, “Oh, really? I should ask Minho if I can visit one day then!”

“Yeah! He would love to invite you over!”

“Good morning!” Jimin’s loud voice cut Eunji off as he walked into the room and leaned down to scoop her up in his arms. “You look good,” he bit his lip and pecked her on the forehead.

“Yay! Daddy’s ready!” Eunji wriggled around in Jimin’s arms, “We can go now!”

Eunji had been raving on and on about the circus that Jimin had booked tickets for months ago, however it was only up until a week ago when she started to beg her father to let Ara come along too. Luckily his gallery was sponsoring the show or he wouldn’t have been able to get another last minute ticket for her.

“I can’t believe we’re gonna be in the front row! I can’t wait to see the acrobats!” her face was lit up in the biggest smile Ara thought possible and she loved the look of content on Jimin’s to match.

“You know, I used to do acrobatics,” Ara said once Jimin had closed the door as they left the house.

He raised an eyebrow, “You what?”

“Why is that so surprising?” she flicked her hair over her shoulder, “I was pretty good lemme tell you.”

“Really?” Eunji was dumbfounded, “Show me! Show me! Show me!”

“Maybe later,” Ara grinned, looking over at Jimin, who was just smiling down at her with some expression she couldn’t seem to point out.

“What?” she asked, opening the door for him to put Eunji in the back seat.

“Nothing,” he hummed, putting the seatbelt on his daughter before closing the door, “I just love learning more and more about you.”

Ara smiled, “I’m really not that interesting, you know.”

He shook his head, his lips pursed, “You really are,” leaning down, he pecked her on the lips quickly. “Let’s get going! On route to the best circus you’ll ever see.”

Ara had no idea how she was always smiling around him, even when neither of them were saying anything, it was like she was in her happiest place when she was with him.

—

“Uncle!” Ara heard Eunji squeal as she was getting out of the car. She looked over at Jimin, who was scanning for this ‘uncle’.

A small smile appeared on his face when his eyes lay on a particular someone, the same someone who was crouching down to pull Eunji into a hug.

“Namjoon hyung, what are you doing he- Min Hee?”

“Ara!” Min Hee, who was standing behind ‘Namjoon hyung’ burst when she saw Ara, rushing over to hug her, “How are you!”

“Wait…” Jimin’s eyes shifted from Min Hee to the man who was now carrying Eunji. “What are you guys doing here… together?”

“Hi,” the man completely ignored Jimin’s question, holding his hand out to Ara, “I’m Namjoon.”

“Ara,” she smiled politely, shaking his hand.

“Uhm,” Jimin reached out and took Eunji from Namjoon’s hold, “Stop playing with my daughter to avoid my question, what are you guys doing here?”

“We’re here to watch the production,” Namjoon pointed at a theatre nearby, “You?”

In the corner of her eye, Ara say Min Hee sending Jimin crazy signals to get lost, so she took the chance.

“We’re going to watch the circus show!” looking at her watch, she replied, “We should probably get going, it was nice to meet you!”

Jimin narrowed his eyes at Min Hee, but before he could say anything more, Ara pulled him away from the two.

“You’re such a creep,” she shook her head at Jimin as they made their way to the entrance.

“Excuse me? I am not a creep, seeing my best friend and my cousin together like that is gross.”

Ara rolled her eyes, “C’mon Eunji, let’s go,” she grabbed her hand when Jimin finally let her down and they walked into the the large gazebo after Jimin showed the bouncer their tickets.

“Front row! This is gonna be so much fun!”

—

And it was. It was so much fun for all three of them that they would still be talking about it for the next three days. Eunji was amazed at the way those circus acts could move, Ara was impressed with their level of professionalism while Jimin was in awe at the creaive displays.

Hey Ara, Eunji’s feeling a bit sick and she won’t be able to come to school today.

P.S. We still need to have that Jegichagi match

-Jimin

Ara smiled at her phone. It was a day later and she was finally back into normal routine, work and then going home, work and then home. But small moments like this were so worthwile. Every time a text from him came in, she would find your mouth hurting from smiling too much, even when all it said was ‘Eunji left her pink jacket behind today, please keep it aside so she can bring it home tomorrow’.

Thank you for letting me know! And you’re right, I was beginning to think you wanted to keep putting it off because you were scared

Ara tried to reply as witty as possible, but with her fingers trembling and her mind blanking at the very thought of this man, it was pretty hard.

Again. In your dreams.

-Jimin

His reply was quick but the effect it had on her wasn’t short lived.

“Hi!” a kid chirped and she looked down.

“Hey Joo Won,” she crouched, “What’s up.”

“Can you help me finger paint! I can’t make purple anymore,” he pouted, “I’m pretty sure I made it the other day! But I don’t remember how I did it.”

Ara chuckled, “Of course, come on.”

Holding his hand, she walked over to the finger painting table, asking him how he thinks the colour comes about and teaching him how it’s meant to be made.

“Ara!” someone interrupted her while she was conjuring up her own masterpiece and she turned to see her centre manager yelling for her with one hand holding the wall phone to her ear.

“Yeah?”

“You know Park Eunji?”

“Eunji? Our student?”

“Yes, I’m gonna need you to go to the hospital, she needs you.”

“Huh? What did you say?”

“Here,” she passed Ara a piece of paper and her car keys, pointing to the door, “Hurry up.”

She started walking to the door, reading the writing on the paper at the same time. Park Eunji, Floor 13, room 101 Seoul Hospital.

What was happening?

When she got to the hospital, she rushed to the right floor and burst through the room, to see Eunji lying on the bed with a doctor towering over her.

Ara’s worried expression caught the doctor’s eye and he turned to her, “Hello there, are you her guardian?”

“Uhm, kind of, her father’s coming in a few minutes, I’m her teacher,” she walked closer to her, but before she could ask what was wrong, she heard someone else entering.

“Eunji?” behind Ara was a panting Jimin, his eyes trained on the little girl in the bed.

“What’s happened?” he directed at the doctor, “What happened to her? She just had a cold this morning.”

“Well, this young one’s got a case of strep throat,” the doctor sighed, looking over at her, “Thank goodness it was discovered before it got worse.”

Ara had no idea what that was but it sounded severe to her, “Will she be okay?”

He nodded, “We’ll have to put her on strict treatment until symptoms discontinue, but she should be fine in due time. It’s really important that she starts this treatment promptly, however, or else it could put her in more danger.”

Jimin dipped his head, standing beside her, “Please do what you can to make her better, please.”

The doctor gave them both a reassuring smile, placing a hand on Jimin’s back, “Of course, this condition is not common but it’s not my first time so she’s going to be fine. I’m just going to need another hour or so to do a few more examinations and tests as well as administering some treatment before I give you the prescription. Could you please wait outside so we have more space for the rest of the nurses to come in?”

“O-Okay,” Ara bowed, starting to walk to the door, waiting for Jimin to follow, sitting in the seats just outside the room. She watched as nurses started to pour into the room, and she couldn’t deny it looked much scarier than what the doctor had made it out to be.

Jimin’s lips were trembling and his eyes were desperate as he looked at the medical professionals filling the room.

Ara smiled, tilting her head so he was looking at her instead.

“Jimin, she’ll be fine.”

He blinked, sinking into his seat, “I really hope so.”

“Did you not hear what the doctor said? With some medicine, she’ll get better, okay?”

He nodded, closing his eyes. She could tell he was trying to refrain from saying what he really felt. It was as if he had so much more bottled up inside of him but he couldn’t let it out.

“Jimin, you alright?” she decided to ask, her eyes focusing on the way he slowly opened his own, and she saw a hint of red, a hint of desperation, a hint of his whole world crumbling to pieces.

“Yeah,” he sighed, biting his lip.

Her hand went to his shoulder, patting it slightly, “Eunji’s going to be okay, c’mon, let’s go get something to eat.”

“U-Uh it’s okay,” he looked to you, “you go get something, I’ll wait here.”

“You think I didn’t know you were going to say that?” she got up, holding your palm out for him, “Just come with me, I doubt anything will happen in the next ten minutes.”

He stared at her hand for a full five seconds, “Fine.” standing up, he sighed, “Only ten minutes.”

Ara’s smile was victorious, “I saw Dunkin Donuts across the street, aren’t you in the mood for something sweet?”

He opened his mouth to say something but shut it right away. Rolling her eyes, she headed to the donut shop, one hand swinging with exaggeration and the other firmly holding his.

“Two glazed donuts please.”

—

The two spent the next half hour in silence, Ara knew that Jimin wouldn’t want to talk about anything but Eunji and she didn’t want to talk about anything else either, so they sat there, eating their donuts, watching the world pass by in front of their eyes. They finally finished their donuts and Ara knew Jimin would want to go right back to the hospital room, so she put away their trays and stood up, taking his hand and started to slowly walk to Eunji’s room.

They were almost there, when she saw Eunji’s room in the distance, she squeezed Jimin’s hand.

He forced a smile at her, “Thank you for helping Ara,” he said softly, “I don’t think I would have been able to compose myself if you weren’t here.”

She stopped walking, causing her to pull on his hand and made him stop walking, turning to look at her.

Her thumbs caressed his cheek, her eyes pulling his to them like a magnet. “You don’t have to pretend to be strong in front of me,” her smile, much like her voice, was soft. “I’m so proud of all you’ve done for Eunji. You’re not an incompetent father, in any case you’re one of the best fathers I’ve ever seen.”

Ara could tell Jimin had been beating himself up on the inside over this. As if Eunji being hospitalised was because of him somehow.

She brought his hand to her lips and pressed them against it, “Okay, are you ready to go and see your daughter? She’ll be fine, I promise.”

“Let’s go,” he breathed out.

Ara turned and opened the door to Eunji’s room, her bright smile faded right when she saw the long black haired girl sitting next to Eunji’s bed.

She turned around right when they entered and Ara felt Jimin immediately let go of her hand.

“Seolhyun? What are you doing here?”

#ot7network #jiminnetwork #bts #bts scenario #bts scenarios #bts imagine #sunshine #jimin scenario #jimin scenarios #jimin fanfiction #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #jimin fanfic #father!jimin

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allwritealreadysaysbliss · 6 years ago

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For Now, Chicago

November 6th would have been my 10-year anniversary in Chicago. But at the end of October, I moved back to LA, where I grew up, just two weeks shy of this deca-milestone.

The 6th came and went like it always does: the day passes and some time the following week, I wake up and think, “Oh! My Chicago anniversary.” And suddenly every dolt husband in every sitcom about marriage makes sense to me.

I moved to Chicago a few months after graduating from the University of Michigan. I didn’t want to be near my immediate family, and I didn’t want to go to New York where almost every single person I knew was moving. New York overwhelmed me and exacerbated my anxiety. The filth. The crowds. A decision I often worry was a mistake. I grew apart from groups of people who all spent their early 20s living in small apartments they couldn’t afford, eating $20 salads they couldn’t afford, and partying like college never ended. They bonded through survival of The City in a way I will never make up for, though I’ve tried. But for me, then, Chicago felt like the right place to be. I liked that Chicago had the central city feel of New York – a business district, skyscrapers, public transportation (I didn’t want to take it, I just liked the character it added to the city), walkups, a bustling downtown where other recent grads were centrally located – but with the sense of space of L.A. – neighborhoods, manageable driving, people who smiled. The best of both worlds.

I liked the idea of forging my own path and starting over. I had spent long weekends off school in Chicago with my college roommate, enough to decide I liked it there, and I had some family in the suburbs, a safety net I thought. The city was fun and alert (a tempered version of the indescribable Energy people attribute to NY) and I already knew from Ann Arbor that I liked the generally gentle natures of Midwestern people.

Often, I think back through my ten years in Chicago (that barely feel like two maybe three); it’s usually around my birthday or New Year’s Eve. I try to scroll through the mental montage of how I’ve celebrated each of these occasions (though I still maintain that birthdays should be a celebration of the mother, not the child), then end up spiraling into the broader memory flip-book of how I’ve spent each year, month, day. And every time, I come to the same place: what the fuck have I been doing for the last (four, five, eight, ten) years?

I don’t have a concrete answer. I don’t have any of the things I thought I’d find in Chicago – a husband or at the very least, a serious boyfriend, children, a lucrative career. That list we’re “supposed” to have checked off by our 30s is mostly if not entirely unmarked.

I made friends (the day I picked up my keys to my first Chicago apartment) with a group of med students who entirely composed my social circle for two-and-half years and with whom, I’ve since lost touch. I got to spend quality time with cousins and their kids, and I met and got close to my dad’s first cousins (and their kids and grandkids). I lived alone, I lived with roommates, I lived back in LA in 2011 for five weeks before returning to Chicago for a job as an assistant account executive at an ad agency…my first real job. I shifted paths at the same agency and started copywriting in Chicago. I got laid off from my first real job in Chicago. I found doctors I liked and trusted and have recommended to newcomers. I learned to take the El (a greater accomplishment than I wish to admit, but my anxiety makes crowded, enclosed, dirty spaces unbearable). I got sick…a lot – colds, flus, sliced-open foot from a broken bottle at a bar, strep so severe my tonsils swelled until they closed off my airway. (I was in the ER so frequently that when I moved home for those five weeks, it felt like Chicago had gotten what it wanted – rid of me.) I welcomed and housed old friends who were newly making Chicago their home and said goodbye to those who were moving on. I went to parties. I went to therapy. I went to too many Lollapaloozas. I turned 30 in Chicago. I got to watch most of my friends get married and become parents in Chicago. I signed up for Instagram and (resigned to) online dating in Chicago. I had my first (brief) relationship in Chicago. I struggled with my intimacy issues in my first (brief) relationship in Chicago. I became friends with guys I dated and told a good friend I had feelings for him (for the first and only time) in Chicago. I adopted my cat in Chicago. Her name is Phoebe; she’s perfect. I started, but didn’t finish, a double master’s program in special and elementary ed at DePaul. I completed a post-baccalaureate program in creative writing at Northwestern. I found Yolk, my favorite restaurant. I took a million dance classes, hosted college dance team reunions that slept 15 people in my one-bedroom apartment, and refused to admit I wasn’t dancing anymore, even though I wasn’t dancing anymore, in Chicago. I got drunk and saw concerts and argued with friends and made up with friends and took trips that I returned home from to Chicago. I complained about the weather and the traffic and bills in Chicago. I overshared with “work friends” who then became “real friends” in Chicago. I was in a dinner club and a bromance and found my “market buddy” and my “sister wife” (an altered definition in which I marry a bestie’s brother) in Chicago. I tried new restaurants and ate until I felt sick in Chicago. I struggled with depression so deeply in Chicago, I wondered if anybody would even notice if I disappeared. I felt abandoned by people in Chicago. I felt more support than I’ve ever felt before in Chicago. I accepted help when I needed it most in Chicago. I decided to (and went through two cycles trying to) freeze my eggs in Chicago. I faced my OCD in a way I never had before in Chicago. (I didn’t have a choice. The cleaning and thought cycles became so repetitive, they started affecting my functioning, my relationships, my ability to get to work, my ability to hide it from friends. I considered and tried medication for the first time in Chicago.) I decided fall was my favorite season and pumpkin patching was my favorite activity. I poached friends and sang car duets and ate cheese plates and truffle fries and truffle chickpeas and truffle everything and created inside universes. I laughed until I couldn’t breathe, until my eyes watered, until I forgot why I was laughing. I stole clothes from people in Chicago – a bad habit I’ve always had. I asked an immeasurable number of questions in Chicago. I lost my virginity in Chicago. I had my first heartbreak in Chicago. I created an invaluable family of friends for myself in Chicago.

And I found improv in Chicago. Almost by accident. Entirely by kismet. Improv changed my life. And when I fall upon the feeling of regret I never lived in New York, I remind myself of what I likely would have missed. I would not have found the people and community I found through improv, the tenets of an art form that are, at their most basic elements, a beautiful way in which to live, the belief in myself that I can do what I’ve always wanted to do. I would not have discovered storytelling or my voice. I would not have found this outlet that has become an integral part of my mental health. I would not have been able to experience my last five years in Chicago with the same sense of novelty. I would not have found myself. When I think of that list of things I wish I had by now, I wonder if it remained unfulfilled because I wasn’t who I was meant to be yet. (I do wish I’d found improv earlier, but what can you do?)

I became a person in Chicago.

Thank you to the people who shaped me while I was there and who will continue to be part of the story.

Chicago will always be home. I will forever be grateful for the space it gave me. And I know, when I need to, I can always rest my head on its broad shoulders and breathe.

#chicago #loveletter #bye for now #thankyou #thankyouletter #moving #second puberty #growing up

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master-sass-blast · 6 years ago

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Strong as Stone --Part Forty-One

Wow, this just flowed out of me.

Last time: We got to see the end of Thanos! Nebula killed him! The world was saved! Fuck yeah!

This time: things take a turn for the better --and the surprising.

Rating: T for nightmares, doctor’s appointments, and stress.

Oh, and mentions of pregnancy. *waggles eyebrows*

Pairings: M’Baku x Okoye, Shuri x OC, and T’Challa x Nakia.

@skysynclair19, @the-last-hair-bender

Death is not an end, only a transformation. Destruction is not an end, only an opportunity to rebuild. Even the future is not an end to the present, because all the future is the coming moment.

Look for beginnings, my dears, not ends. Some of the most beautiful flowers grow among the ashes of what we once knew.

The air smelled like blood and death. Screams carried on the wind, human and alien alike.

Keep moving. Keep moving. Keep moving.

One kill, another kill, and another, and again. Again. Again. An impenetrable sea of black limbs and mouths and teeth, pressing in on her until she was suffocating.

Keep moving. Keep moving. Keep moving.

He stood above it all, massive and terrifying as he parted the waters of death and destruction. His smile was cold, cruel, as he lifted his hand to let the sunlight catch on the gauntlet sitting there.

Every instinct in her told her to freeze, to make herself small in the sight of this monster.

Keep moving. Keep moving. Keep moving.

The stones glowed for a single, horrible moment, and then he snapped his fingers.

The world exploded into ash. Faces and bodies --friends, family--dissolved into the wind, falling away like distant memories.

T’Challa. Shuri. Dewani. Aneka. Ayo. M’Baku.

She screamed, over and over as they faded away again and again and again--

And then the scene changed, and it wasn’t her new family she was screaming for, but the old one. Two bodies laying in a field, bloodied and mangled in the wake of an explosion.

She was alone, surrounded by smoke and ash.

Always ash.

I can’t breathe--

“Okoye! ‘Koye, wake up!”

She came to with a sob, hands shaking and sweaty in the still darkness of the pre-dawn.

M’Baku’s arms were already around her as he pressed his lips against the top of her head, her forehead, her cheeks, the bridge of her nose. “It was just a dream, ‘koye. Just a dream.”

She trembled in his arms, trying --and failing--to not cry. “I keep seeing everyone die! It’s the King, then the Princess, and Dewani, and Ayo, and you, and then it’s just my parents, and--”

“It’s okay, it’s okay. It’s just a dream. It’ll take a whole lot more than some over-sized purple idiot with his head up his own ass to take me away from you.”

She let out a thready laugh. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“I’m not.”

“But I lost you, just like I lost my parents. I lost Ayo, Aneka, half my team, my friends. Everywhere I go in life I just keep losing--”

“And you saved them. You saved me.”

“But I can’t always save everyone.”

“You don’t have to.” He kissed her temple. “Thanos was a once in a lifetime opponent, and he’s dead. I seriously doubt there’s anything else in the universe that could manage what he did.”

She sniffed and wiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand. “You don’t know that.”

“I don’t have to. If I spend every day worrying about what could fall out of the sky, I’ll miss what’s right in front of me.”

She sighed. “I know, I know, it just--”

“It hits deep for you, ‘koye. I know it does.” He pressed a series of kisses against her knuckles. “You’ll find your feet again. I know you will.”

“Not without a lot of falling on my ass first,” she grumbled bitterly.

“That’s just a part of life.” Another kiss on her temple. “And I’ll be right by your side to help you back up when you do.”

She sighed, somewhat soothed, and tucked her face into the crook of his neck. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

She tried to go back to sleep, really tried, but was too wired to get anywhere. The dream, albeit gone, still lingered in the corners of her mind, along with a certain itch at the base of her gut. An ache.

A need.

“Are you still awake?”

“Yeah. You alright?”

By way of response, she started kissing his neck, trailing kisses up his skin until she reached his mouth.

He kissed her back with the same intensity, the same heat she’d kissed him with. He drew her up in his arms, clutching her against his chest before rolling and positioning her underneath him.

She clung to the massive span of his shoulders, to him. “Please. Please, please, please--”

“It’s alright,” he murmured as he pressed his lips against her jaw. “I’ve got you.”

She shivered as he moved his lips lower and wrapped her legs around his hips. He always does.

It was Ayo who’d noticed first. The headaches, the dizziness, the stomach problems that wouldn’t go away. “Maybe you picked something up from the Avengers when they helped us defeat Thanos. Or maybe it’s something from the Soul Stone realm, or from where Thanos was hiding.”

Okoye sincerely hoped it was the first option. A mild flu or virus, she could deal with.

Some sort of supernatural or extraterrestrial infection, though? Nope. That was well out of her league.

Either way, it didn’t change where she wound up: sitting on a chair in an exam room in a private medicinal practice reserved for the Dora Milaje and the War Dogs. The practice itself specialized in physical illnesses from the outside world not common to Wakanda, and Okoye felt confident that whatever she’d picked up could be easily dealt with.

The door to the exam room swung open, and a diminutive woman with dreadlocks that hung down her back and clear, bright eyes nodded at her. “General. What brings you to us today?”

“I think I picked up something while working with the Avengers,” Okoye started before she outlined her symptoms. “I’ve been dealing with them for a few weeks now, and nothing seems to help.”

The doctor nodded as she took her notes, then frowned thoughtfully as she looked through Okoye’s file. “You wouldn’t happen to be overdue for your contraceptive shot, would you?”

Okoye froze. “I --what?”

“All the symptoms you described combined together are a dead match for the early onset of pregnancy, General. And... ah, as I thought, you are overdue for the shot. The appointment was scheduled during the midst of the Thanos crisis; that’s probably why you missed one.”

Okoye blinked. She’d been prepared for some sort of illness, maybe even a deadly extraterrestrial disease, but... Pregnant? Could I really be pregnant?

“Have you engaged in unprotected vaginal intercourse in the past few weeks that resulted in ejaculation? Have you noticed any irregularities in your menstrual cycle, or any odd spotting?”

Her period wasn’t that far off, and she’d definitely been stressed enough to set it back a week or so, and as far as sex...

Well, near death situations did make for fantastic reunion sex.

“Fuck. I mean, I have--”

The doctor smirked and nodded. “We’ll do some bloodwork and test for pregnancy and a few viruses that would also match those symptoms. If nothing comes back, we’ll do some more specific tests, alright?”

It’s not like she had a reason to refuse. The best approach to this is to be practical, she told herself as the doctor left to send a phlebotomist in. Panic won’t help anything.

The blood was drawn and the phlebotomist left, and then she didn’t have anything else to distract herself with.

Focus on your breathing, she told herself as she felt her irritation with the unknown start to creep up her spine. You and M’Baku have already talked about and planned on having kids. And you don’t even know if you’re pregnant or not. There’s no point in freaking out when you don’t even have all the information--

A knock on the door sounded, and then the doctor was walking back in. “You’re pregnant.”

Well... shit.

“You’re back early.” Ayo arched an eyebrow as she watched Okoye move around her office. “I thought they gave mandatory time off for the flu.”

“I don’t have the flu.”

“Mono, strep, whatever--”

“I’m pregnant, Ayo.”

At a different point in time, the look of sheer, unadulterated shock on Ayo’s face might’ve been laughter worthy. “Well... okay.” The Commander gave her a careful look. “Is this a ‘congratulations’ situation, or a ‘I’d give you wine if you weren’t growing a baby’ situation?”

That did make her laugh, just a little. “M’Baku and I were talking about having kids, only after Dewani’s trial. And it’s so soon after Thanos, and--” She sighed. “I’m just really tired.”

“I’ve heard that can be one of the side effects.”

“Oh, fuck off. You know what I mean.”

Ayo smirked. “It’s a lot, back to back.”

Okoye nodded, then sighed. “I need to head to the Jabari lands to tell M’Baku. I don’t want to wait, or have him find out from someone else--”

“Go. I’ve got you covered here.”

“Thank you.”

“Anytime.” Ayo was quiet for a moment, then stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her best friend in a hug. “Congratulations, Okoye.”

She smiled --finally--and hugged her back. “Thank you.”

She had to keep herself from sprinting into the Great Lodge when she finally landed in the main courtyard. You’re going to have to start taking it easier. May as well practice it now.

She might’ve power-walked, just a little. She was too keyed up from the flight to take things slow.

O’Chenga furrowed his brow when he saw her walk into the lodge. “General. Not that I’m not happy to see you, but why are you here? Is something wrong in the lower lands?”

She shook her head. “I need to speak with M’Baku. Immediately. It’s a... personal emergency.”

He regarded her for a moment, then nodded. “He’s in a meeting, but I imagine he’ll clear everyone out when he realizes you’re here.”

She followed him to the throne room, fighting the urge to activate her spear and carry it with her. This isn’t a fight. You don’t need a weapon.

She’d known different soldiers to sleep with various weapons or armor pieces for comfort; she’d never thought of herself as the type to assign those sentiments to a sharpened piece of metal.

“Wait out here,” O’Chenga said. “I’ll let him know that you’re here and it’s urgent. Come in once the advisers start leaving.”

She did as told, keeping to the shadows when the doors to the throne room opened. She could hear M’Baku’s voice, hear the pause in conversation as O’Chenga walked in and made his way to the throne--

“I need you all to excuse yourselves for a moment. An urgent matter has arisen that needs my direct attention.”

She waited until various advisers started leaving, then slipped past them and into the throne room.

“What do you mean she didn’t say--”

“She just said it was a personal emergency, and I figured if it was urgent enough for her to fly up here unannounced that you’d want to see her,” O’Chenga said. “She’s here now; you can ask her yourself. I’ll give you two a moment.”

M’Baku was across the throne room in the blink of an eye, simultaneously holding her close and keeping her at arm’s length so he could inspect her, as though whatever she was dealing with would be visible and easily discerned. “‘Koye, what is it? Are you alright? Why are you here?”

She waited until O’Chenga had closed the doors behind him, then ducked her head and swallowed hard. “I went to the doctor’s today, to see what was wrong with me--”

“Are you sick? Is it serious?”

“No. I mean, it is serious, but I’m not sick.”

“Then what--”

“I’m pregnant, M’Baku.”

He stopped, mid-ramble, and stared down at her. “What --are you sure?”

“They did bloodwork to find out. Unless you doubt the legitimacy of that, there’s no way I’m not pregnant.” She fiddled nervously with the cuff of her coat when he didn’t respond. “It’s yours, if you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t worried about that,” M’Baku said after a moment. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. “I’m worried about why you look so upset. Is there something wrong with the baby? Are the doctors worried about the pregnancy posing a danger to you?”

“No, no, it’s too early to tell any of that and I’m perfectly healthy. I just... we weren’t planning on having kids until after Dewani’s trial. I don’t want her to feel abandoned by us having a kid of our own.”

“If it’s the timing that’s bothering you, we can always terminate and try again later. It’s not like either of us are on our last legs of life.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think we can. This baby is the heir to your title. I don’t think we can terminate the pregnancy, not without everyone flipping their collective shit.”

“Well, how many people know besides the two of us?”

“My physician and Ayo. I... I told her before I came to see you; I needed her to cover for me today.”

M’Baku nodded and kissed her forehead. “Well, the doctor’s bound by patient-doctor confidentiality, and I know Ayo would take the news to her grave and nowhere else if you asked her. If you’re not ready --if you don’t want to keep the baby--then that’s it. It’s your body, Okoye. This is your choice, and I’ll support you either way.”

Relief flowed through her, and she let her forehead rest against his chest. “Thank you.”

“Do you want to? Terminate the pregnancy, that is?”

She thought for a moment, then shook her head with a soft smile. “No. I really do want to keep it. I’ve only known for half a day and I already love them so much. I’m just--”

“Worried about Dewani,” M’Baku finished. “How about we ask her how she feels about it? If she’s fine with it, we keep the baby. If not, we’ll figure things out from there.”

Okoye nodded, feeling more at ease than she had in a while. “That works.”

“Wait. Are you serious? Are you really serious?”

Okoye nodded. “Ye--”

Dewani let out a whoop and pumped her fist. “Fuck yeah! I’m gonna be an aunt!”

M’Baku shushed her with a laugh. “Easy. It’s not common knowledge yet. We wanted to check with you first--”

“Check with me for what? I’m not the one that has to carry it.”

“We wanted to be sure,” Okoye interjected. “That you wouldn’t feel... abandoned if we chose to keep the baby, in light of your trial coming up.”

Dewani blinked, then lunged forward and wrapped her arms around Okoye. “Keep it. Please. It’ll give me something to look forward to for when all this bullshit is over.”

Okoye hugged her back. “We just wanted to be sure.”

“Look, it’s your baby and body. If you want to terminate, terminate, just don’t --don’t do it for me, okay? I’ll be fine.”

“Well, we both want the baby,” Okoye said as she stepped back. “So termination isn’t going to factor in unless it’s a matter of life and death.”

Dewani nodded, then grinned. “Oh, Hanuman, this is so cool. Oh my gosh. I’m gonna teach them so many swear words. Holy shit.”

“You better not,” M’Baku said, grin undercutting the warning tone of his voice.

“Watch me. Anyway, what’s next?”

Okoye sighed. “Well, ‘next’ involves flying back to the capital and alerting the King so I can start delegating different work duties for the better part of the next year... and then telling my friends, I suppose.”

“Can we come with? Can I come with? I wanna see Shuri.”

“I don’t see why not.”

M’Baku jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Go pack us a couple bags. I’ll come with, too.”

“Awesome!”

Okoye chuckled and shook her head as Dewani took off down the hall at a dead sprint. “To be that young again.”

“I’m good with where I’m at.” M’Baku was quiet for a moment, then grinned down at her. “We’re having a baby.”

She grinned back, excitement sweeping through her. “We’re having a baby!” She giggled with him, and smiled with dizzy euphoria when he swept her into his arms and kissed her. We’re having a baby.

After several months of frustration, it was nice to finally have something good.

As it turned out, though, they weren’t the only ones expecting. As soon as she’d informed T’Challa and Nakia of the news --and, inadvertently, Ramonda and Shuri, since they’d been in the room--Nakia had smiled softly and told her that she’d found out she was pregnant earlier that morning as well.

M’Baku had blinked, then looked over at Dewani and said “I’ve never been so grateful that you’re a lesbian until now.”

The room had exploded into cackles of laughter --a welcome sound in the wake of so much stress, loss, and rebuilding.

Aneka and Djabi --along with a few other women--had outright squealed when she’d broken the news to her women, while others had started trading money.

Because there’d been a betting ring going for when she’d get pregnant. Apparently.

She’d been to happy, coasting on the high of ‘having a baby, building a new family of my own’ to really give it much reaction.

Now, though, she was tidying up her office; it needed a good decluttering, anyway, and it was enough of a low impact task that M’Baku was flipping out --as much as he flipped out, anyway--over her doing it.

“I’ve already talked to Princess Shuri,” M’Baku said. “She said she can have the rail system fully functional in four months.”

Okoye nodded as she filed some old mission notes from when they were tracking down Ross into one of the cabinets behind her. “Is it weird that I kind of want to find a new apartment? I’m still happy to stay with you and use the transport system to commute, but I don’t want to stay at the palace when you’re here. I like having a place outside of work in Birnin Zana, and I’ve got more than enough money from Trump’s settlement suit to make it sustainable.”

“That sounds fine to me.” He grinned. “Honestly, I can’t believe this is really happening. I almost feel like I’m dreaming.”

“Want me to pinch you?”

“No, but I can think of several other things I’d like to have you do to me.”

“And here I thought I was supposed to be the one with the hormonal surges.” She smirked, then looked up when someone knocked on the office door. “Come in.”

Aneka walked in, holding a letter marked with the Border tribe insignia. “This just came for you.”

Okoye raised her eyebrows. “Someone sent a physical letter to me?”

Wakanda had a functioning postal system, but most interactions were kept digital for efficiency’s sake. Physical mail was saved for formal functions or letters, and death notices.

“According to the note that came with it, the person who sent it is claiming to be your late mother’s sister.”

She felt her entire world go sideways. After everything she’d been through, it seemed impossible. After all this time... is there really someone left? How’d they even find me?

She could feel M’Baku helping her into a chair, distantly hear him thanking Aneka--

And then he was kneeling in front of her. “Hey. Deep breaths. Everything’s okay.”

“It is,” she agreed quietly. “It’s just... a surprise. A big one.”

He nodded. “I know.” He looked down at the small, crisp envelope in his hand, then back up at her. “What do you want to do with this?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. What do you think I should do?”

He shrugged back. “There’s no harm in checking it out.”

He was right, she decided. If everything turned out to be a bust, she could walk away from whatever --whoever--she found through the letter. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

She took the letter from his hand and opened the envelope.

#sass writes #black panther fanfiction #okoye x m'baku #shuri x oc #t'challa x nakia #i literally started writing this this morning #and it's done before noon #go me!#wakanda forever

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mdemontespan1667 · 4 years ago

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As a former waitress/bartender for 20+ years it's not just the wage issue. At the time when I left the industry I was making $3.10 an hour and that's after working at the same place for 14 years. Granted, I consistently brought home between $400 to $500 (if we had a good band I could pull in $600 a night) a week. Great wages right? But here's the issues:

1) If I didn't work, I didn't get paid.

I went to work with strep, bronchitis, pneumonia, the flu, numerous colds, went back a week early after my partial hysterectomy and only took one day off after breaking my foot badly (I spent 6 weeks working in a boot. That was fun). And it's not just the servers. Kitchen staff routinely came in sick too. Think about that the next time you order food.

2) There is, usually, no benefits at all.

Want health insurance? Nope. How about PTO? Are you fucking crazy? How about a little retirement fund? Hahahaha. Maybe a day or two of sick time? Lol now you're just being silly. And even if an establishment offers full time employees benefits 99% of the staff will be worked just under full time hours so the company can avoid offering said benefits.

3) I can't count the number of paychecks I received that were for $0.00. That's right. My paychecks could be zero, zip, nada. Now, yes, those weeks were weeks that I made excellent tips but, let's be honest, no other job gets away with that.

4) Many people don't realize this but the majority of servers/bartenders etc get taxed on a certain percentage of what they sell. So if your bill is $100 and I get taxed 10% and you only leave $5 (extreme example) guess who has to make up the other $5? Not the fucking employer. It's my responsibility to come up with that $5.

5) Sexual harassment is part of the job.

Yes. It's wrong. No it shouldn't happen. I understand that. However if you don't reciprocate flirting etc you won't make as much money as someone who does. It's that simple. Is there a line? Most of the time. But sometimes not. That all depends on your employer. Some managers will back you up. In my experience, and other people in the industry I know, most won't because the customer is always right.

6) You constantly get told it's not a "real job."

I don't know how many times I heard this. "When are you going to get a real job?" Bitch this is a real job. In my opinion it ranks up there with some of the most difficult. YOU HAVE TO HAVE YOUR SHIT TOGETHER. EVERY SHIFT. You can't just phone it in. If you're not 100% there you don't make any money. Table 12 needs ranch, Table 3 needs 2 soda refills, Table 8 needs another round of drinks that you better have memorized cause there's 10 people at that table, Table 5 is pissy cause it took 20 minutes to get a hamburger (they apparently think that the laws of fucking physics don't apply to their food when the place is packed) and a table of 20 just set in your section and is giving you the death stare cause you haven't brought menu's yet. So you're carrying ranch, 2 sodas, 10 alcoholic drinks, apologizing to Table 5 and have 20 menu's stuck under your arm. Plus the cooks are yelling about the food you have up. It's not for the weak.

I'm not saying all this to make anyone feel sorry for servers/bartenders. It's a career we choose. We know it's tip based. We know there's no benefits. We know sometimes the customers suck (if you ever see a stressed server leave the floor stressed and come back 5 minutes looking fresher they went into the kitchen walk in freezer and screamed. Trust me. It helps). But that doesn't make any of this right.

End rant.

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yuki-setsu · 7 years ago

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12 Days of (Lance) Whumpmas! - Day 4 [Strep Throat]

this is more of h/c than whump but i tried T__T this is so late too because i was out all day adlkfjaskl it’s 3am i’m tired pls forgive

also my first doing a modern college AU for voltron hhhHHH i like it

part of the 12 Days of VLD Whumpmas hosted by @vldwhumpmas2017! check out more info on the challenge here if you want to participate!

Keith knew something was wrong when Lance hadn't messaged the group chat in 2 days. Usually, his phone could barely keep up with the amount of messages Lance sent in one go, but right now... it was quieter than it had ever been. Hunk chimed in once, being the first to note that Lance hadn't chatted in a while and ask where he was. Which was weird, because Hunk and Lance practically knew each other's schedules on a day-to-day basis.

But more importantly, the “Spectacular Christmas Bonanza” that Lance planned for days was supposed to be happening tonight. In 10 minutes. And he was nowhere to be found.

“Still nothing?” Shiro asked, setting plates on the table. Most of their living room was cleaned up in preparation for the party, so all that was left was for Keith and Shiro to wait for the others to arrive.

“Nope.” Keith huffed out an irritated breath. He drummed his fingers against his leg once before getting up and reaching for his jacket. “This is ridiculous. Do you think he's home?”

Lance, by some incredible coincidence, had managed to move into the apartment next to Keith and Shiro's, something he'd been elated to discover one autumn morning when they all left for class at practically the same time. If he wasn't home, then Pidge could probably track down his GPS or something.

Shiro shrugged. “It's worth a shot. I'll let the others in if they get here before you. Be careful.”

“I'm literally walking next door, Shiro.”

“And you forget the number of times you nearly slipped down the stairs at the apartment's main entrance whenever it was even a little bit icy.”

Keith pulled up his hood, hoping it hid the way his face burned up. “It wasn't that many.” He stalked across the room, Shiro's laughter trailing after him. “I'll be back. Shouldn't be more than 5 minutes.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets, pointedly taking care to walk down the main steps, more for his self-assurance than anything. They weren't that slippery. The winter winds bit at his face, and for the first time, Keith was grateful Lance lived so close because it was so cold.

He walked up the steps—carefully again—and pressed at the button next to Lance's name. Room 214. 15 seconds and no reply later, Keith was lucky that another resident chose that moment to use their own key to get inside, kind enough to hold the door open for him to step inside as well. Keith ducked his head, managing out a thanks before he jogged for the stairwell.

The second floor was tranquil, covered in old, brown carpeting that echoed Keith's every footstep. He reached Lance's door, trying not to knock too loudly and wake up the entire complex. Still no answer. But one glance at the ground was enough for Keith to notice the thin stream of light peeking out from under the door, which made it almost certain that Lance was home. The amount of times Lance had chastised both him and Shiro for leaving the lights on in an empty room whenever he came over was so high that Keith couldn't even keep track. No way Lance would commit the same crime.

“Hey, Lance.” Keith started, wincing at the loud way his voice echoed down the hall. “It's Keith. Uh, you remember the party's today, right?”

Through the door, he could've sworn he heard coughing, and Keith reached for the doorknob without a second thought. The door clicked open easily, and he took a moment to process that he could actually go inside. What idiot doesn't lock his door?

The coughing had died down by the time Keith stepped inside and closed the door, only to be replaced with a low groan. Well, Lance being down with the cold explained his absence. He could've at least messaged the group, though.

Keith stepped down the narrow hallway to Lance's room, whose door was ajar. Yet when he peeked inside, the room was empty, save for the messy bed. He glanced at the small jar of pills on the bedside drawer just as he heard another bout of coughing, wet and loud. Keith jumped at the noise, whipping around and tracking it down to the small kitchen. And that was where he found Lance, shivering and curled up on the ground. A dangerous mess of shattered glass covered the floor around him, and Keith just barely stopped himself from stepping inside the kitchen and onto a large shard. The bigger problem was the blood he saw on the ground.

“Shit, Lance. Don't move.” Keith breathed out, eyes wide. He scanned the kitchen for anything he could use to clean the glass up, only to come up empty. “I'll be right back. Hold on.” He ran for Lance's room, glad he didn't have to dig around too much to spot a small dustpan and sweeper. He worked fast to clean up while he tried to talk to Lance, who was barely coherent.

When most of the danger was gone, Keith set the dustpan aside and moved to get Lance off the ground and sitting against the cabinets. Keith could finally pinpoint the injury: a small but noticeable gash on his left hand, blood still slowly weeping out of the wound.

Keith leaned up and grabbed at a few sheets of paper towels before pressing it against the wound. “Lance, do you have a first aid box anywhere? Bathroom?”

Lance's eyes finally landed on Keith, eyes widening as if he just realized Keith was there. He nodded weakly.

“Okay.” Keith took Lance's other hand and used it to replace where his hand had been on top of the paper towels. “Try to keep some pressure on it to stop the bleeding. I'll be right back.”

Finding the kit was easy, the box sitting neatly on a shelf in the bathroom cabinet. He was glad Lance was pretty organized. By the time he got back, Lance was dangerously slumped over, trembling like he was sitting in the cold with no jacket on and not on his kitchen floor.

Keith ducked back towards the ground, hands on Lance's shoulders to guide him back upright. Lance groaned at the movement, eyes meeting his again. This time, a ghost of a smile touched his face. “Keith. Sup.”

Lance's voice was horribly scratchy and rough, but Keith ignored it. “Hi. Give me your hand.”

A slightly bigger smile. “You gonna propose or somethin'?”

If he weren't so worried, Keith might have rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

Lance offered his hand anyways, wincing as Keith cleaned out the wound and wrapped it with bandages. One problem down. He lifted a hand against Lance's forehead, surprised at the sudden heat that greeted him.

“That's some fever you got there. Is it the flu?” Keith asked, a frown touching his face.

Lance sighed, his head falling lightly against the cabinets. “Nah, it's strep. Sucks.”

Keith's eyes widened. Strep throat? What the hell, that was so much worse. Wasn't that contagious, too? Great. He thought back to the bottle of pills he spotted in Lance's room.

“You went to a doctor already?”

Lance nodded again before he jerked his head to the side, coughing violently into his elbow. It wracked his entire body, and Keith had to keep him from falling over again. “Earlier today. Wasn't this bad yesterday...”

“Alright, alright, no more talking. You sound like shit and your throat needs to rest.” Keith blew out a breath, running a hand across his face. “Let's get you to bed first.” He thought for a moment longer, and his shoulders slumped with resignation. “You probably can't walk, so I'll carry you.”

Lance's eyes flickered over to him again, playful. “Aw, really?”

Keith ignored him, shifting an arm underneath Lance's legs and another across his back. “I told you not to talk. I'll drop you if you do.”

Lance grinned lazily, but he obliged. Lance's constant trembling and the heat emanating from his skin had Keith's annoyance drifting away pretty quickly, though. He was surprised Lance could still joke around in this state.

After tucking him in bed and having him take another antibiotic—apparently Lance had been trying to get a cup of water to take the medicine—Keith finally stepped aside and fished out his phone. He already had 2 missed calls and 5 new messages from Shiro, each more panicked than the last. He glanced back at Lance, who was—wow—already asleep, and stepped into the hallway before dialing Shiro's number.

Shiro picked up after the first ring. “Keith?! It's been almost 20 minutes, what happened?”

“Lance is sick. Strep throat.”

Shiro sucked in a breath. “Oh man. Did he see a doctor already?”

Keith leaned against the wall, adjusting his grip on the phone. “Yeah. He just took medicine and fell asleep. Don't know what you want to do about the party, though.”

“Hold on.” There was muffled silence as Shiro shifted the phone away from his mouth, speaking to someone in the background. Keith easily picked out the responding voices as both Hunk and Pidge, which was no surprise. More rustling before Shiro's voice rang through the phone again, loud and clear. “They're fine with postponing. Lance had been the main planner for this party, doesn't really make sense to celebrate without him.”

Keith blew out a breath, somewhat relieved. “Alright. I'll just wrap up a few things here and head back.”

Once he hung up, Keith went back towards the bathroom, grabbing a small washcloth and wetting it under cold water. He figured he should do something about the broken glass, too. Maybe he could toss it on the way back.

He tried to be careful when placing the washcloth on Lance's forehead, but his eyes still fluttered open at the contact. Any trace of his earlier amusement was gone, replaced with just bare exhaustion. It was kind of weird seeing Lance like that, and not a good weird. Keith didn't like it.

“Sorry, didn't mean to wake you. It's for the fever.” Keith said, straightening back up. Lance watched him wearily, but at least he wasn't talking like Keith had ordered. Seeing Lance so quiet was weird, too. Also not a good weird. “I'm gonna go back to my apartment to fill the others in on what happened, but I'll stop in a few hours when you gotta take the medicine again.”

Lance looked panicked at the prospect of Keith leaving, but relaxed a bit when he mentioned he was coming back again. He nodded, and Keith crossed his arms. Oh right, he almost forgot.

“And do you always not lock your door? It was unlocked when I got here. You know how dangerous that is?” Lance pointedly looked away, almost sheepish. “I'm locking it on the way out, so is there a key I can borrow to get in when I come back? I'll return it afterwards.” Lance glanced back at him, a silent question. Keith almost grinned at it. “Fine, you can talk. In as few words as possible.”

“Desk. Top right drawer.” Lance croaked out, grimacing at the way the words scraped out of his throat.

Keith fished out the key, tucking it into his pocket before he lightly patted the top of Lance's blanket. “Get better soon. We can't start the party until you're with us.”

Lance smiled at that, tired but genuine. He nodded, eyes already growing heavy. Keith made sure he actually fell asleep before quietly stepping back outside and towards the kitchen. He dumped the glass into a garbage bag and cleaned up the dried blood before washing the hell out of his hands and face. Then again, he'd carried Lance back to his room, so he couldn't be certain he hadn't already caught it. And on top of that, he was going back to Lance's apartment later. He'd probably need to stop by the doctor and get his own antibiotics tomorrow.

He disposed of the bag in the lobby before leaving the apartment, the cold air biting at his face like an old friend. He grumbled, so busy pulling his hood up that his foot caught on a patch of ice on the final step and sent him crashing on his butt. Nope. Shiro was never hearing about this.

#my writing #vld #voltron #lance #lance mcclain #shiro #keith #pidge #hunk #12 days of vld whumpmas

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acyborgkitty · 7 years ago

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I just finished watching Jennifer Brea’s incredible documentary Unrest on Netflix. Watch it now. Everyone should.

My story.

I became ill suddenly, and severely, in September (I think) of 2016. I had just moved to Providence in August from San Francisco, without my partner of 10+ years, to take a teaching job at Brown University. I was teaching a poetry workshop for Frequency Writers, a community writing group, as well as a class I developed for Brown’s Literary Arts department, Experimental Poets of Color. Providence is a city I love, and even though the gig was adjunct (i.e. no job security, no health insurance, etc.) I wanted to be in Providence, and I wanted to be teaching in my fiend. I had health insurance through the ACA at the time, and though I had been diagnosed with several mental illnesses many years before (major depression and general and social anxiety disorders) I felt that my hearth was well managed with the medication I was on.

I was so happy to be back in Providence, I would walk for hours around the city, sometimes 7 miles in one stretch, listening to music and books. I was thrilled to be teaching the class I desperately wish I had been able to take at any point in my education (which includes three masters degrees), and to be nearer to my friends and family who live in Boston and the surrounding areas. I missed my partner, but we’ve been long distance for much of our relationship (the price of being an artist in academia), and it seemed like he was getting ready to leave San Francisco and head back east himself.

It was the second meeting, I think, of the Frequency open poetry workshop. It was Wednesday night. I walked to the community gallery space on Carpenter St. where we held our meetings early, unlocked the doors, and made myself some tea. It was a normal night. At some point during the workshop I started to feel exhausted, sick, like I was getting a cold. I pushed through, but took a Lyft home. I woke up the next day and still felt bad. Worse, even. I cancelled that day’s class and stayed in bed. By the next week I still wasn’t feeling any better. I went to the CVS clinic to see if I had the flu, which was going around and apparently quite bad that year. I didn’t, I was told it was just a bad cold, and to take some cough suppressant for the bad cough.

I thought maybe I wasn’t sleeping well - I was tired all the time - and maybe that was making the cold last longer than normal. I had had (undiagnosed) chronic pain for years which had started in 2007 in my first year in grad school. It was especially bad in my neck and lower back, so I had spent years and a lot of money finding a really good mattress. But I had housemates that were young, noisy, up late, so I invested in an eye mask, noise-cancelling headphones that I slept in, and a white noise machine. I had to teach my classes, but I would show up, teach, and come immediately back home and stay in bed until I had to teach the next class. I spent several weeks like this, thinking it was just a cold, until someone pointed out that colds, even very bad ones, don’t last for several weeks.

I made an appointment with my primary care doctor in Boston. I’ve struggled finding doctors that take me seriously, like most women and non binary people I imagine, especially with chronic and challenging illnesses. This doctor listened to me, and was gentle, and that was pretty much all I could hope for. He examined me, and tested me for mono, strep, walking pneumonia (which I’d had before, and which was basically the closest comparable experience I had). I had none of them. Then we tested my thyroid, my B12 levels, and my immune functions. He found nothing wrong with me.

A digression on chronic pain, including a digression on trauma.

I had gone down a diagnostic wormhole several years ago when I’d first started getting tests to see if we could find an underlying cause for my chronic pain. It started in Iowa City, where I did my second graduate degree, and included MRIs, x-rays, testing for immunological disorders, cancers, and basically anything they could think of. Eventually I was referred to a psychologist, because they determined my pain might be a physical manifestation of trauma. And I’d had my share of trauma.

A digression on trauma. I grew up with an emotionally abusive mother who, though never diagnosed, meets all of the criteria for narcissistic personality disorder. I ran away from home as a teenager, living on the streets for most of a year, before re-establishing a relationship with my family, primarily my father who helped me get an apartment, back into school, and eventually into college. At that point my mother re-entered the picture, and my father stopped helping me pay for college, so I worked sometimes as many as 5 jobs while completing my undergraduate degree. I met my partner in undergrad, and he has been an immense help for me in recovering from my trauma, but like so many who were experienced long-term abuse as children, I probably will never be un-affected by my experiences.

So the trauma angle seemed at least plausible to me, and I went to a year’s worth of sessions with two different people, one a psychologist who specialized in and studied the manifestation of trauma as physical pain, and another who practiced CBT and meditative mindfulness therapy. Both helped immensely with my emotional state, but my pain persisted. So when I moved away for my third graduate degree (my first move to Providence) I transferred care and we started the diagnostics all over again. This time I saved all my records - I have my MRIs and my X-rays still in some box somewhere. We did CAT scans and I went to scores of specialists including an orthopedic surgeon who recommended surgery; a chiropractor who works with the Boston Ballet Company who diagnosed me as hyper-flexible and gave me strengthening exercises to do that actually seemed to help somewhat; and a neurologist who found nothing wrong with me at all. After four years of referrals and diagnostics, I found a integrative care physician who listened to me break down in her office, prescribed an anti-depressant that is also a sedative to help me fall asleep, and helped me come up with a plan to manage the pain. Massage, chiropractor, walking and stretching, the anti-depressants, 800mg Ibuprofen when I needed it, and Vicodin when nothing else helped.

After all of this, I wasn’t eager to go down another diagnostic chase.

Back to 2016.

By this point it was the middle of November. I was so sick that I couldn’t feed myself, I couldn’t do laundry, I couldn’t leave the house except for to teach, and then I spent the next 24-48 hours recovering mostly in bed from the fatigue it caused me. I was experiencing sever cognitive deficiencies, most notably my ability to process and retain information, and my ability to speak. It felt like I had dementia, or what I imagine dementia to feel like. I would read the same sentence over and over again and not understand it, or not remember it when I started the next one. I would fight to get up to go into the kitchen, only to forget what I was there for. Did I need water? Had I fed the cat? Did I need to use the bathroom? My father and brother were taking turns coming down to my house to prepare food for me for the week, and to get my groceries, and to do my laundry. I needed help with everything. I could do one, maybe two things in a given day. Those things included brushing my teeth and feeding the cat.

I couldn’t even research my condition, given my cognitive symptoms. I was angry, and many days I felt like it would be better to die. I couldn’t read or write, so I took up embroidery as a way to try to keep my life worth living, a way to keep making art.

In January, 2017 when my partner came to visit for his winter break, we went to my doctor together. I couldn’t remember the questions he wanted me to ask, and I couldn’t have remembered the answers anyway, and I certainly couldn’t get myself there and back without help, so him coming was the only way I was going to get there. I don’t remember much of the appointment, but I do remember my doctor suggested that I might be experiencing a severe prolonged depressive episode. Based on my previous diagnosis of depression. Based on the fact that there seemed to be nothing wrong with me, physically.

My partner didn’t buy it. I sort of did, or at least I didn’t have the energy to dispute it. My partner started researching, aggressively, and a few months later he came up with something. Maybe, he said, it was my copper IUD. Maybe I had copper toxicity. My doctor said that was impossible, that the IUD can’t cause copper toxicity, but my symptoms aligned, and there are thousands of women on the internet who have experienced copper poisoning from their IUD. So one day in April, my best friend took me to the hospital and I had mine removed. The next day, I felt better. Not 100% better, but maybe 40% better. The next day my partner and I went for a walk, the first time in almost a year I had felt able to do that.

I kept feeling better. Not getting better, but I stayed feeling about 40% better. A few days I felt almost entirely myself, but then the next day I would be exhausted again. I could do things, but if I pushed too hard, I would collapse and pay for it for days. I learned about spoons, and disability culture and activism. I learned about setting my limits, and prioritizing. I said no to almost everything, because almost nothing was worth the risk of incapacitation for me.

My brain started to recover too - I could read. I started writing in my journal, not poetry but at least writing of some sort. I felt hopeful that I was recovering. We bought a house, a big old Victorian that needs TLC, and I moved in there with 4 other queer artist friends. I didn’t get the tenure-track job at Brown, but I did get another adjunct offer to teach Book Arts, and I accepted - something I definitely couldn’t have done at my sickest, given that it’s a 15-hr a week studio course.

But now, a year post-removal, my memory is still a problem. And I still get exhausted a lot. A lot more than I used to, before I got sick. But the anecdotal evidence on the copper IUD detox forums says that it could take years to fully process the toxicity out of your system. The most severe days might be attributed to “dumps” - when the body releases stored copper all at once - and those days feel like my worst ones did when I was at my sickest. I had thought that when I felt better, I would start to do things again, go to poetry readings, have dinner with friends, go for walks, be part of the community I’d moved here because I loved. But I still say no to most things, or write them down in my calendar and don’t go. I know that if I push too hard, I’ll pay for it for days. And “too hard” is a moving target - it changes seemingly randomly, and I don’t know when I’m approaching it until it’s too late. Then I’m in bed for days.

I’ve been having an especially bad few days. Maybe a week. Maybe more. My memory, my brain isn’t good at sequence anymore, or keeping track of time. It’s frustrating, because I can’t keep track of my own symptoms. Sometimes I remember to write them down, and sometimes I forget, or am too tired. And there’s no one here to watch me, or help me - my partner doesn’t move here until June. Today, for example, I got up at 11 and I fed the cats. And I was so tired that I lay down, and just...passed out. I don’t remember falling back asleep, but then I woke up at 6 pm. I fed the cats again, and then had to go back to bed. The last week has been similar: do just what is necessary, then back to bed. It feels like I’m sick all over again.

I have had my period, which can be associated with copper dumps. I’m not saying it’s not copper “dumps,” or that it’s isn’t related to copper poisoning. But I watched Unrest and thought: “maybe this is what I have, too?” So many of those scenes were heartbreakingly familiar. I wept through most of it, because Jennifer was saying the things that I’d been feeling. About feeling like it was a good day when all I had done was survived it. About feeling like my life had ended, and that I had a new one now, one that sometimes didn’t feel like a life at all, but one that I still didn’t want to give up. About not being listened to, about not being believed. I wept at the thought of having a diagnosis, after all this time. Of maybe finally at least knowing what is wrong with me. Maybe.

But I don’t know how to find out. I don’t currently have health insurance, because the premium on my ACA policy from last year went up by 50% and I couldn’t afford it anymore, and adjuncts at Brown who teach fewer than 4 classes a year don’t get health insurance, and I’m only teaching 3, and I am barely able to do that; this semester teaching 2 classes took every bit of energy I had. I will get health insurance starting in September when my partner starts his new job in Providence, and maybe then I can get some answers. If I have the energy for it.

My story doesn’t have an ending yet. I’m in bed, as I have been all day. Writing this was the most writing I’ve done since I got sick. I’m grateful for that. It feels like, thanks to the work that Jennifer has done, an important story is at least starting to be told. Not just mine, but one that is shared by millions.

#chronic fatigue #chronically ill #m.e.#m.e./cfs #me/cfs #unrest #millionsmissing #iud copper toxicity #copper toxicity #spoonie #chronic illness #meaction #disability

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hq-cuties-pls · 7 years ago

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Hello! I really liked the scenarios you did for when the guys wives went into labor. I was curious if you could do the same thing but with Semi, Akaashi, Yamaguchi, and Tsukishima? Have a wonderful day! 💚

Sorry we’ve been so inactive lately, but I (finally) had my baby, and she’s been taking up a lot of my time. This isn’t going to be exactly like the other scenarios, but these are based on my actual labor and delivery experiences, so I hope you enjoy this little slice of realism. ~Admin Emma

Semi

You were well past the point of being done with your pregnancy, and Semi could see it. At almost two full weeks past due with no signs of your little one making her grand entrance on her own, now you were at the hospital at the crack of dawn, ready for your obstetrician to induce you. They’d told you to arrive very early–these processes could take hours and they wanted to give you the best chance of success. Semi had a feeling that today would finally be the day.

“So we have you all checked in. We have to get a baseline reading on the monitor, but everything is looking good so far,” the nurse said, strapping you to a contraption that Semi had spent the better part of the past week or so getting to know–the fetal monitor. “The IV team will be by to put your IV in, just in case, and then the doctor will start the induction.”

“Why does she need an IV?” Semi asked, suddenly nervous. They hadn’t said anything about a needle, and he really didn’t do well with needles.

“It’s just standard procedure with an induction,” the nurse said, her voice a little too cheery all things considered, in his opinion. “If the Cytotec doesn’t work, then we may have to start a pitocin drip, and she tested positive for Group B Strep back in February.”

Semi could physically feel himself pale, and his hand tightened in yours. All of a sudden, this very “routine procedure” was starting to feel very involved. And yet you had this serene expression on your face while the nurse went over things with you. It sounded like she was just humming in his ears, but you seemed so collected. Every possible horrific scenario went through his head in that moment–infections, losing you, losing the baby… it became a swirl of color and anxiety that made him feel like he could pass out.

“Eita,” you said firmly, snapping him out of his anxious death spiral. “Talk to me, baby. What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong? You… you listened to that nurse tell us every possible worst case scenario and you’re asking me what’s wrong?”

“Eita, I’m pretty sure she just had to tell us all that for legal reasons,” you replied. “Everything is going to be fine–the doctor is going to put a little pill next to my cervix and hopefully, that makes little Makoto want to come out.”

“You sound so calm,” he said, scrunching his nose. “How can you be so calm?”

“I’m a very good actress,” you said with a small, thin, nervous smile. “Eita, I’m terrified, but just think–after all this waiting, we’re finally going to meet our baby soon, one way or the other.”

“Yeah… I suppose,” Semi murmured, pressing his forehead against yours. “I’m just…”

“You ready to meet our little girl?”

“I am,” he sighed, leaning into your touch. “I really, really am.”

“So sorry to interrupt, but I’m with the IV team,” a nurse called from the door. “I’m just here to do ____’s IV and then I’ll be on my way.”

You grinned at Semi, patting the back of his hand gently. The anxious fluttering in his chest was still there, but it was subdued by your presence. He felt a bit like a substandard husband–he was supposed to be supporting you, not the other way around. A familiar curl of self-loathing swirled darkly in his chest, but your bright smile and gentle hand in his hair banished it once again.

“Eita, why don’t you go get the bags from the car while she does my IV. By the time you get back, we’ll just be playing the waiting game.”

He squeezed your hand in his, not sure if he wanted to stay for your sake or for his. But he really didn’t like needles. He took your surety at face value, pressed a kiss to your hair, and went out to the car. One way or another, things were happening today. And he wasn’t going to change things by stressing himself out.

Akaashi

He always knew you were exceptional; you were one of the 15% of women whose water broke before active labor set in. It had happened around 2:30 that afternoon, and given the complicated nature of your pregnancy, the doctor wanted you to be monitored when that happened. Akaashi remembered enough from the few gynecology classes he’d taken in med school that once the water broke, all of a sudden, labor had a ticking clock.

He just never thought he’d have to be on the other end of things. He wanted to slap the nurses working with you–after the doctor had determined things were progressing too slowly for her liking, they set you on a pitocin drip, which required constant monitoring. Between them being utterly incompetent with the IV pump and their monitoring equipment only being able to capture your contractions when you were flat on your back, Akaashi was ready to throw them all out and just deliver your baby on his own.

“Keiji,” you whimpered, your eyes squeezing shut in pain.

“I’m here,” he assured, patting your hair back from your face. “It’s ok, it’ll be over soon.”

“I can’t anymore,” you sobbed, fat tears rolling down your cheeks as you tried to will yourself to relax. It didn’t work. “Keiji, it hurts. Make it stop.”

“I wish I could,” he said, squeezing your hand as hard as he dared. “But you’re doing great, ____. Just breathe.”

You nodded silently, squeezing his hand back. Your grip was almost bruising, and he didn’t care. Any pain he felt paled in comparison to what you were going through. How selfish could he be that he wanted this more than once? He wished he could take some of the pain away, maybe share the burden… it was so hard having to watch you go through this. He never wanted to see you in so much pain again, no matter the outcome. He knew it would be over soon, one way or the other, but he wasn’t sure he could manage this anymore. Something drew tight in his chest when you let out another pained sob. He rubbed the inside of your leg in a gesture he hoped was soothing…

It couldn’t continue much longer. He couldn’t let it continue… he loved you too much.

Yamaguchi

His hands trembled as he dialed the one person he could always count on to calm him down, other than you. He couldn’t be in that room anymore as nurses buzzed around you to prep you for surgery, taking blood samples and asking questions. Once they’d handed him the scrubs he’d need to change into, it had all felt so terrifyingly real and he needed to talk to someone, even though it was so late at night.

“Tsukki? She needs surgery,” he whimpered into his phone.

“A cesarian?” Tsukki asked, suddenly alert despite the hour. “Is everything alright?”

“She’s not progressing, and the baby’s heart rate keeps dropping,” he answered, fighting tears. “I’m scared and I don’t know what to do.”

“Well the first thing is try to relax,” Tsukki answered. “It’s a fairly standard operation–it will be over in less than an hour. She’s healthy… she’ll be OK.”

Yamaguchi was about to respond with a remark along the lines of if you were healthy and going to be OK, you wouldn’t need surgery, but the nurses started pouring out of your room. You were being transported… it was happening. It was real. He swallowed hard and hung up his phone, following you through the doors. You were clearly exhausted from your long and fruitless labor, because you barely responded when he slipped his hand into yours.

They ushered him into a small waiting room, telling him they’d come get him as soon as the anesthesia took effect. He felt cold panic set in as he watched you roll away from him, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. He’d never felt more scared in his entire life, and every possible worst case scenario ran through his head. He didn’t know what he would do if he lost you or your baby. He tried to think about something–anything–other than what was coming, but with only the ticking clock for company, his anxiety ran a little wild.

“Yamaguchi-san?” A man in blue scrubs poked his head into the waiting room. Yamaguchi recognized him–he was assisting your normal doctor in the operation. “Sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to check on you and answer any questions you might have about the procedure.”

He swallowed hard; “Just… what’s going to happen? Is she going to be awake?”

“We’ll try our best to keep her as lucid as possible,” the doctor said. “We’re administering a spinal anaesthesia, which will numb her from the chest down and allows her to be awake during the procedure. Then we’ll make an incision at the base of the uterus about fifteen centimeters long. If all goes well, the baby will go skin-to-skin with her as soon as we confirm everything is alright. Unfortunately, you won’t be able to cut the cord, given that she will still be open when we separate the umbilical cord. I hope that’s alright.”

Honestly, in that moment, Yamaguchi had sort of forgotten about the traditional practice. He didn’t care… he just wanted you to be safe; “Is she going to be alright? Her and the baby?”

“If it goes my way, it’s going to be fine,” the doctor said, giving him a friendly smile and a clap on the shoulder. “And it usually goes my way. Now the nurse will be in momentarily to bring you into the operating room; in the meantime, I have some advice for you.”

“Oh?” Yamaguchi swallowed hard again, but his mouth had gone totally dry.

“Relax. Take a chill pill. Doctor’s orders.” He shot Yamaguchi a playful wink before heading through the doors once more.

Instantly, Yamaguchi felt better. Clearly, it wasn’t the end-of-the-world scenario he’d built up in his head if this doctor–a man who’d already proven himself empathetic and competent in the hours leading up to your surgery–was making light-hearted jokes. He suddenly felt confident and relaxed–you were going to be fine, and he could be there for you.

Tsukishima

The nurse led him into the operating room, and before he could process what was happening to you, he found a spot on the back wall that was suddenly very interesting. He didn’t look away from it until he was seated by your head. He tried not to pay attention to the awful sounds coming from the other side of that sterile drape, and instead focused on your hand in his.

He wanted to say something–hell, he wanted you to say something… anything. But you were both too nervous, too focused on what was happening, to think of anything. He just held your hand, resting your knuckles against his forehead. After everything you had gone through–all the careful planning and the long pregnancy and the full day in the hospital–he was ready for it to be over, but he was also terrified. He didn’t want to lose you, and he didn’t want to lose your baby. If they made him choose, he didn’t know what he would do…

“Kei,” you whimpered. He could barely hear you over the sound of that God-awful suction, but he heard you nonetheless. You sounded so scared, and he suddenly felt awful–you were the one lying strapped to a table with a giant fuck-off hole in your stomach. You were the one who’d been in fruitless labor all day long. What right did he have…

“I’m here,” he said softly, squeezing your hand a little harder. He knew it had only been a few minutes, but it felt like he’d been in this too-cold, too-bright, too-sterile room for hours, waiting with bated breath while the doctors tried to get to your baby.

“You’re going to feel some pressure,” the nurse by your head said. “They’re going to push her out of you now.”

He squeezed your hand a little harder, his pulse picking up in anticipation. You waited, listening to the doctors with their hushed, urgent tones…

And then, all of a sudden, he heard your daughter’s birth cry, and just like that he was someone new.

#haikyuu #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #semi eita #akaashi keiji #yamaguchi tadashi #tsukishima kei #scenario

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