#two more days and then i’m not in this office until january. just need. to make it. two more days

[bright-and-burning]

i like my job i like my job i like my job i like my job

[zepskies]

Smoke Eater - Part 18

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real. 

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 4,000 Tags/Warnings: Angst, fluff, brief mentions of the events of Part 13, some ADA Sam, Detective John, and a cliffhanger…

Part 18: “V for Vendetta”

After that first rocky month, Dean started to improve physically, and so did you emotionally, as he tried his best to let you help him when he needed it. 

In turn, you did your best to gauge his moods; when he truly did need help, and when it was best for you to just be his girlfriend, not his caretaker.

January rolled onwards, and the resulting winter cold snap brought a kind of calm before a storm. Nick Savage still hadn’t been found, but that didn’t mean your worries were over.

Dean knew that this would hang over all of your heads until both Nick and his father were caught and exposed.

Today Dean walked with Sam on his day off, doing a few laps around the neighborhood as part of Dean’s rehab. They knew a police car was stationed nearby, watching them for their safety. It was a bit unnerving, but necessary.

They were walking back into the building when Sam stopped to check the mail. The box for their unit was along the wall in the corridor with several other locked boxes. Sam unlocked theirs and pulled out a rolled-up newspaper, some coupons, and a stray folded note addressed to Dean. Sam’s brows furrowed.

“What’s that, a love note?” Dean asked dryly. He took it from Sam and unfolded the scrap of paper.

20579. Your badge will join your dad’s on the wall.

Both the Fire Department headquarters and the 84th Precinct had a wall to commemorate firefighters and officers who had given their lives in the line of duty. Each of their badges had their own display plaque hung on the respective walls.

In short, the note was a threat.

Sam’s worried frown deepened as he watched Dean’s good mood evaporate. He crumpled up the note and pocket it, before he met his younger brother’s eyes.

“Keep this between us,” he warned. As in, don’t tell you.

Sam shook his head. “Dad needs to know, at least. And you two need to be careful.” 

“That goes for you and Eileen too,” Dean replied. He reached for Sam’s shoulder and squeezed. “Don’t matter that you’re an ADA. Azazel goes after cops and their families. He’s gonna be gunning for an opportunity to get to one of us.”

Sam’s lips pressed together, but he acknowledged that with a nod.

They went back upstairs together, where you were dressed casually and gathering up your purse.

“Heading out somewhere?” Dean asked. Sam shot him a glance, which Dean silently answered with a short nod. He looked back at you when you offered him a smile.

“Yep, we need a few things. Milk, eggs, more Twizzlers, apparently,” you quipped, lightly smacking his stomach. Dean quirked a smile.

“Give me a sec. I’ll go with you,” he said.

You made an uncertain sound. “Didn’t you just get back from a walk? You sure you don’t just want to shower up and relax?”

“I’m good,” said Dean. He knew you didn’t like the idea of him overexerting himself, but he didn’t feel comfortable letting you go out alone. He could tell by the look Sam once again threw his way from the kitchen that he didn’t think it was a good idea either.

Dean slid a hand up your arm. “How about this. I’ll stay in the car. I just want some more fresh air.”

You tilted your head at him, but you conceded. He followed you to the door and held it open for you.

“Can I drive?” Dean hedged.

You chuckled. “Don’t push it, Lieutenant.”

On the way back from the grocery store, you discreetly eyed Dean’s profile. His knee was bouncing as he stared out the window.

Sometimes he checked the rearview mirror of your Camaro. Sometimes he fiddled with the radio or checked his phone.

It was all nervous behavior you took a catalogue of. By the time you pulled back into the parking lot of Dean’s apartment building, he finally seemed to relax a fraction. You parked the car and turned to him. 

“Okay, what’s the matter?” you asked.

Dean gave you a curious look, but there was an unmistakable tension in his demeanor.

“What do you mean?”

You tried your question a different way. “What’s got you all on edge?”

He didn’t seem to want to answer at first.

“Dean,” you prodded. “Does it have something to do with why you insisted on coming with me, even though I can see that you’re tired?”

His face tightened, but he reached over for your hand. Your fingers curled around his. Now you were getting worried.

“We’ve got the police watching us here, but anything could happen out there,” Dean said. “Until this blows over, I don’t think you should go out by yourself.”

Until this blows over. You wanted to ask when that would be, but you knew he wouldn’t be able to give you an answer.

“Zachariah called me this morning,” you admitted. “He’s standing in for Nick as CEO. He said I have a job waiting for me when I get off medical leave next week. Everyone’s been working from home since the fire, but we’d be going to a new building the company owns downtown.”

Dean tightened up, just like you knew he would. His eyes closed as his head tilted back against the headrest. He let out a long breath through his nose. You stayed quiet, both waiting for what he might say and preparing for him to get upset.

He surprised you by calmly looking over at you again.

“It’s not a good idea. If Nick’s still alive, it means his dad probably knows you know who he is,” he said. “And not for nothin’. Even with Nick out of there, that place’s probably been built on blood money.”

Both were fair points.

“I know. I’m going to find something else, as soon as you’re better,” you said. Dean shook his head and held your hand tighter.

“Don’t let me be an excuse,” he said. His gaze was firm and direct meeting yours. “I need you to start taking care of yourself too, all right? Please.” 

Faced with his earnestness, you couldn’t help but soften. After everything he’d done to save you, to protect you, was it fair of you to keep making him worry?

In the past, you’d felt justified. You couldn’t quit. You needed the money. You could handle it, whatever came next. You would deal with it because you had to.

But maybe this time, you didn’t have to. It wasn’t worth all this.

With that resolve, you let out a breath.

“I’m going to call Zachariah,” you said, “and tell him that I’m working from home, or I quit.”

Dean stared back at you with a measure of surprise.

“I’m not going back,” you said, squeezing his hand. “If he has a problem with that, I’ll use whatever I have left in my savings. Hopefully that’ll be enough until I find a new job.”

After a moment, Dean expelled a breath of relief. He beckoned you over, and carefully as you could over the upholstery, you leaned over and caressed his cheek before you went in for a kiss. He welcomed you, with his hands slipping up your sides and around your back, pressing you into him with a heady warmth.

He paused against your lips after a while. His forehead rested against yours.

“You don’t need to drain your savings. I can help you,” Dean started to say, but you pulled back and held your fingers to his lips.

“You’ve helped me enough. You’re already letting me live with you rent free,” you pointed out. “Let me figure out the rest.”

After a moment, Dean wordlessly agreed. He wanted to argue that you wouldn’t have had to move in with him if not for Azazel putting you in his sights, but at the same time, Dean understood that you’d been providing for yourself for a long time. He respected you for it.

So he just guided you back to him for another slow kiss.

John Winchester owned a condo approximately 20 minutes from his sons’ apartment. It was the home they’d grown up in after the house fire, over thirty years ago.

John had learned a lot since then. In fact, some might say that he’d become a paranoid bastard.

Aside from a professional alarm system, he’d installed hidden cameras inside and out of his home, and at every window. It meant that even when he was asleep, his eyes were never truly closed.

When the intruder took his first steps into John’s bedroom, the man himself was waiting with a gun cocked and loaded. The safety clicking back made a small sound, but in the silence, it might as well have been a gunshot.

The masked man swiftly turned and ducked, throwing a punch. The scuffle that followed was quick and covered by darkness.

The cameras on “Night Mode” picked up every moment.

And that was how John later showed video evidence of Alastair Rolston breaking into his condo, and subsequently getting his ass handed to him.

Both men had their fair share of bruises, but at the end of the day, Alastair was the one cuffed to a chair in the bowels of the 84th Precinct. He sat beside his court-appointed lawyer.

Meanwhile, Cas watched the scene from behind the one-way glass window of the interrogation room. Rufus Turner, their Lieutenant, was beside him, along with ADA Sam Winchester. He watched the man his father questioned very carefully. 

“Well, I think you know what this means, Mr. Rolston,” John drawled.

Alastair’s stance in the chair was relaxed, almost unfazed. He gave the detective a wry smile.

“What’s that, John?” he asked.

“I’ve got you dead to rights on attempted murder of a cop,” said John. “It ain’t a good look, my friend.”

“Don’t answer that,” said the lawyer. Alastair glanced at the man, unimpressed, to say the least.

“No fucking shit,” he replied.

“I’d say you’ve got two options,” John pressed forward. He leaned on the table between him and Alastair.

“Did Azazel…excuse me, Daniel Savage, put you up to this? You can answer that question, or I could just skip to the part where you sit in a cell for 20 to life.”

Alastair’s face gave away nothing but calculation and amusement. John nodded, with a grim smile.

“I’ll bet you set the fire at Savage & Co. Trying to get Nick to look like a victim in all this—the consequence of doing business with the likes of Azazel,” he said. “Better yet, I think you’re his favorite hitman. Clean, precise, no tracks left behind, no traces of evidence. Perfect kills. I’ll bet you consider yourself a goddamn artist.”

Alastair lifted his gaze, and John saw the familiar depths of a killer.

“I don’t like setting fires,” said Alastair.

John was nonplussed. “I’m sure you don’t.”

The other man rolled his shoulders.

“It’s all very…messy, you see. Unpredictable.” A smile graced his lips. “But I know someone who does.”

“He’ll give you his employer,” the lawyer said. “The person who ordered the hit.”

“Which hit?” John arched a brow. “I can’t be the only special one. What about Paul Richardson, Jerry Stillwell, Amanda Waller?”

The lawyer shared a look with his client. Alastair rolled his eyes and leaned over to whisper in his ear. After a moment, the lawyer nodded and met John’s gaze.

“He’ll tell you what you want to know, but only for a blanket deal of immunity.”

John could’ve guessed. Alastair smiled once more and leaned back in his seat.

The detective held up a finger and exited the interrogation room. He met Sam’s gaze, and the latter already knew what his father was thinking.

"Give me a minute," Sam said. He went into the room and tried to negotiate with Alastair and his lawyer, but the man wouldn't accept a plea of 20 to 25 years, even to serve all the murders they could charge him with concurrently. Nor would he accept 15 to 20, or even Sam's best deal: 10 to 12.

Sam exited the room and hid his discouragement. He met his father's waiting gaze.

“We can’t give him immunity,” Sam said. “He’s likely the one who committed Azazel’s hits. Not just for the past six months, but for God knows how long, and how many bodies.”

“At this point, it’s the only way we’re getting a chance at Daniel Savage,” John said. “Not just finding him, but pinning him as the mastermind behind the whole operation. Drug trafficking, arson, murders…the whole thing, Sam.”

Sam didn’t like it. No one did, for that matter, but even Rufus heaved a sigh.

“You can’t move forward without a trigger finger willing to testify,” he said.

“Yeah, because hitmen make notoriously credible witnesses,” Sam retorted.

“Do think he set the fires as well?” Cas asked John. “He seemed to imply that he committed the murders, but not the arson.”

John hummed in contemplation.

“We’ll find out. But first, I want a confirmed name from the horse’s mouth,” he said, shifting his attention to Sam. “Can you get me that, son?” 

Sam’s lips pursed.

Within an hour, the paperwork was drawn and the plea deal was arranged. Father and son sat side by side on one side of the interrogation room, while Alastair and his lawyer sat on the other. Alastair finished signing the final document as the cuffs on his wrists jangled.

“All right,” said John. “Tell me what I want to know.”

Alastair smiled and spread his hands as wide as he was able.

“I’m an open book, Johnny. Ask away.”

John leaned forward.

“Let’s start with this,” he said. “Who ordered you to kill me?”

Nick Savage was unearthed from a luxury apartment in the south of France. He was extradited back the United States and hauled into a courtroom in Lawrence, Kansas for arraignment.

Sam Winchester was the prosecutor on the case. As luck would have it, one of his favorite judges was also assigned for this docket.

“What do we have here?” asked Judge Devereaux. He was a portly man, short and graying, with square black glasses that framed his perpetually surly face. The man now adjusted his glasses so he could read the slip of paper the clerk had just handed to him after reading off the docket.

The charges included four counts of murder in the first degree: the murders-for-hire, enacted by Alastair Rolston.

Followed by attempted murder in the first degree, ten counts of murder in the second degree (those who had lost their lives in the most recent building fire), conspiracy to commit murder, arson, and if that weren’t enough, a charge each of attempted sexual assault and sexual harassment.

When the last two charges were read out loud in the courtroom, Nick looked visibly angry.

Sam glanced over at the defendant with thinly veiled satisfaction. Some days, it was difficult for him to come to work.

Today was not that day.

“All right, that is a laundry list of potential misdeeds,” Judge Deveraux remarked. He looked up at Nick Savage. “How does the defendant plead?”

At the prodding of his lawyer, Amelia Richardson, Nick spoke up.

“Not guilty,” he said. Though he rolled his eyes, as if this was a waste of his time.

“What’s the deal here, Mr. Winchester?” Judge Devereaux asked.

“The primary charge is a murder-for-hire, your Honor,” Sam replied. “Mr. Savage hired a hitman to murder at least five people, and succeeded with four. He also masterminded several arsons. This includes a fire at his own company building, which claimed the lives of ten people and injured several others. This is all part of a larger connection to organized crime, which the People intend to prove in our case. Due to the nature of the charges, and the defendant clearly being a flight risk, we seek his remand to custody without bail.”

The judge raised his brows. He turned to the defendant’s lawyer.

“What about it, Miss Richardson?”

Amelia shot Sam a glance, but she replied to the judge.

“What we have here is a conflict of interest, your Honor,” she said. “Detective John Winchester has a vendetta against my client. Therefore, Mr. Winchester should recuse himself. It’s a family affair, Judge, and they have no evidence for any of these charges, except for the testimony of a confessed murderer.”

“It’s called prosecutorial discretion,” Sam cut in. “Our evidence goes beyond Mr. Rolston’s testimony and will more than support our case. I’ve also tried my father’s cases before, your Honor. This defendant is no different.”

The judge peered closer at the docket with incredulous eyes.

“Except for the fact that one of the attempted murders was on your father. John Winchester?” Judge Devereaux actually chuckled. “Oh, Mr. Savage. Many have tried and failed on that regard.”

“Judge,” Amelia tried, but Devereaux waved her off. Sam took in that small victory without giving anything away outwardly. The fact that John was on the docket as a “victim” was easily Sam’s biggest challenge in this arraignment, but he just couldn’t hand this off to another prosecutor.

“And what’re these last charges about?” the judge asked.

“Mr. Savage attempted to sexually assault one of his employees at a company Christmas party in the defendant’s home, your Honor,” Sam replied. His gaze once again cut over to Nick, who glared back at him with a sneer.

“That’s a goddamn lie!” Nick shouted.

Amelia grabbed his arm and tried to shut him up, but Nick jerked out of her grasp.

“Put a gag on your client or I will, Miss Richardson,” Devereaux warned with a deepening frown.

“Hey,” Amelia hissed a whisper, grabbing the sleeve of Nick’s suit jacket this time. “Get it together and shut your mouth. Remember where you are.”

He ignored her to try and speak to the judge himself. 

“That bitch tased me. Did she tell you that?” Nick levied Sam a look, before he turned back to Devereaux. “Yeah, she assaulted me, Judge. So that charge is fucking bogus.”

“I’ve heard quite enough!” Devereaux snapped. He raised his gavel and slammed it down loud enough for Nick to flinch. “The defendant is remanded to custody, without bail.”

It was more satisfying than John would admit.

While the development wasn’t exactly what he had expected, having Daniel Savage’s son dragged out of his new prison home to sit in another musty holding cell was the highlight of the new year.

This was the poor excuse for a man who’d given him such a headache these past few months. This was the little shit that nearly got his son killed, and who’d been terrorizing you for months, if not years.

But he would be a means to an end.

“I’ll tell ya what, Nick. You don’t look like a man that could organize a handful of murders and arsons, but here we are,” John said.

He scratched the back of his head and sat on the corner of the desk. Sam was seated across from Nick, and Cas was hanging back within the cell, watching the exchange (and watching Nick’s reactions for any tells).

On the other side sat Nick himself, dressed down in his gray prison garb. It was a far cry from the $5,000 suit he wore in the arraignment. Next to him was his lawyer, Amelia Richardson.

“Is there a question in there somewhere?” she asked. She shot Sam a glance.

They had dated in law school for a few months. It had ended abruptly when her husband returned from Afghanistan. It had been a shock to both of them, since the man had been presumed dead.

Clearly, Sam had moved on since then. He was happier with Eileen than he ever was, but he could tell that Amelia had never quite recovered from the “what could’ve been” of their relationship.

Still, Sam had set all that aside the moment he stepped into this room. He watched his father work.

“Why did you set fire to your own building?” John asked.

He’d expected Nick to be more explosive with his denials, but the man was quietly simmering, like he just wanted the questioning to be over. It reminded John of when his sons were teenagers. Maybe he hadn’t been the perfect father, but intuition was telling him something…

“You didn’t do it, did you?” John mused. “At least, not that fire.”

It was interesting, however, that Alastair had pinned the Savage & Co. fire on the son—that Nick had started it himself, along with the other arsons. Alastair had just been the muscle, committing the murders and the brandings on the victims.

John wasn’t so sure he believed that. He leaned in a bit and gave Nick a wry smile.

“Did Daddy do that one for ya?” he asked.

At that, Nick held firm. “My father has nothing to do with this.”

Hmm, a bit of familial loyalty? Maybe trying to prove himself, John detected. How far is he willing to go to protect his dad?

“So you did do it, along with the other arsons,” John said.

“Are you trying to get him to confess without a plea deal?” Amelia snarked.

“I’m trying to figure out how badly this kid wants to stay out of jail for the rest of his life,” John said.

“I’m not a fucking kid,” Nick grumbled.

“If you have something for us on Daniel Savage, then we’re willing to listen,” Sam added. “Do you really want to spend the rest of your life in jail?”

Nick crossed his arms, clearly uncooperative.

Sam narrowed his gaze. “This is your last chance, Nick.”

“You don’t have anything on me except for the word of a murdering felon,” Nick retorted. “I’ll beat this trial in a few months and I’ll be out free…but if you really want to know, I’ll let you in on a little something.”

He leaned in, meeting John’s eyes.

“Dad retaliates,” said Nick. “I think you know that best of all, Detective. This time, I think it’s one son for another. And you’ve got two to pick from.”

“Nick,” Amelia warned, but he ignored her.

He glanced at a carefully stoic Sam before he smirked in John’s face, which had become devoid of all humor and revealed the stoniness underneath.

“If I were a betting guy, I’d put my money on the one that had a fucking building fall on him.”

After leaving the county jail, John drove Sam and Cas back to his sons’ apartment. They couldn’t treat Nick’s warning as an idle threat.

Sam was the prosecutor on the case. He wasn’t willing to step down, so the best they could do for him was give him a police security detail that would have to be with him at all times. However, all three men agreed that you, Dean, and Eileen needed to be put in protective custody during the trial.

“Damn it, Dean,” Sam muttered. His brother wasn’t answering his cell.

“Try him again,” said John.

“Is Eileen still at work?” Cas asked.

“Yeah, but she’s talking to the principal now about a temporary replacement for her classes,” Sam replied. He was worried about her safety, but he was also worried about you and Dean. Neither of you were answering your cell phones.

He later let John and Cas into his apartment, where all looked normal and clean.

“Dean!” Sam called out. He was just about to search the apartment when the man came out of his room, looking freshly showered.

“Hey, what’s up?” said Dean. “The gang’s all here, huh?”

“I’ve been calling you for an hour. Where’ve you been?” Sam asked in annoyance, though it was edged with a hint of more that tipped off Dean.

He sensed the tension in the room between his brother, his father, and his friend. He frowned.

“I had a doctor’s appointment. Why?”

John explained the latest round of questioning with Nick Savage, and his most recent threat. John asked where you were right now, if not in the apartment. Dean’s expression shifted to one of worry as he went to find his cell phone.

“She had a job interview,” he admitted, scrolling through his phone to find your name. “She couldn’t reschedule it, else she would’ve gone with me.”

He’d been uneasy about you going to the interview by yourself, but you hadn’t wanted him to change his appointment, and you had assured him it was only a few minutes away…

Dean held the phone to his ear and waited what felt like an eternity as it rang.

Pick up. Pick up, damn it.

Finally, the line connected.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted…but you didn’t answer.

“You there?” he asked. There was a pit forming in his stomach when he glanced up at John. His father met his gaze with furrowed brows that betrayed concern.

The line was silent for one more painful moment. Dean opened his mouth to call out to you again, but a smooth voice interrupted.

“Dean, Dean, Dean,” a man replied. “Forgetting something?”

AN: 🫣 Sorry lol.

But the next chapter will bring the final showdown...

Next Time:

Dean’s heart began to pound. His mouth parted, but for a moment, the words wouldn’t escape.

“Who is this?” he said. His voice was a hint unsteady.

“I think you know, son,” the man replied.

Keep Reading: PART 19

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

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[nawoken]

im back with more thoughts on soulbound au. Wjat if reader's Soulmate got isekaied to twst and expected reader to return to them cuz theyre soulmates as if they didnt just reject the name on their wrist, as if they have the right to just demand it even as reader is with the first years now (excluding ortho grim). How would the boys react to reader just snapping and declaring they feel no love for soulmate. That they love their current partner instead. I can imagine some of them just gloating and acting like a really doting partner in front of the soulmate like "look what you cant have"

Bonus for grim and ortho like "who needs you when i have my feral cat/technological humanoid built by a genius. Get his ass!" And they just send grim and ortho out like pokemons LMAO

Love yourself

(TWST x Broken Soulbond! Reader)

5.C: Hehe, I’m glad u have the same thought as mine, Mortal~

Because as petty as I am, since the moment I had the idea for this AU, I already have the scene where your Soulmate by some way gets to TWST and wants the reader back but gets rejected by them.

I mean, who do they think they are, broke the strongest bond in the world and then came back and demanded it like they deserve it?!

The name has two meanings since the content of this one chapter reminded me of "Love Yourself" by Justin Bieber as something reader would want to tell their Soulmate. The other is just simply loving yourself, something I want to tell you guys and myself.

Pairing: Ace Trappolar; Deuce Spade x g/n Reader

I will do the other later I guess, sorry for the late update, I have writer's block for this one, including my absence due to January cause I have a school break.

Warning: :D)

The moment your Soulmate lands their ass at TWST, you can feel the tug in your heart, the arch, the itch of your Soulmark, and the familiar pulling come from your soul that you’ve almost forgotten during your stay at twisted wonderland. That’s how you know they’re here, and they also feel your faint presence.

The moment your Soulmate lands their ass at TWST, you can feel the tug in your heart, the arch, the itch of your Soulmark, and the familiar pulling come from your soul that you’ve almost forgotten during your stay at twisted wonderland. That’s how you know they’re here, and they also feel your faint presence.

Ace Trappola:

He is unhappy when hearing that your Soulmate has spawned in TWST. (Let’s be real, all of them are, maybe except Kalim or Vil…)

He is sulking the whole way both of you walk to the Headmage office cause apparently, your Soulmate demands to see you the moment they know you’re here.

Ace refuses to let you meet that person alone, Crowley? That crow can not be trusted.

Hearing them ask you to go back, with them, and by their side. Ace glares hard as if if he tries enough, that person will disappear.

They, in fact, do not disappear though.

Plan B, Ace starts to make some comments, he is sarcastic about your Soulmate, berating their behavior toward you.

He interferes every time you try to speak up, to give your supposed to be Soulmate an answer. Basically, he is being annoying till the point you have to kick him out of the room.

Ace doesn't really want to hear your answer, deep down, he worries that you will actually choose your Soulmate over him.

Waiting outside until you finish your conversation, no matter how long it takes.

Seeing you walking out of the room, he tries to act like he doesn't care. But he cares, a lot actually.

Tell him you have rejected the request since... you already have him as your Soulmate while showing him the Basketball wrist wrap he gave you.

Gotta say Heartslabyul is very good at growing tomatoes.

The following days were a series of days, each time you guys pass by your Soulmate, Ace will give them a smug look while walking hand in hand with you.

Deuce Spade:

Deuce, our sweetheart. The first thing he does after he hears that your Soulmate wants to meet you: Asks if you want him to beat them for you.

I mean, ask if you want him to assist you or do you prefer meeting them alone because model students don’t fight (Please bring him with you Ơ ^ Ơ).

It actually doesn’t matter, he will still follow you if you choose the second option, but more secretly (not really).

He doesn’t like your Soulmate, not a bit. But hearing your Soulmate’s request? He almost let them drown under at least three cauldrons (If you are quick enough).

How dare they be so casual about it? Do they not know how much you suffer?

But, Deuce will respect your choice, even if it can be hurtful. Telling you that it is okay if you want to be back with them. He is on the verge of crying, a sad puppy.

Do you really mean that he is more important than the Soulbond?

Give you a tight hug, I mean, a really tight one. He thought that he was going to lose you. But he is happy now, with the brightest smile present on his face.

And now your ex-Soulmates is being the third wheel here.

[juqtier]

₊˚╰ 𖣠 MERCY ✧.* SPENCER REID

SUMMARY: During one of the most detrimental and devastating outbreaks this world has ever seen, the BAU had spent countless hours trying to bring in the man responsible, dead or alive. When they seek help from a minacious mercenary, and personal feelings somehow get involved, the situation quickly becomes much more complicated and difficult than anticipated.

GENERAL WARNING: ANGSTY and horror (somewhat), weapons, violence, descriptions of viruses and diseases, death, kissing of course, zombie like creatures, apocalypse, outbreak, descriptions of mutations

CHAPTER WARNING: descriptions of violence and viruses, reader is kinda an asshole. THIS CHAPTER MAY SEEM BORING BUT PLS the story will get interesting as it progresses! just gotta explain the basic concept!

A/N: the first chapter, yay! this is clearly inspired by resident evil (my fav game series). i thought it’d be interesting and unique to combine my two fav hyperfixations. i made the virus names and effects, and im clearly not a scientist so if they are scientifically inaccurate ignore it or im gonna cry. also, I wrote this with early spencer in mind (3-5) but if you imagine him from a different season lmk! ALSO sorry if any of the writing is bad, my english is terrible!

ACCOMPANYING SONG : SMELLS LIKE TEEN SPIRIT, NIRVANA

. . .

CHAPTER 1

January 15th, 2009

- 985 days since the outbreak

You had been caught. You had finally been caught.

Of course, you were well aware of the risks that came with being a mercenary, being caught was one of them. Yet, this didn’t diminish the anger you felt, sitting in a dingy, dark interrogation room, cuffed to a table.

It felt as if days passed by. Your eyelids felt heavy, you couldn’t manage to find a comfortable position to rest in. A metal folding chair would quickly prove to be a poor place to even attempt to relax in. Sitting in silence for so long, your ears could perfectly hear the buzzing of the flickering bulb above you, and it drove you crazy.

Just before you could drive yourself insane, focusing on each bothersome aspect of the interrogation room once more, the door opened.

Two men, two entirely different vibes.

One was an older, tall, stoic man wearing a suit practically devoid of color.

And while the man that stood beside him wasn’t wearing the most colorful outfit, his blue shirt and purple tie were a stark contrast to the other man’s outfit.

His long, wavy brown hair stood out as well. A part of you wanted to just stare at him, he was so pretty. But the other part of you, the majority of you, wanted to knock both officers unconscious and attempt to run away.

“I’m Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner, this is Special Agent Dr. Spencer Reid. We’re with the Behavioral Analysis Unit.” The older man explained as both of them took a seat across from you.

The words practically went unnoticed by you, your mind had been more focused on the discomfort caused by the tight cuffs around your wrists. Your eyes met Hotchner's, and he could tell exactly what you were feeling.

Angry.

“Wanna take these cuffs off?” You request.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that until you cooperate with us and give us the information we need.”

“What information?”

Your eyes naturally rolled, gradually growing more annoyed by the second. Even with how frustrated you were, you weren’t going to cooperate easily. You were a mercenary, and the FBI was well aware you had only ever been motivated by payment.

It sounded selfish to everyone else. It was selfish, but to you, it was the only way to survive.

Hotch extracts papers and files from a manila folder, spreading them out onto the table in front of you. Your eyes watched his hands as he displayed each paper for you.

“For the past seven months, me and my team have been observing your every move.” Hotch’s eyes are glued to you. “Several times in these past months, you’ve been employed by Luca Ansaldo.”

The name has been drilled into your ears by this point.

Luca Ansaldo, a wealthy, ‘brillitant’ virologist and CEO of the virology company SynX. And, unbeknownst to you, the creator of the Lazarus Virus.

Ansaldo had employed you many times before, and with the pay being more than generous for a seemingly easy job, you didn’t think twice about accepting his offer.

But now, just hearing his name was enough to enrage you. Yet, you remain calm, returning Hotch’s eye contact. You barely even noticed Reid beside him, merely observing the interaction between you and Hotch.

“He paid me well for a simple job, is that what you wanted to hear?” You mutter.

You knew that wasn’t what they wanted to hear, but you also couldn’t tell what they wanted.

The past officers that had come in, aggressively interrogating you, never made it clear what exactly they wanted from you. All you could really understand was that they wanted his whereabouts, and you couldn’t tell them that. You didn’t even know.

“What jobs did he pay you for?” Hotch inquires.

“Easy jobs. I’ve done that plenty of times before for others, why does it matter now?”

Hotchner adjusts in his seat, probably finding it just as uncomfortable as you were in that moment.

“It’s important because we’re not currently after the other individuals you’ve worked for, we’re after Ansaldo.” He explains, sliding a document toward you.

Your eyes quickly scan the words on the paper, taking in all of its details.

“Under SynX, Ansaldo has managed to manufacture one of the deadliest viruses known to man, the Lazarus virus. You can see the results of his work walking in the streets.”

“Lazarus Virus?” You question. “Like, from the Bible?”

You clearly knew about the outbreak, every human did. You just had never been able to put a name to the virus responsible.

Reid took this question as an opportunity to share every bit of knowledge he had about the virus.

“Yes, actually. The name derives from Lazarus of Bethany, mentioned in the Gospel of John. The story claims Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead, only four days after his death.” He hadn’t even noticed your eyes locked on him as he rambled. “We believe the virus attacks the brain stem, destroying the brain's basic functions. However, while mental capabilities deteriorate, physical capabilities are enhanced, explaining why they’re rather strong and violent. Those infected by the virus are called ‘Revenants’.”

You couldn’t help but be impressed at his ability to speak for so long without even losing his breath. He had spit out each word with urgency, as if he had been waiting to share this information with you.

“You seem to know a lot about the virus, why am I here?”

“We don’t know enough.” Hotch replies. “Without a sample of the virus, we won’t be able to produce an effective antidote. Ansaldo is currently the only man we know of that has any samples, and you know more about him than any of us. You may be our only chance at finding him before it’s too late.”

He leans forward, an even more intense stare accompanying his statement.

For a moment, for a brief moment, you allow yourself to absorb his words. It was as if a switch flipped in your brain, allowing yourself to prioritize others before yourself.

And again, this sounded so incredibly selfish. You could recognize that, of course. But you couldn’t blame yourself. And quite frankly, neither could Hotch or Reid.

The outbreak was and is devastating. Major cities were overrun and filled with chaos, with millions dead or missing. Trusting people wasn’t as common as it was years ago. Especially for you. You had been alone, fighting to survive, for years. It was all to protect yourself. You had the right to protect yourself, right?

“How much?” Hotch’s words bring your attention back to him, back to the situation you were in.

You weren’t sure if you misheard or misunderstood him, and it seemed as if Reid shared that same thought. His eyes widened as he snapped his head towards Hotch, questioning him with his eyes. Hotch, however, doesn’t even seem to notice Reid’s shock.

“What?” You stutter just a bit, clearly confused.

“How much do we need to pay you for your cooperation?” He repeats.

“You want to pay me to work for you?” You reply, skeptical about the offer.

Reid visibly shared the same sentiment. It was as if he couldn’t close his mouth. You didn't expect this, and neither did he.

“You are the closest connection we have to Ansaldo.” Hotch ignores the shocked faces of you and Reid, “If we have to pay you for your cooperation, then we are willing to do that.”

His expression shows that he’s serious. You consider the offer a bit longer before spitting out the first number you can think of.

“Two hundred thousand.”

You wait for any change in his expression, you wait for him to simply refuse. But he never does.

“We can arrange that.” He gives you a small nod before rising from his chair, Reid following. “I will assign an agent to keep an eye on you. You will be kept under supervision at all times as you work alongside my team. If you even attempt to betray our agreement, I promise you will not see a single dollar.”

“Wait.” You blurt out before they can even make their way to the door. “Can I choose what agent gets to follow me around?”

The way you word it makes it sound like a privilege, like it was an honor to have to watch over you. In reality, it most likely wasn’t.

The FBI considered you a dangerous, difficult mercenary. Asking you for help was a last resort, one they tried to avoid. But as they watched the virus spread across the country, unable to stop it, they knew they had no other choice.

“Do you have an agent in mind?” Hotch raises an eyebrow, confused by your question.

You nod in response, your eyes landing on Reid.

You couldn’t explain why, but his quiet, shy demeanor drew you to him. He wasn’t standoffish like the other officers and agents, he was actually quite the opposite of you.

Reid furrows his eyebrows. Neither he nor Hotch had expected the request; their looks expressed that. Hotch looks over at Reid, as if he were contemplating whether he could handle such a job. It was a silent conversation between the two; you were just an observer in that moment.

“Reid will watch over you as you work the case with us.” Hotch proclaims.

“Hotch, are you sure?” Reid whispers, just loud enough for you to hear him. He sounds nervous as he speaks, causing you to smirk.

“If she causes any problems for you, I will assign a different agent for the job.” Hotch responds, going for the door. His hand lands on the door knob, twisting it and pulling the door open with Reid behind him.

“Can you take these cuffs off me?”

Hotch and Reid turn their attention towards you once again before Reid digs in his pocket, pulling out a set of keys. Hotch watches as Reid walks over to you.

Your gaze remained fixed on Reid as he fumbled with the keys. You observed his shakey hands, finding all of it almost humorous.

When he finally managed to remove the cuffs, he let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding in.

You stand up from your seat, rubbing your wrists where the cuffs had previously been.

“Thank you so much.” You say with a teasing, playful tone.

His eyes never meet yours as he steps back, allowing you to stretch, glad to be free from the metal chair you were held down to.

“The team is gathering to discuss our next steps in the case. You’ll be joining us, since you’re working alongside us now.”

He explains the situation quickly as he leads you out of the room, still avoiding any eye contact.

“Exciting.” A smirk was still plastered on your face as you walked behind Reid.

While Reid was more nervous about the situation, and you clearly found it amusing, there was one thing the two of you had in common at the moment.

You had no idea what you were getting into.

. . .

pt. 2

a.n. : again sorry if the writing is bad, but i’m excited for this series to play out! it’s a concept i haven’t seen done before so i wanted to make something cool with it! i believe even if you aren’t a fan of resident evil, criminal minds x mercenary is still kinda cool. also, if you want to be on tag list im more than happy to add you!

[ebonyheartnet]

Important 2024 USA Year-End Holiday Healthcare Reminders

Monday, Dec. 23rd 2024 is the best day to reliably request any year-end meds. This goes double if it’s new—do not get fucked by prior authorizations!

If you need a prior authorization, ask the office/pharmacy to request an expedited one from your insurance. Even with that, your insurance may still drag it out. They absolutely will if you don’t try tho.

Noon on Friday, Dec. 27th is pretty much last call for year-end refills. Everyone is calling in. Your doc is almost certainly not open to process orders on weekends. Being realistic here, depending on their caseload, you still may not make the cut.

If you request a refill after Friday, Dec. 27th 2024, it is probably not getting filled until January. Please still try if you need the refill, but I’m not gonna sugarcoat it. This is not necessarily because your doc’s office isn’t trying. It’s much more likely that they’re short due to holidays & illness.

Whatever you do, do not lose your shit. There are shitty people in healthcare, and you should be able to get mad about it. Do not lose your shit at the office! If you do, you may be barred from that practice. No idea how it looks elsewhere, but it’s a 2-4+ month wait for new patients at nearly every PCP/specialist in DC, MD and VA. I know, it fucking sucks sometimes. Please don’t risk your access to life sustaining care.

Please be kind. A lot of the healthcare workers who don’t suck are disabled and/or otherwise marginalized. We get it, and we’re drowning over here. If you act like we’re all UHC CEOs, we’re gonna burn out trying to help you. Then, you really may be left with everyone who’s aiming for that job.

Everything I’ve said also applies to pharmacies. They’re damn near criminally short on a normal day. Q4 is hell, and the last two weeks are Black Friday: extended edition. They’re painfully aware that someone will go without, even if they work themselves to collapse. Yelling at them isn’t going to help you, it’ll likely just lead to a nervous breakdown and/or early closure.

Sincerely,

Centralized scheduler on LTD ❤️🧑🏽‍🦼❤️

[tomhockstetter7-111]

Highest Form of Empathy - Chapter 6

2k+ Words

Logan x empath!reader

It's a blessing and a curse, feeling other's pain. More so when you can take it away, albeit at the expense of your own peace. One-night stands were a usual for you. That's all this was supposed to be. But, seeing someone in so much pain, you couldn't leave him like that. You just couldn't. Besides, it's not like you'd ever see him again.....

Chapter CW: Relationship issues, Violence, Blood

Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mid-January, 2006

Westchester, New York

~~

You sit in your office checking over your appointment notes of the week, highlighting where needed and taking occasional sips of an energy drink Remy was kind enough to buy you during lunch period. It's kind of atrocious. The sickening aftertaste of cherry sweetener lingers in the back of your throat. But, hell if it didn't wake you up… 

Rubbing your face you play over your interaction with Logan from the morning just after his nightmare. The two of you have more or less ignored each other since then. But, how the fuck are you supposed to do combat training on Friday? Maybe, if you're lucky, the tension will subside by then. But, you doubt it.

There's a meek knock at the open door frame. You look up to find Rogue standing in the open doorway, arms over her chest. “Can I come in?”

"Hey, hon. Yeah, of course. What's up?" You rub your temple as you stumble over your words, and smile.

She takes a big step forward before quickly shutting the door behind her and saying, "What do I do if someone's avoiding me?"

You knit your brows together. "Can I ask who?"

She opens her mouth to speak, inhaling sharply, but closes it again. 

You figure it might be Bobby. There's been a recurring pattern, lately, where he'll give lots of attention before pulling away again soon after. You concluded maybe he repeatedly got comfortable, would think he didn't need Rogue anymore, then would come back on his knees when he did miss her. You figure he must be going through his own torment. You never tell her that, though. It's not your job. Besides, it would probably sound worse out loud than it does in your head. 

But, still, you gave the best advice you could. You suggested drawing a hard line between herself and him for boundary-sake until she was ready to have a proper conversation about the relationship. You also recommended imagining a stop sign or door when anxieties about the situation pop up. Especially when the mansion is so small, and it’s easy to run into people. You thought those techniques were working so far, but now she’s-

"Logan won't talk to me," she blurts out.

Oh… Maybe you were a little off. Standing, you gesture for her to have a seat in one of the green chairs.

“Sorry, I know we’re not scheduled until next week, but-.”

“No! Don’t worry,” you reassure, shaking your head. “Mind if I take notes, anyway?”

She shakes her head, prompting you to grab the teal notebook from your shelf and sitting in the green chair adjacent to her. You sit in silence, waiting for her to talk. She doesn't meet your gaze, preferring to stare at the snow falling outside.

“Wanna tell me anything specific?” You prod gently.

"It’s just,” she begins, clearly exasperated. “I know he just got a promotion and is probably busy with the new workload and all. But, when I try to talk to him, he's so short with me. I tried talking to him during lunch, but he kinda sat there in silence the whole time. When he did say something, he just kinda grunted or was like ‘Mhm, yeah’. It's like he's pulling away, but I don't know why."

"I see." You nod as she rambles, and you take in yet another thing that you have to wonder whether it’s your fault or not. "Did you ask him about it?"

"Yes!" She nearly shouts. "Twice yesterday and once the day before. But, he just tells me he's fine and not to worry. Just said he's got a lot to deal with. It’s like he doesn’t want me around no more. I’m worried I did something." She seems at a loss, and you place your elbows on your knees so you can look her in the eye.

"I'm sure it's not your fault," you say. Regardless of your personal feelings on Logan, Rogue's habit of self-deprecation takes priority for you. If you can stop any line of thinking before it starts it might as well be this one. Besides, from how Rogue talked about him, you have to imagine she's pretty important to him, even if he seems to be a bitch to everyone else.

"I just... It feels like he was the only one I could talk to. No offense!" She brings her hands up in a surrender. "I just know you're so busy."

"No, no. I understand." You nod with a chuckle. It's not a surprise to you. You and Rogue need to keep a level of distance and professionalism given your other clients being her peers. "Is Logan really the only person you feel comfortable talking to?"

"Well," her face goes a slight shade of pink and you feel a hint of embarrassment waft off her. "I guess there's one person..."

"And, you trust them?"

A shadow of a smile graces her lips as she nods. "I don’t wanna be a bother."

"People who care about us want to help us, Rogue. But, we need to let them. Sometimes we need to be the one to reach out first, and that can be scary for a lot of people. But, if you’re close enough to trust them like that, they could be willing to help."

“Maybe you should tell Logan that.” It’s a joke, but her words still make you cringe, and you grimace as she continues. “I just wish I could help him the way he’s helped me.”

“I’m sure he’ll come to you when he’s ready. Until then,” you start writing in your notebook. “Can you tell me about this other person? What are they like?”

~~

This is all so unfair. You've barely slept all week, kept awake by Logan's nightmares. For some reason, you just can’t shut out even the faintest feel of terror he radiates. You’re lucky if you get even four hours of sleep. Now, you’re expected to fight him, too.

Under normal circumstances, fighting someone twice your size and weight wouldn't be a daunting task. You've done it several times, having been your teachers’ best fighter back in high school and college �� the private lessons probably helped, especially when you began adding knives to your fight style. But, on top of your lack of sleep, this guy can't stand the sight of you and, come to find out, has fucking metal for bones! You can't help but feel fucked over by the whole mess as you hardly stand a chance. But, at least it's just hand to hand. No weapons until Charles could get his hands on some special metal you can't remember the name of.

You pull at the sleeve of your combat shirt, a long sleeve top with wetsuit-like material, and make your way to the other side of the large ring as Colossus shuts the door behind you. You breathe deeply, in and out, as you review the information Charles gave you about your opponent. On top of having metal-plated bones, he can heal from mostly anything, so if he's hurt, don't panic. But, don't get careless.

The rules themselves are simple enough. No dirty moves. Corner him or get him to surrender.

"Don’t worry, doll. I'll go easy on ya. If you don't believe me, you could always check." Logan’s words are condescending behind you. He must've heard you meditating.

"I'm never getting inside that head, again," you mutter, holding back a shudder. Does he always have to be this insufferable?

"Stances," you hear Colossus say beside you.

Turning around, you face Logan and look through your lashes at him. You watch as he cracks his neck. The sound of metal clinking accompanies it, and you cringe at the unnatural sound. Then, he hunches his body, fists out to the side, as if preparing to run.

"Ready..."

You can feel the blood rushing to your ears while you adjust your feet into a secure position. 

When Colossus presses a buzzer, you let out a deep breath as Logan charges towards you. Throwing tension into your legs, you make your way towards him, picking up speed the closer he gets. He's a couple feet away from you when you touch your feet to the ground and jump cleanly over him, twisting in the air. Wasting no time, you hit the back of his neck with your elbow and quickly back away, arms shielding your face.

Logan steadies himself and whips around to face you before he charges again, throwing a punch at your stomach which you dodge with ease. They keep coming, one after the other, and he's slower than you expected.

You manage to block one coming towards your stomach, and duck the next one, turning on the ball of your foot as you knock his feet out from under him. He goes down like a tree. But, before you can pin him, he rolls out of the way and swipes at your feet with one leg. You catch yourself on your arm before rebounding up, just in time to catch him standing. You punch him in the nose before kicking him in the stomach, and he stumbles back. You watch as blood slowly trickles down his nose.

"Going soft on me, hon? Scared to hit a woman, or can you just not pull it together? Thought you were our best fighter." You chuckle, pride getting the better of you. But, regret sets in when his face shifts.

"Oh?" He asks with a challenging sneer. Then his face darkens, a realization seeming to cross his face. “Oh, ok.” You feel his anger begin to heat up.

He runs again, and you snap into focus just in time to block a couple hits coming towards your arm and sides. He’s fast now. Really fast. He swings at your face, but you catch his wrist with your hand and twist his arm which proves to be difficult given his strength. It's enough for you to duck out of the way. But, he takes that chance to hit your back with his elbow, knocking you off balance.

You fall forward on your hands and decide it's safer to roll forward onto your shoulder and out of the way. Just in time, too, as a fist pounds into the place you just stood, metal clanging accompanying it. What the hell? Is this guy's trying to fucking kill you?

You charge at him and find an opening to swing at his arm, then his abdomen, and you hear him groan in response before another, heavier, wave of anger from him, closer to rage now, washes over you. He swings at you and you stumble backwards as his fist collides with your face. There's a metallic smell in your nose and you open your mouth to breathe, hoping to avoid inhaling blood into your windpipe. You don't notice immediately, but your head is spinning, too.

Fuck.

He throws two punches at your head, both of which you duck away from before pulling your fist back and plunging it towards his shoulder. But, he catches it and pulls you to the side, knocking you off balance. You barely register his elbow colliding with your ribs before you fall to the side only for him to catch you and shove you against the nearby wall, one arm holding your shoulders in place.

You stare, eyes wide and breathing shallow, as three metal claws protrude from his knuckles and point at your jugular. Your stomach clenches as you stare at the light glinting off them. Your toes barely touch the floor and you can feel steady streams of blood flow from your nose. You grab onto his arm, hoping not to slip and fall, and you fight against your urge to struggle. 

Charles didn't tell you about this. Why didn't anyone fucking tell you about this? The knives of special metal that Charles mentioned make a little more sense now, and it finally occurs to you that this man might be a little dangerous. Scratch that. He is dangerous, a fucking weapon. He's a fucking weapon who's pissed as fuck at you, and you're locked in the room with him inches from your face.

"Enough!" Colossus yells as he walks towards the both of you. You hadn't noticed until now, but he was calling Logan's name the whole time he was beating you into the concrete.

Logan retracts his claws, the skin gruesomely knitting itself back together before your eyes, before letting you go. Your knees give out under you, and you collapse to the floor. You spit out blood, and tears blur your gaze as you try to pull yourself together. Screwing your eyes shut, you yell, "Are you fucking psychotic?"

"What? Too hard, now?" he drones above you, walking away. "It's combat training, bub."

"So, you try to kill me?"

"Some people get angry when their heads get fucked with," He spits. You look up to see he's facing you now, stopped in his tracks. 

Ignoring the hand Colossus offers for help, you put your weight against the wall and claw your way to your feet before wiping your nose. "Look here, dipshit. I get that you're angry. But, this is stamina training. Training! You outclass me by one- fuck, maybe two hundred pounds. You were not supposed to knock my damn lights out." You pant. You feel his anger matching yours by now as red clouds your vision, but you can't find it in you to care. Maybe he does have a right to be upset, but this reaction was so disproportionate to anything you did or could’ve done that you're surprised he wasn't pulled off of you the second he so clearly snapped. Wasn't that the point of supervision?

"Maybe you're out of your league, little girl."

"Oh go choke on-"

"Enough!" Colossus shouts beside you, his booming voice shutting both of you up. "Both of you. You act like toddler!"

You avert your gaze and take a deep breath. Then another. Then one more. The pang of tightness in your side where he whacked you becomes more apparent. Exhaling one last time, you begin to make your way towards the door, avoiding Logan's face. "Learn to fucking control yourself," you say, bumping your shoulder into his arm as you leave.

~~

"Well, your vitals are fine," Storm says, looking over the monitor. "Just a couple bruises."

You sigh heavily and remove the bloody tissue from your nose. You inhale sharply as Bobby moves his icy hand from your cheek to your ribs.

"Sorry," he mutters under his breath.

"You’re fine, hon." You give him a reassuring smile as he looks up at you, clearly not expecting you to have heard him. He really is a sweet kid.

"You're lucky," Storm says as she comes to stand before you. "Not a lot of us last so long when sparring Logan. I’m surprised you’re not concussed after that blow to the head, too." She's trying to reassure you, but it falls flat when your vision was so tunneled only moments ago.

"Yeah, well, not a lot of you have had to fight for your life," you retort, shooting her a glare. You never bothered telling anyone what went down between you and Logan, but you were really considering it, now. Maybe some context could get you out of training with him.

As if fate wasn't cruel enough, lovely Scott walks right through the door. "I take it you know who you're dealing with now?" He gives you a sickeningly sweet smile and nods to Bobby's hand on your side. Poor Bobby, caught in the middle, keeps his attention on your bruise, which is quickly darkening.

You shoot Scott a venomous look, wondering what it would be like to slide a blade through his glasses and into his head right about now.

"What?" He asks with a smirk.

"You're a dick," is all you give him.

His eyebrows raise in what looks like genuine surprise, though you can't really tell. "...Ok."

You turn your attention to Storm again. "Is he always like this?"

"Scott or Logan?" That makes you chuckle. You see Scott's mouth fall open in your periphery, and you don't bother hiding your chuckle.

"Logan," you clarify.

Storm looks at Scott wearily.

"Usually no," he says.

"Actually, he usually holds back when fighting." Storm says as she goes to take the blood pressure and oxygen level readers off your arm and finger. “He’s not stupid. He knows how big he is.”

"Rogue says he's been off lately," Bobby chimes in. Upon realizing the three of you are staring at him he goes on. "Maybe something happened."

"Try not to judge him harshly." Storm gives you a look of worry.

"What, so I just cater to him like a spoiled brat?" Your voice goes up an octave. You can't be hearing this correctly. "He's a grown ass man. He doesn't get to pitch a fit like that." You gesture out with your hands until Bobby grabs your waist to hold you still, causing you to grunt at the sudden increase in cold air. Scott and Storm stare at you awkwardly while Bobby puts his focus back into the temperature of his hand.

You see Scott shift from foot to foot as he goes to speak. "Um...Storm and I have something to discuss." He motions with his head for her to follow him. “Professor needs us.”

She puts a hand to your shoulder and gives a look of encouragement before she walks away, leaving you and Bobby in an awkward silence.

[likeadevils]

Reputation Timeline

This is a very long post that puts all the songs on Reputation in order of Taylor creating them. I’ve also included a few other songs she worked on while writing rep and quotes from Taylor and her collaborators talking about her process.

If you don't want to read all that, check out this playlist of the album in order or this playlist of her entire discography.

I’ve also added this color coded scale of how sure I am of the date: 

Confirmed: There is some type of official source for the date

Inferring: Nobody has officially said “This is when we wrote it,” but all available evidence points to that date

Speculation: This date is based off pure vibes and guesswork and is highly likely to change.

Unknown: All that is known is the year (from the US Copyright Offices

February 13, 2015: Taylor's interview with Vogue is published (likely conducted on January 14/15).

"I don’t worry that I haven’t started the next record yet. I don’t worry that I don’t know what it’s going to be. I’m not worried that I have absolutely no timetable as to when it needs to be done. It could be two years from now; it could be three, it could be four. Or it could be one. You get these bursts of inspiration right at the moment you’re not expecting to. You just have to live your life, and hopefully you’ll take the right risks."

March 2, 2015: Taylor is photographed leaving a studio. (Note: I can not find a place that specifies if this is a recording studio, dance, photography, radio, or television studio).

May 20, 2015: Taylor's interview with Marie Claire is published (likely conducted two months beforehand).

Taylor is not even sure she'll have made another album by the time 2020 rolls around. "I'm not going to put out an album until I've made one that's better than this one and that's going to be really hard," she says. And how might her music evolve if she does find love? "If that does happen, I think I could find complexity in happiness," she says. "I don't think anything's ever simple. Just because you're happy in a relationship doesn't mean there aren't moments of confusion or frustration or loneliness or sadness. Hopefully, if I ever find some sort of meaningful relationship, I'll be able to still find inspiration, just through everyday ups and downs."

October 7, 2015: Taylor is photographed leaving a recording studio in New York.

November 13, 2015: Taylor's interview with Vogue Australia is published (likely conducted two months beforehand).

Every two years since 2006 she has released an album, followed by a tour, then moved onto the next one. But her latest album, 1989, might change plans a bit. “This album has produced more number ones than any album in the past, so we’re just going to go with it,” she says, going on to explain how the usual album cycle could be extended. “Then I’ll feel like I’ll need to give people a breather from me because at a certain point they’re going to get a little sick of hearing about me, so I’ll need to go away for a while then, depending on my gauge on how sick of me they are, I’ll decide when to put out the next album.” [...]  “I’ve been learning every single day what the right amount of sharing [of her personal life] is, and lately it’s been not natural because this album is such a snapshot of my life – it was so vivid, direct and honest.”

April 20, 2016: Taylor interview with Vogue is published (conducted in February).

So what the hell are you going to do with the rest of your life, Taylor Swift? “I have no idea,” she says, with a sigh that’s more blissful than anxious. “This is the first time in ten years that I haven’t known. I just decided that after the past year, with all of the unbelievable things that happened . . . I decided I was going to live my life a little bit without the pressure on myself to create something.” Do not freak: Swift is not abandoning making music. Those who know her know this is chemically impossible. (“Her not being creative is one of the last things I’d ever worry about,” the musician and producer Jack Antonoff tells me later.) “I’m always going to be writing songs,” Swift says. “The thing is, with me, I could very well come up with three things in the next two weeks and then jump back into the studio, and all of a sudden the next record is started. That’s an option, too.” But probably not for the moment.

August 29, 2016: Taylor writes in her diary "This summer is the apocalypse."

Gorgeous: Sep. 1-5, 16, 17, 19 (Confirmed)

In the Making of a Song video, Taylor is seen wearing this outfit in her Nashville apartment, which dates the song to September 17. From there, the rest of the dates are just math. 

King of My Heart: Sep. 6, 19, 20, 21 (Confirmed)

In the Making of a Song video, Taylor is seen wearing the same outfit in the Gorgeous video and the KOMH video. It's also the same outfit as a video she later posted to The Swift Life (RIP) where she talked about how excited she was to be working after a long break.

September 9, 2016: Gigi Hadid says "You know, [Taylor] is starting to go back to work in the studio again."

I Don't Wanna Live Forever: Early Oct. (Speculation)

In a teaser for the Making of a Song series, Taylor is seen in an unfamiliar outfit (black mesh top) with bleached hair and a thin gold choker that she was fond of in October 2016. She is not wearing her silver J pendant, which she got as a 27th birthday present (Dec 13, 2016). IDWLF is the only song with no video footage that was written in 2016. I don't recognize the studio in the clip, but she recorded IDWLF with Jack Antonoff, who is based in New York. Taylor was on the east coast until October 22nd, and was seen in New York between October 11-13.

Delicate: Oct. 24-26 (Speculation)

Taylor is seen wearing the aforementioned thin gold choker,  with her post Sep. 24 haircut (straight across bangs instead of a side part). Since she normally goes into the studio with Max Martin and Shellback with a few ideas, and creates multiple songs during their sessions, I'm inclined to group this song with IDSB and place it in late October.

I Did Something Bad: Oct. 14, 27 (Confirmed)

In the Making of a Song video, at 4:18 you can spot a gold temporary tattoo on the inside of her wrist, similar to ones she was wore at Drake’s Birthday Party on October 23. Since she is seen working until sundown (She leaves LA on October 28) and had to be in Nashville 13 days priar (She was seen in New York City until the 13), October 14 and 27th are the only dates that make sense. 

January 3, 2017: Taylor writes in her diary "I get all scared about the future because so much has changed in the last year of my life. I mean this time last year I was living in LA, getting ready for Grammys and now, I’m essentially based in London, hiding out trying to protect us from the nasty world that just wants to ruin things. We have been together and no one has found out for 3 months now. I want it to stay that way because I don’t want anything about this to change or become too complicated or intruded upon. But it’s senseless to worry about someday not being happy when I am happy now. Ok. Breathe."

Don't Blame Me: Jan. 10, 11, 12 (Inferring)

Taylor is seen wearing a similar jacket as she was papped wearing on the 11th in the Making of a Song video. (This is pure speculation on my part, but the mood also seems to be a bit lower than on other days). We know she was in LA around this time “for work.”

Dancing With Our Hands Tied: Jan. 11 (Confirmed)

This post explains the situation pretty well. There are multiple accounts of what seems to be a similar story. January 11th one of two times she is seen leaving the gym after a long paparazzi dry spell, the other being in July. Seeing as the song is produced by Max Martin, who is located in LA, and the July pictures are in New York, I’m inclined to agree with the original source.

Dress: Late January/Early February 2017 (Speculation)

Jack Antonoff: “Dress is my second favorite [from Reputation]. It's the first one we made for it." Taylor was mostly based in London in early 2017, but there’s two times we know she was in the states. The first is in early January, when Taylor was in California working with Max Martin and Shellback. The second time is in late January/early February, when she was in Nashville preparing for Super Saturday Night. My guess is this was written in Late January, mostly because she was on the east coast, but theoretically she could've done it earlier in the month, or even later in the year.

Look What You Made Me Do: Late January/Early February 2017 (Speculation)

In promos for the Making of a Song Video, as well as in Miss Americana, Taylor is seen with straight hair and her J initial necklace (dating the song to post-Dec 13, 2016). Her hairstyle (the deep side part) is very Mid-2016. For most of 2017, she seems to favor the straight across braids with strands on the side. Long story short (ha), the hair makes me what to put this as early in the timeline as possible. We know Taylor was on the east coast (specifically Nashville) in early February, preparing for Super Saturday Night.

New Years Day: 2017 (Unknown)

There isn’t any footage of this, but Jack Antonoff has said that it came together fairly quickly and unexpectedly while they were hanging out at his house. 

...Ready For It?: May 2017 (Speculation)

In promos for the Making of a Song series, as well as Miss Americana, Taylor is seen with curly hair, her J necklace, and not her Sapphire Evil Eye Ring, which starts showing up on June 27th (We don’t know exactly when or why she got the sapphire ring). . Since the song partially focuses on whether or not her lover is ready for the media frenzy that surrounds dating her, I’m inclined to place this song in May, when her and Joe’s relationship leaked to the press. The song was recorded in Sweden, and we can assume she was in Europe between May 15 and June 1, 2017. (That being said, we can assume she is in Europe for most of the first half of 2017). 

Call It What You Want: June 2017 (Speculation)

In the Making of a Song series, Taylor is seen with straight hair, her J necklace, and not her sapphire evil eye ring. Once again, I am tempted to put this after her relationship leaked to the press, probably in early June (She is in the states on the 1st and 3rd, and probably leaves sometime in mid-June).

End Game: Mid July (Confirmed)

Ed Sheeran has said that the song was written around July 14th, while he was playing in Connecticut and Taylor was in Rhode island. Ed: End Game was written - I was playing Mohegan Sun in Connecticut, and she has a place in Rhode Island, which isn't too far. So she hits me up like, 'I know you're in Connecticut, come around.' I go around, she plays me some of what turned out to be reputation, and plays me this End Game, and I was like 'Man, I really like this. Can I do a verse? Can I do a rap verse?' And she was like, 'Yeah, for sure!' So the next day, I remember, I was in bed, and woke up and got my laptop out, put the song, just looped it, wrote this verse, and I went in with Max Martin, who she did the song with, and recorded it. Then Future did a verse, and then Taylor wrote a verse and we did the video.

Getaway Car: July 2017 (Speculation)

In the Making of a Song series, Taylor is seen with curly hair, her J necklace, and her sapphire evil eye ring, placing the song sometime shortly before/after June 27th. We know she was in the states for most of July, and in New York City on the 17th and 24th.

This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things: July 2017 (Speculation)

In the Making of a Song series, Taylor is seen with straight hair, her J necklace, and her sapphire evil eye ring. For all the same reasons as Getaway Car, this song was probably recorded in July. The exact order of Getaway Car and TIWWCHNT is probably impossible for anyone not involved in the making of the song to know. I could see arguments for either order, but Taylor has said that reputation is in fairly chronological order, I’m putting it in order of tracklist.

So It Goes: September 2017 (Inferring)

Oscar Görres, a cowritter on the song, said he got a call from Max Martin, Shellback, and Taylor asking to use his track after he’d just had a child. According to social media, he had a daughter in 2015 and a son in September of 2017. The interview is a bit confusing, timeline-wise. On one had, Görres says “I’d just become a father,” but then he implies that Max and Shellback had already completed most of the album. (For context, English isn’t his first language). Personally, I believe the believe the September 2017 date. Multiple sessioners have said Taylor said all songs on the album were about her relationship with Joe, and the tracklists in the reputation magazines are out of order, suggesting a late change. Taylor has has also been known to add a song to the album incredibly last minute— most notably Forever & Always on Fearless, but also with Death By A Thousand Cuts on Lover, which had to have been written post April 20, 2019 (but that's for another album).

And that's all for this timeline! Check out my others:

TIMELINES: debut • fearless • speak now • red • 1989 • rep • lover • folklore • evermore • midnights PLAYLISTS: debut • fearless • speak now • red • 1989 • rep • lover • folklore • evermore • midnights • entire discography GENERAL: tag

[helphowdoiusethis]

I made my gift for @royal-chandler

To preface this goes of book cannon, so characters like Leo, Cash and June are here! So yeah.

I was going to make three fics for you but my motivation decided to dip so I’m sorry, but yeah; you may have two other gifts coming during the year! Who knows- I really did want to write for the other prompts!

I took the prompt: firstprince, ringing in the new year as a family with kids

Alex and Henry have mixed feelings about new years. If you asked a Henry before Alex if he loved new years? He would say no, the need to be too proper and the loud firework displays of London and every where else in the UK and after his dad has passed having bad days due to debilitating grief. Henry before Alex hated new years, he detested it until Alex’s New Year’s Eve party and things change there.

But if you asked Alex, he’s always loved new years, the fireworks, the sparklers, the barbecue. He tried to bring that energy to his new years function that he held each year, but when Henry had attended and through his life upside down in the best way possible, Alex had adapted his way of celebrating with Henry, careful to avoid going outside to watch the displays on new years if Henry had a specifically bad days on Christmas or after it.

After each year with the other; after being outed, after they were out properly to the world and Alex’s mom was in office again were good. After years of just enjoying each others company, David’s also and a good few years of married new years nights and days they decided to have children and that made new years a lot more chaotic than even their first kiss new years had been.

The two girls, Elizabeth and Clementine had seen a few new years with Alex and Henry; both had taken Alex's love of new years and the traditions that the Claremont-Diaz family had for the new years nights in Texas. Due to spending so much time split between England; much to Henry’s dismay but the girls and Alex’s happiness of seeing the fireworks in London but the family have rarely spend a proper new years in America since the girls came into their lives, having the 1st of January or the 30th of December to celebrate the drawing close of a year over in America in a way the entire family preferred.

Normally Alex would be frantically packing the girls bag at 6 morning of the 31st of December or re packing he had left Clementine's favourite pair of boots to wear in the Uk and the girl had refused to go aware unless carried by Alex and Alex only, making the journey through customs and security a challenge. However today Alex didn't need to pack, cause they weren't going over the pond to England this year, he doesn’t know how Henry convince his family to let them miss new years in England this year but the light in the girls eyes when their dad told them they get to do new years in Texas? Whatever Henry did was worth it to see those little girls eyes widen like it was a second Christmas.

Getting the Claremont-Diaz family together in Texas was not as difficult a task as Henry had first thought, June, Pez and Nora where already on their ways over after no frantic call from Alex at four in the morning had happened. Oscar had said they never even need to bargain and he'd be there in four hours. Bea was over in London with the Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor's and had apologised for missing the girls first out of the Uk new years, Shaan and Zhara had also apologised for also being over the pond; the pair being family just as the rest.

Ellen, Leo, Amy and Cash where also on their ways as soon as the invites had been given out.

So the only thing now was to clean up and get ready for hosting new years.

This was eaiser said than done. Having two girls that were raised by Alex Claremont-Diaz, they were messy.

Cleaning up was rarely in the girls vocabulary so when Henry had been cleaning up the living room, Alex had taken the girls outside to get the garden ready; getting the girls and himself covered in dirt and mud in a record time of 10 minutes. So after baths and tidying of bathrooms and bedrooms and getting dressed, people arrived.

As the night drew on, Alex was outside with the girls, enjoying the sparklers that he had gone and brought at 3 pm as most of the Claremont-Diaz’s, Nora, Pez, Cash and Amy were all outside as well while Henry called his family and set up the news, so he could call his family in when the time came, avoiding the mass amount of noise that came from two screaming little girls being chased by hyper family when he was not exactly in the mindset of dealing with the volume, still in his Uk new years mind.

When it got closer to the time and the family had been called in, the girls had settled with Alex and Henry, perched between the couple and tucked up in pyjamas for when the clock hits twelve and they are sent off to bed. It’s one minute too and every one is waiting, the clock clicks slow, phones go off with happy new years from every other timezone that has already started the next year. It’s 30 seconds to, Clementine and Elizabeth both say that they love their family while almost falling asleep, the family their say it back and the girls are a sleep, so Alex turns down the TV.

It’s ten seconds to new years, quiet counting in the house starts in tandem with turned down yelling from the TV.

It’s five seconds, Henry and Alex have carefully picked up the girls, ready to take them to bed as the whole house whispers a “4,3,2,1”.

And it’s new years. Quiet cheers and hugs exchanged, kisses from on the lips to forehead kisses are shared where appropriate, on the TV and in the house. Hugs are given to all, Henry and Alex bring the girls upstairs, setting them in beds and whispering happy new years to them before leaving.

The walk down stairs is quiet, until Alex stops the pair and kisses Henry gently with a whispered, “Happy new years, Baby” that Henry responded with a gentle and quiet, “Happy new years, Dear”.

Before returning to the rest of their family, rather happily.

@rwrbnygiftexchange

[atlafan]

1963 - Part 1

a/n: I have been dying to share this with yall and I'm so excited to finally be doing that. As per usual, this is the only part that will be posted here on Tumblr.All other parts will be posted on Patreon. In fact, Part 2 is already up! And Part 3 will be posted Friday.

Please consider joining my Patreon. It's only $5 a month, and it charges you the following month on the date you joined. So, if you signed up today, you wouldn't get charged again until January 10th. I post 2-4 times per month. If anything is under 10K words, that's usually when I'll post more. I depend on this extra income to help pay bills for essentials. The community there is also incredible and I write and post some of my nastiest smut on there, so if that's what you're looking for, you'll get it!

Warnings: mentions of infertility

Words: 3.8K

Patreon I Patreon Masterlist I Tumblr Masterlist I Ask

“Every month I keep hoping I’ll have different news for you two,” Doctor Simmons sighed, “unfortunately, I have the same news. Beverly still isn’t with child.”

“We’ve been trying for five months, we’ve been doing everything you’ve said. Beverly drinks the teas, she lays with her legs up after we’re done, I don’t know what else we can do.” Robert was exasperated at this point. He was squeezing his wife’s hand, desperately trying not to let any tears escape his eye ducts.

“You two have exhausted all natural remedies, so I think it’s time we consider IVF.”

Beverly’s eyes widened, and she squeezed Robert’s hand back. She looked at him, panicked.

“Beverly is terribly afraid of needles.”

“You don’t need to decide on anything right now. Take these pamphlets and look over the information. If you two want to have a baby of your own, then this may be the next step.”

“We’ll look it over and have an answer by our next appointment.”

Robert and Beverly are silent on the drive home from the doctor’s office. They’re silent on their way back into their home. Beverly goes right to the kitchen to get started on dinner. Robert comes up next to her and puts her hand over hers.

“We should read the literature on IVF.” He said.

“I have friends who have done it, and all it has done is make their hormones crazy, and not in a fun way. I really don’t want to, Robert. I’ve done everything else, please don’t make me do this.”

“It feels like sometimes I’m the only one who wants to have a baby.”

“How could you say something like that to me? If I’m infertile-“

“You’re not, though. Doctor Simmons has run every type of blood test on you.”

“I know, I was there when the nurse was drawing it after you accused me of secretly taking birth control pills.”

“Well, with how apprehensive you were about having your diaphragm removed, I had to make sure you weren’t doing any self-sabotage.”

“Maybe I’m not getting pregnant because my body knows you don’t trust me.”

“I do trust you, you just weren’t exactly thrilled to start trying.”

“You sprung it on me, I was surprised. We never really discussed having kids before we got married.”

“Sweetheart, why would two people get married if not to have kids?” He chuckled.

“That’s not why I married you. I married you because I love you and I want to be with you.”

“I love you and want to be with you too. But if I hadn’t wanted kids, we could have just shacked up in an apartment in the city. I bought us a house in the suburbs so you could keep house and raise our kids. You like being a housewife, you’ve told me as much.”

“I do. I like making your meals and keeping things tidy, but I also like my free time. I like to go have brunch with the other ladies, and I like going to the library to check out new film analysis journals, and I like being able to go to the movies in the middle of the day. Having a baby means I can’t do those things anymore. At least, not until it’s old enough to go to school. That’s five solid years I’d be putting on hold. And within that five years, I could have at least two more kids. So, now I’m thirty-one with three kids under the age of five, and oh yeah, I’ll still be expected to keep the house clean and cook all your meals and pleasure you even though everything between my legs will feel like sandpaper.”

Robert eyes his wife, then puckers his lips in thought. “Is that how you’ve really been feeling? You haven’t said a word.”

“I didn’t want to disappoint you. You’re not easy to talk to these days. Every time I reach for my clip-belt for my sanitary napkins, I can see you watching with such sadness in your eyes. Motherhood is scary. My friends tell me these horror stories about childbirth. Their husbands barely take a week off from work to be home with them and the baby. So, we’re expected to push these kids out, then get up the next day and get back to our usual routines.”

“Beverly, you’re worried about things women have been doing since the beginning of time. Don’t be such a child. The fear of needles I can understand, but the fear of being a mother makes no sense. I know you and your mother have a strained relationship, but that doesn’t mean history will repeat itself.” He placed his hands on her shoulders. “If we’re not pregnant by our next appointment with Doctor Simmons, then I would like us to start IVF. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes, dear.”

“Good.” He looked at the ingredients on the counter and grimaced. “I don’t want meatloaf tonight, make something else instead.”

“Yes, dear.”

“I’m gonna go to my office, have a beer, and listen to the ball game. Let me know when dinner is on the table.”

“Yes, dear.”

Robert smiled, grabbed a beer out of the fridge, and walked out of the kitchen. Beverly took a deep breath and rummaged through her cabinets to see what else she could possibly whip up for dinner. It needs to be something heavy enough that Robert won’t feel like making love before bed. Beverly doesn’t have it in her to put on a performance tonight.

**

Most people get married to have kids. Beverly married Robert because she loved him. He wanted to take care of her. But when the honeymoon phase ended, and he stopped saying thank you to her for all of the things she did to take care of him, she grew resentful. She never let on about it. Robert didn’t need to know how she really felt. Opening up the way she did the day prior wasn’t normal. Things had been good between them for a long time. Beverly didn’t mind stepping into the role of a stay-at-home wife. She was college educated, but it wasn’t like she’d ever be able to carry a position in the profession of her desire. And since she didn’t want to be a schoolteacher or a nurse, Robert asked her to stay home to tend to the house he had bought for them.

At twenty-three, she really hadn’t minded. They met in college, as so many young couples do, and it was love at first sight. Their courtship was disgustingly romantic, and their wedding was a dream come true. The honeymoon phase was so sickly sweet. Beverly enjoyed making breakfast for Robert before he left for work. She enjoyed sending him on his way. She had the whole day to herself. She’d tend to her various gardens, and she’d make sure the house was clean. She’d meet up with friends for brunch. She did everything a good wife was supposed to do.

At twenty-six, Beverly feels like she’s on autopilot. She can’t help but wonder if the reason why older couples have designated sex nights is because the wives must need the six days in between to psych themselves up. She also can’t help but wonder if this is why so many older couples opt for twin beds that can be pushed together or pulled apart.

And it’s not that Beverly doesn’t want kids, she thinks it could be fun, but she’s petrified of essentially raising a child by herself. Robert will stroll in from work, bounce the baby on his knee for all of two minutes, and call it a night. She’s scared for all the reasons she tried to explain the day prior. Robert also didn’t give Beverly a choice five months ago…

“I was thinking of maybe enrolling in graduate school.” Beverly brought up one morning over breakfast. Robert had nearly choked on his toast. “I know what you’re thinking, but you wouldn’t have to pay for a thing. They have stipends for students. I could teach while I learn.”

“I thought you didn’t want to teach.”

“I didn’t want to teach children, but something about having high level discussions with college students makes teaching sound like fun. I miss being in school.”

“What’s the point of a graduate degree in film and media? It’s not like you can do anything with it.”

“A graduate degree could lead to a doctorate, and I could keep teaching. I know female professors are few and far between, especially in the world of film, but it is possible.”

“So, you want to be a career woman, is that what you’re saying?”

“Not exactly. Classes wouldn’t take up all my time. I’d still be able to cook and clean and do everything I’m doing now. Except now when I go to the library, I’ll be doing schoolwork instead of reading for leisure.”

“Seems like you have it all figured out already.”

“Well, I wanted to show you I had thought it all through, that I was serious. You got your graduate degree. If you hadn’t, we never would have met.”

“Exactly. What if some older professor comes on to you? You’d have no way to protect yourself.”

“Oh, Robert, I’ve gone this long without something horrible happening to me on a college campus, I think I’d be fine. Besides, all I’d need to do is show off the lovely rings on my finger.” She grinned. “No one would mess with a married woman whose husband can afford a diamond like this.”

“Did you already sign up for a course?”

“Of course not. I wanted to speak with you first.”

“Good.” He finished his breakfast. “Let me think on it.”

“Alright. Anything in particular you want for dinner tonight?”

“Actually, I was thinking we could go out tonight. I wanted to take you somewhere nice.”

“Oh? For what?”

“Does a husband need a reason to treat his wife to a romantic evening?”

“No.” She giggled. “I’m just excited at the prospect of a spontaneous date night. I’ll pick out a dress I haven’t worn in a while, so it feels like new.”

“I think that’s a great idea.” He stood and kissed the top of her head. “I’ll call you before I leave work, so you’ll know when to expect me.”

“Okay, have a good day, dear.”

Beverly was excited. A night out was a positive sign. Robert wouldn’t take her out just to give her bad news. He was going to say yes to her going back to school.

The restaurant Robert took Beverly to was ritzy. He danced with her, ordered an expensive bottle of wine, and kissed on her shoulder and neck while he sat next to her in their booth. That sickly sweet feeling Beverly thought might be gone was sparking again. When the cheesecake came out, they fed each other bites. It was adorable.

“Are you having a good time tonight?” He asked.

“Yes, this has been such a wonderful evening. Thank you for taking me here.”

“You’re welcome, Bev.” He put his hand over hers and gave it a squeeze. “I’ve been thinking about a lot of things lately, and our conversation this morning was the kick in the pants I needed, so I’m really glad you brought up graduate school.”

“I’m glad it was a positive conversation.” She smiled. “What’s been on your mind?”

“I think it’s time we started trying for a baby.” All of the color drained from Beverly’s face, but her smile never wavered. She couldn’t let on how disappointed she was. “You’re clearly bored with the amount of free time on your hands. I know school seemed like a fun thing to do to pass the time, but I think we’ve waited long enough. We’ll be married almost four years soon, I think we know what we’re doing in the bedroom by now. So, next week, I’m taking you to the doctor to have your diaphragm removed-“

“You called my doctor about something like that?”

“I know it’s a bit awkward, but it’s not a secret that you have one. I went with you when you got it, I should be with you when you have it taken out.”

“Robert…I don’t like that it feels like you’re not giving me a choice. What if I’m not ready?”

“It’s not that you don’t have a choice, I’m just stating that it’s time. You take care of me just fine, you’ll be a great mother. This is what I would rather you do than go back to school. Besides, think of the fun we’ll have while we’re working at it. I got excited at work today thinking about it. I was hoping tonight could be a test run.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “I love you so much, Bev, I wanna turn that love into a physical being.”

“Yeah, um, that makes perfect sense. Let’s…let’s make a baby.”

“Really?” He asked, elated.

“Yes, dear.”

Robert kissed his wife. He kissed her in the car. He kissed her on the way into their home, up the stairs, and into their bedroom. He made love to his wife, then called it a night.

After getting her diaphragm removed, they waited until after her next period was done to start trying. This gave Beverly plenty of time to figure out how she could avoid pregnancy. She needed to keep some semblance of control over her own body. Robert wasn’t going to tell her when she was ready. She could decide that on her own.

Lysol douching didn’t work, she knew this. Her sister told her as much. Some of her friends offered her their birth control pills, but she knew they’d show up on a blood test, which Robert made sure she had after the second month of her still not having gotten pregnant. Beverly may have studied film, but she was an excellent student in biology and chemistry as well. She knew how condoms worked. They were coated in spermicides. She just needed to figure out how to coat her vagina with it. She bought condoms and squeezed all of the lubricant and spermicide off them and got a good amount into a bottle. She mixed it with olive oil, what ancient Greeks used to use, and douched with that before having sex with Robert. She knew it would be a long shot if it worked, but she had to try.

When the third month came along, and she still wasn’t pregnant, she took solace is knowing her little concoction was working. And because Robert never went down on her, he’d never smell or taste a thing. When he used his fingers, he just thought she was extra wet, which made him feel proud of himself.

She was perfectly content with her plans until the topic of IVF came up. Even the harshest of solutions couldn’t stand up to IVF injections. She never felt bad for lying to Robert because she didn’t like that he had become so controlling, but she also didn’t think she’d be doing this for so long. The thought of her giving her body up didn’t sound any more appealing five months later.

What was she going to do?

**

“I really think that one is gonna be a winner.” Robert sighed happily as he relaxed into the bed, looking over at Beverly as she lay with her legs in the air. “I’m glad we waited a couple of days in between, feels like my boys swam stronger.”

“Yes, dear.” Beverly closed her eyes and tried to breathe steadily, counting down the minutes until she could go use the bathroom and cleanse herself.

“I had an idea today. I really want to spare you from having to be injected with needles. I’m a good husband, and good husbands protect their wives. So, since we have about five weeks until our next appointment, I thought we could try one last natural method.”

“I’m listening.” She turned her head to look at him, intrigued.

“I overheard some ladies talking in the break room this morning. It’s the one good thing about having so many female secretaries. Anyways, they happened to be discussing various issues with conceiving. One of them said they had a friend who got pregnant the second she and her husband stopped focusing so much on it. The wife threw herself into different projects, and a month or so later, she was pregnant.”

“Wait.” She sat up on her elbows. “Are you saying I can enroll in a graduate course after all?”

“What, no.” He laughed. “No, I was thinking we could finally redo the patio and have that pool you’ve wanted put in. You’ve been talking about wanting to host more parties for our friends. You always do so well with the workers when we have something done here, and you love gardening. I think you’d really enjoy overseeing a landscaping project.”

“Let me get this straight: you would rather pay thousands of dollars to have our backyard redone, than pay a couple of hundred for me to enroll in a course?”

“I think school would be too stressful. If you’re stressed, then you definitely won’t conceive. Overseeing a project that puts you outside in the sun will be a win-win. Not to mention an old friend of mine is willing to give us a deal on the work.”

“You have a friend that’s a landscaper?”

“Yeah, this guy from my old neighborhood took over his father’s business. He said he could swing by Saturday to take a look at things.”

“It sounds like you’ve already decided that this is what we’re doing.”

“That’s because I have.” He grinned proudly. “Bev, when we got married, I promised to take care of you. This is me taking care of you. Not all husbands would do something like this for their wives. You could at least pretend to be grateful.”

“I am grateful, I’m sorry if my tone suggested otherwise. What time Saturday is he coming over?”

“That I left up to you. I didn’t know if you had any errands or plans with the ladies.”

“Oh.” Well, at least he was trying to be considerate. “Maybe around three? That would give me time to pick up the dry cleaning and stop at the market.”

“Three is perfect. I’ll give him a call tomorrow to let him know.” He looked down at his watch. “You should be good to use the bathroom now.”

“Yes, dear.” Beverly lowers her legs and slings her robe on. Once she’s in the bathroom, she locks the door and flips on the fan. She rummages around in the back of the sink-cabinet until she finds her douching solution. She used some prior to having sex with her husband, but she likes to use it after for good measure. She bites into the heel of her palm as she cleanses herself. It tends to sting from time to time. When she’s done, she looks at herself in the mirror. She knows she can’t keep doing this to herself. She just doesn’t know what else to do.

**

Beverly loves her weekend clothes. There’s something so freeing about slipping on a pair of high-waist capris, a sleeveless button-up that ties in the front, and a pair of flats. She usually gardens after running her errands, and this is what she typically wears to garden. Robert hates it when Beverly wears pants, or anything form fitting, in public. Why should anyone else be privy to how round her bum is, or how full her thighs are? She’s got a body like Marilyn’s, and that’s something he prefers to keep under wraps.

When the landscaping van pulls up out front, Beverly is in the front yard, planting and mulching. She has the radio going, so she doesn’t pay any mind to the sound of an engine turning off. The man in the landscaping van tilted his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, getting a better glimpse of Beverly. Robert starts walking over, so the man gets out of his van, rounding it to meet his old friend.

“Harry.” Robert smiled and shook the man’s, Harry, hand. “Can you believe it? Got a nice house in a suburb just like the one we grew up in.”

“I never doubted you’d get everything you wanted.” Harry smiled back.

“Seems like the Navy treated you well.”

“Yeah, I can’t complain too much. I didn’t get blown up or lose a limb.”

“And now you own your father’s business. Sorry for your loss, by the way. That’s the drawback of inheritance.”

“Yep. You working for your father?”

“Yes, and proud of it. I’ve got an office with a view, and I can afford to live more than comfortably. Got a beautiful wife, too.” Robert looked around. “Beverly, c’mere!” Beverly stood and dusted off her trousers before making her way over to the two men. “Harry, this is my Beverly.” He put his arm around his wife’s shoulders.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Clark.”

“Likewise, Mr…”

“Styles.” He points behind him with his thumb. “Of Styles Landscaping.”

“Right, of course.”

“Your husband told me you were hoping to have some work done in the backyard.”

“Yes, we’d like the patio redone and to have a pool put in, if possible.”

“Let’s show Harry to the back.” Robert said as he led his wife to the back. Harry followed close behind.

As Beverly observes Harry observing her yard, she can’t help but feel confused. How is this man a friend of Robert’s? Harry’s t-shirt is stretched tight over his chest, not to mention how beefy and muscular his biceps are. His arms are also littered with tattoos.

It takes about twenty minutes for Harry to look around, take some measurements, and get a feel for the land.

“Alright, I can come back on Tuesday with some different mockups of what can be done back here. I can bring my portfolio too, so you can look at some of my past projects. Does Tuesday work for you, Mrs. Clark? I’m assuming you’ll be the one home.”

“Yes, the early afternoon works for me, Mr. Styles.”

“Perfect.” Robert clapped his hands. “H, come in for a bit. We can have a couple beers and catch up while Bev does her gardening out front.”

“Sounds good to me.” Harry nodded, and Robert started to make his way inside. For a split second, Harry tilted his sunglasses down to look at Beverly. “It was nice meeting, Mrs. Clark.” He winked and smirked before catching up with Robert.

Beverly felt her cheeks heat up. She turned and watched Harry walk into her home. Why did he wink at her like that? And why did it make her feel like she just got a B-12 shot?

She shook it off and made her way out front. Gardening will help her clear her head. She’s a married woman. A friend of Robert’s wouldn’t flirt with a married woman…would he?

[avastrasposts]

The British Connection - ch. 5

Summary: Grace Mallory makes a reluctant Billy Butcher and The Boys team up with an MI6 operative sent over from London to track down a dangerous supe killing people on both sides of the pond. Billy is being his usual arsehole self but maybe opposites attract?

It's 14 chapters and complete and 'll be posting a new chapter every day

Warnings: canon typical violence, smut, fluff, Butcher being his usual grumpy and unreasonable self, nasty supes, guns etc.

“Right”, Butcher says, “Frenchie and Hughie, I need you two to sweep the office for bugs. Just to make sure we’re not being fucked by our own side. Until it’s clean, not a word of this inside that building. Get on it.” 

Frenchie gives a sloppy salute and starts off at a jog back towards the Flatiron, Hughie and Kimiko in tow.

“Edwards, have you got access to the CCTV footage of the attacks on the PM and the Chief of the Defence staff?”

“Not yet,” Eve replies, “I’m working on it, my CO at Vauxhall will send it over as soon as he has it.”

“Can you trust him?” Butcher asks. 

“Yes, Cochran’s reliable.” 

Butcher nods and looks over at MM. “I need you to ask around our connections, discreetly, for any word on the attacks on the two US politicians. You know the drill, no traces.”

“Sure thing, Butcher,” MM replies, “I’ll get on it straight away. You wanna bring Mallory in on this too? She’s got the best connections and you know this kinda fucked up shit is generating a lot of buzz that she’ll hear.” 

“No, I need to see Mallory about some other business, I’ll see what she knows, if she’s got the same info Edwards does.”

“Do you want me to come with you to see Mallory?” Eve asks. 

“Get that CCTV footage, that’s your priority, Edwards. It’s still office hours in the UK, get on to your CO and get that footage before this cunt supe kills someone else. I’ll ring ya when the office is clean.” 

Eve nods, “Keep me posted.” She raises her hand in a wave to MM and leaves them in the park. 

“Do you trust her, MM?” Butcher asks, watching Edwards retreating back as she makes her way to the subway.

“No more or less than I would any other government agent.”

“Ye, we’re gonna need to keep an eye on her, see what her game is.” 

“Does it make a difference that she’s British, Butcher?” MM asks. 

“Na, MI6 or CIA, they’re pretty much all the same type of cunts. And with her background…” he trails off, still watching Edwards. “I’m not sure Mallory clocked it but Edwards and I don’t exactly speak the same type of English, you know wha’ I mean?” 

“Yeah, you sound like Michael Caine, she sounds like Lady Mary Crawley.”

“She’s posh alright, probably went to Cambridge and got recruited to the service straight from the local Tory meetings thanks to a tip from a well connected daddy. And I’ve never had any good experiences with blokes of her background, served with a couple of right cunts who thought they could order me and the other lads around just ‘cause we didn’t grow up with bleedin’ silver spoons. But I’ve never served with a woman from that background, had a couple of higher ups of course, but never in the field.” 

MM hunches his shoulders against the creeping cold. “I say we let her prove herself before we make any judgments. At least maybe now you’ll have someone to bitch about American tea with.” 

“Fucking ‘erbal shite.”

Butcher claps MM on the shoulder, “Right, I’m off to see Mallory. Let me know if you dig up something I need to know. I’ll see you at the office later.” 

“See ya, Butcher.” 

Grace Mallory’s house is located in the countryside outside the city, surrounded by forest and hills. The usually lush green drive up to the house is grey and slushy this January afternoon as Butcher approaches the house in his beat up car. Mallory is already at the door, expecting him. 

“Two meetings in one day, William, what an honour,” she says in a dry voice as he walks up to her. She steps aside and lets him in. 

“Well, you set up the first one, and I’m here for some more information about Ms Edwards, so blame yourself,” Butcher says and walks over to the large windows overlooking the hills, trailing slush on the floor. Mallory stops by the fireplace. 

“I know that her CO, James Cochran, wanted her on this case and contacted the CIA Deputy Director directly and arranged for her to be flown over on a military flight. He vouched for her discretion and capabilities and the Deputy Director passed her on to me for the enviable task of convincing you to take her onboard. Cochran has worked with the CIA on multiple occasions and has a solid reputation, we have no reason to doubt his recommendations.” 

“I don’t need her CO’s bloody letter of recommendation,” Butcher scoffs. “I want her background info. Why her on this case? Where has she served and with who? Who’s she connected to? I need to see her bloody file, Mallory.”

“You don’t have that clearance, Butcher,” Mallory sighs. “Your job is to find the supe, with her help. You don’t need to know more about her than what the Deputy Director thinks you need to know.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit, Mallory,” Butcher snarls, “She showed us the videos MI5 picked up. That supe can control anyone to do anything by the looks of it, so I bloody well need know who the fuck I’m letting on to my team.” 

“That doesn’t make any difference, Butcher.”

“The hell it does! I have no doubt she’ll be able to put a bullet in Hughie’s head if he suddenly tries to kill me, but will she? Or will she focus on nabbing the fuckin’ supe alive and get MI6 a new superweapon while me and the boys are tearing each other’s throats out?”

Butcher steps up to Mallory next to the fireplace, staring down at her. “Show me her fuckin’ file, Mallory, or I walk.”

“You walk away from this and you can kiss your budget and office goodbye, Butcher.” 

“We’ve done just fine in underground basements before, I’m sure we can find some new crack den to clear out and use as a base away from the fuckin’ cunts at the CIA.” 

When Mallory doesn’t move Butcher makes for the door, digging up his car keys from the pocket, jangling them loudly.

“Last chance, Mallory. Or you’ll have to explain to the Deputy Director that you lost The Boys.” 

Mallory tilts her head back and looks at the ceiling for a few seconds before cursing under her breath. 

“Wait Butcher, just wait.”

She disappears further into the house and Butcher stops by the door. After a few minutes Mallory returns with a USB stick. 

“This is the file I got from the Deputy Director on Eve Edwards. Parts of it are censored, not my doing, so you’ll need to go higher up to get your answers there. Or ask Edwards directly.” She hands the stick to Butcher who pockets it. 

“Knew you’d get there in the end, Grace,” he replies, giving her his best bullshitting smile. He takes a few steps out of the door but as Mallory is pulling it closed he turns, as an afterthought, and stops her from closing it. 

“By the way, I heard on the radio on my way over that the Speaker of the House died yesterday morning, you wouldn’t know anything about that, would ya?”

“I heard it was lunchtime today,” she replies, “Heart attack.” 

“Oh, was it today? I must’ve misheard it, could’ve sworn it was yesterday,” Butcher walks towards his car again, giving Mallory a wave over his head with his back turned. 

A couple of miles down the road Butcher pulls into a pit stop and pulls out a laptop from under the rubbish littering the back seat. Firing it up he puts the USB from Mallory into the slot and opens the file contained within. He tabs through the first page, past all the standard text about classified information and finds what he’s looking for.

Title: The Honourable 

First name(s): Genevieve Horatia Daphne (Eve)

Surname(s): **** Edwards (Edwards)

DOB: 1977-03-14 Father: Name redacted for security

Mother: Name redacted for security

Brother: Name redacted for security

“Fuckin’ the honourable Genevieve Horatia Daphne…” Butcher mumbles darkly as he scans the first page. Her first surname is redacted and he can see that it’s been redacted in several places. He skims through her background, she went to Christchurch College, Oxford, modern languages, was on the college rowing team, the PolSci club, recruited by SIS as intelligence analyst while still at Oxford, recommended by her father, name redacted. She speaks five foreign languages; French, Spanish, Russian, Arabic and Farsi and Butcher makes a mental note to tell Frenchie that she speaks French, just to be safe. Both French and Russian are listed as “native level”. 

Her first foreign posting seems to have been in Chechnya in the late 90’s. She was in Pakistan and Afghanistan in -01 and -02, Iraq in 2003. Injured and on leave for most of 2004, the injury is redacted. He skims through the pages of her history, and starts paying attention when she moves from the SRR to MI6 in 2011 but finds nothing suspicious until he gets to the end of the file and present day events. Big chunks have been redacted and the file stops making sense. The last two pages are wiped completely. 

“Someone made sure Mallory didn’t see this, or wanted to make sure she didn’t pass it on to us,” Butcher thinks. He’s tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, trying to piece together the fragments of the file that haven’t been redacted. Scrolling backwards towards the beginning again he re-reads the file. Something at the back of his brain is itching, he’s missing a detail, and he can feel it trying to break through. He re-reads it again and his eyes catch on her redacted surname and it hits him.

“Why the fuck are they keeping her father’s name secret?” he says out loud in the car. “Who the fuck is her dad?” He scrolls back to the top and sees that her parent’s and brother’s names have been redacted for security reasons. 

Suddenly his phone rings, breaking his train of thought. The display shows Frenchies name and Butcher picks up. 

“ ‘Sup, Frenchie, we clean?” 

“Qui, Monsieur Charcutier, we found nothing, only deux cafards. We can return to the office but we may need to bring gas masks, MM has emptied two cans of Bug-Off in there.”

In the background Butcher can hear Kimiko cough as Hughie yells at MM to open the window before they all die of chemical poisoning.

“I’m on my way back, I’ll ring Edwards and get her back to the office too.”

“She is quite something, Monsieur Charcutier, I did not expect MI6 women to look like this, she is very attractive no?”

“Be careful Frenchie, get too close and she’ll slice your French cock off just like at Agincourt.” 

“Ah non, I will not try anythin’, I am a professional!”

“Right, Frenchie, just keep your game face on. And that reminds me, she speaks French fluently, so mind what you mumble, alright?” 

“Elle parle français aussi? Mon Dieu…”

Butcher hangs up on Frenchie while he’s still speaking and hits the dial on Edward’s number as he shuts down the laptop and starts up the car. She picks up after a couple of rings. 

“Hi Butcher, secure line?” 

“Should be but you never know. You got what we’re after?”

“Yes, he came through for us and sent it over. I’ll bring it over to the office if it’s clear?” 

“No, not yet,” Butcher lies, “I’ll come ‘round your place and we can review it. Should be there in about an hour.”

Eve gives him the address to an apartment hotel downtown and he hangs up. 

Chapter 6

[depressedhouseplant]

🔞 In Darkness I Found You 🔞

Chapter 18

Tags: None!

Hobi started to panic.

“How did you…?” he asked.

“When I woke up and you weren’t in bed, I knew. I called Jin and he filled in the gaps,” Yoongi told him.

“He’s dead,” Hobi had to say it.

“I didn’t expect anything less,” Yoongi replied.

“Are you mad?” he asked. Yoongi walked over and put his gloved hand on Hobi’s cheek.

“No,” Yoongi shook his head. “But now you see the reality of how we lived. I risked everything by escaping. I had no idea that I’d find you. Most of them are happy to just have a roof over their head and eat on a predictable schedule. I’ve always been a rebel. I’ve always been willing to risk uncertainty. I’m afraid our daughter will end up like me.”

“Our daughter?” Hobi repeated.

“Yes, our daughter,” Yoongi smiled at him.

“What changed your mind?” Hobi asked.

“I just needed a little time. I have trust issues,” Yoongi gave him an awkward side hug to not squish Jina in her sling.

“Really?” Hobi laughed.

“Maybe one or two,” For the first time since they met his eyes sparkled a bit when he smiled.

“I love you, Min Yoongi,” Hobi kissed him.

“I love you, too, Jung Hoseok,” Yoongi replied. “Let’s go back inside.”

Hobi took a long, hot shower when they got back. Yoongi was waiting for him when he got out. Jina was asleep in the cot next to the bed.

“Don’t bottle it up, Hobi. Tell me,” Yoongi rested his hand on his mate’s hip.

“If this was the right thing to do, why do I feel like I ruined lives?” Hobi asked.

“Because they don’t know any better. If what Namjoon says is true about these surrogacy centers then they’ll all be just fine,” Yoongi replied. “He’s a good Alpha like you.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t listen, but I’m not sorry I let him die,” he whispered.

“Maybe it was for the best. Maybe you needed to see it with your own eyes,” Yoongi brushed back Hobi’s still damp hair.

“I wanted to help. I just wanted to help,” Hobi felt himself choke up.

“I know, my love. You helped me. You helped Jina. You showed me kindness I’d never known. You had no idea who I was when you pulled me out of the mud, but you treated me like you’d loved me forever. You didn’t have to do that. You didn’t have to spend a month on bedrest with me. You didn’t have to do everything you did when I was pregnant to make sure Jina would be okay. Let that be enough right now,” Yoongi smiled gently at Hobi. Hobi furiously wiped hot tears off his cheeks. He wasn’t supposed to be crying. He was supposed to be the hero. He was supposed to be proud of what he’d done. Except maybe the only truly happy ending he’d get were the 2 people in the bed with him at that moment. For now, that would have to be enough.

Hobi tried his best not to let it get to him. He’d returned the papers to Namjoon like he’d asked. He’d come in for training in January. However, for the next week he spent most of his time working either in the barn or online. Three days before Christmas, he heard a soft knock on his office door.

“Come in,” he sighed. Jungkook stuck his head in, then slid in the darkened room.

“I was going to wait until Christmas to tell everyone, but you looked like you needed some cheering up,” he said.

“What do you mean?” Hobi asked.

“I’m pregnant,” Jungkook smiled.

“Really? That’s great! Does Tae know?” Hobi smiled a real smile for the first time in a week. Jungkook nodded.

“I found out yesterday,” he replied. Hobi stood up and hugged him. Jungkook had finally filled out and he was now broader than Hobi. He still gave gentle hugs though.

“How far?” Hobi asked.

“Due in July,” Jungkook told him. Then he paused. “It’s okay to cry.”

That’s all Hobi needed to hear. He started sobbing into the younger Omega’s shoulder.

“Did I do the wrong thing? Did I hurt them more than help them?” Hobi cried.

“Hobi, freedom is relative. I was a runaway, too. My story isn’t that far off from Yoongi’s. My choices were to die on the street or live as a Breeder. I chose to go to that place because at least it wasn’t where I was. Then they discovered I wasn’t what they wanted and I became disposable all over again. My only freedom was to decide if I was going to live or die in those woods. I decided to at least try. Maybe I’d finally find the better life I’d been looking for. Maybe not. I know Yoongi feels the same way,” he said. “You absolutely did the right thing. Anyone who actually knew Jimin knew that he’d figure out a way to either get out or never go to prison in the first place. He might haunt me forever, but I know for sure he’ll never show up on my doorstep.”

“What do you think about these surrogacy centers? Aren’t they just the same thing with a better name?” Hobi asked.

“I don’t know. I’d have to see one for myself. I know that I wanted to be able to come and go as I pleased. Some had other things they wanted. I’m happy to go with you sometime and take a look,” Jungkook offered.

“You wouldn’t be afraid?” Hobi asked.

“I might need to do some deep breathing exercises in the parking lot, but this matters to me just as much if not more than it does to you,” Jungkook replied. “I know Yoongi would rather have bamboo shoots under the fingernails than go anywhere near somewhere resembling where we were.”

“Thank you,” Hobi said.

“Anytime,” Jungkook smiled. “Now if you’ll excuse me I have to go puke.”

Yoongi was in their bedroom scrolling through his phone. He looked up when he heard Hobi come in.

“Jungkook gave me his news,” Hobi said awkwardly.

“I thought you’d be happy to hear it,” Yoongi put his phone down and got off the bed.

“I was, I am,” he replied.

“Let me take care of you for once big, tough, Alpha,” Yoongi hugged Hobi’s waist.

“I can’t. Not now,” Hobi scented Yoongi’s neck gently.

“I don’t have to fuck you to take care of you, Hobi,” Yoongi kissed the side of Hobi’s head.

“I guess you’re right,” he sighed.

“Of course I’m right,” Yoongi smiled. He led Hobi over to the bed and wrapped the Alpha around him.

“Sleep, my love,” Yoongi whispered. “It’ll all be okay.”

That was all the permission Hobi needed.

[jodilin65]

The ENT checked my ears, eyes, and throat, and everything looked good. He even felt my jaw and neck. He said allergy testing takes 45 minutes and gave me a list of medications to avoid a week in advance. He mentioned that if you take antihistamines, the tests will come back negative. Benzos are on the list, but there isn’t anything else I take that’s listed. First, we're going to call and find out how much we’re expected to pay. If it’s too much, then it’s not worth it. If it’s reasonable, we’ll schedule testing. I don't think I need shots, even if I could be available for them but I would still like to know what I'm allergic to.

Our recycling pail disappeared on this windy day, so I jumped on the park group to ask if anyone had seen it. Turns out, a woman at the end of our street had posted a picture of it in her driveway. So, Tom went and got it. She deleted the post after I thanked her.

The Honker went out on the motorcycle twice yesterday, but not yet today. It was pouring earlier. All his guests are still here. It’s still weird to have so many people visit just to crash at your place and use your truck, or at least it seems that way. Four people returned in the truck yesterday, laughing up a storm. Must have had a fun time at the beach or something. I hope they leave tomorrow so I don’t have to hear the motorcycle again anytime soon. Hopefully, there won’t be too many more projects until he leaves either. He’s down to about 45 more days left here.

We really lucked out with Ray. No TV blasting this year—at least none that I know of.

The prescription mouthwash they recommended didn’t cost anything, but the fluoride toothpaste was $20 on Amazon. The dentist would have charged $30 if we had gotten it directly from them. No jaw pain as I expected, but using a soft manual toothbrush for a few days is wise since the electric one might irritate my gums until they heal.

Still waiting on January’s Medicare freebies.

Also, Rhonda and her staff are kind of pissing me off. I called yesterday to find out if the lab orders were being mailed to me since I haven’t received them, and I ended up being left on hold forever. So, I hung up. Eventually, they left a message to call them back. When I called again, another girl told me to hang on, then said someone would reply to the message I left on the portal. But no one has yet. Why is it so hard to answer two simple questions? I just want to know if the lab orders are on their way and whether Rhonda wants to see me in person in June or if a virtual appointment is enough.

I asked the park group if they could recommend a tree-cutting service. A couple of people said you had to go through the office first. I didn’t say this because there was no need to since we can just do what we gotta do, but there’s no way in hell I’m letting the park police a property that we pay for. If we want something cut down, we’ll cut it down. Period. However, we decided to save a few hundred dollars (or more) by getting a $50 pole saw and lopping off the branches that could be a threat in a storm. It should get here soon.

Since Toni was nice enough to let me know when she was dog-sitting, even though I never heard the thing, I’ll return the favor and let her know we’re going to be cutting the trees and ask if there’s any particular time she’d prefer quiet.

[notaboutcurrentpolitics]

Day 2 | 7th November 2024

Pain scale: 4/10; leading problems continue to be my right foot (extreme soft tissue tearing and damage), my ruptured left ovarian cyst, and a prodromal sore throat.

It’s so surreal. The earth, the air, the sky feels heavier today.

My partner just came in and said he’s not going to work. He is too sick. He’s not as politically involved as I am, but he knows I’m scared. “Your body, my choice” keeps ringing in my head like a proverbial downward spiral. I feel like a Junji Ito character, the one who has a spiral going into her head.

The news reports are repetitive. Hell, I don’t even WATCH the news so so much as listen to the social media platforms they’re hosted on.

I have the need to protect them. The young people who are first time voters. The women who can’t find access to medical care. The couple next door. All of them. I see the fear in their eyes and in their wavering, fragile voices. Many are strained from crying and screaming. I’ll admit I am at that point too, but I have bottled my emotions in, for the sake of everyone around me. I wept quietly last night and blamed it on the extreme pain of an ovarian cyst rupturing. That did happen last night too, and once again I nearly threw up from the pain.

Having proper access to pain management, even if a euthanasia program like MAID becomes a thing in the US, is something I will always fight for. I am deathly afraid that my own opiate script - my measly ten Norco a month - will get cut by the Trump/Vance administration. My hip dislocated and relocated with a loud BANG! last night in front of my partner. He thought his knee was bad until my “hip joint said ‘hold my beer’.” I was honestly more surprised that he’s never seen or heard my hips pop like that. I wish I could do it on command so my dumb pharmacist can release my medications to me. My measly 10 norcos a month, a muscle relaxer, and klonopin to keep my vagus nerve from wigging out every five seconds.

It’s all in my head my ass.

In the stillness, I look back at the hope and strength the minorities had for our nation. As Kamala put it, stars in the darkness. I am so proud of all of the GenZers and first-time voters who went out there and did their civil duty and so much more. I look at my “I voted” sticker on my tea bottle and know that while the outcome is grim, this will be his last term in office. In two years we can vote MTG out - or at least try to. The Princess who used Daddy’s Money to secure a seat in Congress.

The lack of sleep I continue to get is causing me to have hallucinations. Many of them are in the style of the original artist of “Scary Stories to To Tell in wthe Dark.” Faces and spiders a routine became the norm.

I am cowering in fear as I watch Biden and Kamala secede. Men are getting more bold, more brazen. Shouting “your body, my choice” at them. I fear another Oscarville Massacre is in the wings. Another J6. I have myself intellectually and physically armed to the teeth. The men in the house are sympathetic towards me, but I pray they never go through what I went through. It’s a burden of trauma I fear will happen more often now.

This is the second day I would hop back into RDO and have chosen to stay in bed and read - The Deep by Nick Cutter. I haven’t found it scary yet but I’m only twenty-something percent through. Anything to distract me and keep me away from republicans and men at this point.

Also the new season of handmaid’s tale starts on January 20th, how convenient!

[crossroadsnumber1doctor]

STATEMENT OF DR LIONEL ELLIOT. STATEMENT CONDENSED TO FIT.

Right. Well, I shouldn’t even have been teaching the class, really. As far as I knew, I wasn’t going to be needed for any teaching on the Biomedical Engineering course this year. I can’t say I was particularly upset. The Human Anatomy module is where a lot of the engineers discover just how messy the human body is, and while the human heart is a phenomenal piece of machinery in terms of design and function, most of the students would be more comfortable holding a transistor. Not to put too fine a point on it, I get tired of… squeamish students, and was glad that I could avoid it this year.

You can perhaps imagine, then, that I was not best pleased when Elena Bower, the admissions officer, emailed me last November to say that there had been a mistake, and I was needed to take a ‘spillover class’. Apparently the system had accepted more students for the course than there were places, and they were trying to organise an additional class for the seven who were unassigned. It didn’t make a lot of sense to me, Anatomy class wasn’t until the second term, so surely this mistake should have emerged earlier, but Elena just kept saying she didn’t know, she just had seven students who needed tutorials. I won’t pretend I took the news gracefully. I have a lot of research due shortly and, well, you know academia – never enough hours in the day. Still, I was the only staff member both qualified to teach the class and technically free when it had to be scheduled. So I agreed, although that really makes it sound like I had more of a choice than I actually did.

I didn’t meet the students until the module started this January. I wasn’t responsible for any of the lectures, so the first time I saw them was in our initial class tutorial. They all sat there, all seven, staring at me, and I felt… oddly uncomfortable. There, there was nothing wrong with them, of course, nothing strange to see or to look at, just… well, this is going to sound stupid to say out loud, but I don’t remember what they look like. Any of them. I remember that each wore blue jeans and a white shirt, though they were all different makes and styles; I think one of the girls had a skirt, instead. I must have noticed that they were wearing the same outfits, but it didn’t strike me as odd. They all just looked so… normal. Unremarkable. I remember their names, though, from the register. They stuck with me – maybe because they were such an international group. There was Erika Mustermann, Jan Novak, Piotr and Pavel Petrov, who I think were brothers, maybe twins, John Doe, Fulan al-Fulani and Juan Pérez.There was no-one else who could take the tutorials. Believe me, I did everything I could to try and find a replacement. Still, once I got used to their stares, their silence, and the fact that their questions were both specific and oddly basic – one of the Petrovs once asked me “How sharp are the knees meant to be” – I swear, it was just about tolerable. I’m a bit ashamed to admit it, but I came to terms with the fact that I didn’t care if they passed any exams, and that actually made the whole affair more manageable. I just did my best to stop caring.

And then came our first of two sessions in the dissection room. We were looking at the skeleton. I had been dreading this. Given exactly how creepy and unsettling the students were just sat in a classroom, the idea of what they could do when given access to human remains made me feel quite nauseous. But I couldn’t bring myself to leave them there alone, so I went.

It was even worse than I’d feared, seeing them stood there over the bits of cadaver. Their faces, normally so neutral, were alive with… what was it I saw? Excitement? Curiosity? Hunger? Whatever it was, it didn’t reach their eyes, still staring and blank. I went through the procedures with them and tried my best to keep the trembling out of my voice. When Fulan reached for a scalpel and started cutting into our samples, I felt faint.

I was trying to keep an eye on everyone, but the dissection tables were arranged in a semi-circle around the lab, and each time I turned to face one of the students, I began to hear this cracking sound from whichever tables I wasn’t looking at. Like a snapping bone, or a ribcage being forced open. I’d turn back and see nothing untoward, just John or Erika or Juan or whoever it was, looking at me quizzically over distinctly unbroken bones. But it kept happening. Whenever I wasn’t looking, I heard the crunch and the crack of bone. I couldn’t ask about it. I knew the dead-eyed, mute stare they’d give me if I did, and I just couldn’t face that.

Finally, I managed to position myself so that I could see what was happening behind me in the reflective edge of the metal table. It wasn’t much, but I could see a slightly warped image. It was Pavel, in this case. I saw him pick up a bone – a radius, I believe, from the forearm. He held it up next to his own arm, and then there came that snapping, crunching noise. I swear I saw his arm distend itself, the skin shifting as something inside changed and rearranged, until it matched the length of bone he was holding up to it.I started taking more sick leave after that. I avoided their tutorials as often as possible, and when I did go we largely just sat there in silence until one of them asked a question about human anatomy, which I would reluctantly answer. I know I should have just abandoned them entirely. If they were going to complain to anyone, they would have done it already. But even then, I was worried my colleagues might notice, and I really didn’t want to get a reputation as some absentee tutor. It didn’t help that a colleague of mine, Dr. Laura Gill, once expressed surprise on learning I’d been absent the day before, as apparently she’d passed by my teaching room and my anatomy class had just been sat there, waiting quietly. The thought of them politely filing into every tutorial, just sat there, blank and staring, whether I was there or not, just waiting… To be quite frank I think that bothered me almost more than being sat there with them.

Still, I managed to largely avoid them until the 21st of March, when they had their second lab dissection. Hearts. I’m not an idiot. I was well aware of the sort of sinister nonsense that was likely to happen if I went, but I also knew by now that they would attend whether or not I was there. And to leave them in the lab unsupervised would be the sort of thing that would get me actually fired from my position.

It was a rainy morning. I remember that, because I deliberately didn’t put up an umbrella. Something inside me was so dreading what was going to happen that the very act of opening umbrellas seemed pointless, as though my being dry couldn’t stop what was coming, then there was no reason not to get soaked. So I was dripping wet when I entered the lab, and my glasses had steamed up to the point where I could no longer see through them. When I wiped them clean, they revealed those seven blank faces, utterly unconcerned with my sodden state. Each had somehow got the heart laid out in from them on the dissection tray. I decided not to prolong it, and waved them to start.I don’t know what I expected. Maybe I thought they’d descend into some sort of feeding frenzy, but they didn’t. They just began to dissect the hearts, as any other class would, occasionally asking me polite questions. I was so taken aback at how normal the whole situation seemed to be that it took me some time to actually answer them. I did, though, and the first hour of the class almost put me at least a little bit at ease. The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. Maybe they were doing weird things to their insides, but if it was the heart, then I couldn’t see it and I couldn’t hear it. And I’d long since decided with this class, that if I couldn’t see or hear it, I didn’t care.

Then Erika Mustermann held up her heart and looked at me. I began to get that sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach as she asked me “How does the heart pump blood?” I started to explain the biological mechanisms of the heart pumping, when she shook her head slowly and said, “What does it look like?” And then, when I didn’t answer, “Is it like this?”

The heart in her hand began to spasm. Not like the regular, rhythmic pulse of a heartbeat, but like a balloon being rapidly squeezed at one end. Bits of it swelled and stretched and distorted seemingly at random, and blood began to flow haphazardly from the ventricles, dripping down Erika’s forearm and dribbling onto the floor.

I stood there, speechless, staring at this horrible miracle, when from behind her I see Fulan raise his heart, saying, “That’s not what it’s like.” And blood starts to gush from all over his heart in tiny geysers, shooting in every direction. Soon each of them is holding a heart up, each pumping and throbbing differently, blood leaking, spurting out of them in a different way, a different nightmare. They wanted me to tell them which was right. [Nervous laugh] I don’t know how long I stared before I finally raised my hand to point at Jan Novak, who seemed to have the closest to an accurate impression of a regular human heartbeat. Then I turned and walked out of the lab.There was one other thing. When I went to the classroom shortly after what should have been their final tutorial, I found… something on the desk.

It was an apple. Next to it was a handwritten note that said “Thank you for teaching us the insides”. I burned the note, just in case.

I didnt eat it. I cut it in half, first, to check if it was… off.

And Human teeth. Inside were human teeth arranged in a smile.

" What in the ever loving- No, wait, hold on. Human Autonomy? Is this some sort of work of fiction..? If so then uh. Good job? "

[teenmomcentral]

Kail Lowry’s plan to go under the knife (again) has been put on hold.

On the latest episode of her Barely Famous podcast, the former Teen Mom 2 star and mother of seven revealed to listeners that she was recently informed by doctors that she cannot undergo a breast augmentation until she loses weight.

“ … Listen to me when I tell you, I wanna get a boob job, right? So I call around, I’m like making these consultations to get a boob job. You know what they told me? They told me I need to lose 40 pounds, ok?” Kail said on her podcast. “So, 40 or 50 pounds– more like 50, but maybe I could get away with 40 pounds– before they can even operate on me. So that was extremely humbling.”

“I’ve been wanting to do this breast reduction, implants, lift, whatever it is,” Kail said on the podcast. “[The woman at the doctor’s office] was like, ‘Do you still want to schedule this?’ I’m literally sobbing. Already the water works have started.”

Kail explained in the caption of a clip from the podcast episode that doctors actually informed her that her body mass index (BMI) is “entirely too high to operate” but after doing the math, she determined that she would have to lose between 40 and 50 pounds to get her BMI where it needs to be, according to the doctors she spoke with.

“Make sure you’re in the right headspace,” Kail advised any of her listeners who are considering plastic surgery. “If you’re not, you will be humbled by the fact that they may not be able to operate on you.”

Kail also added that, should she lose enough weight to be cleared for surgery, she is considering getting more than just her boobs done.

“I don’t even know if I can get my double chin done,” she said. “Truthfully, I’d want to do that at the same time as my boob job because why would I pay for anesthesia twice?”

As fans of ‘Teen Mom 2’ may recall, Kail is no stranger to plastic surgery. Shortly after she gave birth to twins Valley and Verse last year, Kail admitted on her Barely Famous podcast that she regrets letting Dr. Miami inflate her rear end with a Brazilian Butt Lift (BBL) back in 2016, and that wants to get the procedure reversed.

That same day, Kail also underwent a tummy tuck and Lipo 360, At the time of her surgeries, Kail only had two children, but has since gone on to have five more kids after that.

Back in 2021, Kail revealed on an episode of her Coffee Convos podcast that she had been diagnosed with polycystic ovarian syndrome (PCOS), a disorder that often causes weight gain, and as a result, she was considering gastric bypass surgery to help drop some of the weight she claimed to have gained rapidly.

While Kail never went through with the gastric sleeve procedure, she has discussed other weight-loss options in recent months. In January, she told her Baby Mamas No Drama podcast co-host Vee Torres that in order to meet her post-babybabies body goals, she’d need “to get Ozempic shots or something.” She also confirmed that she plans to undergo “another mommy makeover,” calling her previous round of nipping and tucking, “the best decision I ever made.” However, she has stated that she does regret not waiting to have the procedures done until after she was done having kids.

[diaryofalamb]

Jesus Christ, I expected my periods would be irregular for a bit after the surgery due to the weight loss and whatnot but my shit has been regulating with no problem. Before the surgery and before I got on birth control I was pretty regular, my period would come maybe like a day early or a day late depending on my stress but it would always show and stay for about four days. When I was on birth control, I stopped having the monthly bleeds and when I got off it (like January 2023) it took three months before I had my first bleed then I bled like two months after that. After surgery, it’s like I restarted my cycle. As in, soon as I got home from the hospital my period started, then a month and one week later my period again, and then exactly 28 days later it came again. I’m grateful for my health, I’m grateful for all the wonderful things my body can do for me, but DUDE. Seriously?! You couldn’t have waited maybe three months before making me worry about having menstruating stock everywhere I go?

With my time of the month now logged into the books where I can get prepared for it, I need to hold off on incorporating new foods into my diet during that week and a few days after because I can’t tell if I’ve been throwing up because of the food I’m eating or because my body is experiencing hormones and such. The emotional part is easy to tell why, but I had been waking up coughing and with the need to throw up (which I usually do minutes if not seconds after waking up) for the last three or four nights. I had this before soon after surgery, which I started taking medication for to ease the stomach acid building up and was working until now. If anyone is reading this and concerned, don’t be. If it continues past this week, I’ll head into my surgeons office and ask them to look into it but for today I will be having soup (nothing spicy or sour, just mild soup, what some might call dull) and possibly mashed potatoes or protein shakes to not irritate my stomach too much. I’ll also have my last meal at 7:30 at the latest and head to bed at 10 just so my stomach can properly digest it with enough time to do so.

I’ve been more active in my job, more passionate I believe so. There’s lots of things we’re planning for and events to do but so little of us. I’ve been able to keep myself somewhat active at work, with walking to the nearby store or restaurants to get lunch or for the hell of it. I’ve found myself at times making excuses to get up and walk around or to do something such as lifting or carrying. There are still times when I feel like I don’t want to get up to do something, whether it’s getting up to grab a remote or change the laundry or what have you, but for different reasons than in the past. If there’s talk of going somewhere that’s relatively close by, such as a store down the street or a 6 minute walk, I feel a preference to walk it rather than drive it. I don’t know, does that make sense?

I’ve gotten closer to A’s family I feel like. I partook in an event with them, a local outing and dinner afterwards, and I’ve been spending more time with my dads family, I’m actually going out of the country for a few days to visit my aunt and cousins on his side and I’m super excited. On my moms side, I don’t feel like my relationship has changed much. I love that side of my family, they’re wonderful and kind people, but I kind of always felt like they were ashamed of me. I thought that if I lost weight because of this surgery they would treat me differently, nothing major just slight differences but I’m not sure. I do want to plan a trip to see my moms side in person, I miss my baby cousins and my grandparents and my aunts, but I’m not too sure when I’d be able to go.

Anyways, I meant to give an update earlier and there are a few things I forgot to put into this that I meant to write about but I can just do another post. Probably a shorter update mainly about the eating and exercise and whatnot. I don’t know, we’ll see