#the good news is my appendix didn’t burst

[quokkafoxtrot]

Super Lo-res WIP for the holidays because I’ve had a butt of a day and would like some happiness in the brain region.

[livelaughghoul]

Carlos Sainz - Career Tarot Reading

Disclaimer: This is for entertainment purposes only, nothing observed or taken away from this should be considered fact. As a reminder, I know fuck all about Formula 1, I just like fast cars and have a dumb amount of knowledge of astrology and tarot. 

An anonymous had a question regarding Carlos’s career and what it may potentially look like since there is a lot of unknown about it. While I can’t tell where he is going, or what his plans are, I can at least try to get a general feeling of what is happening and what some thoughts may be. I didn’t have any specific questions in terms of career for this, I just pulled two cards to give me some general feelings on what may be going on. In a majority of the readings I do, I tend to not go in with specific questions, just a theme of the reading. 

I took a look at his birth chart as well for this because I think that there are a lot of career indicators in someone's birth chart. His time of birth isn’t available, so it's being calculated using UTC, which isn’t as accurate but gives us a pretty good idea of what his actual chart will look like! 

Tarot aspect of the reading: Justice reversed and Five of Wands 

Justice reversed: 

This tells me that Carlos knows what he is going to do, he is just keeping it close to his chest and letting the speculation run wild because it is almost justice in its own way. I think with this intentional withholding of his plan, it’s very much going to be a surprise in terms of where he ends up going. I get the sense that it was an easy decision too, it was something that didn’t require a lot of debate or waffling, it was an easy choice that made sense to him, and where he feels he is at in terms of his career. With it being in its reversed position, I wouldn’t be shocked to learn that he has not shared his decision with anyone other than those who were involved in the contract process. 

Five of Wands: 

This pairing is crazy to me because it just solidifies in my mind that he knows exactly what he is going to do, and knows what the reaction is going to be. It also tells me that he is not done with Formula 1 at all, if anything he is feeling a renewed sense of competition and challenge. He has a lot of passion left and is incredibly driven to continue setting records, breaking records, and outdoing himself. I get the feeling that there is a lot of impatience in his current position, and when he makes the change there is going to be a huge change in his actions, behaviors, and demeanors. There is going to be a weight that is taken off, and he is going to feel like he actually has a place and valued. 

Astrology aspect: 

Second house (house of money and material possessions): Jupiter, Pluto.

Jupiter is a great placement here because it’s the planet of luck and expansion, so this tells me that he is going somewhere that is really going to bring him a lot of benefits (likely financial and careerwise). I get the sense that he is going somewhere that he already has a connection to, like either he is following someone or it’s somewhere that he has previously been (no idea if this is possible, all I know about this man is that he apparently burst his appendix?). Pluto brings in a lot of obsession, so I think that wherever he does go, he is being promised a sense of more control like he is going to bring a lot of influence and new ideas! 

Sixth house (house of service, day-to-day influence): Saturn.

WE LOVE A STRONG SATURN PLACEMENT, SAY IT WITH ME. Saturn in the sixth is definitely hardworking, there is a strong sense of responsibility, what needs to be done, and what the expectations of the self are. I definitely get the idea that there is a habit of being too involved in work, like that sense of control we see from the second house can sometimes get in the way of things and cause some conflict. I think that is going to be a really important factor for where he goes. 

Tenth house (house of career): Mars, Moon.

I love that the Moon is in the tenth house because it provides nothing but success and promise in a public career. The only downside is grappling with that loss of privacy, it can bring a lot of challenges in trying to find that balance, but with the Moons’ emotional nature, I think there is a wonderful balance between the public career and privacy here. Mars brings a lot of domination to the career and tells us that there is a lot of aggression to be seen. With the career as it is, I think that we are going to see a lot more aggressive driving, and strategies start to come out! With this placement though and it’s aggressive nature, I think that there is a lot of conflict to be had too, this is something that will need to be worked on. 

[italic-doing-random-shit]

Good news! I didn’t burst my appendix!!

bad news I still feel like shit!!

[dearamleo]

New Fic! The Sinner’s Feast

Yes, I’m ignoring the fact that I have two other WIP that I have lost all passion for writing. Maybe writing something new will help with that. Who knows! Certainly not me!

Anyways- Sirius is in a criminal biker gang, Remus is the new surgeon in town, James is Sirius’s righthand man and Regulus is porn star! Also Teddy is there and they’re all wrapped around his tiny finger.

Chapter 1: Riding the Edge

Dropping the last file onto the stack, Remus groaned and peered down into his empty coffee cup. It was the last leg of his latest twelve hour shift and the caffeine was no longer keeping his eyes open like it had been six hours ago. Feeling a touch dramatic in his exhaustion, he leaned his head as far back against his chair as he could, limbs splayed out around his desk like some type of pathetic roadkill.

“Well, a good morning to you too, Doctor Lupin.”

Remus didn’t bother looking up. He knew the exact sarcastic look Lily was giving him, down to the arched auburn brow. “Is it?

“How much longer have you got left,” she asked, settling herself onto the corner of his desk.

“45 minutes. Just have to make it through this paperwork and then I can gorge myself on mac n cheese and fall blissfully asleep on my couch.”

Lily laughed at him. “Damn, that does sound good right about now.”

Finally Remus pulled himself together enough to look at her. “Did you not just get in, Evans?”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I don’t miss my own couch already. The Pediatric lounges just don't quite cut it.”

“Which is why you’re down here slumming it in my office?”

“Exactly,” she grinned. “Plus the Trauma nurses always make the best coffee. You shouldn’t even bother with defibrillators, just pour a bit of this down the patients’ throats and it would wake the dead.”

Remus snorted, looking mournfully at his empty cup again to find it had been replaced with a full and steaming one. He grinned at her, swiping it up and drinking deeply. “Hopefully it’ll get me through this last bit here then. I had to perform two appendicectomies today. I am praying that the rest of Godric’s Hollow’s appendixes hold themselves together for the remainder of the afternoon.”

Lily shrugged. “Seems like it’s going to be a quiet day-”

“ Nooooo ,” Remus groaned out at the same time that the hallway doors burst open. Several of the nurses were rushing by with a gurney already saturated in an alarming amount of blood and the man on top of it cursing loudly in pain. Remus gulped down the remainder of the coffee and glared at Lily as he stood. “Damn you, Lily Evans. You just had to say that!”

“Sorry,” she called after him.

He swung on his lab coat as he jogged after the nurses who were heading straight for the surgery.

“James Potter, male, 29 years old,” one of the nurses informed him. “Stab wound to the lower abdomen, several abrasions to the face, and a broken nose.”

“Hate to see the other guy,” Remus said offhandedly, leaning over the man to try and assess the situation.

“Don’t worry, I won him over with my charm,” the man grumbled before promptly passing out.

“Let’s get him straight into the OR,” Remus barked, all thoughts of couches and cheesy noodles pushed from his mind in the face of emergency.

The surgery had been relatively easy considering the commotion that had preceded it. The man, Potter, was lucky the stab wound had been a few centimeters too shallow to cause any significant damage and Remus had been able to repair it in decent time. He was definitely going to be late for mac and cheese night, though.

Checking that the charts were all accurate for Mr. Potter’s dosages and recovery instructions, Remus was practically swaying on his feet. He knew that he oftentimes pushed himself too far, straddling that line between a healthy work life and being a raging workaholic. But medicine was important to him, ensuring his patients were properly cared for was important to him. As he settled the charts back onto the end of the bed, the man in it finally seemed to be stirring out of the anesthesia. Remus waited patiently for him to open his eyes, which he eventually did but only just. It took Remus a moment to realize that the blurry, confused look on Mr. Potter’s face was less a result of the anesthesia and more because he seemed to be nearly blind without his glasses.

Remus quickly moved to his bedside, plucking the pair of square frames that had been left there and placing them on Mr. Potter’s face for him. Hazel eyes blinked a few more times, now aided by the lenses and seemed to finally take in his surroundings.

“Good morning, Mr. Potter. My name is Doctor Remus Lupin. Do you know where you are?”

Mr. Potter smiled, still a bit dopey. “‘Course I do, Doc. Been here enough times to know what a hospital room looks like.”

Remus furrowed his brow in concern. “Do you make a habit of encountering life threatening injuries, Mr. Potter?”

“Ew. Please stop. Call me James, or Prongs- that’s what my friends call me. And we should be friends seeing as how you’ve been all up in my insides and whatnot.”

“Alright,” Remus answered, stifling a chuckle. It was not proper bedside manner to laugh at highly medicated patients. “James, do you know what has led you to be in the hospital today?”

“Sure,” he said, his hand running through unbelievably messy hair. “Didn’t quite see eye to eye with a colleague.”

Remus couldn’t help the aghast look on his face now. “You were stabbed .”

“Oh, you know,” James said, brushing off the statement. “Just a simple misunderstanding.”

Remus folded his arms and looked down at James. “I also happened to notice that most of the blood you were soaked in likely wasn’t from just yourself.”

“What’s a bit of blood between friends, eh?”

Remus opened his mouth to try and make his point- honestly, who acted so casually about being stabbed in the stomach, when the door of the room snapped open.

“Potter!”

Remus nearly jumped out of his skin at the sharp tone, turning to see a startlingly attractive man standing in the doorway. Or, he would likely notice how attractive he was if Remus didn’t feel immediately like cowering under the harsh, authoritative glare the man gave off. He wasn’t particularly tall and could be described as almost waifish. His black hair was short with soft waves that were in stark contrast to his pale skin. He was also wearing  a barely there cropped shirt that said ‘Nepo Baby’ on it and jeans so low that the thin straps of his underwear were exposed and hitched up over his sharp hip bones.

Despite all that, Remus immediately understood that this man was not someone to be fucked with judging by his forbodding presence that felt as deadly as the stab wound he’d just fixed.

Seemingly still unaware of Remus’s presence, the man stalked into the room, his sight set on James. Remus almost felt like he should perhaps step in, based on the volatile atmosphere the newcomer brought. “What the fuck did you do now, you absolute jackass?!”

Surprisingly, James seemed to melt at the other man’s words, his dopey grin only lighting up further as he reached out with grabby hands like a toddler. “Baby! There you are! The only medicine I need!”

The man sighed deeply, his fingers moving to pinch at the bridge of his nose. “James Fleamont Potter, I swear to god-”

“Excuse me,” Remus said, clearing his throat a bit.

The man looked up at him, dark blue eyes outlined in exaggerated white eyeliner. “What are we looking at this time, doctor?”

Tucking his hands into his coat pockets, Remus looked between the two. “Sorry, are you family of the patient?”

The man rolled his eyes as James reached forward again, his movements still slightly wobbly, and grabbed the other’s hand. “Yes, I’m Regulus Black. James is my husband.”

“Ah, right, apologies. Well, Mr. Black, Mr. Potter here- sorry, James ,” he corrected at James’s squawk of protest. “ James sustained a wound to his lower right abdominal area. It was shallow enough that the instrument used didn’t perforate or puncture anything vital. We were able to go in and repair the damage. He’ll need to stay for a few nights for observation, but then he will be able to return home. He’ll need to limit most activity to avoid tearing the stitches- no heavy lifting, no exercise and no sexual activity for at least a couple weeks. You’ll also need to keep an-”

“An eye out for infection,” Regulus interrupted. “Yes, I know.”

In his sleep deprived state, Remus couldn’t help the curiosity that slipped through. “You both seem to be quite accustomed to trauma care and hospital visits.”

Regulus peered at him from the corner of his eye, his face giving nothing away. “Perhaps so. If you are new to Godric’s Hollow, I’m sure you will become fairly acquainted with a good portion of us in no time.”

“Baby, you should’ve seen me,” James babbled, pulling Regulus’ attention again. “I was all wa-bam-bam and then Wormtail was all ‘ ahhhhh ’ and then the cops-”

“Yes, yes, Jamie,” Regulus cut in quickly, eyes darting to Remus. “You can tell me all about it later, but now- sleep . Right, Doc?”

Remus shook himself out of his drowsy stupor, barely hearing anything the two men were saying to truly care one way or another. “Yes, plenty of rest, James. I will be back in the morning to check in on you. If you have any questions or need assistance, just let one of our nurses know.”

“You’re aces, doc,” James grumbled, apparently already halfway asleep, still clinging to his husband.

Regulus nodded to Remus as he took a seat on the bed, which Remus returned as he finished the last of his checks and the evening nurses came in to take over.

Around thirty minutes later, Remus finally forced himself to gather the last of his things and start for a hasty retreat out of the hospital. Molly Weasley was sitting at the main desk in the nurses station, her bright orange hair poofy and teased in a style straight from the 80s.

“Doctor Lupin,” she chirped. “Thought you would be gone by now!”

“Sh,” Remus said, holding a finger to his lips. “Please, I don’t want anyone else to know that I’m still here. I am on my way out now- my couch eagerly demands my return home.”

“Remus, you need yourself a woman to go home to, not an empty house and couch! Now, I’ve been talking you up with that cute new nurse in-”

Sighing heavily, Remus rubbed his eyes. “Molly, I’m sure she’s lovely but as I’ve said, I’m not in the market right now. I’m still trying to settle into a new town and job. That’s enough for now. Will you make sure to keep an eye on the patient in room 13? Page me if anything urgent arises?”

“Yes, I’m sure that patient will be giving us all sorts of trouble.”

Remus only replied with a raise of his brow in question as he picked up his stack of folders from the desk.

“That Hallow ,” she stage-whispered like the word was dirty.

“What the hell is a Hallow?”

“You have a lot to learn about this town, Doctor Lupin. The Potter boy, he’s part of that degenerate biker gang. Call themselves the Deathly Hallows. A bunch of violent criminals on death contraptions,” she finished with a haughty sniff.

“Motorcycle gang,” Remus repeated, bemused. “Godric’s Hollow doesn’t seem particularly rife with crime, it’s part of the reason I chose this town.”

“Yes, yes, the town likes to believe them to be some sort of vigilante bodyguards protecting us from a ‘greater’ evil. They keep all of their illicit behaviors outside of the town borders and keep the other criminal types from coming in and then they think they deserve some sort of medal for it.”

Remus refrained from rolling his eyes. “And we’re talking about James? James Potter? The one who just spent about fifteen minutes waxing poetic about the wide variety of oranges there are in the world? Only stopping so he could show each of the nurses how pretty his husband is?”

“Husband,” she huffed. “Don’t even get me started on that husband of his-“

“Nurse Weasley, will you please keep me up to date on any medical reports for Mr. Potter I may need to be informed of?”

Molly crossed her arms disapprovingly. “The nurses will page you for any emergencies. Have a good evening, Dr. Lupin.”

“Thank you,” he said, tapping the files against the desk and heading to the main doors.

Despite being far past dead on his feet, Remus jogged up the front path to his neighbors’ house eagerly. When he had first moved in, he had only been in Godric’s Hollow for a few hours before he had befriended the lovely older couple next door. The two women brought over enough food to feed him for a week. Minerva and Poppy had heard they would be living next door to the new town surgeon and bachelor, only to be surprised when Remus had answered the front door with a bubbly, enthusiastic four year old at his heels.

The two women had taken to Teddy instantly, just as most people who encountered his little boy did. He was every bit of good in Remus’s world and he brought a little bit of that light to everyone he met. Since meeting the pair, they had been Remus’s lifesavers when it came to offering to watch Teddy during his long and sometimes last minute shifts at the hospital. Not having to send Teddy to a daycare had been a massive relief to Remus, who’s overprotective anxieties preferred to keep his son’s existence quiet in the new town.

He knocked twice on the door before letting himself in, Poppy always admonishing him for not treating the home as an extension of his own. The little cottage style house was warm and bright, filled with plants and books and the smell of something savory in the air. Hearing chatter coming from the kitchen, Remus made his way through the living room to where Teddy was standing on one of the dining room chairs, his curly hair dusted with flour.

“Daddy!” The little boy flung himself off the chair, nearly tumbling to the ground in his haste to get to Remus.

Holding out his arms wide, Remus crouched down to catch him and squeeze him tightly. “Ooh, I missed you, Teddy Bear.”

“We learned about pasta today, Daddy! I made rabbit-oly.”

“ Ravioli , Edward, ravioli,” Poppy said with a smile. She held out a reheatable tin that was likely brimming with whatever delicious dinner she had prepared. Yet another life saver for Remus, who for the last several years had been sustaining himself and his son on takeaways. “He was a darling all day, as always.”

Standing back up with Teddy perched on his hip, Remus accepted the dish sheepishly. “Thank you for keeping him longer, Poppy. Truly. An emergency came in-”

“Ah,” she waved off. “It was no trouble at all. Our nest could always use a bit of this little sunshine.”

“Minerva still at the school?”

“Yes, I don’t think she’s relinquishing her reins on the queer alliance club quite as well as she had thought.”

Remus chuckled. “You know, most people are excited to retire.”

”Alas, she’s never been most people. No matter how much she grumbles and huffs about those kids, she loves them dearly. She’s having a hard time letting them go. But if that isn’t what I just love about her.”

“She’s a formidable woman, that’s for certain,” Remus said. Teddy began to wiggle a bit in his arms, clearly growing impatient with the adult conversation. “Alright, Teddy, are you ready to go home?”

”Can we watch Narnia?”

”Sure we can, buddy, but first I think my little flour monster could use a bath, huh,” he said, nuzzling his nose into Teddy’s messy hair, making the boy giggle. “Say bye-bye to Poppy.”

Teddy reached out his arms towards the woman, who hugged him back with a quick kiss to his temple. “You be good for your daddy, Edward. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Bye, Miss Poppy!”

”Thanks again and tell Minerva I said hello,” Remus said with another smile to the woman. “We’ll see you in the morning.”

Read on ao3

[juniperss]

I know your requests are closed but I would be forever happy to read more Sunny content 🥺

Sunny gets appendicitis and needs surgery maybe?

I really like writing for Sunny so I went ahead and wrote a little for her! Requests are still closed, but I feel like sharing ideas and stuff for Sunshine isn't as stressful and stuff. <3 I might not write everything that gets sent in for her though, but I hope you like these!

Sunshine's playlist

Sunshine's tag

More Sunshine! (Appendicitis Headcanons)

Honestly thinks that the pain is just bad period cramps at first and tries to work through it. She manages to succeed for a bit, but eventually lies down on the couch and that’s how Pony and Soda find her when they get home. It’s pretty uncharacteristic for Sunshine to be lounging around the house, especially if there are things to be done, so right away her brothers are worried. 

The Gang comes and goes, but the brothers make them shut up so Sunny can rest. She doesn’t want to move to her bedroom and so she stays on the sofa, her face smushed into the pillows and covered up with a blanket. Eventually when Darry gets home and Sunshine still seems really unwell, he sits down next to her and touches her forehead. And boy does she have a fever. 

Some of the gang has had their appendixes taken out before but none remember the experience. They were all pretty young when it happened. But Darry knows what the signs are and after pushing on her side and her reaction, he scoops her up. Soda is running to get the car running and all four Curtis siblings are packed into the truck. 

The boys hate the hospital. Any good memories of new siblings and first meetings are replaced with thoughts of Johnny, Dally and the fire and how long it had taken them to recover (THEY LIVE IN MY WORLD). And now Sunshine is being rushed into the operating room because it’s definitely appendicitis. 

Darry doesn’t stop pacing the entire time, Soda is bouncing his knee and Ponyboy can’t stay inside. He goes to round up the boys with Johnny. You can imagine how intimidating that waiting room looks with all these greasers just hanging out while they keep an eye out for the Doctor to show up.

Two Bit is trying to crack jokes to lighten up the mood and it works a little, but there’s an uneasy, anxious tension amongst all of them. They know this is a routine surgery but there’s no point in trying to be rational when it involves Sunshine. Even Dallas seems on edge. 

Eventually, the doctor arrives and tells them that everything went well and that she’s resting. He also makes a point of saying “Family only” while staring down the rest of the Gang before he brings the Curtis Brothers to Sunny. She’s still asleep and all three of them are overwhelmed by how small she looks in that hospital bed. Soda immediately takes a seat on one side while Pony pulls over a chair on the other. Darry just stands at the foot of the bed, still unable to sit down. 

He knows logically that he couldn’t have predicted the signs of her getting sick but he still hates that he didn’t catch it sooner and the anxiety of the “what ifs” is relentless. What if he hadn’t gotten home and felt that fever? What if the appendix burst and she’s gotten septic? What if, what if, what if. 

All those what ifs are swept away as soon as she stirs, though. Soda holding her hand and giving it a squeeze, makes her look over to him first. 

Eventually they smuggle in the rest of the group one by one, with Pony keeping watch outside the room. Two Bit is kicked out almost as soon as he was allowed in because he made Sunshine laugh and it hurt. Dallas refrains from any name calling (save for his “Hey, Squeaks'') but tugs on her braid. Even Steve is nice when he says “Glad you’re not dead, kid.” Johnny waits to come in until Sunshine is asleep so he can set some dandelions on the table next to her bed before slipping out. 

The recovery is the hard part for Sunshine because she wants to be up and doing things as soon as she’s feeling better. The rest of the Curtis family is struggling to keep her from tearing stitches or over-exerting herself. Needless to say, the day that she’s given the all clear from the Doctor is met with a collective sigh of relief and a party thrown by the Gang.

[waitimcomingtoo]

Out of the Woods

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Synopsis: you still have Tom as your emergency contact after your breakup and he shows up for you in the hospital

Masterlist

“We called your emergency contact. Your boyfriend should be here any minute.” The doctor told you as she wrote your stats down in your chart.

“Okay. Thank you.” You smiled in appreciation at her. Just a few seconds after she left your room, Tom ran in. He almost slipped from how fast he ran into the room but caught himself on the doorway.

“Tom? What are you doing here?” You asked as you sat up in surprise at the sight of him. You hadn’t seen him since your relationship ended in flames the year prior and hadn’t expected to see him ever again. Not counting every time you turned on your TV and saw him in a new trailer, of course.

“The hospital called me. They said you’d been in an accident?” His face twisted in concern as he pulled a chair up to sit beside you.

“You must still be my emergency contact.” You realized. “I forgot to change it.”

“Oh. Right.” His face fell slightly in disappointment. “Well I’m still glad I came. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. You should see the other guy.” You cracked an embarrassed smile and pointed to your head bandage.

“Oh no.” His eyes widened. “You didn’t get into another fight at Target, did you?”

“Not this time. It was just a car accident.”

“Just a car accident? That sounds pretty serious. What happened?” Tom asked as he took your hand into his.

“This kid ran in front of my car and I hit the brakes too soon. I smacked my head against the window and cracked it.”

“Cracked your head or the window?”

“Both.” You smiled sheepishly.

“Ouch.” He chuckled. “What’s the damage?”

“20 stitches and a killer headache. I’ll be okay though.” You shrugged and gave him an assuring smile. Tom sat up in his chair and gently touched the side of your head to inspect your injury. You gulped a little under his touch and hoped he wouldn’t notice.

“Yeah. You were never one to be sidetracked by pain.” He returned the smile. “How many times did I ask you if you were okay before you finally admit your appendix burst?”

“Hey, in my defense, we’d been hiking all day and I was not about to miss that sunset. The pain wasn’t even that bad.” You chuckled as you patted your appendectomy scar.

“Not that bad? Your organ exploded.” He pointed out with a laugh.

“But remember how beautiful the sky looked? And we had those delicious doughnuts.” You sighed and squeezed his hand.

“I remember. You still had powdered sugar on your face when they took you away in the ambulance.” Tom smiled softly as he remembered the day.

“Yeah. You sat at my bedside for hours. So long that they then had to check you in for chronic neck pain.”

“Yeah. They really don’t make these chairs comfortable.” Tom said as he moved uncomfortably in his chair. You laughed at what he was doing before letting out a pained sigh.

“Thanks for coming. You didn’t have to do that. I know most people wouldn’t have driven down to the hospital to see if their ex girlfriend was okay.” You smiled in embarrassment and rubbed your aching head.

“Most people don’t have the pleasure of calling you their ex girlfriend. Of course I’m here, darling. I came as soon as they called.” Tom smiled sweetly as you and rubbed his thumb on the back of your hand.

“Well I appreciate it. I’m glad you’re here. I hope I didn’t pull you away from anything important.” You sighed and gave his hand another squeeze.

“Don’t worry about it. Nothing is more important than you. I am going to ask you to pay my parking fee, though. Since you went and got yourself in a car accident, it’s the least you can do.” Tom teased you.

“Fine. I’ll loan you the $12.” You humored him.

“Good.” He smiled. “I couldn’t have afforded it otherwise.”

“Please. I see your face on a new billboard every month. Nice Rolex by the way.” You said and nodded towards his wrist.

“You bought this for me.” He reminded you as he held up his arm.

“I know. I just wanted to point out how pathetic you were for wearing a gift from your ex girlfriend. I didn’t realize you were obsessed with me.” You pretended to cringe and looked to the side.

“You caught me.” He laughed. “But how could I not be obsessed with you? You managed to make a hospital gown look hot.”

“It’s open in the back.” You winked seductively at him.

“Say less.” He whispered as he leaned in. You both laughed as you pushed him away.

“You look good, by the way. I like your hair grown out.” You said as you reached out to touch his hair.

“Yeah. I went a little crazy with the hair gel in 2020. My family had to hold an intervention.” He laughed shyly as he ran his hand through his hair.

“How are they? I miss Sam and Paddy. Harry, not so much.”

“They’re good. They ask about you sometimes.” Tom nodded and avoided eye contact.

“Aw.” You smiled sadly. “I always wonder how they’re doing.”

“Do you ever wonder how I’m doing?” Tom asked as he slowly looked up at you.

“I know how you’re doing.” You shrugged. “You’re an extremely successful actor. You’re living your best life.”

“I’m not, actually. I haven’t been living my best life since we-“

Before Tom could finish his sentence, a man came into the room in a hurry. You quickly pulled your hand out of Tom’s and pretended to scratch the side of your head.

“Are you okay, baby? I came as soon as my game ended.” The man said.

“Baby?” Tom looked at you in confusion.

“Tom, this is Cameron. My boyfriend.” You smiled weakly and gestured to the man. Tom’s face immediately crumbled as he looked up at the incredibly handsome and incredibly tall man you were calling your boyfriend.

“Oh. Sorry, I didn’t realize. Hey, man.” Tom got out of his seat and held out his hand.

“Hey. Who are you?” Cameron asked and shook Tom’s hand.

“I’m Tom.”

“Isn’t that…”

“My ex. Yeah.” You nodded when Cameron trailed off.

“Sorry, why are you here? Do you guys still keep in contact or something?” Cameron laughed awkwardly as he tucked his hands into his pockets.

“No. He was still the emergency contact in my phone. It was just a misunderstanding.” You explained.

“Oh, okay. You should probably head out then.” Cameron said to Tom. Tom nodded as his sad eyes fell to the floor.

“Don’t go!” You said without thinking about it. Tom looked at you with hope in his eyes while Cameron looked at you in confusion.

“I mean, he came all this way. Why not stay a little while?” You quickly followed up.

“Okay. I’ll stay.” Tom smiled and sat back in his chair. Cameron gave you an annoyed look and you felt yourself start to panic.

“Cam, could you get me some ice cream from the cafeteria?” You asked through a forced smile.

“Sure. What flavor?”

“Mint chip.” You and Tom said at the same time. Tom turned around in his chair and gave Cameron a smug smile

“But with extra chocolate chips on top.” Tom said with a wink.

“What he said.” You chuckled. Cameron gave you both an unamused smile before leaving the room.

“I’m sorry about that.” You smiled apologetically. “I should’ve told you I was seeing someone.”

“No, no. It’s okay. I got ahead of myself. I thought getting the call and seeing you again was the universe pushing us back together or something. But I guess not because you have a boyfriend.” Tom forced a laugh and tried to hide how upset he was.

“Yeah, I do.” You faked a laugh as well. “Are you seeing anyone?”

“No. I haven’t seen anyone since we broke up. You have though! And I’m just so happy for you.” He said through a forced smile.

“Tom, I feel like we should talk about this.” You said as you sensed his indifference.

“His nickname for you was strange, right?” Tom laughed awkwardly. “You hate being called “baby”. You said it made you feel like you were being catcalled.”

“I know. But I’m trying to be more open minded. You always said I was too negative, so.” You shrugged and looked to the side.

“I did say that a lot, didn’t I?” Tom realized. “It’s funny. I don’t remember you as a negative person when I think of you. I only remember the good parts.”

“You don’t remember all the fights we had over the long hours you work?” You raised an eyebrow. “And all the times you said you’d show up for something and didn’t?“

“Now that you mention it, I do recall a lot of screaming.” Tom chuckled.

“It wasn’t always the bad kind of screaming.” You reminded him, making him blush.

“I know. You used to get so excited when you beat me at Scrabble.” Tom teased.

“Not what I meant but okay.”

You both laughed and felt the tension leave the room. It felt like it did before Cameron showed up, just two people who deeply cared for each other remembering why they did.

“I should’ve showed up for you more.” Tom said after a beat. “A job is just a job but you were never just a girl.”

“You showed up today. That counts.” You said as you reached for Tom’s hand.

“Maybe. But I’m too late. I remember the day you walked out. You said you were setting me free. But I never wanted to be free from you. I wish I realized that before it was too late.” Tom gave you a sad smile before bringing your hand to his lips to kiss the back of it. You opened your mouth to say something, but Cameron came back before you got a chance.

“Hey baby. I brought you the brownie. Oh, he’s still here.” Cameron said when his eyes landed on Tom.

“She asked for ice cream.” Tom scrunched his nose as he took the browning from Cameron.

“Excuse me?” Cameron scoffed and stepped up to Tom.

“Oh my God.” You groaned. “Don’t even start. Nobody wants to see you two fighting. It wouldn’t even be a fair fight.”

“Why do you say that?“ Cameron asked you.

“No reason.” You said quickly, making Tom snort.

“Cam, could you check me out at the front desk, please?” You asked to get him out of the room again.

“Sure, baby. Are you cool to drive home? The suns setting and you know how I feel about driving with the sun in my eyes.” Cameron asked as he gestured to his eyes.

“I’m sorry, you want her to drive home? From the hospital? That she’s in because she just got into a car accident?” Tom asked as he got out of his chair.

“Is there a problem with that?” Cameron asked and stepped closer to Tom.

“Yeah. Do you need me to spell it out again or do you think you could figure it out by yourself this time?” Tom asked as he cocked his head.

“What’s this guys problem?” Cameron asked you.

“Cam, just go sign me out.” You sighed. “Please? I’ll be out in a minute.”

Cameron gave Tom one last look before leaving the room. The tension returned and you looked anywhere but Tom.

“He’s a real charmer. Where did you find him? Home Depot?” Tom asked sarcastically. You went silent and played with the heart monitor on your finger.

“What?” Tom wondered.

“I did, actually.” You admitted. “I found him at Home Depot.”

“No way.” Tom held back a laugh.

“He moves wood or something. I don’t know.” You laughed and covered your face with your hands. This time, Tom was the one to go quiet.

“What?” You wondered.

“Is he bigger than me?”

“Tom.” You groaned.

“Sorry.” He mumbled. You chuckled at the fact that he hadn’t changed and decided to throw him a bone.

“No.” You told him. “He’s not. He’s not funnier than you either. Or kinder, better looking, or really surpassing you in any way.”

“He’s taller, though.” Tom said with a coy smile.

“That’s true.” You chuckled. “He’s 6’1.”

“Wow.” Tom playfully rolled his eyes. “Sounds like a real keeper.”

“You know wanna know something? I was driving to Cameron’s house when I got in the accident. I had some pretty tough news to tell him.”

“Oh yeah?” Tom raised an eyebrow and sat back down on your bed.

“Yeah.” You smiled coyly. “I was on my way to tell him that I’m still in love with my ex.”

“Oh really?” Tom tried to remain calm as his face heated up in a blush.

“Not you, though.” You told him. “The guy before you.”

“Right.” Tom played along. “Pony trail guy? Who made candles in his bathroom and called all women in his life “pumpkin”? That ex?”

“Yeah.” You humored him. “I’ve been thinking about him a lot lately. I could really use some more candles.”

“Tell you what. How about you break up with that boyfriend of yours, as charming as he may be, and you let me take you on a date? I’ll drive, since you’re clearly very bad at it.” He teased you as he took your hands into his. You looked down at your hands and felt the spark reignite in your chest, though you weren’t entirely sure it ever left.

“I don’t know.” You sighed as you looked up at him.

“I’ll buy you all the candles you want.”

“Even the ones with the stupid names?” You raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t see how a candle can smell like a Sparkling Midnight Angel but yeah, if it makes you happy.” He replied, his sarcastic tone making you laugh.

“Then it’s a date.” You smiled and started it lean. Just as Tom was leaning in the rest of the way, Cameron came back into your room.

“Are you ready to go? I’ve been waiting forever.” He sighed in exasperation and pointed to the hallway behind. You looked at him for a minute before looking back to Tom. Tom gave a pointed look, silently asking you what you wanted to do. Lucky for you, you knew exactly what you wanted to do.

“You can go, Cam.” You said without taking your eyes off Tom. “I’m good right where I am.”

Tag List 🏷

@awesomebooklover17 @thebookwormlife @imanativeofswlondondahling @serendipitous-amor

@lavender-writer @whatareyouhidingpeter @takenbyheartstrings @ultrunning @imyourliquor-youremypoison @andreasworlsboring101

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@maybemona @alexxcorona113

[pterodactylterrace]

Loopy

“Mrs. Syverson?” I was on my feet the instant the doctor called my name, one hand on my slowly rounding belly as I locked eyes with him.

“Everything went great. He’s coming out of anesthesia right now. You two can leave as soon as he can walk again.”

“Can I see him?” I asked hopefully, relieved when the doctor motioned for me to follow after him. I engaged my turbo waddle as I trailed after the quick paced doctor, hoping to ease my anxieties by seeing him for myself.

Getting called from the school saying that he had collapsed at work had been one of the most terrifying experiences I’d ever had. The stubborn man hadn’t spoken a word to me about being in any pain. If he had just said something I could have taken him much earlier. By the time he had been rushed into emergency surgery his appendix had been set to burst.

For the first time since receiving the call, I felt myself truly relaxing when I saw his somewhat delirious face.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” I asked softly as I approached the battle hardened man, his somewhat unfocused eyes turning to look at me as a lopsided smile crossed his face. 

“Better now, Sugar.” He hummed, shooting a failed wink my way. “What are you doing later?”

“I see taking care of my incapacitated husband in my immediate future.” I giggled, his face falling at my declaration.

“Oh... you’re married...”

“Yes, I am. I’m also very pregnant.”

“Holy shit, you are!” He gasped, looking at my swollen stomach for the first time. “Well, congrats Mrs. So-and-so. Your husband is a lucky man.”

“Sy... do you know who my husband is?” I asked, realization beginning to dawn on me.

“Is he the president?” Syverson asked after a short pause, turning wide blue eyes up to look at me in awe.

“Not quite. Its you, silly. YOU are my husband.”

“I’m what now?” He asked, grimacing as he sat up. “We’re married?!”

“Yes, darling. We are.” I confirmed, trying to suppress my laughter. 

“Wait... that means we’re having a baby!” He gasped, a giant smile splitting his face as he processed the news for the second time.

“Yes we are. Would you like to try and get dressed now?”

“Wait... where are my clothes? Why is my ass out? This is stupid.”

“It is. Here, let’s get this gown off.”

“It’s not even a fancy gown. I hate this thing.” He pouted, as he began to struggle with the ties holding the fabric around his neck. 

“Let’s get you out of it, then.” I offered, easily tugging the strings apart and letting the hospital gown fall from his broad frame into his lap. They had to shave a good portion of his normally fuzzy tummy to perform the surgery. He was going to be pissed about that later, but at least the incision didn’t look like it was too large. 

“Wait, I... I’m naked.” He mumbled, holding the blankets in a death grip when I tried to push them aside. “That’s... not in front of a lady. I’m... I’m a good boy.”

“Yes you are, but we are married, remember?”

“Oh yeah.” He laughed, wincing when it that pulled on his stitches. 

“So I’m gonna take the blanket off now so you can get dressed.” I explained, carefully tugging the sheets free when he relaxed his hold on them. I handed him his shirt first, laughing to myself when he managed to get lost inside the fabric momentarily, only to triumphantly poke his head out a second later.

“Boo!” He barked out, groaning around his laughter at his own joke as he shoved his bulky arms through the sleeves, whining when he had to raise his right arm. With my help we managed to get his pants back on. For once, I was thankful for his habit of skipping underwear. One less thing to struggle with. I placed his boots in front of him.

“Honey... Honey no.” I sighed, watching him clumsily shove his feet into his boots. “Those are on the wrong feet.”

“But... these are my only feet.” Sy whispered, turning sad, worried eyes up to me.

“That’s not what I... you know what, forget it. Let’s just get you home.”

 Tags:  @weallhaveadestiny @lunedelorient @summersong69 @mis-lil-red @lharrietg @amberangel112 @mansaaay @packerfan43 @cavillsthighs @poledancingdinos @pretty-toxic-revolver @oh-for-fic-sake

[cuttoothed]

Day 5 of @jonmartinweek for the prompt "scars". Set in a nebulous, post-finale future that may or may not take place in the same universe as the therapy fic.

Warnings: Martin is trans in this, and briefly discusses past gender dysphoria and suicidal ideation. There is also a scene where someone reacts poorly to Jon’s scars, and mention of other such instances (staring, whispering).

*

The Riverbank Cafe is their usual go-to for lunch; it’s small and cozy, generally quiet, and does truly excellent toasted sandwiches. It’s also not far to walk, which is nice on a day like today, when the air is chilly and damp.

The bell over the door jingles as they enter, and the waitress glances up from where she’s clearing a table. She’s new—or at least, Jon hasn’t seen her before—and looks more than a bit flustered by the modest lunch rush.

“Take a seat anywhere,” she calls, bustling off to help another customer. They find a table near the back and wait; they’re in no hurry. Jon is just warming up enough to take his coat off when she makes her way over to them, menus in hand.

“Sorry about the wait,” she says breathlessly. “It’s my first day.”

“No problem,” says Martin sympathetically. “First days are tough. I remember my first day at my old job, my boss was a right arse.”

Jon rolls his eyes affectionately, and tugs off his gloves and scarf as Martin takes a menu. He reaches for his own menu, and sees the waitress’ eyes widen, darting from the pale knife scar on his neck to the shiny flesh of his right hand. Her expression goes from shock to horror to pity in the space of a second.

“Oh god, what happened?” she blurts out, and then her face goes crimson and she’s looking anywhere but at Jon. “Sorry!” she stutters, “I didn’t mean—god, I’m sorry. I’ll just...I’ll come back in a few minutes.”

She hurries away, almost running, and Jon feels a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. Across from him, Martin looks furious, eyes blazing and jaw set angrily.

“I’m going to talk to the manager,” he says. “That was completely out of line!”

“It’s fine, Martin,” Jon tells him. “She didn’t mean anything.” She’s young—hardly more than a teenager—and she reacted in a perfectly understandable, instinctive way to the sight of not one but two horrible scars. Jon doesn’t want to get her in trouble on her first day,

“It doesn’t matter what she meant—” Martin begins, and then stops when Jon places a hand, the unburned one, over his. He huffs in annoyance.

“Fine,” he says. “Let’s—let’s get lunch to go though, okay? I’m not sure I can hold my tongue if we stay.”

“Okay,” Jon agrees; he’s lost his appetite anyway.

Jon isn’t vain. He knows how the scars look, and mostly, it doesn’t bother him. They don’t matter to anyone who matters to him; Martin loves him scars and all, and the friends he’s made here have never drawn attention to them or asked him to explain.

He sees people staring at them sometimes; especially children, who are too young to be polite about it. He’s heard the occasional “What’s wrong with that man?” and the whispered admonitions from parents or guardians to not be rude. For the most part, though, he can almost forget they exist, except in cold weather when his hand stiffens up, or when the deep muscle scars in his leg start aching, and he has to use his cane for a few days.

But inevitably, something always happens like today, and he’s forcefully reminded of them. Of the fact that he is wounded, damaged; of the other wounds that can’t be seen, that he and Martin both bear.

It’s not fair to Martin, either, having to put up with strangers staring or whispering when he’s with Jon. The constant, visible reminders of everything they’ve been through. Jon sees the way his expression goes hurt and closed off sometimes, when he sees the scar he gave Jon, and Jon wishes there was some way he could spare him the pain.

Jon will admit that the cafe incident throws him off kilter for the rest of the day. He doesn’t think he’s been obvious about it, however, until they’re getting ready for bed that night; he catches sight of his bare torso in the bedroom mirror, and flinches, and Martin frowns in a way that says they’re about to have a serious conversation.

“Are you all right?” he asks. Jon blinks at him, trying to look uncomprehending.

“Absolutely fine,” he says; Martin looks at him skeptically, and he relents. “I’ve been...a bit preoccupied, I suppose?”

“Moody,” Martin corrects, and Jon shrugs. Maybe.

“It’s nothing, really.”

“Is it because of what happened at lunch?”

“It’s fine, Martin,” Jon tells him. Martin raises an eloquent eyebrow, which says louder than words: I don’t believe you. Jon knows from experience that Martin won’t relent until they talk about what’s wrong; a lesson learned from therapy, and yes, it’s the correct and healthy thing to do, but sometimes Jon would like to just stew in his feelings by himself a bit, thank you very much.

He sighs.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “These—it can’t be nice, having a constant visual reminder of—of everything that happened.”

“Why are you apologizing to me?” Martin looks confused. “Those things—or, well, most of them, they happened to you, Jon. You’re the one who was hurt—who was deliberately put in harm’s way.”

“Yes, well, at least I don’t have to look at myself.”

Jon can’t keep the bitter note out of his voice, and there’s a taste like bile in the back of his throat. Martin is staring at him now, wide eyed. He sits down heavily on the bed and pats the space next to him. When Jon doesn’t move, he pats it again.

“Come here,” he says. “Please, Jon.”

Jon sits beside him, folding his arms defensively. He doesn’t want to hear reassurances now: that the scars don’t matter, that Martin loves him regardless. Even if it’s true, it doesn’t take away from their ugliness, from what they represent.

Martin doesn’t say anything immediately. Instead, he reaches down and pulls his t-shirt off over his head, leaving him in just his pajama bottoms. Jon’s eyes are drawn as always to the freckles on his shoulders, the wiry, ginger hair on his chest and belly, the softness and the strength of him. Martin takes Jon’s hand—the burned one—in his, and presses it to the pale, silvery scar on the right side of his belly.

“When you see this scar, does it remind you of the fact that my appendix burst when I was twelve and I almost died?”

“N-no,” says Jon. Martin’s told him the story, of course, but it’s an old scar, long since faded; the part Jon remembers most is Martin grinning with delight, telling him how the nurses in the hospital sneaked him extra ice cream while he was recovering.

“What about these?” Martin asks, moving Jon's hand up to his chest, to the faded t-anchor scars. “Do they make you think of how my dysphoria used to be so bad I wanted to die?”

“No—of course not!” Jon’s heart aches, and he clutches at Martin’s hand. Martin smiles.

“Good, because they shouldn’t. These scars mean I survived—I got the treatment I needed, and my life got better. I found you.”

“Martin,” Jon starts to say, but Martin shakes his head.

“I know it’s not the same. What was done to you, it was...horrifying. Monstrous. But it comes down to the same thing, Jon. Our scars might not be pretty, but they mean that we survived. You survived, and you’re here with me.” He tugs Jon’s hand up and presses a fierce kiss to the shiny, scarred skin across his knuckles. “I love them for that.”

Jon feels a lump rising in his throat, his vision blurring with tears. He wraps his arms around Martin and pulls him close, buries his face against Martin’s warm, solid shoulder. Martin’s hands pet soothingly over his back and sides, don’t flinch from the knot of scar tissue below Jon’s rib cage where the knife drove in, in those last, desperate moments.

“I love you,” he mumbles, his voice thick with emotion. It’s the only thing he can think to say. The only thing that really matters.

“I love you,” says Martin, and they stay like that for a while, skin to scarred skin.

[sunflowerryvol6]

Cheat Day Part 2

I don't know what made me write this, but I hope this makes some sense. Dedicated to the sweetest @hstyleswomen @harrysficreblog

Masterist

Warnings: Angst

WC: 2800

Six years later.

The first few years of the split were brutal. You both couldn't spend a moment in the room with each other without crying or fighting. There seemed to be no end to your suffering, it seemed. But like all wounds, time heals most. You just needed some time to get your head in the game. Luna was your priority, after all.

Harry and you had found a rhythm in co-parenting. He would have her on weekdays for half the month, and rest you would have her. You both would alternate on weekends. As years have gone by, you both have learned to spend more time together, for Moonie's sake. Last year, you went on a vacation too. You, Moonie, Harry and his girlfriend Lisa. You and Lisa didn't have a great start, but both of you decided to hash it out for the sake of your little girl. She loved Moonie as her own, and you couldn't be more grateful. Lisa and Moonie had a beautiful relationship; she was a friend you little moon needed. Whenever Harry and you had arguments, Lisa would take Moonie and excuse herself out of the crossfire. Spending time with Lisa has made Moonie realise that it's possible to have more than one parental figure, and you can love them all the same. You couldn't be happier. You had finally got the opportunity to dive back into work fully and have a support system. That's what Lisa and Harry had become to you. Your support system.

Lisa and Harry met two years after the split. She had always been very kind to you, but it took you some getting used to the idea of your ex-husband with somebody else. So, of course, there was friction at first, but over time once you got to know her a little bit, you both got on very well. It definitely has something to do with the way she treated your daughter.

Lisa was a widow. Her husband and the little boy died in a freak accident. She never told you the details of how it happened, but it was something she was dealing with on her own. Harry had supported her through her grieving process, and that's what brought them together. It can seem odd to people how they got together, but those who know them know they're great for each other. Harry had changed too, since meeting her. He had a newfound appreciation for his daughter and his ex-wife and the relationship they had. That's what pushed him to work through the differences he had with you. He had to find a way to make things work and still be in your daughter's life. It took a lot of fights and compromise. But in the end, you two decided to put your past behind and march on ahead as a family. Even though it's not what you had signed up for in this relationship, but that doesn't mean you're not grateful for it.

It was Friday night, and Harry and Lisa would be coming in with Moons anytime now. It was a tradition you three had started for your little girl. Anne was coming over too. She wasn't happy with what happened, but she made peace with the situation like her son. You had taken the home you and Harry had bought, and he'd moved into another house close by. You both decided you needed to be closer to Luna. Even though it had led to multiple fights, in the end, you knew it was the best decision to stay close by. A few years ago, when Luna's appendix burst, he was close by to drive you both to the hospital and took care of at the hospital. When you have to go on work trips, he is there to take her in. It's an unconventional set-up, but it works.

Harry walks into your house with a very smiley Lisa on his arm. "Why are you smiling so much?" You ask her. She shows you her hand coyly. "Harry proposed to me this afternoon." Anne looks up from her phone, surprised. She smiles wide and the couple "Oh honey! I'm so happy for you both!" She rushes to hug the couple. Luna runs up to Lisa and Harry to embrace them. "I'm so happy for Pa! and you too, Lise!" Harry reaches down to her level and kisses her on the cheek. You were just standing and watching this exchange, kind of stunned. You knew they were serious, but you didn't think he was going to propose. You quickly recover and walk over to Lisa, "I'm so happy for you, Lisa! Congratulations!" You hug her, and over her shoulder, you can see Harry looking at you, and you wipe your eyes quickly and pull away from the hug.

The night goes better than you'd expected. You all celebrated with a nice bottle of wine and stories of how they met, and she told stories of her first few times interacting with Moons. Overall it was a beautiful night of reminiscing. Too bad you disagreed. You'd had a little too much to drink and caught Harry looking over to you every time you refilled your glass. You knew better than to call him out on it. So you just sat in a corner and wished you'd disappear.

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

You wake by the incessant ringing coming from your phone. It's Harry. It's pretty late for him to be calling you, so you answer. "Harry, what's wrong?" You ask.

"Open your door; I'm outside." He speaks. You look at the time on your phone and get back on call. "What are you doing here? Why'd you call?" You ask again. "Just come out. I'll explain." You get out of bed and wear your robe and walk downstairs to your main door.

"Harry. What are you doing here? Are you drunk?" You look at him, confused.

He walks in. "I shouldn't have done it. I shouldn't have asked Lisa to marry me. I knew it when I broke the news to you today. I knew it was a bad call. I thought you wanted me to move on, but looking at your face today, I couldn't believe I had done that to you." He breathes out.

You look at him wide-eyed at his confession. "What the fuck? Did you just walk in here thinking you were going to make this stupid fucking argument and I was going to fall for it?" You say to him.

"Y/N, I know you love me."

"Of course, I love you, you bloody moron. I do, and I have for the last 15 years. But you cheated on me, remember? And you brought Lisa into our lives, whom I love very dearly, by the way. So what do you think was going to happen?"

"I can't stand being away from you. Living so close, yet you won't let me come near you. It's been killing me slowly each day." His lip was trembling as tears well in his eyes.

"Harry, you made this choice 4 years ago. You asked her to marry you. Why would you do this to me now?"

"I just need to kiss you once, please. Harry pleads.

"Think about Luna. Think about what you're ruining for her. We have already broken up our family. You can't break it anymore and cause her pain, please. I love you, I do. Very very much, and I can't stand here and watch you ruin yet another relationship, Harry."

"Please listen to what I'm saying. I love you, goddamnit! I need you to recognise that. I need you to tell me it will be okay, and we will be okay."

"We are okay, H. As okay as we can be. Please go back home to your fiancé, and don't bring this up again ever. For the sake of our daughter. Please." You're pleading with him now with tears streaming freely.

You turn around and walk back to your room. You laid back on your bed and cried quietly into your pillow.

You knew what you were going to do.

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

You stand outside the door of your ex's mother. You have no idea how you will tell her what you have done to her daughter-in-law to be. But you had no one to turn to. So, you ring the doorbell and wait for her to open the door.

"Hello, darling! What a wonderful surprise!" She beams at you. You give her a small smile and walk into the house. You get comfortable on the couch in the living area while she closes the door and comes up to where you're sitting. "Moonie didn't want to come along?" She asks as she goes back to folding the laundry you had caught her in the midst of. "No, it's just me today." You spoke. "Let me put on some tea, and we'll have a good ol' mother-daughter chat. What d'ya say?" She smiles. "Yes. That sounds like a great plan." You smiled.

You both sat at the kitchen island, sipping on peppermint tea and mindlessly talking about things and catching up. You had yet to tell her. "Darling, let's stop beating around the bush, shall we?" Anne says to you. You freeze. She couldn't have known, but she definitely knows what's up.

"Harry came to talk to me the night he proposed." You looked down at your cup shamefully. Anne reached out to place her palm on yours, "I know. He told me." She smiles sadly.

"Yeah, and I can't live here anymore knowing how he feels." You whisper. "Are you going to tell him?" Anne seems calm like she understands how this must feel. "No." You look up at her with tears welling up in your eyes.

She gets up from across the table and comes around to where you are seated. She reaches out to you, and you lean into her and hold her waist, silently crying.

"Everything will fall in place, my child."

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

You travelled a lot the following month, so it was easier to avoid Harry after that conversation you had. You had spent countless nights crying into your pillow. You knew you had to go back to therapy. You couldn't slip now. You had been doing so well.

Moonie was supposed to stay with you tonight. Harry would be dropping her off from ballet any moment now. You had been avoiding him ever since the incident between you too. You couldn't bear to look at him or Lisa. You just made up excuses most Fridays, some of which you were travelling, so it wasn't that big a deal. You were home to spend time with your girl and back to the office. Today, you'd just have to suck it up and face him. You didn't know what you'd say, but you couldn't avoid him forever. The thought alone had your stomach-churning. Suddenly the tacos you had for lunch didn't seem to be such a great idea. You walked into the kitchen and poured yourself a glass of cold water. You took an icepack from the fridge and carried both the items, and sat back on the couch with your head leaned back. You checked your phone for the time, and just in time, the bell rang. You got up from the sofa and walked up to the door. Opened the door to find Moonie, Harry and Lisa, all standing in front of you. You could see her ring glistening even in the porch light outside your home.

Suddenly you felt lightheaded and reached for the doorframe to steady yourself. Before you could think, you sunk down. But Harry was quick to catch you. Harry knelt beside you and laid your head on his lap, "It's okay, you're okay." He said softly. "Lisa! could you bring her some water, please". That's the last thing you heard before you passed out.

He was still standing behind you. "Are you feeling ill?" You rolled your eyes at him, you tried to sit up, and he helps you. "No, I think it's just the travelling." His eyes softened at your comment, "I've been calling you; you know? Why didn't you answer any of my calls?" He asks.

What were you supposed to say to that? I'm sorry that you want to leave your fiancé for me? Instead, you just shrugged. "I've been busy, Harry. Actually, I don't feel so good right now, so could we maybe talk about this later?" You turned to look at him. He moved backwards and out of your way to give you some room. "Yeah, sure. Can I get you something? I can stay with you for a few hours." He asked. "No. That won't be necessary, Harry. Please go home."

You walk into the living room and find Lisa making a cup of tea. "Hey, you feeling any better?" She smiles at you. She pours the tea into a cup and brings it over to you, "It always helped me, so I figured why not?" You thank her and take the cup from her.

"Yeah, I think it's just the stress from travelling so much. I'll be okay in a few days. I think I'm going to turn in." You asked. "Of course, darling. You just feel better, okay?" She smiles at you. "Honey, Let's head home and give this one some time to rest." She walks up to Harry and puts her arm around him, and sweetly pecks his cheek. He smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Yeah, I'll just go say goodbye to her", And he walks towards your daughter's room.

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

Harry : I need to see you, please.

You: Come over after dinner today.

Harry: See you x

"Are we going to talk about what happened?" He raises an eyebrow at you. "I think we're past the stage of talking at this point." You sigh. "What do you mean?" He asks. He's furrowing his brows at you like he does when he's concerned about something.

"I'm leaving, Harry."

"What."

"Yeah, I have been planning it for 2 months now. I don't know how long I'll be gone."

"I came to tell you that I ended things with Lisa, and I wanted to give us a real shot. Give Moonie an actual shot at a family."

"I don't need to tell you anything, really. We can figure out the details of how we're going to manage custody later over text or call."

"So you're just going to leave your daughter go to god knows where?" He asks you.

"I can't be here anymore, Harry. This opportunity will bring countless more opportunities for Moonie and me. And I need to do this for myself. Now, if you will please." You show him the door.

That was the last time you'd see Harry for a long time. But that's something he didn't need to know.

You didn't know if you'd be able to go through with it. But it had to be done. If Harry were to leave Lisa or not, it had to be on his terms, not because he was in love with you.

A few months later

When you told Anne about your plan, she wasn't exactly on board. But she understood, and she loved you. So, of course, she brought you to her farmhouse for you to stay. You and Luna made an agreement that she wouldn't tell her Pa that you're camping out here. Anne would bring her down on weekends. You'd found a strange confidante in your daughter. Not that you'd go into the details of your relationship with Harry, but she understood many things that you didn't give her credit for. That's how you spent the past few months. Getting to know your daughter, who hadn't been a stranger to your problems with Harry, even though that's how you wanted it to be.

You were sipping your morning coffee as you check your emails for anything you had lined up for the day. The date was looming over you, and you just needed to be as distracted as to not think about the wedding happening right now. You need to occupy yourself with work. So, you open the email folder and find an email from Lisa. She has tried to reach out to your multiple times on call and via text, but you always make an excuse about work or being sick. With time she stopped reaching out so often, and you felt less guilty for moving away.

Dear Leyla,

I can't say I haven't missed you these past few months. Hope you're well. I'm getting married today, and you're not here. In a way, I get why you left. But I just wanted to let you know that I wanted you here, just as much Moonie and Harry. Especially him. But you already knew that, didn't you?

With time, I hope he loves me just as much you love him.

Love,

Lisa.

You couldn't stop crying now. You knew that she knew.

[newtonsheffield]

Hey Molly!!

I had to watch the finale of one of my favorite TV shows where they killed off the female lead right after she got together with the guy we’ve all been waiting for her to get together with - for 8 years.

It was depressing as heck! But you saved my depressed little heart with Anniversary so first off thank you so much for this awesomeness of an AU, I honestly can’t get enough of it!! ♥️

I read this interesting fic the other day and I was wondering if we could see something along these lines in the BSCU?

Forgive me if this sounds like super weird and feel free to ignore it but I’m a weirdo who likes a touch of angst mixed with the fluff ahhh

Kate gets appendicitis? Anthony is freaked out? Then fluff!

But again, sorry for such a weird ask! You don’t have to do it!!

As always thanks for being so amazing!

You’re truly the best ♥️

Hello! Hello! Hello!

Ugh! I hate when they ruin ships like that! Like thanks for wasting my time!!!

I'm so glad Anniversary made you feel better though!

Ooof Imagine Anthony going absolutely spare because his girlfriend just kind of doubled over and then went really clammy and like it's not because he said he wanted to marry her right?!

(Let's see if it is!)

Anthony couldn't quite put his finger on it, but Kate had been acting a little oddly this morning. They'd been laying in bed this morning, Anthony's arm cushioning Kate's head as she scrolled through social media. "Ugh! Fucking Hell!" Kate had groaned, rolling her eyes. Anthony had made a humming noise looking up from nuzzling at her collarbone. "A girl I went to school with just got married." She said a little scathingly. Anthony had felt his eyebrows raise, "And we hate that because?" His heart thrumming wildly, surely she wasn't upset because she wasn't-? "We hate that because she used to trip me in the hallway, and she also had guests sign their initials on a bird house. I would die." Kate said a little primly. Laughter bubbled in Anthony's chest, echoing through his bedroom. "I promise when we get married, there won't be a bird house in sight." He said unthinkingly. Kate stilled for a moment and then stood from his bed wincing slightly.

"I have to go to Mary's. I promised I'd help her with some stuff." She said quickly, making her way towards the bathroom, leaving Anthony in their bed wondering what on earth had happened.

He'd been making breakfast when she came downstairs, looking a little peaky as he slid the plate towards her, eggs and toast piled high. "Sorry, I'm gonna skip it. I'm feeling a little queasy, and I was just a little sick when I got changed." Anthony felt his brow furrow, anxiety bubbling in his stomach. "I better head off." "Are you sure you should go to Mary's?" concern colouring his voice, his hand reaching out for her forehead. "Anthony, I'm fine. It's probably just... my period starting or... not that I'll be fine." She said swatting his hand away. Kissing his cheek quickly "I'll be back later." "I love you." Anthony called out as she waved back at him.

Anthony spent all morning trying to busy himself around the house. Kate had left in such a rush, she hadn't even looked at her breakfast, had swatted his hands away and as pathetic as it was, he couldn't remember the last time she'd left the house without telling him he loved her. God, had his stupid comment about getting married made her panic? He wanted to marry her, he was certain and they lived together but maybe they weren't at the stage in their relationship where you could casually mention a wedding that hadn't technically been proposed yet. No, he was being ridiculous, he told himself, She'd said she was feeling unwell, she'd been sick, she was feeling queasy this... morning. Oh god. Kate was pregnant. Something fluttered in his stomach at the thought. Would it really be so terrible if she was? They were committed and he was sure that-

His descent into madness was stopped by his phone ringing Edwina Sheffield (Kate from Work's sister) flashing on the screen a smile coming to his face at the joke. "Hey Anthony," Edwina said quickly, continuing before Anthony greet her. "Um I'm going to need you not to panic but Mum and I are just driving Kate to A&E." Anthony's heart stopped he could hear Kate's voice in the background "For fuck's sake Eddie don't tell him like that!" A scuffle for the phone as Anthony fought for breath, panic welling up inside him. "Honey, please don't panic." Kate's voice winced, Anthony's panic abated only very slightly. "Don't panic?! Kate what happened?!" He choked out. "Please don't be mad, but I think I have appendicitis? Can you just come to the hospital?" Anthony was out the door before she could even tell him where.

He burst through the accident and emergency doors startling the desk nurse. "Um Hi," He said his voice high, his breath wrenching from his chest. "My ah.. my wife's mum brought her in a short while ago? Kate Sheffield?!" "Anthony?" Edwina's voice called out from behind the desk, gesturing him through. Anthony shot an apologetic look at the bemused nurse as he skirted around the desk following after Edwina. "So Kate's your wife huh?" Edwina said smirking, nudging his shoulder with her own. Anthony's eyes bulged as he realised what he'd said, floundering a little. 'Shut up, Eddie. Anyway, she might be dying. Hardly the moment for a romantic proposal." He quipped, his stomach rolling. Edwina fixed him with shrewd stare. "Is there going to be a romantic proposal?"

Anthony shrugged, unable to trust the words that would come out of his mouth for a moment. "Probably." Edwina smiled brightly. "Kate's fine by the way. She's being prepped for surgery which means she's a little...high honestly. She's high as a kite." Edwina said pulling back the curtain with a flourish to reveal Mary attempting to wrestle Kate back into bed. "I'm fine Mary promise I just wanna go home to Anthony and our dog!" Kate was saying her voice a little high. Mary sighed. "Katie, when the morphine wears off I think you'll feel differently." "Anthony!" Kate yelled suddenly realising he'd arrived. And Anthony felt himself relax just a little though worry still swirled in his stomach, he didn't have time to worry about himself.

"Katie, can you get back in bed for me?" He said softly, coaxing her back under the covers. "Mary Anthony came! I love Anthony!" Kate sing-songed happily taking his hand. Mary smiled gently. "I know Katie." "Anthony! They're gonna take out my appendix!" Kate said brightly, as though it was the best news she'd ever heard. Anthony chuckled as he ran his hands through her hair. "Do you wanna know a secret?" Kate said in what Anthony was sure was supposed to be a whisper. He nodded suddenly afraid of what she'd say as he sister watched on with amusement. "It's a really good one." She sing songed again. "Before the pain started, I thought I was pregnant!" Anthony's heart stopped as Mary let out an odd squeak Edwina a loud cackle.

"And like I wasn't even mad about it because I wanna have a baby with you! It would be so cute! It might have curly hair, and maybe your nose and your angry little eyebrows!" Kate said happily her finger running over his brows forcing them to frown as she chuckled. "Mary Don't you think my baby with Anthony would be so CUTE?!" "Okay! We're ready for you now!" A Nurse said making to wheel the bed away. "Just maybe think about it!" Kate said happily. "Kate I would love to have this conversation when you aren't high." Anthony said kissing her forehead lightly, his heart pounding as his girlfriend was wheeled down the ward yelling out "I'm not high thank you!"

"Please tell me I didn't say anything too terrible." Kate winced when she woke up, looking ruefully at her jelly as Anthony fussed around her. "Mmmm you just told Mary and Edwina how badly you want to have a baby with me." Anthony chuckled fluffing her pillows. Kate froze, her spoon halfway to her mouth. "You're fucking kidding." "Oh but I'm not. You want it to have my and I quote Angry Eyebrows." Anthony laughed settling himself on the bed beside her. Kate huffed, her eyes darting to him furtively, clearly gauging his reaction. "Well I'm not... opposed to the idea." Anthony's stomach dropped again. He cleared his throat. "Me either." He saw Kate's shoulders relax a smile threatening to burst onto her face. "I might let you recover from this surgery first though." "Oh my god, such a gentleman. Catch me I'm swooning."

[misiwrites]

mayblade oneshot #3

prompts: lilacs; rain; chains; gold; wings; mafia; coffee characters: max, ming-ming, salima, mariam pairing: max/rei word count: 1,480~ content warning: implied character death summary: The consequences of a showdown on one fateful night.

a small….appendix to my mafia AU. this is more of a mood/aesthetic piece since all i have to give for previous context of this story is porn. it be like that. i love this AU so much myself that i couldn't help writing a thing anyways even if it made no sense to anyone else. prompts are again used in Highly Questionable ways, i was just vibin'

☆ ☾ ☆ ☾ ☆ ☾ ☆

The heavy downpour blurs the edges of this heretic world. The water pools around Max’s shoes with each step in the deluge. Above him, the battered grey curtain of the sky is stretched thin above the forlorn landscape of forsaken souls.

Too many steps. He doesn’t want to take any more.

Too few steps. He wishes he wasn’t approaching the inevitable end of the road this fast.

*

Ming-Ming burst through the door of the small editorial office. “I got it! Huge news! Our investigation just leapt forward a mile or a few!”

Salima was immediately on her feet; Mariam, with her heels on the desk, more conservative in her reaction as usual.

“You got it? Did the NYPD finally talk?”

“Not exactly. It’s second-hand information, but from a reliable source.” Ming-Ming set her tools down and flipped her laptop open. Salima was already looking over the darker girl's shoulder, her reporter’s brain almost audibly buzzing, the cogs inside turning.

“It’s the Russian detectives, isn’t it?” she ushered her colleague. “They’ve been making moves again.”

“And not just any moves. It’s looking like they’re really onto something major this time.”

“That’s what they said last time, too,” Mariam pointed out and sat back in her chair, lazily combing through her long ponytail with her fingers. “And turned out they totally had the wrong guy and got their asses kicked. It was kinda weird to assume that the boss would be Japanese just because they’ve proved some connections to Japan within the syndicate, duh.”

“This is different.” Ming-Ming opened up the document with her notes. “A guy was sent to take one of their top agents out. It must mean they’re on the right track now, if the syndicate is starting to feel like the detectives ought to be eliminated for getting too close for comfort.”

Salima leaned forward, her dark grey eyes shining. “Really? So an agent was killed?”

“Nope. Didn’t get him. That’s Boris Kuznetsov, the partner of Yuriy Ivanov – yep, one of the top guys. He won’t get taken out that easily.” Ming-Ming brought up a picture of the silver-haired Russian on the screen.

“Oh shit.” Now Mariam rolled her chair over as well, the entire investigative journalist trio keenly staring at the laptop together. “This is actually good. Start from the beginning, Ming – but this needs coffee to go with. Maximilian!”

“He’s not a servant,” Salima pointed out, although she was also eyeing their enthusiastic little greenhorn across the office. “He’s a full-fledged member of our group now. Well – could you check if there’s some left in the pan, though? Max?”

Max, sitting in his own cubicle in the corner, removed the headphones that had provided him with the perfect pretense of minding his own business while somberly listening to each word the women were saying. His head full of snakes, he forced his usual laid-back smile out to the front.

“What? You called me?”

“Coffee!” Salima had already moved over to the Moccamaster, heeding her own words instead of waiting for their newcomer to do the job. “You want a cuppa too?”

“No thanks. I quit, remember?”

“Like, actually quit-quit? I thought it was just a phase. Fair enough!”

Max tried his hardest to keep his smile from faltering. No, it wasn’t just a phase. He could no longer do as much as imagine the taste of coffee without bile rising to his throat. An entire night of downing cup after cup, sick of worry, attempting to drown the suspicion eating him inside out with each sip did that to a person.

And now he couldn’t but listen as the three women went over what information they’d managed to gather of the events from that night. He knew he had to listen, listen closely for the sake of this fake greenhorn journalist character that he’d meticulously kept up for several months already, but every word they spoke seared yet another hole in his soul that’d been thoroughly shaken by the one impossibility that never should have come to pass.

“Kuznetsov is still in intensive care but the information obviously had to come from him, there aren’t any other witnesses to stuff like this,” Ming-Ming carried on.

“Except the guy who tried to eliminate him.”

“But Kuznetsov took so many shots up close – presumably, probably according to himself, anyway – the guy would need to be superhuman to survive that.”

He is a superhuman. But even superhumans had internal organs that could go pop when sprinkled with enough bullets.

“So they didn’t retrieve the body?” Salima asked, brows raised.

“No, he got away. Kuznetsov was in too poor a condition to pursue him. My source didn’t go too much into detail about the officer's injuries, but it was something batshit crazy. Like his ribcage had been penetrated with bare hands. Crazy stuff.”

“Hopefully Boris recovers soon,” Mariam said, “because that must have been one hell of a fight. He needs to tell the whole story one day. Make a podcast about it.”

“Well, if the detectives are allowed to disclose that much information. Besides, the hitman is still on the loose – officially.” Ming-Ming tapped at the screen with a finger.

“Imagine.” Salima stood straight, the evident excitement in her voice like poison in Max's ears, “what if it’s him? The Cat-Eyed Assassin.”

“Urban legends,” Mariam mumbled.

Max could have stopped Rei that night. He should have. He didn’t.

Whatever dirt they had gathered on the BBA, he shouldn’t have gone for that Russian detective. He’d done it to protect Max, of course, to protect the entire syndicate from these foreign intruders. It had been his single most important job.

They’d become too soft. Both of them. Things had become too personal with too many emotions at play. Rei really had become prepared to give his life for Max – not just for the leader of their organization, but for the person named Max Mizuhara whom he'd chosen to spend that life with.

And for that, Rei had made a mistake. He should have known they didn’t yet know enough about these Russians to go for it.

“But could be true,” the red-head insisted. “And if it were, if the Cat-Eyed Assassin really existed, of course the syndicate would want to go out of their way to find him.”

No, we wouldn’t. Max rubbed his temples, a headache steadily sawing its way through his skull. It had been Rei who’d come to him. Always. Always.

That day, already before spending the entire night of obsessively downing coffee and not getting an eyeful of rest, Max had physically felt the bond between them snap. The chain that had been built link by link, from that London underground auction where Max had saved Rei from being sold to human trafficking and across all the consecutive years since, to that very day. Despite having been away in his underground office, alone, he’d felt the exact moment the deeply rooted connection had ceased to exist. Known that something had just irreparably broken within himself.

And yet, he’d never let go of hope. No matter how much time passed. Regardless of how slim the chances of Rei’s heart still beating somewhere out there, he wasn’t ready to give up on it.

There was no such concept as “giving up” in the playbook of the BBA. Now, he’d never rest again.

*

No rest for the dead. Max walks past the sea of graves, the names carved into stone drowned out and washed away by the rain. He reaches the furthest end of the joyless grid.

He kneels down in the grass, disregarding the cold seeping through. He slowly reaches down to place a small bouquet of lilacs on the stone slab.

It’s a makeshift grave. There was never a body to be found, and even if there were, it would have been taken to some unknown morgue as a John Doe. But Max insisted on setting up a grave for his right-hand man here. Insisted on setting up a physical reminder that he existed. Max wouldn’t allow the BBA to forget.

His fingers brush over the hànzi for “gold” engraved in the rigid surface. Golden plum. An oddly cutesy name for possibly the world’s deadliest assassin.

Max will keep waiting. One day Rei will return to him once more, like a shadow in the night. Perhaps to take Max with him. It’s unlikely for Rei to come back with any angel wings on his back, but be it devil’s or anything else, it doesn’t matter so long as he descends back to Max one day. And he will.

In the meanwhile.

Slowly, Max stands up. He shoves a hand in his jacket and takes out a pocket watch. He snaps it open with one finger, raindrops immediately assaulting the face of the clock.

Then he turns on his heel and gives a somber grin to the graveyard kowtowing at his feet. He has a business to run… and a couple of Russian detectives to get even with. There's still plenty of room on the graveyard, after all.

☆ ☾ ☆ ☾ ☆ ☾ ☆

so the writing i've done for this AU now basically is that first they fuck and then they die. or more like rei fucks and then dies. i'm sorry

[morganaspendragonss]

First off I just want to say that I LOVE all of your Owen and TK fics. Prompt: I would love for TK to end up like really sick(fever,vomiting, dizzy spells) and try to hide it from everyone but then for him to get worse and it turn out to be appendicitis and Owen being super worried and protective of him throughout the whole ordeal. Once again I think that you are an amazing writer!!

thank you for the prompt and your lovely message! i’m so sorry for the long wait, but i hope you like what i came up with!

@911lonestarangstweek day 4:  Sickfic + “You need to rest.”

ao3 | 2.2k

“Are you okay, son?”

Owen frowns over at TK, sitting across from him at the dinner table. He keeps his voice low to avoid catching the attention of the rest of the team; TK would probably kill him for ‘causing a scene’, and then Owen would never get to the bottom of what’s going on.

And something is, that he’s sure of. Whilst the others are all wolfing down the pasta dish Paul cooked up, back-to-back calls leading to near starvation, as Mateo put it, TK has barely touched his food, electing to simply push it around the plate. He’s quiet too, not joining in on the conversations going round the table, and he’s been looking off all day. That Owen has seen, anyway, and he’s also caught Tommy sending worried glances in TK’s direction multiple times. If it weren’t for the knowledge that TK would likely bite the offending hand off, Owen would definitely reach over to check his temperature; his skin is noticeably flushed and there’s a light sheen of sweat on his brow.

TK doesn’t appear to hear his question, continuing to ineffectually stab at pasta shapes, so Owen leans closer, daring to wave a hand in his face. 

TK blinks in surprise. “What?”

“I said, are you okay? You look sick.”

He rolls his eyes, looking back down at his plate. “I’m fine.”

Owen raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, for starters, you haven’t eaten anything,” Owen says, pointedly staring at him, letting him know his charade hasn’t gone unnoticed.

TK huffs and sets his fork down, pushing the plate away. “I’m not hungry.”

Bullshit. 

“Since when are you not hungry?”

“Since now, Dad!” TK snaps, glaring at Owen. He flushes and drops his eyes when his outburst earns him several raised eyebrows, but he still doesn’t give in, instead grumbling another, “I’m fine.”

The thing is, Owen knows that TK probably thinks he is fine. TK’s always had a tendency to downplay his own illnesses and injuries, to the point where he’s even doing it to himself, which has resulted in more ER visits and emergency doctors’ appointments than Owen cares to remember. 

So, much as he would love to believe his son, all the evidence points to him being very much not okay. Owen’s about two seconds away from calling Tommy over when TK’s face changes, his breathing suddenly becoming very carefully measured.

“Son?” he asks, reaching across the table to lay a hand on TK’s arm. The second he makes contact, however, TK violently shoves away from the table, chair legs scraping noisily on the linoleum.

“Bathroom,” is all the explanation he gives before rushing off, very obviously unsteady on his feet.

Owen watches him go, torn between wanting to follow and wanting to give TK the chance to admit defeat himself. He’s worried, but he knows that if he keeps pushing, then TK’s just going to be even more stubborn about it. He sighs and shakes his head, returning back to his meal, TK’s untouched plate mocking him in his periphery. 

But when ten minutes have passed and TK still hasn’t reappeared, Owen feels a sick sense of dread start to creep in. There’s no reason for him to have been gone this long unless something is seriously wrong, and Owen’s not about to wait any longer to find out what.

He stands up, glancing pensively up the staircase before heading up there himself, trying to stave off all the worst case scenarios flitting through his mind. Maybe TK just went to lie down for a bit? It’s possible, though Owen knows it’s more than likely not the case. That would be too simple.

His fears are confirmed when he turns the corner leading to the bathroom. TK is hunched over in the doorway, white-knuckled grip on the frame, the other arm wrapped around his abdomen. He’s staring sightlessly into the middle distance, apparently not even noticing Owen as he approaches, and Owen can hear how heavy his breathing is from across the room. 

“TK?” he calls, worry only spiking when TK gives no indication of having heard him. This is bad; Owen runs to the balcony, thanking god that Tommy is still down there with the rest of the team. “Captain Vega!” he calls. “A little help up here?”

Tommy’s instantly moving, clearly picking up on the urgency in his tone, and Owen spares a single moment of relief. Unfortunately, it’s short-lived; when he turns back around, time seems to slow as he watches TK’s grip on the doorframe loosen, his feet shuffling forward tentatively before letting go altogether.

TK stays upright for barely a second before he crumples to the floor, collapsing in an undignified heap. Owen breaks into a run, reaching TK just as he’s trying to push himself back up. He doesn’t seem to have lost consciousness, which Owen is thankful for, and he’s a little more lucid now, but he’s turned incredibly pale and there are tight lines of pain around his eyes. 

“TK, what’s going on?” he demands, keeping a hand firmly on his son’s shoulders to keep him on the floor. “And don’t give me any of that ‘I’m fine’ crap; I just saw you collapse, so you’re going to have to do better than that.”

TK groans, the effort it takes for his gaze to focus on Owen seemingly Herculean. “Thought it was just a stomach bug,” he mutters. “That’s why I didn’t say anything. Then I got this really bad pain”—he waves a hand over his abdomen—“and I had to come up here to be sick. When I tried to come back down I got really dizzy - my vision blurred, there was this really loud ringing in my ears - I guess you saw all that.

“The blurriness has gone now but the pain is still there, so I’m thinking it’s probably -”

“Your appendix.” Tommy’s voice cuts through TK’s, and Owen looks up to see her heading towards them, medical bag in hand. She tuts as she kneels next to them, shaking her head ruefully. “Really, Strand? Hiding something like this on the job?”

“In my defence, Cap,” TK says, something like a smile on his lips, “I really didn’t know until just now. I was only a little feverish before, so I thought it was nothing.”

“Until it wasn’t,” she admonishes, but there’s an undercurrent of fondness to her tone. She presses down on TK’s abdomen and he hisses in pain, Tommy’s face growing serious. “TK, did you have any pain before what happened just now?”

“A little,” he admits. “But then it went away so I forgot about it.”

Tommy curses. Owen glances over at her anxiously, not liking the worried expression on her face. “What is it?”

She looks at him grimly, rising to her feet and heading for the stairs. “I can’t be certain, but it means his appendix might have already burst. Check his pulse.”

Owen does, feeling a little sick himself as the implications of Tommy’s words sink in. TK’s pulse is fast which, judging by the less-than-happy expression on her face when Owen reports it, isn’t a good sign.

“He needs to get to the hospital, now.”

*

Owen’s foot taps out a repetitive rhythm on the waiting room floor, earning him several reproachful looks from hospital staff and other visitors. He pays them no mind, though; it’s been ages since TK was wheeled away for testing and surgery, and his patience is stretched thin.

He knows it’ll be fine, logically. Appendectomies usually are, though there’s the added complication of TK’s appendix maybe having already burst, because apparently they can’t have any good luck for a change.

It’s just… It never gets any easier, seeing his son in the hospital. Even if it’s just for something as simple as a broken bone, of which there have been a few over the years. But, as Owen is reminded when he hears the hurried sound of feet coming towards him, he doesn’t have to do this alone anymore.

He stands as Carlos reaches him, his eyes wide and worried - perhaps more so than the situation warrants, but Owen’s not about to judge him for that. 

“What happened?” Carlos asks, not giving Owen a moment to respond before rushing ahead. “He looked a little flushed this morning but he told me he was fine and I believed him. I’m sorry, Captain Strand, I should have pushed more -”

“Carlos.” Owen holds up a hand, laughing a little. “Take a breath, son. And, how many times, call me Owen.”

Carlos flushes, breathing out shakily before slumping into a chair by Owen’s side. “Right,” he mutters. “Sorry. How is he, though?”

Owen eases himself back down into his seat, his knees cracking noisily in protest. He sighs. “He’ll be okay. I’m still waiting on the doctor to come out and tell me more, but he was admitted a while ago, so hopefully that’ll happen soon.”

Carlos nods, leaning his head in his hands. Owen watches him with a faint smile on his face; he’s always known how much TK and Carlos care for each other, but seeing it first-hand just reaffirms the knowledge. It’s all he’s ever wanted for his son - someone who loves him just as much as he loves them.

“You know,” he starts, “you’re the first boyfriend TK’s ever had who’ll willingly come and wait at the hospital for hours. I appreciate you being here.”

Carlos stares at him, uncomprehending. “I… I’m the first?”

Owen nods; Carlos shakes his head in disbelief. It’s strangely heartwarming, this display of indignation on his son’s behalf, and Owen couldn’t be more grateful for Carlos’s presence. He goes to say something else, but then they’re interrupted by the arrival of a doctor, smiling reassuringly at them.

“Mr Strand,” he greets, raising a questioning eyebrow at Carlos. “And…”

“This is Carlos Reyes, TK’s partner.”

“Ah.” The doctor nods, looking back down at his clipboard. “The good news is, the surgery went well. We’re getting him set up in a room now; I’ll take you to see him in a moment.”

“Is there bad news?” Carlos asks nervously, having clearly picked up on the same thing Owen had.

The doctor grimaces. “Unfortunately, his appendix burst before he arrived, so there is a significant risk of infection. We’ve put him on a course of antibiotics and he’ll have to remain here for at least the next week to make sure there are no unexpected complications.”

“He’s gonna love that,” Carlos jokes, and even Owen has to smile, knowing just how right Carlos is. He’s still worried, and the doctor’s news has only increased that, but it’s easier, having someone else with him who’s just as worried.

They’re soon taken to TK’s room, Owen letting out a sigh of relief as he sees him awake, though his expression is tight with pain. He’s beyond proud of TK for how far he’s come in his recovery, and Owen knows that this is what he needs to do, but it’s not any easier to see his kid hurting.

“How are you feeling, son?” he asks, taking a seat next to the bed. Carlos dithers for a moment before TK sends him a look, and he settles himself gingerly on the edge of the bed, almost absent-mindedly taking TK’s hands in his own.

“Like crap,” TK answers, apparently too tired for his usual ‘I’m fine’ routine. “Could be worse, though.”

Owen hums in agreement; that, at least, can’t be denied. It’s difficult to top getting shot and spending days in a coma. 

They talk for a little while, but then TK starts yawning and his eyelids begin to droop, despite his very obvious effort to keep them open. Owen laughs at him, shaking his head fondly.

“Alright, son, we get the message,” he jokes. “I’m leaving.”

“No, it’s okay -”

“TK,” Owen interrupts. “You need to rest. I’ll come back and check on you tomorrow.”

TK huffs, but he’s clearly too exhausted to protest any further, letting Owen place a kiss on his brow as he stands. Carlos moves to join him, but TK draws the line there, clinging on tight to his hands.

“I…” Carlos sends a helpless look to Owen, but he just shakes his head.

“I wouldn’t argue, Carlos,” he says. “I’m sure you know as well as I do how clingy TK gets when he’s sick.”

“Do not,” TK mumbles, but it’s offset by the way he’s currently attempting - incredibly unsuccessfully - to pull Carlos down next to him.

Carlos huffs a laugh at that. “Sure you don’t, love.”

TK swats clumsily at him, and Owen can’t help but smile at their interaction. It’s clear they’ve all but forgotten his presence, so he starts to creep towards the door, only to stop and look back when he gets there.

“TK?” he says sternly, drawing their attention. “Remember - rest.”

TK rolls his eyes and Carlos flushes darkly, attempting to stammer out a response. Owen takes pity on him and walks away, grinning to himself. Not too long ago, he wouldn’t have dreamt of leaving TK after major surgery, but things are so different now. 

Owen knows TK has all he needs already with him. And that is the most important thing.

[twentiethcenturymoviesandtv]

Episode Spotlight: M*A*S*H, Season 1, Episode 17: Sometimes You Hear the Bullet

Frank Burns throws his back out and applies for a Purple Heart.  Meanwhile, Hawkeye Pierce meets, and later operates on, an old friend and struggles with the decision of whether or not to send an underaged soldier home.

More than halfway through season 1, M*A*S*H wasn’t exactly killing in the ratings.  The show wasn’t quite sure of itself yet, with tons of recurring characters that would end up dropped and other characters not yet added to the main cast.  Airing at eight o’clock on Sunday nights, M*A*S*H was, at this stage in the game, a relatively normal sitcom, albeit one with a bit sharper sense of humor.

That all changed with Sometimes You Hear the Bullet.

I’ll show you what I mean.

The episode starts humorously enough: Major Frank Burns throws his back out during a rendezvous with Major Houlihan.  He is placed into traction, where he applies for a Purple Heart for his ‘injury’.  Meanwhile, Hawkeye is visited by an old friend and kindred irreverent spirit: Corporal Tommy Gillis, a journalist who signed up for the front lines as he writes his book: You Never Hear the Bullet, a book meant to be written from a soldier’s point of view, instead of a reporter’s.

A helicopter full of wounded arrive at the unit, and Gillis returns to his post.

Among the wounded is a young man with a burst appendix, a Private Wendell Petersen, who is very anxious to get back to the front lines.  Hawkeye tells him that he has to rest for a few days before returning to his unit.  This doesn’t stop Wendell from attempting to steal an army jeep to try to get back, afraid that he was going to be sent home.

After talking with him, Hawkeye figures out the truth: Wendell Petersen is actually Walter Peterson, and he’s not even sixteen years old.

It turns out that Walter posed as his brother, Wendell, and entered the war to impress his girlfriend back home by returning with a medal.  He begs Hawkeye to keep his secret, and, after returning him to his bed, Hawkeye agrees.

Shortly, more wounded arrive, and among them is Tommy Gillis.  Hawkeye operates on him, but even his best is not enough, and he dies on the operating table after telling Hawkeye that he did hear the bullet.  Hawkeye tries to revive him, but Colonel Henry Blake orders him to move on to save another life.

Afterwards, Hawkeye breaks down crying.

“Henry, I know why I’m crying now. Tommy was my friend, and I watched him die, and I’m crying. I’ve watched guys die almost every day. Why didn’t I ever cry for them?”

“Because you’re a doctor.”

Hawkeye asks what that means, and Henry answers with one of the greatest lines in the show’s history.

“I don’t know. If I had the answer, I’d be at the Mayo Clinic. Does this place look like the Mayo Clinic? Look, all I know is what they taught me at command school. There are certain rules about a war. And rule number one is young men die. And rule number two is, doctors can’t change rule number one.”

Right then and there, Hawkeye decides to change rule number one in some small way, and calls the MPs on Private Wendell, really Walter, outing the fact that he’s underage.  Walter, outraged, tells Hawkeye that he’ll never forgive Hawkeye for the rest of his life.

Hawkeye replies: “Let’s hope it’s a long and healthy hate.”

In one final scene (one that’s usually cut from syndication), Henry Blake begins to present Frank with his Purple Heart, only to find it replaced with a purple earring, while outside, Hawkeye pins the Purple Heart on Walter to make up for turning him in, sending him home, but home a hero.

The end.

Sometimes You Hear the Bullet is considered one of M*A*S*H’s best episodes for a reason.  This is an early episode, one that is regarded as a tone and trend setter for the rest of the series in terms of both storyline balance (one or two serious plotlines, one humorous), and content itself, one of the first episodes to sit down and truly explore the characters within this tragic situation.  At this moment, M*A*S*H ceased being a comedy show and became a dramedy, with one of the most memorable moments and exchanges in the show’s long history.

While this episode may seem like a standard half-hour of television, at the time, especially for this show, it was something different.  It was no longer a slapstick grittier Hogan’s Heroesque irreverent comedy about soldiers, it was a show about a group of people stuck in the middle of a war, with death all around them.  And no matter how good Hawkeye, or any of the doctors, are at their jobs, they’ll never be able to save everyone.

It’s sobering, but it’s a truth that the show had, for the first time, truly explored, and it’s that initial exploration, that glimmer of what this show was going to become, that puts this episode under so much recognition: Sometimes You Hear the Bullet was the warning sign, the first moment that the writers got a handle on the show that would become a classic.

Of course, it has it’s problems.  

Not tonal ones, at least, not exactly.  Throughout its entire run, M*A*S*H often had two or three plots going, one serious, one humorous.  This is a smart strategy: balance out the dark with the light, giving each episode a more even feeling instead of being too much one or the other.  Although the show would get darker and more serious as time went on, the writers never abandoned this plan, allowing M*A*S*H to remain a consistent dramedy throughout the show’s run, keeping the audience laughing and crying at the same time.

In the case of Sometimes You Hear the Bullet, the ‘funny’ subplot is obvious: Frank Burns and his Purple Heart.  The other two storylines are the serious ones: Hawkeye’s friend, as well as the underaged soldier.  However, in most cases, as in this one, these plotlines inevitably intersect, and it’s here that this particular episode might cause a few problems.

I mentioned that the final scene in the episode is typically cut from syndication: the sequence where Frank’s purple heart is stolen and given to the underaged soldier, instead.  While this scene may not, at first, seem inherently out of place within the context of the rest of the episode, swinging from comedy to drama within a minute, there are those who believe that this scene unintentionally undermines the rest of the episode, or the main thrust established a few moments earlier.

And those people aren’t exactly wrong.

I certainly agree that the episode would have been stronger had it ended with the soldier’s final interaction with Hawkeye been proclaiming his hatred, only for Hawkeye to soberly respond that he hopes it’s a long and healthy hate.  Changing that to this new ending, where Hawkeye sends him home with a medal, seems almost out of character for Hawkeye, taking away some of the sincerity and severity of the message just a moment earlier.  The idea that this soldier could bring himself to forgive Hawkeye so soon, before realizing what exactly he’d been saved from, seems a little disingenuous after the weight previously given to this subplot.

In later episodes, it’s possible, even probable that this episode wouldn’t have ended tied in such a neat bow.  But that’s one of the things that’s so interesting about this episode.

Sometimes You Hear the Bullet isn’t the first episode of ‘true’ M*A*S*H as it would be remembered in the future, but it is the first episode where M*A*S*H comes into its own themes, looking hard at war, and the toll it takes not only on the soldiers, but on the surgeons, as well.  Before this, for the most part, ‘characters’, friends of the cast, did not die on the operating table.  Not when Hawkeye could save him.

But I’m going to quote Hawkeye from another season 1 M*A*S*H episode, Yankee Doodle Doctor, as I think that it sums up this the point of this episode pretty well:

“Three hours ago, this man was in a battle. Two hours ago, we operated on him. He’s got a 50-50 chance. We win some, we lose some. That’s what it’s all about. No promises. No guaranteed survival. No saints in surgical garb. Our willingness, our experience, our technique are not enough. Guns, and bombs, and anti-personnel mines have more power to take life than we have to preserve it. Not a very happy ending for a movie. But then, no war is a movie.”

That right there is the point of Sometimes You Hear the Bullet, to the point where the doomed Tommy Gillis even references the film tropes of a young, fresh-faced kid hearing the bullet that kills him.  This is the message that Hawkeye must grapple with: he cannot save everyone.

No matter how much he knows, how good he is, he can never save everyone.  No guaranteed survival.

It’s sobering, but it’s the truth.  And it’s what makes this episode so memorable.

M*A*S*H at this point was still mostly a comedy, a series full of jokes and the occasional serious moment, and it would continue to be so for another few years.  But it was this episode, episode seventeen of the first season, that signaled to audiences that this show could be more than that.  It could make you laugh, sure, but it could make you cry, and it wasn’t that surprising: this was war.

In short: by itself, is Sometimes You Hear the Bullet one of the greatest episodes of television, or even M*A*S*H, ever written?  Maybe.  Maybe not.  But what it is, without much doubt, is the first sign of maturity in a show that had a lot of growing up to do.

Whether the shift was instantaneous or not, the fact is, Sometimes You Hear the Bullet was a game changer in the show’s history, the first break in format that truly showed audiences what they could expect in the years ahead.

On top of that?  It’s just a good episode.

The plot balance is decent, without too much mood-whiplash that could so easily occur in a war dramedy.  The characters, decently familiar to audiences by now, all work off of each other just as well as ever, funny, interesting, and heartfelt in turn.  It’s an example of early M*A*S*H at it’s best, overshadowing many first season episodes with a level of depth previously mostly unexplored, delivering on every scene and remaining mostly genuine.  It’s an engaging episode, full of memorable moments that are thoughtful and earnest, making this episode a standout, a moment in television history, and an unmissable installment for avid watchers of M*A*SH, and television fans in general.

Don’t forget that the comment box is always open for anything from suggestions and discussion ideas to questions and conversations!  Thank you guys so much for reading, and I hope to see you guys in the next article.

[aquietwritingcorner]

Sicktember Day 13: Appendicitis Word Count: 1587 Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl Rating: G/K Characters: Olivier Mira Armstrong Warning: NA Summary: Olivier isn’t feeling so well. She really should have gone to Doc sooner. Notes: I did minimal research. Hopefully nothing is too egregiously wrong! AO3 || ff.net

__________________________________

Appendicitis

“General.”

“Hm?” Olivier looked up from the report that she, Miles, and Buccaneer had been going over.

“That’s the sixth time you’ve pressed that spot. Are you alright?”

Miles was looking at her with, what she could read on his usually controlled face, concern. Olivier’s eyes traveled to Buccaneer. He looked mildly concerned as well.

“It’s nothing,” she said dismissively. “I must have pulled something while training.”

Truth be told, she hadn’t realized that she had been pressing at the place again. It had started hurting a couple of days ago, a dull sort of ache that started around her navel. Recently, it had traveled to her side. She hadn’t thought too much of it. Honestly, she had expected the pain to travel to her back, and, eventually, to spread there as her period started. Those were usually painful and difficult, so she had assumed that this was a side effect of that.

The pain had been getting sharper, though.

“Begging the general’s pardon,” Buccaneer said, “but you didn’t show any signs of pulling anything during your training.”

“What, were you watching me?” she growled out. “As if you didn’t have anything better to do!”

Buccaneer grinned at her, that cheeky grin of his. “You know well, sir, that watching you train is a treat.”

She snorted, a harsh snort that started from her belly, and immediately regretted it. It made the pain flare more, and her hand automatically went to it again.

Miles set his report down. “You’ve not been eating either,” he said, with a pointed look at the food that was sitting to the side on her desk. “And you seem to be cold, if the temperature you’re keeping it in here means anything.”

Olivier scowled. “You’re not paid to keep track of my eating habits, Miles. Or monitor the temperature I keep my office.”

“He kind of is, sir,” Buccaneer said. “But he brings up a good point. Are you feeling alright?”

Olivier’s temper flared, and she shot to her feet, suppressing the desire to press on the place again. Standing up like that caused a sharp, stabbing pain to center right on the place, but she refused to show it, letting the pain fuel her irritations and anger instead.

“I’m fine!” she snapped out and turned to head towards the small potbelly stove that was warming the room in the corner. It was warming a teapot, and it was her intention to go over there and pour herself a cup of tea. It would help the nausea she had been experiencing, not that she was going to tell them that.

However, she had barely taken more than three steps before an excruciating pain ripped through her abdomen. She staggered, hands flying to her side, and felt herself dropping to one knee.

“General!” “General!”

Both Miles and Buccaneer called out to her, and she could hear their footsteps rushing over to her. One of them reached her, hands on her shoulders to help guide her the rest of the way down, and she grit her teeth against the pain, grunts and gasps of it still escaping her. It hurt to move. It hurt to be moved. It hurt to breathe, the pain blocking out her awareness of almost everything else, and what was happening around her was quickly becoming nothing more than a blur.

Buccaneer had made it to General Armstrong first, catching her as she went down, his hands holding her and helping to lower her to the ground. She didn’t seem aware of it to either of the men, but instead let out gasps of pain, and curled around her side—around the place she had been pressing on earlier.

Miles, who had also rushed to her side, bolted up and grabbed the phone on her desk. “This is Miles! Get a team from Sickbay up to the General’s office immediately!”

He barely waited for the acknowledgement before he was slamming the phone down and heading back to her side. He didn’t have to ask anything before Buccaneer was speaking.

He had brushed her hair back, his fingers on her pulse point. “Her pulse is fast and she’s hot,” he said. “She’s in pain.” He looked over at Miles. “What happened?”

Miles shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Next time, we make her see Doc immediately,” Buccaneer growled out.

They both clung to the hope that there would be a next time.

It was only minutes later that footsteps rang in the hallway, voices shouting ahead for people to clear the way. Within minutes Doc was bursting into the room, her medical team on her heels. She wasted no time, heading straight for the general, kneeling at her side.

“What have we got?” she asked brusquely.

“Not sure,” Miles said. “She hadn’t been complaining of anything, but she acted like she was hurting here, on her right side,” he mimed where it had been. “She got up, took about three steps, and then went down.”

“She fell slowly, like she was sinking to her knees,” Buccaneer said. “I caught her, helped her down, but she’s been in pain the whole time.”

Doc had her stethoscope out and was taking Olivier’s pulse when she realized what Miles and Buccaneer had said. Abandoning that, she reached out for Olivier’s right side, looking for the specific area and finding it even though she hadn’t been told where to look. She pressed down, and Olivier let out a strangled sort of cry. Doc cursed.

“Load her up,” she ordered. “Call ahead and have them prep the OR.”

“What’s wrong with her?” Miles asked, as he and Buccaneer moved back out of the way of the medical team.

“With what you’ve described I’m going to guess appendicitis—and there’s a likely chance it’s ruptured.” She shook her head. “I’ll let you know more after the surgery. Appendicitis or not, something is going on in there.”

“Right.”

The two men moved out of the way, letting Doc and her team work, Olivier letting out sounds of pain anytime she was jostled the least little bit. They had her on the litter and whisked away within moments, Doc leading the way.

And then it was just a waiting game.

News spread quickly throughout the fort, and soon all of the men knew. A blanket of concern fell over the fort, something the senior staff of Briggs felt keenly.  No one went in to see how Doc was doing. They all knew that she was doing her best, and to interrupt her would be dangerous. But that didn’t stop people from hovering outside the door a bit.

Finally, hours later, she sent for Buccaneer and Miles. Doc looked tired when they arrived, but she gave them a smile.

“She’ll be fine,” she said, and both men relaxed a bit.

“What happened?” Miles asked.

Doc sat in her chair, reaching for the teapot and a cup. “It was like I thought. Appendicitis. And it had ruptured.”

“How bad was it?” Buccaneer asked.

Doc shook her head. “Not the worst I’ve seen, but definitely serious. I removed her appendix, and then I had to clean up her bowels. I had to cut her open a little more than I wanted to, but it was better than getting in infection.”

“Is that still a possibility?” Miles asked.

Doc nodded as she poured herself some tea. “It is. I’m going to keep her here for at least a week. She’ll give me the usual ‘Armstrongs are fast healers’ bull, I’m sure, but I don’t want her pushing herself too much and I want to watch for infection. You two can keep her busy with paperwork, but nothing strenuous, understand?”

“Yeah, we gotcha, Doc,” Buccaneer said.

Doc waved her hand in the direction of the recovery bays. “You can see her when you want to. I don’t expect her to be awake for a few hours, at least.”

The men both nodded and then, with a look, they headed back to check on her.

They were both there a few hours later when Olivier began to stir.

“Mm… what happened?” she asked groggily.

“You’re in sickbay, General,” Miles said. “You collapsed in your office. Your appendix burst. Doc had to do surgery. You’re going to be alright.”

For a moment, Olivier said nothing. And then she sighed. “Well, this is going to slow down our plans by a couple of days.”

Buccaneer snorted. “Doc said that you’re going to be laid up here for a week.”

“A week?” Olivier snarled. She started to try to sit up, but quickly aborted the motion. “Armstrongs are fast healers. I’ll—”

Buccaneer grinned at her. “Doc said that you’d say that.”

“She was firm on what she said,” Miles said. “And I can’t say I disagree.”

Olivier glared at him.

“However,” he continued, “I’m sure that as long as you’re resting, Doc won’t object to some paperwork.”

Olivier let out a light snort. “…We’ll see,” she said.

“In the meantime, rest, General. We’ll keep watch on the Fort.”

Olivier narrowed her eyes. “You had better.”

Buccaneer grinned at her. “You know we will, sir.”

Olivier just hurmphed and rested back into the bed.

“Catch me up. What’s happened while I was out.”

Miles and Buccaneer began filling her in on the little that had happened while she had been unconscious, and Doc, listening in, let them be. Olivier’s men knew her well, and they would keep her in bed while she healed.

Looking out for each other was the Briggs way, after all.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Whumptober Day 21: Infection

CW: sick whumpee, abdominal pain, medical whump, emeto mention, nausea mention, pet whump references, recovering whumpee, fever, sickfic

TIMELINE: Chris’s first year after rescue

Nat makes the call, her jaw set in a grim line as she puts her phone up to her ear, and Jake has never seen the laugh-lines and crow's-feet wrinkles as clearly as he does in the dim yellowed light from the single lamp in the corner. 

"We can't do this," Jake says, softly, but he's outvoted by sheer necessity and he knows it, he knows before the protest ever leaves his mouth. It doesn’t stop his heart from racing, dread pooling deep inside him. "Nat, we can't, he isn't-... they’ll turn him in, Nat, god damn it-"

"Hey," Nat says into the phone, ignoring Jake entirely. "It's me. Yeah. I'm calling you for help." 

Next to Jake, lying on the couch while the big man balances himself seated precariously on the coffee table, Chris whines weakly in pain, pressing the back of Jake's hand to his clammy, sweat-soaked forehead. Coppery hair sticks to him, soaked the color of old pennies. 

Jake half-expects to see the blue-green tarnish growing and taking over.

"Hurts," Chris whispers, and Jake's heart breaks open. They didn't know - Chris had collapsed this morning, thrown up his breakfast and then blacked out in the bathroom, it was the first they'd seen of his illness.

Only when he'd been bundled down here to the couch, temp taken - 102 degrees Fahrenheit, holy fuck, he’d been fine yesterday, right? - had Chris admitted he'd been hurting for two days, a pulsing pain around his navel that felt like it was taking over his whole right side now. He told them he’d been so scared they would make him take medicine again that he hadn't told anyone. 

When Chris pointed to the right side of his stomach and said that it hurt there, and it kept getting worse... that was when Nat had given that serious, firm nod, said Dr. Masood couldn't help them this time, and picked up the phone. 

"Nat, he still has his barcode, they'll fucking turn him in-"

"My money’s on appendicitis," Nat says flatly into the phone. Her eyes move to Chris, lips thinning at his pale skin, freckles and two bright red splotches standing out on his cheeks, the way his green eyes are glassy, hazy, lost until the pain spikes and they briefly clear, just enough for him to start crying again. "Guarantee it. I can't use our guy." A pause. "Listen, he's eighteen - I think - and was routinely subjected to dehydration, starvation, and sleep deprivation. His medical care inside isn’t exactly nothing, but... this is appendi-fucking-citis and that motherfucker is going to burst if we don't get someone to cut it out of him ASAP. I don't have the time to waste going back and forth on this with you. Take one fucking look at him and you’ll know it!"

Nat never swears like this, with such intense hostility and insistence. Chris tightens his grip on Jake, and moans, frightened, turning to look up at him with wide green eyes far too big for his pinched expression. “S-sorry, I’m, I’m sorry… ‘ll... ‘ll b’good...” 

The plaintive haunted fear and hurt in him makes Jake wish there were an enemy, someone he could fight. Sitting here watching Chris get sicker by the hour, able to do absolutely nothing about it, is so much worse than anything else ever has been. 

“It’s okay,” Jake murmurs, stroking over his hair, carding his fingers gently through the damp, sweaty strands. “She’s not mad at you, little man, I swear. You’re sick and she’s trying to get help, it’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Fuck those motherfuckers who made you too scared of pills to tell us you were hurting.

"Jake-" Chris starts, and then stops, swallows as his face goes a little green around the edges and he tenses, whimpering, torn between nausea and the way muscles tensing makes him hurt even worse. Jake watches his internal battle written openly across his expression. Tears slip from his eyes, running down his cheeks, as he chokes back a sob. "It, it, it hurts so much... Jake, I, I need… I could take, take, could… could could could take something now."

Jake nods and starts to move but Nat puts up a hand. "No drugs," She says, quietly. "They'll give him something there to put him under. We don’t want anything to interact badly.”

“Nat-”

“I’m sorry,” She says, her voice firm and calm. “But nothing until my contact has him.”

“Who is your fucking contact, anyway?”

Nat gives Jake a small, tired smile. “Not yet, Jake. Have to keep these things under wraps.”

"Mom, please," Chris pleads, and Jake and Nat both turn to look at him, shocked, eyes wide. "Mom, it, it, it… It hurts!"

Neither of them says anything at first, and Chris stares at them, eyes pleading but far away. It isn’t them he sees at all.

“Nat-”

“Just go with it,” She says, and goes back to the phone.

“Please, Mom-” Chris whimpers.

"Sorry, we can't," Jake whispers, fighting back the burn of hot tears himself as he goes back to stroking through Chris’s hair. Guilt twists inside him, sharp as any knife. Being helpless is tearing him apart.

Chris’s eyes move, lock on Nat, struggle to maintain their focus, go hazy again. His flush is layered over a gray-green paleness that makes him look like a corpse with makeup, pouring sweat that doesn’t cool him down at all. “Mom, please, please help me, please… don’t, don’t, don’t let them take you out, out of my head, Mom, please!”

Nat listens to the voice on the other end of the phone. Her eyes glimmer and her jaw is starting to tremble where she has it locked, visible in the low warm light coming from the lamps, but her voice stays steady. "No. Yes. Yes, that’s him you’re hearing. Yes… 102.3- yes, I'm sure. Fifteen minutes ago, more or less. Abdominal pain - he even said he thought it was a stomachache at first. Fever. Nausea, vomiting, yes. Getting worse and moving down and to the right. Yeah, I know. So how do we keep my rescue safe without the solution being to sit here and watch him die from infection?"

Jake ignores the cold fear that squeezes bony fingers around his heart and wipes Chris's forehead with a cool wet cloth. 

"Mom, m'sick," Chris whispers. "No, no school. Please, please…" His eyes track blearily over Jake's face. "Dad, tell her. Tell, tell, tell-... tell her m’sick…”

"I know," Jake says quietly, his voice shaking and thin. Nat is speaking softer now, lightning-fast whispers with her contact, somebody she's worked with for years with the hospital. "I know, Chris. We’re going to take you to see a doctor, okay?”

Chris blinks at him once, twice, and then his eyes are gone, shifting away. His lower lip starts to tremble, jerking fast, shallow breaths, nearly panting. “I’ll be, be, be-be, be good, don’t… don’t hurt me, sir, I’ll… I’ll be good.”

“I know, buddy, I know.” Jake can’t listen to this much longer. “I know you will.” Chris’s voice is small, losing all his sense of himself. Timid, scared, sweet.

“Be good… can, um, can, can be good f-for… you…” Chris whispers, eyes closing, new tears run out the corners as he whimpers and curls up against the pain. “Just, just stop… hurting me… b-be good, handler, good for, for, for you...”

Jake’s stomach flips and he has to fight the bile trying to rise in his throat. “Nat-”

“Hush, Jake.” Nat’s voice is still calm, and her attention is on the phone. "Mmhmmm. Christopher, um... say Yoder-”

“Stanton,” Jake says from the couch. 

Nat might smile. The expression is too tight, too pinched with worry, to really be called that. “Strike that. Christopher Stanton." Nat listens for a long time, then says quietly, "Eighteen…. We think. No known health problems or pre-existing illness. Autistic."

Jake looks up, blinking, and Nat calmly looks back at him, giving a firm nod while speaking into the phone. "Yes. Yes, I'm confident. He is sensitive to fluorescent lights, scared of needles, and terrified of sedation. Yeah, I realize that I just described the exact environment of a hospital.” Her voice starts to shift, then, and Jake watches her free hand close into a fist. She speaks with increasingly open anger, badly masking her worry and fear. “For the love of Christ, just put on the fucking papers that Christopher Stanton is fucking autistic, because that's what my goddamn rescue is and he still needs care - I'll sell someone else's firstborn to fucking Satan if he isn't autistic, god damn it, mark my fucking words - and we're wasting time goddamn dithering over whether you believe a diagnosis while he gets worse!"

Nat's voice rises, nearly shouting, and Chris whines and curls up closer to Jake, then winces and cries out in pain, straightening back out again. 

"Sssshhhhh, it's okay," Jake murmurs, but his heart is racing, too, his nerves are jagged with memories of swearing, shouting adults. Some part of him that has never stopped being a child braces for the sound of impact. "It's okay."

Nat is quiet for a long time, then snaps, "Yep, nope, I know, I know you needed to confirm," fast and angry. “See you then.” She hangs up, turning to look at Jake and Chris. "My contact is on their way. If the surgery works, two days and he's home. If his appendix bursts... Could be two weeks in the hospital, Jake."

"No," Jake says, lips barely moving. "No, Nat. Two weeks… he can't fake being someone else for so long."

"He better give it his best shot," Nat says, pushing herself to her feet. "I know this sucks, Jake, but sometimes what we do is make the hard choices they can’t make. And… and even if they turn him in, being turned in is better than dying."

Is it? Do you know that?

"What do we do, then?" Jake says, resting his hand on Chris's sweat-damp hair. Chris doesn't seem aware anymore, staring off into space, weeping silent tears and hitching soft sobs, promising in whispers to be good and obey his handler if only he’ll make the pain stop. “What’s the next step? Give me a fucking order, Nat, because I’m lost, and-” Jake gives a nervous, humorless laugh. “-I’m pretty fucking scared for him.”

"Yeah… yeah, I get that. Just pack some clothes and toiletries," Nat says flatly. "And prepare to swear on the fucking Bible to doctors and surgeons and fucking cops if we have to that his name is Chris Stanton and he's your little brother. We’re about to put on a show, Jake."

“What do you mean?”

“You’re not leaving him. You are going to be the most concerned and caring big brother the world has ever seen. When he gets out of surgery, you’re going to meet him in recovery, you’re going to stay with him in his room day and night. You’re there from day one until he walks back out the door.” Nat’s jaw is set again. “And he will be walking back out that door with us.”

“Visiting hours-”

“He can’t make his own medical decisions,” Nat says, leaning over a little, staring Jake right in the eyes. “So someone has to be there all the time. Do you understand me? He can’t.”

“He’s not-... he could, if he was a little further along-”

Chris whines, and his hand grabs weakly at Jake’s and squeezes. Jake can hardly feel it. 

“He’s not. Okay? He’s not that far into recovery yet. We’re going to pretend he’s a lot less capable than he is, to get him through this. We are going to pretend he can’t do it himself, because right now it’s not pretending, he wouldn’t remember what to do yet. And I feel like shit treating him like a toddler, Jake, I really do, but… but he can’t do this alone, and I can’t exactly tell them it’s because he was a pet and they’re trained to be dependent, now can I? We’re going to have to lie about his condition.”

“That wasn’t actually a lie, though, right? We do think he is actually-”

“Yeah. We do. But he’s not incapable - or he won’t be, once he’s older. That’s what we have to lie about. And I don’t-... right now I don’t give a shit about a damn thing except buying him more time to fucking grow up.”

"What about his barcode?"

Nat takes a deep breath. "My contact is going to bandage it over, say it was part of when he passed out and they’ve taken care of it and we're going to hope to Christ no one who they don't trust checks under it. We're out of options, Jake, unless you know how to do an appendectomy and you’ve just been holding out on me. I’m not prepared to do kitchen table surgery. Are you?"

There’s a pause while they stare at each other, and then Jake takes in a deep, steady breath.

You can do this. Chris needs you to do this.

"His name is Chris Stanton," Jake says, meeting her eyes, "and he's my little brother, and he's autistic. I’m his medical power of attorney, I make medical decisions when he’s incapcitated. He’s scared of hospitals because of bad childhood experiences and needs someone nearby at all times or he’ll lose it.”

Nat gives a terse nod. "Good. Pack your shit, and hope his fucking appendix hasn't burst while my contact dicked around." 

Nat went up the stairs like a lightning bolt, and Jake let out a shuddering breath. 

By the time they hear the ambulance pull up a few minutes later, sirens and lights carefully off, they're packed and ready to follow in Nat’s old truck.

Chris's fever is still rising. 

---

Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @slaintetowhump , @astrobly, @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker , @boxboysandotherwhump , @oops-its-whump @moose-teeth , @cubeswhump , @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-tr0pes @whumpiary

[loveislattes]

So I went to the ER tonight because my mesenteric adenitis pain was 10x worse than ever. A 10/10 in my pain scale; felt like I had a rock in my stomach smushing all my organs and a knife stabbing in my side at the same time. It honestly almost felt like labor in a way.

Anyway, here's the updates-

Good news: Appendix hasn't burst. I'm going home but I do need to keep up ibuprofen/Tylenol constantly to help keep the pain away. If I spike a fever, I have to come back in.

Bad news: I have to see a surgeon because my appendix is swelled to a 7 (it was 8 last time) and I probably need it removed. Dr was surprised they didn't remove it last visit.

Worse news: My reoccurring mesenteric adenitis is rare and confusing because it usually occurs in kids and only once. If I keep having reoccurring messenteric adenitis, they'll need to do a scope because at best- its caused by something else and at worst- it can be signs of colon cancer.

Safe to say, my Friday night/Saturday morning has sucked so far. Hope you all are doing well. I'm still in pain so I might not be active on here until that finally dies down.