#when like. at what point can you say it's someone's own decision when plastic surgery is this popular in korea. it's like with women wearin

[leatherbookmark]

was browsing reddit and saw a comment about plastic surgeries in kpop and now i'm Sad

[artzychic27]

The Artist Family? (new movie)

A month has passed since Marc and Nathaniel met and fell in love at age fourteen, now they’re dating

To celebrate their one month anniversary, they decide to visit one of the most romantic spots ever- The burned-down forest they met in- Only to run into some trouble

The mobs from their previous homes have still been looking for them since the incidents and were finally able to track them down

The couple manage to escape the angry mob with the help of Marc’s spiders and a friendly severed hand who cause a distraction

So they can get away quicker, That drives them in an old hearse he found in a graveyard

Marc: Mi querido, why must hoards of angry villagers follow us everywhere?

Nathaniel: *Kissing Marc’s hand* Meyn ziskeyt, I swear to you, we will find someplace so dark, so sinister, so dastardly that no one in their right mind would be caught dead in!

*They arrive in Paris*

Nathaniel: Huh. I see it’s changed over the last few centuries. And I’m noticing a lack of guillotines.

As they lament about how they can’t keep running for the rest of their lives, That, who was recklessly driving, runs over something in the middle of the road, right near an old funeral home shrouded by fog and cut off from the rest of the city

Marc/Nathaniel: *Excitedly* We hit something!

They rush to see who or what they’ve hit, and see that the figure is a blonde, pale young man who seems to have most of his organs missing

They realize that the person they ran over is Félix Culpa, a young man who died centuries ago, but was never given a funeral because the mortician prepping him got the plague. He regains consciousness and goes to attack the two, but Nathaniel just hands him their bags

Nathaniel: Thanks, man. Hey, you mind showing us around the place?

And that’s how Félix became their butler

When they arrive at the old funeral home, they’re given a very warm welcome.

Spirit of the House: GET OUT!

Marc: ... It’s hideous.

Nathaniel: It’s horrible...

Marc/Nathaniel: It’s home.

Weeks goes by, and more people begin to occupy the home, making amazing first impressions

Marinette and Alix actually snuck in and have been living in the walls for a short period of time until Félix found them

Marc found Rose resting in one of the open graves in the backyard

And Juleka Samara-crawled out of the swamp with her hair covering her face

The six of them share their backgrounds, sympathize with each other about how they were run out of their homes, and make the decision to change their last names to Artist

Now they’re sixteen while Alix is still fifteen

Meanwhile, down in Paris, Gabriel Agreste is taking the fashion world by storm, and his clothing (All basic and dull) is a big hit in Paris (For reasons no one understands but they won’t say anything for fear of not fitting in)

His son, Adrien Agreste goes for a bike ride through the woods with his two friends, Nino and Alya, where they come across the gate that separates outsiders from the Artists’ home

They’re immediately scared away when Marinette opens the creaking gate that sounds like the end of the world when opened

Also, Alix’s sinister sixteen is coming up in a few weeks, and part of the celebration is a swordfight, which she is nowhere near ready for

Nathaniel: Alix, you need to practice. It’s the day your family and friends judge you and pass judgement on your worth as a human being!... It reminds me of Hanukkah.

During one dinner, Marinette asks a question that shocks everyone

Marinette: Do you guys think things beyond the gate have changed?

Juleka: ... What?

Marinette: It’s been years, surely things must be different now. Earlier today, I swore I heard people.

Marc: Outside is forbidden.

Marinette: But-

Marc: Forbidden!

Back in the city, Gabriel is anticipating the arrival of tourists to buy his new line of clothing which he calls, Conformist

While filming a commercial, a red balloon floats astray and makes its way towards the Artists’ home, which Marinette finds as she’s “helping” Alix prepare for the Swordfight

Alix: Why are you helping me?

Marinette: Because. You are like my sister... And... I... Love... You...

Alix: ... You seem trustworthy.

Big mistake

Marinette: *Walks inside with the balloon* Good news, Alix is gone.

Marc: *Holding a sword to Nathaniel’s neck* Mari, go dig up Alix.

Marinette: You and Nathaniel are once again weakening this generation.

Nathaniel: *Points to balloon* Mari, where did you get that?

Marinette: I’m not sure.

Marc: Strange. There’s usually a murderous clown attached to the other end of these.

Juleka: *Gasp!* And what is this?! *Plucks a piece of pink confetti off of Marinette’s shoulder*

Nathaniel: Smells like cotton candy. *Off their confused looks* I was young and stupid, alright?

The Artists go outside where they find rainbow confetti raining down, and the fog that covers their home is lifting up, revealing to them the town

Much to Marc’s protests, Nathaniel suggests they go see the place for themselves

Marinette: This day is becoming most miraculously disruptive.

While filming another commercial, the Artist Family’s house is in the camera’s shot, and Gabriel passes out the second he sees it

*Somewhere else* Nino: ... I feel an overwhelming sense of... Joy.

The Artists arrive in their hearse, and immediately capture the attention of the other Parisians. They’re given strange looks wherever they go, and sometimes people run away screaming

No one has run them out with pitchforks yet. Yay!

Alix: Guys! *Pulls a tire off of a police car* They’re just giving these away!

Juleka: Alix, mind your manners, people might want tires, too.

After getting coffee grounds, the Artists come across Adrien, Alya, Nino, Chloé, and Lila in the park, prancing around in pink and blue outfits and singing about being conformists

Rose: Wow... That is absolutely horrible!

Marinette: ... *Dumps coffee grounds* I’ve suddenly lost my appetite. However, that blonde boy... Intrigues me

And it seems the feeling is mutual when Adrien steals glances at the gothic girl with braids

Rose: ... Yeah, I’m done with this song. *She hikes up the hem of her robe, releasing hundreds of bats that scare off the crowd* Done and done!

Done with these people, Marc wants to leave, Nathaniel insists that things have changed, but his boyfriend is still reluctant... Cue Gabriel

He insists on hiring interior decorators to fix up the Artists home (So tourists aren’t scared off) Marc, with some urging from Nathaniel allows him to do so.

Marinette: That man seems deranged. His face reminds me of a death mask.

*Somewhere else* Nino: In the future... I will have a new friend. Blue hair. Braids.

Back at the Artists Home, Nathaniel, Juleka, and Rose help Alix prepare for her Swordfight

Rose: Of all the Sinister Sixteens I’ve seen, Nathaniel’s was the stuff of legends.

Juleka: So no pressure!

Gabriel, Adrien, the design crew, and the news crew arrive, ready to remove the gloom and macabre form the Artists’ home

Félix: *Answers the door* Youuuuuu raaaaaanng?

Adrien: *Calling Alya and Nino* Hey, so I’m going into the creepy mansion. If I don’t come back, I’m dead... I love you too, Nino... Yes, Alya, I know he’s your boyfriend.

Much to his relief, Adrien is left outside and goes around back to explore

Gabriel: I do hope this isn’t a bad time.

Nathaniel: The worst!... Do come in.

Gabriel spends most of the time making light criticisms and jabs at the decor, the Artists themselves, their clothes, and Marc’s spiders (Which he considers the greatest insult)

Meanwhile in the backyard, Adrien is nearly killed by a crossbow. To his horror and awe, he finds the shooter: Marinette in all of her dark glory

Immediately, he develops a small crush on her. She’s not like the other girls at school who constantly cling to and flirt with him because of his father’s wealth

He tries his hand at impressing her by shooting an arrow, but accidentally shoots Rose, which actually does impress Marinette

Adrien: So, why haven’t I seen you and your siblings at school?

Marinette: We’re coven-schooled. But, blondie, do tell... *Leans in close so she can hear Adrien’s rapid heartbeat* Can anyone attend your school?

Gabriel and his crew leave, having made no renovations to the Artists’ home. And when Nathaniel explains that family and friends will be coming over for Alix’s Sinister Sixteen, that just motivates the designer even more

Down in Gabriel’s secret lair, he spies on the Parisians through a social media app where he fills the comments section with rumors about the Artists, saying they’re anarchists and breed spiders... Okay, so they’re not all rumors

*The Next Day* Nathaniel: Monochrome, I know the man is an eccentric, but- *Marinette appears behind him* Aah!

Marc: Mari, you know Nathaniel scares easily. Practice your lurking on someone else. *Marinette appears behind him* Better. Now what’s on your mind?

Marinette explains that she wants to atener school, much to Marc’s horror and Nathaniel’s excitement. She needs to torment more kids her own age.

Marc doesn’t want her to go, worried she might fall under the influence of the... Conformists, but Nathaniel somehow convinced him

Marinette walking into school: Ah, so these are the gates of hell.

Adrien, while being crowded by girls he doesn’t even like (Especially Lila and Chloé) becomes awestruck when he sees Marinette walking in. She looks like a beautiful demon queen

Lila and Chloé see this and try to intimidate her, but this is what Marinette says,

Marinette: Listen you future plastic surgery disasters, I’m not locked in here with either of you. You and your outdated, distasteful “outfits” are locked in here with me. And don’t you forget it.

Alya just might dump Nino so she can ask this girl out. Polyamory works too. / Adrien: Back of the line.

Mendelive’s biology class: They’re dissecting frogs.

Adrien: Aw, I feel bad for doing this.

Marinette: Relax. Rose showed me how to do this hundreds of times. *Cue Frankenstein equipment* FLIP THE SWITCH! *Adrien flips the switch and electrocutes all of the frogs* LIVE! LIVE MY CREATURE!

The frogs come to life and attack Lila and Chloé. Karma at its finest. Alya and Nino are impressed by her more than ever

Alya: It is an honor and a privilege to watch you work, spooky girl.

Back at the Artists’ Home, it’s game night! They’re playing the game of Death, but Marc isn’t focused. It’s late and he’s wondering where Marinette is

Finally, she arrives, but much to Marc’s horror, she has a Ladybug hair clip! He’s in so much shock that his face flushes red and a bat has to drink his blood

Marc: What. Is. That?

Marinette: Adrien calls it a “Pop of color” says it brings out my... Smile.

Marc: You don’t have a smile.

In order to see what’s going on with his sister/friend, Marc suggests they do ‘Tea & Seance’ like old times... Only she bails to hang out with Adrien, and they give each other makeovers as acts of rebellion

Meanwhile, Alix is upset because she still can’t get the hang of sword fighting and Nathaniel has been working so hard to help her

Marinette returns from her hangout with Adrien, almost making Marc faint when she shows up wearing pink and her hair in pigtails.

Marc: Okay, this is where I sever the line! You are not going back to that school!

Marinette: *Gives him the evil eye before leaving* You can’t tell me what to do.

Juleka: Dear Hades, that is some evil eye.

Horrified by Adrien’s new gothic look and attitude, Gabriel spreads more rumors about the Artists

Frustrated by the lack of support from her family/friends, Marinette runs away and goes to stay with Adrien

Alix: I always knew it would end up like this. Just didn’t know when.

Marinette: Farewell, Alix! I will never forget you, but I’ll try.

The next morning, Marinette, Alya, and Nino are helping Adrien look for his phone, which Gabriel his hidden punishment for his new look

While looking, they stumble across Gabriel’s lair and discover he’s been spying on everyone in Paris. Gabriel discovers them snooping and locks them in Adrien’s room while he goes to greet the tourists... And some unexpected guests

Nathalie: *Dials Gabriel* Gabriel, it’s an emergency. They’re here! The Artist Family!

The Artists more... Eccentric family members (Gina Dupain, Uncle Wang, Master Fu, Luka, Fei, Jagged, Penny, and the art teacher for example) have arrived to attend Alix’s sinister sixteen.

Things are going well so far. Juleka reunites with Luka, Fei battles Gina to the death, but Marinette still hasn’t arrived, so they do the sword fight without her... Which Alix fails.

As Nathaniel consoles her, a cannonball shoots through the wall. Gabriel somehow got a catapult for the mob to use

Marc: It’s Gabriel. He’s turned the town into a mob.

Juleka: I oddly admire his determination.

While the mob fires more cannonballs and destroy the house, Alix tosses her sword and grabs her explosives, successfully protecting her family... Until a cannonball blocks their only exit and she runs out of ammo

Just as the ceiling begins to fall and it seems like the end, Marinette, Adrien, Alya, and Nino come in just in time and save them all thanks to the possessed tree

She and Marc reconcile

Marc: I’m so glad you came back.

Marinette: Of course. There was no way you all could survive without me. You’re like weak kittens.

The Parisians begin having regrets about attacking the Artists (Mainly cuz they almost killed a bunch of kids), but this is interrupted by Gabriel

Gabriel: I will relish hounding you all until that nuclear waste dump you call is house is destroyed with you all in it!

Juleka: Oh, you are just begging to be dragged down to hell, aren’t you, Gabriel?

Marinette: And this family will never run from the likes of you again. *Her death glare stuns Gabriel*

Nino: Damn, I gotta learn how to do that.

Adrien finally stands up to his father and exposes how he’s been spying on everyone in the city while Alya live streams everything. Gabriel is now ruined

Months later, the Artists’ Home has been rebuilt by the guilty Parisians who learn to accept their new, weird neighbors. Also, the Spirit of the House has returned

Adrien and Marinette start dating while Alya and Nino share a mutual pining for the girl

[venactricisfics]

Malibu Desert

It hurts like hell.

Tags: @wonderlust75 @sickofbitches @lexiibishop @noz4a2 @just1bri @redwolfs-world @queenbeered

Master List

Twenty-One

I could feel the spinning of the lights in my head as we finally made it to the hospital. It hurt. I don’t know what I expected a gunshot to feel like. But imagining and knowing are so far apart. The pain let me know I was still living.

“How the fuck did this happen?” I could hear Bishop talking to someone in the room.

“It was an fucking ambush,” Hank’s voice answered. “How’s she doing?”

“Bullet went through. Lost a lot of blood,” Bishop answered, “but she’s strong. They said she should be coming around soon.”

I groan feeling the pain still shooting through my shoulder as I start to sit up, “It hurts like a son of a bitch.”

“You were fucking shot, Hermana,” Hank says, “I’ll get a nurse, then go check on Riz and Coco.” He stands and heads out of the room.

“What happened to Coco?” I ask weakly.

“The explosion,” Bishop answered, “his eyes got fucked up. Angel and Gilly are with him now.”

“And Riz?” my eyes search his.

“Just came out of surgery,” he replied. “Rest now.”

“I just want to go home,” I look past him at the nurse, “when can I go home?”

“Should be able to go home today,” she says, “Doctor will be in here soon to confirm.” She hands me a cup with pain pills and a cup of water, “Those should help. You can arrange physical therapy with the medical center in Santo Padre.”

An hour later, I’m fitted in a sling and sitting in a wheelchair. A clear plastic bag in my lap holding my bloody clothes and broken heels. “They were my favorite pair,” I looked back at Bishop who was pushing my chair to the lobby where the rest of the Mayans were waiting. I give a nod to Coco sitting in his own chair.

“I’m sitting down with the Kings in the morning,” Bishop says.

Coco looks up, “Why? This is a charter play.” I knew what that meant.

“The deal with Charming affects the whole MC,” Bishop responds.

“They fucking ambushed us,” Gilly’s voice getting louder behind Coco. “After a fucking sit down.”

“I know,” Bishop said. I could see the turmoil in his face as he looked from Coco to me and the rest of the Mayans. The right thing. The right thing for his guys, the club, for me wasn’t an easy thing.

“Let’s get home,” Hank stated, “Get some rest. Put this on the table tomorrow.”

“Creep and I will stay with Riz,” Taza says.

“Keep me in the loop,” I look up at him, “he saved me.”

“Of course,” he leans down and gives me a peck on the cheek, “Anyone of us would have done the same, cariño.” I knew it. Riz proved it.

“Let’s get the fuck outta here,” Bishop stated, then pushes my chair out the front door to the van waiting outside. I settled behind Gilly who was driving us back letting Coco ride shotgun. The ride back was silent. Anger clung to the air. It was raw and it was real. I couldn’t shake the image of El Palo’s eyes as they stared at me before he pulled the trigger. He never met me before that day and he hated me.

“Hey, we’re here,” Gilly called back to me. The van door slid open and EZ grabbed my bags and Angel took my hand and helped me down. I was groggy from the drugs but I could still feel the pain in my shoulder.

“I’ll drive you home tomorrow,” Bishop led me up the steps and down the hall to the dorm, “the Kings will be here early.” I take a seat on the bed. I tried not to think about how many cum stains were on the mattress. I was exhausted.

“I have to call the Irish,” I grumbled as Bishop helped me off with my shoes. “Whatever I tell them will change what goes on with Charming and with you.”

“I know, querida,” he kissed my forehead and pulled back the blanket, and tucked me under. “I can’t tell you how to land on that shit. We gotta figure out the best call for all of us.”

I woke the next morning to the piercing ring of my phone, I cried out in pain as I remembered my shoulder had a fucking whole-blown in it. Bishop had already gotten dressed and was likely at the table. Figuring out what to do about the VM.

“Hello?” I answered.

“Are ya alright, lass?” the thick Irish accent of Declan Brogan asked. “Chibs told us what happened at the meeting last night.”

“I’ll be ok,” I winced as I placed my arm back in the sling, then down the pills, Bishop left on the nightstand. “Is there any other way to keep the business going without that new partner?”

“I’ve put it to Chibs to find another way, but the fucking Mexicans fucked this up,” he responded, “never trusted them.”

“You never trust anyone that has a deeper tan than off-white,” I shuffle to my feet. “I can’t see the Mayans' answer to what happened being anything but retaliation.”

“Aye,” he replied, “if they don’t we will.”

“And that will cause everything to fall the fuck apart,” I wasn’t sure what to do. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

I never realized how hard it was doing things with one hand. I washed up in the bathroom and struggled to change my shirt and slide my pants up over my hips. Fortunately, I found yoga pants and one of Bishop’s black tanks stashed here. I look up as I hear a knock on the door.

“Yo, Malibu,” Angel saunters in, “Bish sent me to see if you needed any help.”

“I got the front bandage changed,” I said, “just need help with the back. My bra is hooked all wonky, can you fix that? And tying my shoes. How are your ponytail skills?”

“You’re asking for a lot,” he said, taking the sterile bandage from the table and then sat behind me on the bed.

“You saying you can’t handle it?” I flinch a little as his hand touches my back gently. Angel changed the bandage expertly. I was almost shocked.

“Na, just used to taking bras off not putting them on,” he fumbles, fixing the hooks, “I am a pro at that too.” Proud of himself he pulls the back of my shirt back down. He ties my sneakers and takes my hairbrush from me and brushes the tangles from my hair.

“I’m surprised,” I smooth my hair with my only available hand. “Thank you.”

“You scared us last night, Malibu,” Angel’s voice didn’t have the same tone as normal. “Can’t have you getting killed.”

“I’ll keep that in mind the next time someone shoots at me,” I offer a smile and walk with him down the hall. Gilly slides a chair out for me and sets a beer on the table in front of me. “Bishop?”

“The kings,” he points to the stained glass door.

“How are you feeling?” I asked Coco. He looked out of it. Wasn’t sure if it was the pain or the anger that gave him that look.

“Fucked,” he replied and took another drag from his cigarette. I nodded. I didn’t know his exact diagnosis but I did know that if his eyesight didn’t improve he couldn’t ride. If he couldn’t ride he couldn’t wear a patch. And for him the patch was everything. Coco’s family outside of the MC was beyond fucked up.

I turn, watching the kings and their crew file out of the stained glass door. I met Bishop’s troubled eyes with my own. The weight of things. Whatever decision either of us made would fuck things up for someone else.

“They heading out?” Gilly asked as the clubhouse door closed behind the other kings.

“They’re staying at Vicki’s until we sort this out,” Hank answered.

“What’s to sort out?” Coco inquired.

“You’re a smart man, Coco,” Bishop stated. “You know what’s at stake here.”

“Yeah,” he replied, “My fucking eyesight. It don’t get better I may never fucking ride again.”

Bishop looked at me then back to Coco, “We’re looking at millions of dollars in gun revenue for the entire Mayan organization.”

“So the CEOs of the Mayans Incorporated are deciding what’s best huh?” Coco’s one eye narrowed as he stood, “I hope y’all came up with a medical plan cause I’m gonna fucking need it.” Then storms out the front door.

“I’ll stay close,” Gilly followed after him. Bishop nodded and paced the floor. After asking Hank to reach out to Alverez, he looked at me. I could see the weariness in his eyes. He hadn’t slept since we got back. He carried it all with him. Coco, Riz, me. He bore that weight on his shoulders.

I stand following Bishop to a corner table. “I’m here, babe,” I tell him, my hand laying over his, “whatever you need.”

“I know, querida,” he kissed my temple, “I know.” I should have told him what Declan said but I couldn’t lay another burden on him. Not now. Not until they decided.

---

I sit at the table alone nursing a beer, watching the stained glass again. I lost count of the minutes that I’d waited for a club decision for anything. This time Bishop was getting council from Marcus. Bishop needed that guiding hand. That family connection to point him in the right direction. Or to encourage him to forge his own path. He was after all a king in his own right.

“I can take you to Vicki’s if you’d like,” Hank said when he exited the room.

“I’ll wait for Bishop,” I give him a smile, “has he eaten anything?”

“Have you?” he responded.

“I’m supposed to take care of you,” I tell him.

“And we’re supposed to take care of you, cariño,” he said, “if something worse than this,” he points to my sling, “had happened to you, it would break him.”

I nodded, “If anything happened to him,” I look at the big biker, “well I’m just hoping you don’t let me find out what would happen without him.”

I stood up when the stained glass slides open again and Marcus and Bishop walk out of Templo. “We’ll have to meet sometime when someone hasn’t just tried to kill me,” I give the former biker a peck on the cheek.

“When this is all settled,” he replied, “I’ll have my wife give you a call and we’ll have dinner or something.” He glances back at Bishop with a nod, “Primo.” Then left through the front door.

The Mayans dropped their phones in the basket outside the stained glass door, I watch as it closed behind them. The vote for payback. The pain in my shoulder wanted fucking vengeance, for myself, for Coco, and for Riz. But I knew that the deal with the VM was the one thing that kept the Irish guns in the hands of the Mayans.

I took a sip from my Diet Coke feeling every tick of the clock pulsing through my vein. The pain, stress of the wrong decision. I jump at the sound of the door being forcefully slung open and Coco storming out muttering curses in Spanish I didn’t understand. I didn’t know whether to be relieved or upset at the ‘No Vengeance’ vote.

I waited, watching as each man came out of Templo, none of them seemed fully satisfied with the vote but they knew it was the best thing for the club. Bishop slides the chair out beside mine and stuffs a cigarette between his lips. He doesn’t say a word for a long time. He doesn’t have to, I can feel how heavy the crown had become.

“If I didn’t have to think about the entire fucking club,” he said resting his hand on mine, “I’d kill every last one of those motherfuckers.”

“I know,” I replied. “It’ll work itself out.” I didn’t have a chance to tell him what Declan said to me this morning. The Vatos would be dead for what happened. By Mayan King or Irish.

I give his hand a gentle squeeze, preparing the words, to let him know that the deal would be dead no matter what. “Bishop…” I’m interrupted by the vibration of his phone.

“Shit,” Bishop said softly to his caller. “I’ll let them know.” His chair scrapes the floor as he stands. “Riz didn’t make it. Just spoke to Taza. He died about fifteen minutes ago. The vote is null and void,” he watches the faces of his men, “We’re going to war.”

---

Neither of us slept very well. How do you sleep when the person who saved your life lost his in the process?

“Can you stay with Vicki until we figure this shit out?” he asked as he helps me get dressed. “I won’t be able to help you. And she can use someone to be there with her.”

“Yeah,” I place my arm in the sling after smoothing my shirt down. “I can do that. Do you need help with anything else?”

“No, mi Amor,” he pressed a soft kiss to my forehead, “just for this shit to be done.”

He carries my overnight bag and places it in the back seat of my SUV, then helps me in the passenger’s seat. We rode in silence across the desert road to Vicki’s. Bikes were lined up, the club had already arrived.

“You need anything,” Bishop told Vicki, “don’t hesitate…” Vicki sobbed her acknowledgment then buried her face again in Taza’s chest. I didn’t speak enough Spanish to make out exactly what she said, but I could feel Vicki’s pain. Her heart was crumbling in pieces.

“Riz was her only family this side of the border,” Gilly said. I nod looking for something to do someway to help but there was nothing. And every inch of the place had a biker standing in it.

“Sit down, Princesa irlandesa,” Oso Ramos said to me. “You’re trying to do too much.”

“And you’re not trying to do enough,” I said back. I saw them circling Bishop like vultures. I knew they were trying to convince him to change his decision. “How many casualties do you think would justify it? Would you have a different view if the dead Mayan had an Oakland flash?”

“This is not the fucking time or /your/ place,” Ramos responded.

“I guess it’s not,” I stormed off, running smack into Angel’s chest as I head into the kitchen.

“Watch where you’re going, Malibu,” he said.

“Get out of my fucking way,” I responded. I needed out and Angel was blocking my escape. After I had a clear head. I sat down at the kitchen table and pull a cigarette out of an abandoned pack, I place it between my lips and flick a lighter, leaning into the flame. The burn of the smoke as I inhaled was soothing. I was able to focus again.

“Thought you didn’t smoke,” Angel said behind me.

“I don’t,” I inhale again flicking the ash in the tray. I wanted to wipe the tears from my face but I had no free hands. “Sorry about before.” He nodded then pulled a chair out to sit beside me, lighting a cigarette of his own.

“I didn’t know Riz well,” I said, “I know he liked to sing softly to himself in Spanish when he was working on his bike in the garage. I know he kept an arrowhead in the pocket of his kutte with his cigarettes. And I know that even though he didn’t really know me,” I sniffed, “he dove in front of a bullet to save my life.” I could feel the tears start pouring down my face. I couldn’t hold back the sobs. Angel wrapped his arms around my shoulders and let me cry. I let out everything I’d been holding in over the last several days.

“You’re snotting all over my shirt, Malibu,” he said.

“It’s fucking ugly anyway,” I responded.

[guiltysecretpasttime]

Blended - 3

Note: Why hello - thanks for staying tuned and being here to check this out. Leave a note what you think. :)

Title: Blended

Previous installment here and chapter one here. 

Legend of Korra, Lin/Tenzin, Modern AU, no bending

Blurb: A modern AU with no bending where Lin finds herself with three kids, where Tenzin is Mr Big Shot CEO, where Mako is an overprotective son, where Ikki endears herself to Lin, where Bumi is the cool meddling godfather/uncle and where Pema is out of the picture.

Multi-part, WIP

---

Another teenaged boy joined the first boy and Lin.

Lin ruffled the other boy’s hair in greeting.

Probably noticing Tenzin’s thunderous expression, Jinora turned around.

The first boy gave a half-smile then saluted her. The young girl rolled her eyes as she smiled back and saluted.

Ikki, to his surprise, gave an enthusiastic wave that the boy returned. “Is Mako joining us?”

Mako. Tenzin filed the name away for future review.

Ikki knew him? Just how close are they…

Jinora shrugged. “Mom won’t let him.”

“Oh?” Tenzin’s tone of practiced disinterest came into play.

Jinora rolled her eyes. “He could be quite overprotective.”

Tenzin frowned as both girls turned their attention back to their meal.

How dare that slip of a boy even presume that he was going to do something unsavory.

Lin slipped back into the booth, carrying a root beer float with two straws. “Mako sends his regards.” She nudged the drink towards the two girls. “Anyway, so thought of any questions, sir?”

Sir?

Tenzin cleared his throat as Lin waited with an amused smirk. “You can call me Tenzin, not… sir.”

Not awkward, not awkward at all.

“Okay then, Tenzin.” The emphasis on his name was somewhat derisive.

“Hmmm, yes – I think Ikki would be in good hands.” He paused, thinking of questions to ask.

How is Mr Lin taking this? Where is he? Is he in the picture? Why isn’t he mentioned? Is he okay with having a sleepover at their house? Did he mind that there was a young pup hovering around his woman and child? Or, heaven forbid, is Mr Lin that boy?

He heard that plastic surgery does wonders, and some ethnicities do tend to age better than others.

“I take it you don’t have any questions?” Lin finished her drink by now. “Well, then. For tomorrow, we will be heading out anyway so I can bring Ikki to your house, or we can meet at the mall.”

There was a challenge there. After all, it was a conglomerate in the mall industry that was the root of the demise of their long-term relationship.

“Sure, let’s go to the mall.” And they agreed on a time and place to meet the next day.

Lin waved the waiter over and requested to have the leftover food of the girls to be packed home (“You’ll both remember your unfinished waffles later tonight when you’re finishing your project so best to take it home.”).

Tenzin motioned for the check.

“Already taken care of.” Lin nodded.

“You didn’t have to.” Tenzin mumbled weakly, putting his wallet back in his pocket.

He was met with a shrug. “Consider it as a belated welcome gift to this city.” Lin stood up once the leftover food was brought over by the waiter, and they all prepared to head out.

Tenzin was well-aware of the two boys from the other table following them.

“Mako, Bolin – please help Jinora and Ikki with their things while I get the car ready.” Lin walked over to where she was parked to turn on the air conditioning.

For his part, Tenzin led the children to his car, surreptitiously watching their interaction.

Ikki gave one of them (Bolin, was it?) a high five while Jinora was quickly exchanging words with Mako.

As he was pulling out the key from his pocket, a hand shot in front of him.

“I’m Mako.”

He shook the hand without hesitation. “Tenzin.” He clicked his key to unlock the car and opened the trunk, where the overnight bag of Ikki is as well as the other art supplies of both girls.

The other boy came forward now, extending his own hand. “Bolin here.” He grinned widely, a touch friendlier than Mako.

Tenzin grasped it and introduced himself as well. He handed Bolin one of the heavier bags while Ikki and Jinora went forward to get their lighter ones. Mako, meanwhile, hung back and was sizing him up from the looks of it.

Only, he wasn’t sizing him up apparently.

Mako moved silently to pick up the bulkiest of the materials so that Jinora did not have to carry it.

The young girl beamed up at him, saying. “That’s why you’re my favorite brother.”

Brother?

“Hey!” Bolin grumbled from the other side as he swung on his back two duffel bags. “What about me?”

Correction: brothers?

“You’re my favorite brother-friend.” Ikki punched his arm.

Bolin laughed boisterously while they went off to Lin’s car.

Ikki turned to face her father quickly who was bringing up the rear. “Don’t tell Meelo.”

Tenzin raised his hands in surrender. “Of course not.”

“Well, technically, I’m not your brother so…” Bolin wringed his hands worriedly. Thinking that maybe Tenzin would say something about it.

So… brothers.

Tenzin had a lot of questions while Lin and her children loaded the things of Jinora and Ikki into their trunk. The boys were a lot older than Jinora. Much, much older… Something that did not quite sit well with him.

Before he knew it, Tenzin was left at the parking lot as they waved good-bye at him as the car sped off.

 ---

Pema settled herself at a quiet corner in the coffee shop. She placed down her bag beside her and let the waiter place the tea tray on the table.

She checked the time on her tablet.

It was time for her weekly call with her daughter.

Ever since the divorce, she and Tenzin tried to figure out a way to co-parent despite being a couple of countries apart. One of the things they agreed on is that they were not going to let their children bounce from one household to another a lot during the school year. Another is that Pema would continue to consistently remain in contact with the kids through a weekly video call. This also linked to their eventual agreement that Ikki was to have her own (child-locked and parental monitored) phone.

It was something that Pema looked forward to every week.

For all the differences that she and her ex-husband had and the reasons that they went into the marriage, Pema does not regret her children with him.

“Hi Mommy!”

“Hi Sweetie!” Pema found herself smiling at Ikki’s toothy grin. “How are you doing?”

Ikki, as she expected, launched into this enthusiastic story about what she had been up to since the last time they chatted. When she was in the middle of gesturing and talking about her big sister-little sister project, other voices wafted into the call - voices that Pema was unfamiliar with.

Pema leaned closer to peer into the screen, brows furrowing, only noticing that the background of Ikki’s call was different.

In the background, someone (a male someone) let out a loud whoop.

Ikki paused to take a deep breath and Pema interjected. “Dear, where are you right now?”

“Oh-oh-oh! That’s what I was going to tell you next, Mommy!” Ikki waved her hands excitedly in front of her. “I’m on a sleepover with Jinora! At Jinora’s house!”

Pema was surprised but did not let it show. She did not want to dampen Ikki’s delight. She would not be that mother (she would not be her mother). And, well, at the end of the day, she did trust Tenzin’s parenting decisions. “That’s great. How is it so far?”

“It’s fun! She has two brothers. Two brothers, Mommy! And not two Meelo’s too. They’re very nice. Her mommy is really nice also – not like Korra’s uncle. Korra’s uncle is grumpy at home but nice outside. Jinora’s mommy is nice both outside and at home.”

Pema had to bite back a smile at Ikki’s commentary. Having crossed paths with Unalaq during her marriage with Tenzin, she did not particularly enjoy spending time with the politician. Everything was mostly for show and behind closed doors, to family, the man could be quite cold and standoffish.

There was raucous laughter from Ikki’s side and Ikki looked to the side, to someone or something off-camera.

“That’s Bolin, Mommy. Jinora’s older brother.” The view shook a bit as Ikki was likely moving her phone around to show her mother the view of the room. “And that’s her brother, Mako.”

Pema could see that they were probably in some sort of study room. Behind Ikki, there were two computers set-up, each with a teenaged boy sitting in front of it wearing a headset.

“And here’s Jinora.”

The view moved again and a familiar girl who she has talked to in previous calls waved at her. Jinora was beside Ikki and was in the process of gluing something to a small card.

Ikki placed her phone steady again and went into detail about the project they were working on, and Pema could see the door at her side opening.

“Bolin, Mako – no yelling, you know Ikki will be on a call right now.” The woman who entered the room hissed audibly at the teenagers.

“Sorry, Mom -.” The stocky boy started to apologize then trailed off, inaudible to Pema’s ears.

What struck Pema most, however, was not the amount of glitter that Ikki and Jinora were putting on their projects, or the two boys punching each other’s arm when they probably get a point in their computer game. No, it was the woman who stood watching their game, hands at her waist.

It was a woman that she has never met but was quite familiar with.

Pema was left pondering how her daughter landed at a sleepover at Lin Beifong’s house.

 ---

“OMG – is that – is that a background image of the Fire Ferrets’ place?  Where did you download that?! Can you send it to me? Pleaaaase! Didn’t know you’re a fan of the Fire Ferrets!!”

Ikki read and reread the message of her cousin Korra at their chat.

It did not make sense to her.

What background was she talking about?

She scrolled up to the last picture she sent which was of her and Jinora holding up their project with their final touches completed.

Jinora nudged her, noticing her preoccupation. “You, okay?”

Ikki wrinkled her nose, showing her phone screen to Jinora. “What’s a Fire Ferret?”

“My ears are tingliiiing - did someone say Fire Ferret?” Bolin jumped in between them, his hand cupping his ear. “You don’t know who the Fire Ferrets are?” At Ikki’s slow head shake, he clicked his tongue and placed his arms around the shoulders of the girls. “I can’t believe Jinora didn’t tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

Jinora rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “I don’t think Ikki would have been interested.”

“Don’t you put down her possible interest in esports!” Bolin flicked his sister’s nose with affection. “The Fire Ferrets is today’s up-and-rising, the ones-to-watch-out, most promising esports team!” He followed up with a faux-whisper, “At least that’s what eSports Unlimited.com says in their latest ranking article. Impressive huh?”

Ikki just blinked up at him.

Bolin did not let that deter him. “And, what’s more – you’re looking at one of them now!”

“Cut it out, Bo.” Mako sighed from his position at his desk, having taken off his headset. “I hardly think Tenzin would like Ikki to be exposed to the wonderful world of esports at her age.”

“And, you’ll be right at that point, kid.” All four of them faced the door, where Lin had peeked her head. “Tenzin would not be keen on prolonged screen time and neither would he appreciate if we bring his daughter back with darkened eyebags. Bedtime now, kids!”

The pronouncement brought a cacophony of complains.

“But, Mooom -.”

“Please Ms Lin – I-.”

“Mom, we’re too old to have a bedtime.”

“Kids – please, we’re going to need to wake up early.”

“We can still wake up early – our body clock’s fantastic.”

“No.”

“Yeah, we’ll even prepare breakfast for everyone.” A punch. “Ow! What was that for?”

A snort. “Speak for yourself.”

“I’m holding you all to that then. I’ll head on – good night, kids!”

A door closes and another punch. “What was that for, now?”

 ---

Little did they know, while Lin was having a smidge of trouble getting the kids to get to bed, across town, a certain businessman was having trouble sleeping.

After dinner and after tucking Meelo to bed (with two bedtime stories read), Tenzin found himself exhausted from the week (and day) he has had. And so, he had gone off to prepare for bed but was unable to find a comfortable position to sleep.

Who was he kidding – he had a lot of thoughts running through his mind.

Feeling restless still, Tenzin got back up from bed and went to pull out his laptop.

He scrolled through various folders until he found what he was looking for. His fingers tapped swiftly on the keyboard, the password a muscle memory. However, his cursor hovered over the ok button, unable to belie his hesitation and uncertainty.

Tenzin paused and asked himself if he really wanted to do this.

Eventually, he pushed through and out popped the window showing files upon files. Scanned documents, audio files, slide shows, videos, saved emails and photos.

One of the reasons why he managed to bring back the White Lotus Corporation to life is his tenacity, his dogged determination to see things through. Tonight, it is this same tenacity that brought him to go through his past as he started to go through old photos with one Lin Beifong. He went through the photos and emails – trying to see, trying to look for a clue at what point did Lin start showing or possibly start getting involved with the boys’ father, at what point in their relationship did he not become enough.

Tenzin would later come to wonder if he should have just let sleeping dogs lie.

---

Note: Dundundun. Misunderstandings upon misunderstandings – my favorite genre. Haha! Hope all is good with you reading from the other side of the screen. Just a note here – Pema won’t be a nasty bitch here, and no hating gonna happen. Trying to make this as light as possible, so no overly angsty~ plot lines. Crossing my fingers this experimental story works out fine haha.

Share your thoughts, theories, feelings, anything about this story with me. 😊 I am trying to get back to writing so this might not be up to my usual length or content. Happy to hear from you though.

[whump-town]

It’s A Wonderful Life

Part one. Part two. Part three. Part four. Part five.

I’m actually pretty proud that I finished a multi-chapter for once...

There is something stirred deep within Derek Morgan by this shattered knife-like mosaic disaster. He thinks in spirals about his father. Mostly of little Jack and how Morgan wasn’t much older than him when his own father died. He thinks about the events that took place in his life without a father there to guide him, of the trespasses beseeched upon him for being a foolish lost little boy. Nightmares stir up and Carl Buford makes his hold on Morgan’s life known once again. And yet, stead-fast curiously planted, Jack remains and Morgan promises to never let anyone hurt this boy. Not like he was hurt and not like Hotch was hurt.

Never. So long as there is breathe in his lungs.

He sees the dust the other’s kick up, as well. The ease with which Emily takes on caring for Jack. Seemingly never blinking as the boy bounces from needs-- frantically pulling at his shirts, kicking his shoes off, hitting his head, or ears. She breathes and soothes him until he can find her calm in himself and together they cut tags out of pants or she carries him so he doesn’t have to wear his shoes or finds the soundproof earmuffs in the bag so he can’t hear all the sounds. Sometimes she just lets him scream until he feels better because she wants to fucking scream too. And on more than one occasion he’s caught them both doing just that.

They’ve all taken to their new little mindless tasks. Eat breakfast. Sit with Hotch. Having lunch together half after one. Mind Jack. Have Dinner. Routine, each with their own, drilled into their bones until they feel less like profilers and more like grievers. The unbalance of one of their tasks is detrimental.

Two days after the accident, Hotch has surgery. Metal rods set to stabilize his ribs, to fix his flail chest, and the promise of his return burns like smoke in their lungs. But there is no magic moment like they’d hope for. To hear his voice or see him through a moment of clarity. There is no gradual getting there.

The first memory: the hospital. He hates the smell and the lights and the tube down his throat. He’s been intubated so many times throughout his life that he considered there should be an eventual immunity to the swollen, tightness-- he thought they’d at least have figured out how to make it so this doesn’t hurt so much. Overwhelmingly, he feels the itch to find some sort of grounding from his surroundings. But hospitals have this silence that is so loud. A crawl on spider legs that creeps its way up way until it’s staring you right in the eyes. There is nothing here and as he feels his heartbeat start to chip at his chest, he lets go.

The second, third, maybe even fourth, fifth, and sixth memories are snapshots. The briefest moments between the intense agony on his chest and their muted comforts. Dave’s palm on his face, suddenly making him too aware of the machine pulling and pushing air into his lungs. It’s too fast, he can’t keep up. Emily’s thumb rubbing up and down his knuckles, he sees her face for only a moment. She smiles, stiff and unnatural. Morgan sleeping. He’d pulled a chair to at the end of Hotch’s bed, moved it so they’re facing one another.

The next solid memory is a water bottle. He feels the plastic label scratching against the sensitive skin on his forearm, a water bottle wedged between his arm and his hip. He turns his head, a tiny movement, and sees JJ in the visitor’s chair. Her feet are kicked up on the edge of the bed and mindlessly pressing a Twizzler to her mouth. Eyes wide as she reads the book in her lap. There are very few moments in his life so natural, so calm. For a moment, there is no ache, no pain. Just Jennifer Jareau and the transfixing beauty of shock smacked across her face.

She’s pretty, he doesn’t think anyone really tells her that.

Days, hours, minutes-- time passes and he has but loses strands to hold onto.

Cough. The head of the bed is raised, his ribs ache, and pulse within his chest. Shifting. He gags painfully around the tube, squeezing the bedsheet beneath him with all his might, as the tube scraps up the back of his throat. Cough. He can not remember being prepared for the extraction, just the end. The people around him pushing and pulling at him. The end of the tube comes free and he realizes they’ve been guiding him along. Easy, easy. Someone pulls a mask up over his face, the strap pulling at a scab near his ear. It doesn’t hurt-- his lungs feel like magma.

He doesn’t speak. He’s not sure if he can but even if he could he would not speak the words threatening to come spilling out. It’s all he’s ever wanted, never once does he have to ask for touch. It comes bountifully but still, he craves more, resisting the urge to ask for more. On dangerously baited breathes he waits for it, the immense relief that he gets is enough to allow him to sleep deeply for hours. Never a nightmare in a sight. They touch like they are afraid he will pour like water from their cupped hands and he is grateful for the reclaiming of his body. He’s uncertain he is really there until they touch him. Until a knuckle brushes his cheek or a hand squeezes his fingers.

He is here. Despite the way death clings to his tired bones, he can feel the will-full breathes he draws in. The heart in his chest. The hurt. Decisive pain. Living pain.

Reid is curled up in one of the waiting room chairs, a blanket pulled up and around him-- even over his head. Hotch watches him silently for several minutes. Soothed by Reid’s soft, thoughtless rocking as he reads. The only solid, real noise the brush of his fingers over the old softened pages of his book.

He can’t escape the pain and he shifts, jaw clenched to refrain from making a noise. It’s intense, the deep stabbing pain along his ribs and sternum. Enough to make his breathing stutter, holding it to prevent his chest from moving and incurring the pain.

“You have to breathe.”

Hotch turns his head, quick laborious breathes to try and stifle the pain.

Reid struggles for a moment to decide what to do but he knows what Emily or Dave would do and so he takes Hotch’s right hand. He holds it tight, applying deep pressure. “Hotch, you had a pneumothorax and a thoracic surgery--” that’s probably not helpful. He doesn’t know what to say. “I know it hurts,” Reid offers. “Can I-- Is there-- Let me get a nurse.”

Reid tries to turn away but Hotch chokes on a panicked exhale, squeezing Reid’s hand. Hotch shakes his head. “No, no,” he’s wheezing, struggling to breathe, and needs a nurse but Reid can’t bring himself to move away. “I’m okay.” Hotch pinches his eyes shut, focusing all his attention on slowing his breathing back down. “I’m okay.”

“Emily’s going to kill me.”

The pain has not ebbed away in the slightest but with some control, with Reid’s hand still tightly gripping his own, the cloud of haze melts away. Forcing his eyes back open, willing his body to ease and stop tensing in the hopes that the pain might go with it. “Emily?” he asks. His mouth fumbles with her name and he slurs but Reid nods.

Out of all of them, Reid has been at the hospital the least. He hates them. The noises, the cold chill, the desperation… So, yes. Reid knows that Emily is probably going to kill him because just as she’d walked out for the evening, and he’d come in she’d commented that Hotch seemed more reactive. And that if Hotch woke up while Reid was thereafter she’d spent hours and days with him, she was going to be livid.

In the same way, Dave is going to be frustrated. Not mad at Reid just… put off. Exasperated for the ability to make contact with him after all this time. They’re all itching to have him back.

“Yeah,” Reid finally answers. “She--” he looks down the tile, a flush of heated warmth spiking up his face. “We,” he corrects. “We missed you.”

Hotch, breathes shallow but calm, is trying to fight the gallons of warmth being dumped into his arm. It stings but he can not fight it. “I missed you too,” he whispers.

Reid stands right there, afraid to move, and shattered the calm falling over Hotch. Even long after he knows Hotch has fallen asleep. He does not tell anyone about this interaction. He keeps it for himself and hopes Hotch doesn’t remember. It’s likely he won’t.

He doesn’t wake the next day, at all. Not even a little bit of a stir. He was really, really out of it and that’s saying something because Derek came and about an hour into his stay he got up to go to the bathroom and kicked the bed. Hard. His explosive “fuck” echoed but Hotch didn’t budge an inch.

Visiting hours are coming to a close when he does wake up the next day. Numb-- to the point that his body feels removed and it’s not until Dave sets a hand on his leg that he feels rooted, here. His tongue is thick, hard to maneuver, but with Dave’s attention on the puzzle book in his hands, he has the time needed to speak.

“Where’s Jack?”

Dave doesn’t look up from his puzzle, just raises an eyebrow to communicate Hotch has been heard. After a moment, Dave hums and circles a word he’s found. “Hmm,” he shuts his book and turns to Hotch. Overjoyed, truly, to hear the other man’s voice after all this time but hesitant to communicate that. He doesn’t want to overwhelm him. “Jack is with Derek tonight but Jessica in the morning.”

Hotch nods, already feeling the weight settle back over his chest.

“You feeling okay?” Dave asks, reaching over and putting his hand on Hotch’s knee. He’s paled and Dave can see the pain lines breaking out over his forehead. His lips parting as he fogs the oxygen mask over his face. In the end, he hasn’t the control to verbally confirm that he’s okay. So he just nods. Dave isn’t stupid. “Tell me what’s wrong,” Dave stands.

His hand moves from Hotch’s knee to the side of his head, the palm of his hand meeting the edges of Hotch’s sweat-soaked hair. Even in his sleep, Hotch can’t escape the pain. It kills Dave to be brought so helplessly to his knees.

“I’m cold.”

Dave pulls the one small blanket they’ve allowed him up to his shoulders but does nothing for his pale arms bare and broken out in painful goosebumps. “I know,” Dave whispers. “I know.”

Dave stands there for a long while, holding Hotch as close as he can. Watching Hotch fall back asleep, whimpering just slightly as he falls back under and loses his control.

The next day, Dave comes in finds Emily. He should have known it was only a matter of time before she and Hotch get back into their normal transactions. He’s still not certain if he prefers when they get along (and wreak havoc) or when they sit at each other’s throats. For now, he can just watch them from afar.

Emily is sitting on the bed, the head of which is raised. She’s sitting facing Hotch, both her legs pulled up so they’re tucked against her chest as the two talk. “I’m not saying you’re wrong,” she defends. “You just… certainly aren’t right.”

His eyebrows furrow, the paleness of his face highlighting the cuts and scrapes still trying to heal along his skin. “That’s saying I’m wrong,” he rasps.

She shrugs, “I’m trying to be nice to you, okay? You have a brain injury. Just… don’t get used to it.”

Dave leans against the doorway. This is the most interactive Dave’s seen Hotch in days. Even if he’s sunk down into the bed, watching more than interacting with Emily from behind tired eyes. She doesn’t seem to mind and it’s hard to imagine being bothered with his lack of participation with the weeks they’ve faced.

“Oh,” Hotch hums. “Emily Prentiss being nice, that’s new.” Then he frowns, having properly comprehended what she said. “I don’t have a brain injury, Emily.”

She rolls her eyes. “I am nice to other people, you know? People who don’t annoy me.” That’s the humor, the part Dave loves most about watching the two of them interact (well, when they’re not annoying the shit out of him with the constant arguing-- he never had children but he imagines that the two of them at their worst are exactly what it’s like to have two children). Emily says that Hotch annoys her, she messes with him, she plucks his nerves, and here she sits with his hand in her own. Holding on because she’s afraid to let go.

“And maybe you don’t have a brain injury right now but I’m certain someone dropped you as a baby.” She shakes her head, “that’s saying you were held.”

Hotch doesn’t react and if he or she were different people that comment would sting but she knows his history and he just squints his eyes at her. “You talk a lot of smack for someone whose senior prom date stood her up for her ex.” His head is starting to pound, right on his left temple. He doesn’t want to stop talking though. Doesn’t want Emily to leave and have the room sink back into the cold loneliness of before. He’s afraid of it.

“Hotch!” Emily chides. “I told you that while I was drunk! I was being vulnerable.”

Dave enters the room on that note, frowning in faux betrayal. “You two drink without me?”

They both turn in surprise to see Dave, neither look guilty nor even like they feel bad. Emily nods, “you left for three weeks while you dated that attorney, Dave. You think we just… stopped doing things because you weren’t there?” She raises an eyebrow but Dave’s face says it all. Yeah, obviously. “Dave, Hotch wouldn’t leave his house if I didn’t drag him out.” And, frankly, they’re her closest friends. She loves girl’s nights with JJ and Garcia but there is just so much talking.

With Dave and Hotch there is no need. Dave will do 95% of the talking leaving her to lean against one of them and sit in the comfort. You have to have a balance. That being said, neither Dave nor Hotch has ever helped her pick out a face mask and taught her how to curl her bangs away from her face so…

“It wasn’t my idea,” Hotch offers.

Emily glares at him.

“Of course it wasn’t,” Dave mumbles.

The visit, as fun as it is, comes to an end far sooner than he wants it to. But they can see he’s in pain. Emily climbs off the bed but he doesn’t let go of her hand. She stops for a moment, looking desperately at Dave. She bends back over the bed, resting her forehead against his. “Get some rest,” she says, carding her fingers through his messy hair.

Hotch hates being like this. The constant in and out. The complete lack of autonomy and most of that being at his own fault-- his own inability to do anything. To tell them that he hates being alone. That he can suffer some more just please don’t leave but the nurses come again and Emily forces their hands apart.

And he’s left to sink back into the drugs, wondering when he’ll escape this hell.

Derek Morgan conspires a plan-- Connect Four. It was his favorite game to play with his sisters and now he’s going to teach Jack.

“I’m going to beat your ass,” Emily informs him as soon as she sees the box. She had overnight duty with Jack and the trade-off still isn’t for another two hours but Morgan thought she could do with a distraction. Jack’s an angel, a little loud at times but mostly wiped out. All this movement is overwhelming. Still, it’s hard to do any of this alone and it gives them a new appreciation for what Hotch and Jessica must do every day.

Morgan doesn’t respond to her, just squats down beside the chair she’s sitting in to see Jack. The kid is sleeping against her chest, legs pulled into her lap. He has a hat pulled down over his ears and soft little green overalls. No shoes but he imagines those are just kicked off somewhere in the room. “How are they?” he asks.

Emily sighs, shaking her head and giving a minimal shrug to not wake Jack. “Poor baby didn’t sleep at all last night,” she informs him sadly. The thought distresses her and she stops a moment to rub Jack’s back, comforting herself with the weight of him settled against her. “He was crying for Hotch…”

Morgan nods his head, so that’s why she’s here. They had all more or less agree to keep Jack away from the hospital. It’s got potential sensory issues written all over it-- deprived walls, the beeping, the yelling… So, when he sent her a text to ask who’s house she had ended up staying at last night (her own, Dave’s, or maybe Hotch’s) so he could drop by he’d been taken by surprise at her answer to being here.

She’d been worried, at first, by this decision as well. Jack had sobbed all night, screamed his throat raw. She could do nothing but offer him things in place of the father he obviously wanted. So, as soon as she could she took him back. Jack had been a little taken aback by the sight of his father laid out like that but after a stiff moment, the small boy sniffled and hummed to himself. And that seemed to settle it.

He was gentle and listened when Emily told him “stay away from Daddy’s chest, Jack. He’s hurt, okay?”. With a yawn he tucked his face into Hotch’s stomach, half his body over Hotch’s right hip-- Emily only let him settle down once she was sure there were no open wounds or other injuries she could recall to that leg. And he was out like a light.

Hotch is still rather in and out, too unaware to really rely on him to wake up. They try not to hold it against him but it does sting a little when he’s alert to talk to some of them but not all of them. Neither Garcia nor Derek have spoken to him yet. That does bother them because it’s hard to believe he’s okay if they never see that themselves.

Connect Four is a hit.

“Allow me to consult my second chair.” Emily crouches down beside Jack, cracking a bit in her playful seriousness when Jack giggles as she takes his shoulders in her hands. “What do we do?” she asks him. She plays into looking hopeless, really searching for an answer from him. “Jack, please, I need you!”

Lifting him up into her arms she watches him look their board over with all the seriousness someone of his age can muster. He clicks his tongue happily as he does so, squinting his little eyes as he really thinks. He looks just like Hotch for a moment, that focused frown.

“Here,” Emily gives Jack the yellow game piece. The room falls silent as Jack tries to figure out where to put the piece. Then, with a smile, he plops the yellow piece down and blocks Derek’s red pieces move to connect. “Yay!” Emily high-fives Jack, both cheering as Derek pretends to be utterly defeated.

As he sinks down in his chair Derek leans his head back, looking up at the ceiling and for some reason, he sneaks a glance over at Hotch. He snaps up, “Hotch.”

Hotch smiles, still a little groggy having just woken up, “you suck at Connect Four.” Hearing the sound of his father’s voice, gravely and strained but still his, Jack looks up too. “Hey, buddy.”

As afraid as Morgan is to overwhelm Hotch, he can’t help but crowd in as Emily lowers Jack to the bed. All three gently reminding the overcited boy to be careful. Jack flusters for a moment, clicking his tongue, and drawing his hands up to his chest. But Hotch moves his hand to Jack’s lap, unable to really raise it but he gets it just close enough to get the message across. Jack takes his father’s hand, rocking himself on the bed with an even brighter smile.

“Did you beat Uncle Derek at Connect Four?” Hotch asks, glancing at Morgan as he asks.

Jack looks at Morgan too and nods, a mischievous little grin.

“Twice,” Morgan mumbles, reaching over and pushing Jack’s head. “Cheater.”

Hotch pats Jack’s stomach, smiling when Jack curls into his hand, leaning into him until his head rests on Hotch’s stomach. Hotch moves his hand to Jack’s head, gently brushing the hair back. He smiles content, despite the pain, for the first time since he woke up.

“He’s probably ready for a nap,” Emily informs him, rubbing at Jacks’ back when he heaves a big yawn. “Didn’t sleep much last night.”

Hotch nods, Jack’s never been a good sleeper. Jack just looks up at him, silent and still. “Are you sleepy?” Hotch asks, cupping Jack’s cheek. Jack turns, pressing his face into Hotch’s stomach rather than answering which is typically a yes. “Come here,” he whispers.

“Hotch--”

“He’ll be fine,” Hotch assures them. He motions Jack up and sitting up, Jack listens. Yawning as he crawls up the side of the bed and settles close. Worming under his father’s instruction against his side, head just below Hotch’s clavicle. It does hurt. His arms aren’t very mobile and Jack is putting just the right amount of pressure on his side but… he hasn’t held his son in weeks.

Jack falls right to sleep.

“Leave him,” Hotch whispers, after a while. “Go get some lunch, take a walk. We’ll be fine.” He turns his head to Jack, calmed by the familiar comfort of his son.

Morgan is adamant but Emily pulls a blanket up over them both, removing it from the conversation. “We’ll bring you both back something,” Emily tells him. She kisses Jack’s head and messes with Hotch’s hair before righting herself. She stops for just a moment, watching the two of them-- Jack clutching Hotch’s gown and Hotch obviously fighting sleep until the two of them leave.

“Morgan?”

Derek steps close to the bed, taking Hotch’s free hand.

“Thank you.”

His mouth dries and he nods, “of course, man. We all did our part.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Morgan shakes his head, “no. No, we did. That’s what you do for family.” Morgan clears his throat, and squeezes Hotch’s hand before letting it go and stepping back. “Get some sleep man. When that kid wakes up, it’s your ass he’s beating in Connect Four.”

Hotch can’t wait.

[horrorslashergirl]

Chromeskull with a singer!reader who he meets at a bar while observing his next victim and her voice enchants him.

Chromeskull x Singer!Reader- Show me how you burlesque

Authors Note: I watched this morning the movie Burlesque 2010 and this idea struck through my head, so why not write it down since I have a request that has this type of plot. For a better vibe listen to the song by Christina Aguilera Show me how you burlesque.

Rating: Just some blackmail and Jesse being an egoistical asshole.

Words: 2.3k

Stalking and observing was probably one of the best things Jesse was good at, especially when it came to hunting piggies and fishies. He never rushed into abducting his next victim for his next game, in time Jesse learned that patience was the key to success and he was feeding on said success, be it of any kind.

The Cromeans manor was empty and silent, save for the shower that turned off, Jesse stepping out after he dried himself, taking a glance into the foggy mirror, observing himself. From the neck down it was the dream of every woman to have in bed, but from the neck up it showed his inner monster, despite the multiple plastic surgeries and face reconstructions, he was never the same and probably never be, but in time he learned to accept it. After all money, a nice car, and an impeccable suit could make any piggy fall to her knees and suck on his cock.

Jesse exited the bathroom and walked to the master bedroom to the walk-in closet, picking out a black suit; black just like death, because he was death. He dressed up, checking himself in the huge mirror, proud of the look.

He walked downstairs, the enormous house so devoid of anyone; it was just him. After losing his wife he accepted the fact that he was going to die alone at some point, just like everyone used to tell him back when he was a shy kid.

The saying was true; Money cannot buy really anything.

Entering the garage he unlocked his Chrysler and got in, exiting his house and driving into town, the more liveable part of Jacksonville where all the night clubs and brothels were. It wasn't random, Chromeskull never did things out of the blue, everything was planned out neatly with precision, like playing chess.

Recently, he stalked a young woman, who spends her time adventuring herself into clubs, looking for some fresh meat or better said a fat wallet to suck on. The typical piggy undercover.

'No! I don't sleep with rich men for their money.'

Jesse snorted at the words; every woman was disposable, he learned that when he was a broke teen and after he lost his face. Spending some genuine time with someone over some drinks and just enjoying each other's company was just an illusion, the world itself was prostitution, in different forms but it was.

You are either a pimp or a whore.

After arriving at the nightclub, he parked his car and got out, walking up the steps to the front entrance, the guys at the front with their lists, checking the people that wanted to enter.

Talk about exclusivity.

Oxford shoes walked up the steps to the entrance, the guys there a little intimidated by Jesse's height, a very big perk when you're 6'7, none dares to mess with you, plus the eyepatch that covered one of his eye was another plus.

"Umm...Name?" a guy asked, clearing his throat, trying to steady his voice and not let fear show, but he failed miserably.

Jesse pulled out his phone, typing in.

'Cromeans.'

The security guy's eyes widened at the name, gulping down and stepping aside to let him enter, not saying anything else.

Jesse smirked, stepping inside, knowing that only his name was a weapon good enough to make these sheep scrambles away to their dens. It was weird to go hunting without his mask, but wearing a chromed skull mask to a public place such as this night club where all the rich and blessed were, gossiping like it was a need to live like breathing.

Brown eye looked around the dim-lit place, looking for his target and his gaze stopped when he found her, sitting down on an old geezers lap, giggling and rubbing his chest. He could be his grandfather for fucks sake.

No surprise from a filthy piggy.

The place was full of people, but he managed to find an empty table, just his presence made the job done, plus the owner of the night club was trying to kiss his ass to get on Jesse's good side. Not that Jesse minded, he loved when people worshipped him like he was God.

He internally chuckled at the comparison....God, more like Devil.

As he sat down at a table in the back, his form enveloped by the darkness, a waitress quickly came to take his order.

'Whiskey. Best Brand. Make it quick.'

The girl gulped down and nodded, quickly walking away to bring Jesse his drink. That's what power feels like, everyone quickly coming to you, to please you in all forms. It wasn't respect. Respect doesn't exist, only fear can make one be what the other wants.

The drink came in less than five minutes, probably just two, but Jesse wasn't counting, taking the glass of liquor and waving the waitress off like she was scum.

Scarred lips pressed against the edge of the crystal glass, taking a sip of the strong alcohol, letting it burn his throat, then he pulled out a silver pack-box that held his Cuban cigars, pulling one out and lightening it, taking in the rich taste of smoke.

His gaze observed the piggy-target, his mind wandering to how he should start when the moment was opportune. Will he take it slow, fooling her into a sense of safety then break her whole world down? Or maybe he just takes it rough, with brute force and knocking some sense into her plastic brain.

Either way, he was going to enjoy it, very much. He could picture her face filled with horror, wet from tears and sweat, mouth full of blood, choking on it as he will take her life away like it was nothing of importance.

Before his fantasy could go into more detail, the music started to play, but it wasn't the usual music, this one was live. The club used to hire singers or bands to play from time to time, so this was a surprise they went to their old ways.

The lights on the stage turned on, the musicians in the background with their instruments playing, then a feminine, but so strong voice started to sing, catching every men's attention, even the old geezer who had the piggy on his lap, long forgotten, because of the beauty on the stage.

The outfit you were wearing could be considered very inappropriate, but that's how you pull the attention of the male audience, the females too, only to burn into envy; the black lace hugging everything just right, the dark make-up around your eyes sparkling and showing how passionate your eyes were as you singed, your red lips moving with every note, your body moving like it was ready to pull the males on a spell.

The tightening in the black slacks was very much getting uncomfortable, the piggy long forgotten and brown eye struck on your form as you moved, the imagination getting the best of Jesse, who only could wonder how your pretty red lips would look wrapped around something else than your mic.

His hand tightened in envy at the men who were too close to the stage, basking in your pretty little self, so confident, the type of confidence that makes you want to drown in it.

These legs, clad in black fishnets, he wondered how they would look wrapped around his hips, your hair into his fist as he takes you from behind. The gruesome scenarios about the piggy vanished only to be replaced with the erotic fantasies with you.

He felt like a kid in a toy store, finding a doll that he really liked and he would get it. Jesse licked his lips, adjusting himself into his seat as you turned around, wiggling your ass, that pretty little ass that he wanted to spank with black nitrile covered hands.

Finally, the show was over, your eyes sparkling with pride, luscious lips pulled into a grin as you waved your audiences, then finally disappearing backstage.

Finishing his drink, Jesse got up, stalking towards the backstage, wanting to take another glimpse of you and he did, only, it wasn't an image he was liking. Actually, if he had his knives with him, he would probably throw them at the guy who was hugging and kissing you.

"You did amazing, baby! You were stunning." the guy said, making you giggle and smile brightly.

"You always know how to pull me up." you said, kissing his cheek.

"That's what a husband should always do to his wife." the guy said, spinning you around.

Alright, the last sentence made Jesse's world crumble down, a bitter feeling setting in his gut, then he quickly walked away, stalking fastly out of the nightclub and into the parking lot of it, taking his phone out, fingers hovering over the digital keyboard, fury evident in his gaze.

He wanted to badly to kill someone, no matter the gender, he wanted to rip flesh and make the blood flow.

'You shouldn't feel jealous. She is not yours.'

The inner voice only spurred his anger more; not jealous, but territorial. If he wanted something he would get it, even if he had to make some unorthodox decisions, not like it would be the first or last time.

'Destroying a happy marriage isn't right. What would your dead wife think?'

Fuck his dead wife! She was no more. Fuck morals! His fingers quickly typed a text then send it to Spann.

'I've got some work for you.'

After 2 months...

It's like the world playing in every favor for Jesse, blackmailing your husband was the easiest job he has ever done and Jesse felt more than prideful when that punk divorced you. Of course, the hard part was seeing you cry and be a confusing mess, but that would go away, eventually.

When he got to the same night club he expected to see you on stage, singing, but it was another girl.

She was definitely doing playback and she wasn't as beautiful as you. His eyes landed on you, sitting down at a table alone, tight red dress hugging your body as you sipped on a glass of scotch, watching the girl, a bored look on your face.The singing ended and everyone went to their own discussion. 

Time to step in.

Jesse walked towards you, making you look up with a cute face of puzzlement.

'Seat free?'

Your eyebrows raised up.

"Be my guest." you offered and he took a seat.

'I could only notice that you look a little lonely. Weren't you supposed to sing tonight?' Jesse typed on the electronic reader, making you sigh.

"Yes, but I wasn't feeling up to it. I'm here mostly for my friend. It's her first time." you explained, looking at your drink.

'Am I bothering you?'

"Oh no! It's just....personal problems." you muttered, taking a sip of your drink.

'Talking helps. I don't have anything else to do. I am all ears.'

You gulped down, the alcohol helping you express your problems to this stranger who introduced himself as you did too, getting aquatinted with one another, talking over all kinds of subjects.

Jesse had to admit you were a deep breath of fresh air, opening up so much too him, but he guessed that's what divorce does to a woman. You both talked so much that you didn't realize that people started to go away, one by one leaving the club to do their own business.

"I'm sorry if I burdened you with my problems." you spoke over a deep breath of Malboro smoke, blushing a little, an aspect Jesse was looking forward to doing more to you.

'Not at all. I enjoyed our time together, and let me tell you, if a man doesn't know what a beauty he has before his eyes and doesn't appreciate it, he should just drop dead.'

You laughed at his words, you were glad that after weeks of mourning yourself into blankets and watching drama movies, someone could actually make you laugh and smile.

"Thank you. For your time and everything. I'm sure you could have been doing something better than listening to a little girl's problems." you said, finishing your cigarette and taking a sip of your drink.

Jesse smirked, brown eye sparkling with mischief.

'I doubt it, sweetcheeks.'

You blushed and looked down, the pet name he called you making your stomach do all kinds of twists.

He got up and offered you his hand which you took, walking with him towards the exit. You were the only people left in the club, the owner probably sighing with relief that Cromeans finally left without causing problems.

As you exited through the double doors, you both were met by heavy rain. His car was just a few feet away, but the rain would probably make you both soaked reaching the black luxury vehicle.

Jesse pulled his black dress jacket off and put it around your naked shoulders, the piece of clothing enveloping you in warmness, obviously too big for your so much smaller frame.

"T-Thank you." you said, looking up at Jesse, whose gaze was centered on your lips, looking so inviting and delicious too taste.

He couldn't hold himself anymore, his face moving towards your, his rougher lips pressing against yours, the kiss starting so simple that it turned into a make-out session, tongues running against one another; the taste of alcohol so appetizing and the expensive male cologne he was sporting didn't help you either.

It felt like an eternity, but the kiss finally ended, your eyes looking into the deep pool of brown that promised so many sinful images and it consumed your rational part of your brain.

Fingertips typed on the phone.

'My place?'

"Yeah."

[eleanorbloom]

When You’re Ready Ch. 17

Pairing: Bryce Lahela x f! MC (Eleanor Bloom) x Ethan Ramsey.

Word Count: 6.6k  (Am I sorry? Absolutely not.)

Warnings: Angst and cussing.

Taglist @utterlyinevitable​ @binny1985​ @shanzay44​ @choicesficwriterscreations​ @laiba-the-person​ @starrystarrytrouble​ @lahellacute​ @lucy-268​  @cinnamonspongecake​ @romewritingshop​ @bratzlahela​ @mrs-raleighcarrera​​   @mercury84choices​  @curiousconch​

Chapter 17: Truly, Madly, Deeply.

I'll love you more with every breath Truly, madly, deeply do I will be strong I will be faithful 'Cause I'm counting on A new beginning A reason for living A deeper meaning, yeah

 “I’m an asshole.”

Aurora stared at Bryce leaning against the wall with his face buried in his forearm and his shoulders slumped. Defeated. Ashamed. Mortified.

“Bryce, if I told you this is not to make you feel worse than you already feel, it’s because you had understandable reasons to be mad. This whole situation between Eleanor and Ethan is… complicated and adding the information Elijah gave it to you only made things worse.”

Bryce stood straight and faced his friend, his eyes glistening.

“Understandable reasons. Thinking that Eleanor slept with Ramsey and she would dump me it’s an understandable reason to ignore her even if she had never given me any reasons to distrust her? I think not. It’s awful.”

His voice was full of regret and desperation, and even if seeing Bryce like that was painful for her, she didn’t regret her decision.

“You got caught in a misunderstanding. I bet you thought the worst because you’re afraid and that’s understandable. Now you know the truth and you can move on.”

“Move on?—He turned around and started pacing around the hallway trying to contain his anger.—"How can I move on if I know the last three days could’ve been so much different and I…”

“Bryce, stop there.”—Aurora snapped, serious. —"You have to stop wallowing in what-ifs and should’ves right now, because is not going to lead you anywhere, and is not going to help Eleanor either. She needs you. You’re the person she needs the most now, so you have to be in your best shape and mood to help her. Your feelings are important, but right now you have to focus on her.”

Bryce stopped in the middle of the hallway and sighed loudly, then he nodded and looked up at Aurora.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m not usually like this, I don’t lose control this easily, it’s just…”

It’s just that he couldn’t imagine a life without Eleanor, and he couldn't live with the fact that he could've held her, and kiss her, and love her the last three days but he didn't because he was blind and scared.

His breath started raging and he winced, trying to contain the emotions that were overwhelming him. The idea of losing her was becoming more palpable than ever.

“It’s okay, Bryce. You love her, she’s your girlfriend, I’d be more worried if you hadn’t lost your shit by now. Come here.”

Aurora pulled him into a hug, and he wrapped her instantly as if holding her was like clinging to the last drop of sanity he had left.

Guilt had always been his weak spot. He learned it when he left Keiki in Maui and never came back, and to this day he was still dealing with the consequences and trying to make up for the lost time.  

And now he was dealing with another kind of guilt, and facing death was making everything worse. The effects were instant, devastating, and maddening.

After a minute of herculean effort to not crying his soul out, Bryce pulled away from Aurora, feeling more serene and like a lot of weight had been taken off his shoulders.  

“Thank you, Aurora.”—He muttered, staring deeply at her chocolate eyes, trying to convey his feelings.— “You’re an amazing friend.”

If it wasn’t for her, Bryce would’ve drowned in guilt, shame, and self-loathing to a depth so dangerous, it would've taken an impossible effort to come afloat by himself.

Aurora smiled at him and shook him by the shoulders.

“Anytime you need, I’ll be there for you. You’re not alone.”

“Likewise.”

“Dr. Lahela?”

Bryce turned around and found a nurse a few feet away, looking at them cautiously, almost sorry for interrupting the intimate moment.  

“Yes, Marlene?”

“I’ve been trying to contact Eleanor’s family for a couple of hours, but no success. Dr. Ramsey told me you probably have an alternative number? Or maybe you could have access to Eleanor’s phone so we could get another number?”

“And what numbers do you have?”

“Her family emergency contact was her mom’s cellphone and a landline in Cincinnati.”

“And none of them works?”

“The cellphone is out of service, and no one answers in her house.”

Bryce frowned, thoughtful, and after a few seconds, he nodded.

“Oh. Of course. Eleanor’s parents aren’t in the city. They went to Chile to spend the national holidays with her mom’s family. We should try with her brother, he’s in college in Michigan. Where’s Eleanor’s phone?”

“It’s at the Diagnostics Office, with the rest of her belongings.”

Bryce and Aurora entered the empty office. In the center of the round table was a plastic bag with Eleanor’s clothes, shoes, and her phone. Bryce grabbed her phone and unlocked it with his fingerprint without a moment's hesitation.

Aurora chuckled without hiding the surprise in her eyes.

“What?”

“One thing is knowing her password, but adding your fingerprint?”

“It’s faster when you wanna put a song on Spotify.—He shrugged with a nonchalant expression on his face.—"She has access to mine too.”

Aurora and Marlene shared a knowing smile, but he didn’t notice it.              

Bryce scrolled through Eleanor’s contacts list. When he found “Benja”, he dialed instantly. After several rings, a whispering voice was heard on the other side of the line.

“Hello? Andrew? I’m in class right now.”

“Um, hello Benjamin, this is Bryce Lahela.”—He said softly.

“Bryce Lahela…  oh, shoot. Hello. You’re my sister’s boyfriend, right?”

“Y… Yes. Can we talk? I have something important to tell you.”

“Okay, wait a second.”

While he was waiting, Bryce couldn’t help but feel shivers down his spine. It was the first time he was talking to a member of Eleanor’s family, and even if he knew her family was aware of their relationship, it made him feel nervous reaching this milestone, especially under terrible circumstances, and after the doubts he had been feeling the past few days.

“Okay, I’m out. Something happened?”

Bryce tried to balance the concern of a boyfriend with the calmness and professionalism acquired in his medical career to not shock Benjamin more than necessary.

“Unfortunately, yes. There was an assassination attempt on a Senator here in Edenbrook, it was Eleanor’s patient, and she was caught in the middle. The hospital tried to contact your mother, but as she’s in Chile, I decided to contact you directly.”

“Shit. Yes, you did the right thing. How is she? What happened exactly?”

“She’s stable at the moment. This assassin used a canister with an unknown substance, so the hospital is working to figure out what was inside as soon as possible.  It already killed a man, and there’s a nurse in a coma."

“Oh my god, no…”

Bryce could sense the pain Benjamin was feeling even if he couldn’t see him. He knew how much Eleanor adored her brother, so it was natural that Benjamin would feel the same way about her. And knowing his sister was in danger of course would cause this type of reaction, especially being away.

“Is she awake? Can I speak with her?”

“She’s in quarantine, so is kind of difficult to let you talk through the phone, but I can try.”

“No, it’s okay. Don’t worry. I… I’ll fly as soon as I can to Boston.”

“Do you have a number so we can call your parents?”

“I’ll do it. I have my grandma’s landline, that’s the quickest way to contact mom.”

“Okay, then. Let me know if you need anything, alright? Do you have money to fly here?”

“Yes, I have a credit card to use in case of emergencies. Thank you, Bryce.”

“No problem.”

After a few more questions and Bryce giving him his number, Benjamin hung up. If he was lucky, he would be able to land in Boston in three hours.

“Okay, Benjamin is going to contact Eleanor’s parents and once he's here, they'll have a video call with the Team so they can inform Eleanor’s state more detailly.”

“Understood. Thank you so much, Dr. Lahela. I’ll let know Dr. Ramsey.”

“No problem, glad I could help.”

When Bryce grabbed his own phone to save Benjamin’s number, he noticed he had several missed calls and messages from Keiki.

“Bryce, I read that something happened at the hospital. Please answer me.” “I know you probably are in the OR but please call me when you see this” “Are you okay?”

Bryce sighed and dialed her number.

“Bryce? Oh my god, how are you? Why you didn’t answer!”

“I was at the surgery, Keiki. I told you it would last long”—He lied, but regretted it the second he let out the words.

“I know, but… I was worried, the news are saying the police is in the hospital, that someone tried to kill a Senator. Is that true?”

Bryce pondered his words. There was no point in lying, sooner or later she would find out, and it was better if it was from him.  So he told her the truth. That the rumors she saw on the news were true, and that Eleanor was in danger. Keiki was desperate and wanted to come over to the hospital to see her, but even if he needed his sister here, he had to play the responsible and serious older brother for once in his life.

“Keiki, it’s better if you stay at home. Is too dangerous here and I think Eleanor would kill me if I let you come over.”

She chuckled.

“That’s true. Better not give her a hard time.”

“Exactly.”

“Okay, but please, keep me informed.”

“I will. And if you need anything, please call me, and stay safe. I’m probably staying here tonight.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.  Please send Ella all my love if you see her, okay?”

“Sure, thank you, sis."

Three hours later, Bryce was deep in thoughts sitting in a chair near the atrium, when he saw the vivid image of Eleanor walking towards him.  He had to blink several times.

“Damn, pictures give you an idea, but I didn’t know you and Elle were so alike.— He joked, standing up from the chair and offering his hand to the guy in front of him. —"Hello Benjamin, nice to meet you.”

The situation wasn’t appropriate for jokes, but somehow Bryce felt like he needed to kill the tension from the start. Eleanor had told him her brother was ongoing and nice, and it just felt right to act that way with him, instead of serious and gloomy.

Benjamin returned the handshake and smiled.

He was way taller than Eleanor but not taller than him, and he had an athletic body, even if he wasn't on any sports team at college. He was just a soccer and basketball aficionado, or at least that’s what Eleanor had told him.

“Nice to meet you too, Bryce. For what it's worth, you’re as handsome as you seem in Ellie’s Pictogram. Thought you were using some Ken filter, but nope, that’s really you.—Benja teased, containing a laugh.

Bryce couldn’t help but chuckle.

“100% real, no weird filters, I promise.”

“Any updates?”

“None. She’s stable and was sedated right after we spoke the first time, so she should be awake by now. The rest is working in the labs trying to find out what could’ve been inside the canister.”

“And you’re not going?”

“I was hired as moral support. My friends are more expert in that field than me, I’m just a surgeon.”—Bryce replied sheepishly, shrugging.

“But the best surgical resident or that’s what I’ve heard.”

His eyes widened for a second, but then Bryce shook his head, amused.

“She told you that?”

“That and other fangirly praises like “oh, he’s so cute, so charming, and talented, the best surgeon, he’s amazing.”

His heart did a flip. He never expected Eleanor would talk about him like that to her brother. Or that she would talk about him at all.

“You must be really impressive to have my sister babbling like a teenager at the age of 27.”

“What can I say? I’m a total catch.”—Bryce gave him his characteristic charming smile, feeling somehow relieved for a moment. It was like Benjamin was giving him the same relaxed and nice vibes he always felt around Eleanor.

Benjamin laughed and Bryce’s heart did another flip as he saw traces of Eleanor’s smile in him. She was everywhere. In the shape of his eyes, the way he quirked his brows, in his grin, even he could hear her in his still marked Ohioan accent.

“Yeah, I’m pretty cocky too, ask my friends and everyone will say a round yes, but your sister doesn’t deserve any less.”

“I agree completely.”

After a few minutes, Bryce and Benjamin stood in front of the quarantined room. Eleanor was half-asleep staring at Rafael, who was sleeping.

“Andrew”—Benjamin muttered.

Eleanor was extremely pale, her eyes were puffy, and her lips parched and cracked, but the moment she opened her eyes and recognized Benjamin, her whole face brightened with love and surprise.  

“Benja! Ohmygod! What are you doing here?”

“Bryce contacted me so I had to come to see you. How are you?”

Eleanor stood up with difficulty. When she reached the door, her eyes were full of tears.

“Bebé… I’m… well, I’ve been better, but right now I’m so happy to see you.”

“Me too, sis.”

Both siblings shared a smile, the same kind smile, and Bryce couldn't help but mirror them.

“Well, I leave you to it. I’ll let Dr. Ramsey know you’re here so you can have the meeting with your parents.”

Bryce turned to leave but Eleanor stopped him.

“Bryce, wait.”

“Yes?”

“Thank you, thank you for calling my brother.”

Eleanor gave him a tender smile, full of thankfulness and adoration.

“Yeah, thank you, Bryce, for all you’ve done for my sister.”—Benjamin added, earnestly.

“It’s nothing. Let me know if you need anything.”

And he left the siblings catching up with their lives, the younger trying to cheer up the older with the usual jokes and mocks siblings have.

Hours later, Eleanor paged to report a new symptom Rafael had manifested before falling into a coma. Hopefully, it would be the key to find the answer they’ve been trying to reach all day.

“Bryce?”—Aurora murmured, approaching him in the hallway. “Dr. Ramsey wants to talk to you, he’s in his personal office.”

When Bryce turned to her he didn’t need a second glance to read the panic in her eyes. He gulped and then forced himself to smile at Eleanor.

“See you later, gorgeous.”

Bryce walked to the office as fast as he could. When he reached Ethan’s office, he breathed deeply before getting in. As he opened the door, he found the attending looking at the window, pensive. He looked small and fragile, and when Bryce stood behind him, he saw how haggard he was in the reflection of the window. After a few moments, Ethan turned to face him, and he didn’t even bother to hide his feelings.

“Do you know what’s in the canister?”

“Yes. June was right. It’s…”.—Ethan cleared his throat, brows knitted in worry.—“ It’s a maitotoxine.”

“Maitotoxine? I think I’m not familiar with the name.”

“It’s an extremely potent toxin commonly found in fish, but this… this toxin is something I’ve never seen before. Not June, not Baz…”—Ethan shoved his hand through his hair, evidencing his frustration.

“What does this mean?”—Bryce said in a tiny voice, already knowing what Ethan was about to say.

“There is no antidote for this, Bryce.”

For a moment, Bryce felt like he would faint, his mind went clouded, and lost track of space and time. His body wasn’t strong enough to process such information. Such undeniable and hurtful truth.

What he had been fearing all day was now materializing.

“And what are you going to do? Can you create an antidote or modify another one with a similar molecular structure? That has been done lots of times.”

“Yes, that’s what we are hoping to do. Aurora informed me that a group of doctors from Mass Kenmore is coming to Edenbrook to help, so we’ll have the best minds working on an antidote.”

But they had to have it before it’s too late.”

“You have to… you have to find the antidote, Ethan. She can’t die… She…”

Bryce suddenly got out of breath. The desperation was brewing again. The pain was inexorable. He couldn’t hold it anymore.

“I can’t lose her. Ethan, please… You have to...”

He couldn’t tell when happened, but all at once, he found himself drowning in sobs and with large tears streaming past his neck, reaching his chest.

He did his best to not succumb to his feelings in the OR because Kyra needed him, and he couldn't fail her nor Eleanor.

He managed to hold it while he was with Aurora because there was still hope and Aurora forced him to focus on Eleanor.

He was doing fine keeping his hopes high, trusting they would find out what was in the canister and then set a treatment and everything would be alright.

But there was no cure, no antidote.

Even if one hundred doctors were working on it, no one could assure him that they could do it before it’s too late. Before she’s gone.

He didn't even want to think in a world without her, but the sole draft, just a slight hint of it was devastating, unbearable.

He started gasping for air. His guts were shaking uncontrollably. The lump he felt in his throat at OR was now bigger and even more painful. His entire body was numb.

This was a living nightmare.

After a few seconds, Bryce took a chair and sat down before his legs could fail him.  Ethan did the same.

“We have to stay positive, Bryce. Many of us have experience with research and with the help of Mass Kenmore and your friends, I’m sure will be on time to fight the toxin.”

“I wanna believe that, I’ve been believing this shit all day, Ethan. But… if it’s too late. I…”—He rubbed his face with both hands, his face red and wet with tears. Then he buried his face in his hands.—“She doesn’t deserve this… She can’t die… Please…”

Ethan patted him in the shoulder, comfortingly, his eyes haunted with fear and sadness.

“Bryce, I won’t let anything happen to Eleanor ...”—He hesitated for a moment, pondering his next words.— “You know what she means to me. I know you do. And I’ll do everything I can to save her, I promise. Whatever it takes. I won’t let anything happen to her. "

Bryce looked at him defeated.

“If I could, I would do it too, but I’m so useless. I feel so useless.”

"No, Bryce, on the contrary, you have done for her more than any of us could. If she’s still able to have a smile on her face despite the hell she’s living, if she’s still standing is not only because she’s incredibly strong. It’s because she has you. You’re part of the reason she hasn’t fallen into a coma yet.”

There was a painful rawness in those words. In another time and circumstances, Ethan would have never been able to say it aloud, mostly for pride and because he didn’t use to open to anyone. But not today. His love for Eleanor was selfless enough to let him recognize that if she was doing good was because of Bryce, and she had given him enough bravery to accept it out loud in front of the person she had chosen over him. Because Ethan only needed one second of watching Eleanor looking at Bryce to realize she was in love with him.

The only person Eleanor needed, was Bryce.

Ethan’s words felt like an absolute and relieving certainty to Bryce, mostly because who was saying it was the person he would expect it the less, and it gave him the strength he needed to keep going. To keep being there for Eleanor in this difficult night.

“Thank you, Ethan.”—Bryce said after a while, regaining breath and clarity.

The attending nodded and then stood up from the chair.

“Come on, we have to speak with Eleanor, and she’ll need you by her side.”

Eleanor was hopeless. Bryce could tell how the slight hope she had inside her had vanished with the news.

“We’ll do our best to find the antidote. Just keep fighting Eleanor.”—Elijah reassured.

The doctors from Mass Kenmore and the rest of their friends started to go. Sienna was heading Benjamin to the fifth floor so he could have some rest. He didn’t want to leave the hospital in case something happened.

And then, there was only Ethan and Bryce outside the room.

Eleanor smiled at Ethan, noticing how troubled and scared he was, as if he didn’t want to leave her there, knowing things could go wrong anytime and he couldn’t say goodbye. But he knew it wasn’t his place to be anymore. He knew it was Bryce’s.

“Thank you, Ethan. For everything.”

“We’ll make it, Eleanor. Keep fighting just as you’ve been doing until now.”—He stared deeply into her eyes for a moment, before turning around and leave Bryce alone in the hallway.  

Bryce watched him leave, and when he looked at Eleanor, her swelling eyes were already on him, clinging onto him even if she couldn’t touch him. Like his eyes were strong and powerful enough to hold her to life.

She was tired. She was giving up.

“It’s gonna be okay, Elle, I promise.”

“It won’t. How they’re going to create an antidote in just a few hours? Raf and Danny are in a coma, they could go at any moment, so do I."

“Yes, it could happen at any moment, but that moment could take hours, even days, and I’m sure the team will have it on time.  They have a lot of brilliant people working on it, with tons of experience. They’ll make it, I know.”

Eleanor shook her head hastily, sobbing.

“It’s just I’m so tired, Bryce. I… I can’t take it anymore, I’m tired of being strong and show hope and shit, I want this to be over, I’m done.”

“I know you are, babe. You have been so strong and brave, it’s understandable that you want a break. You deserve it, but you have to keep fighting, okay?”

“The only reason I’m doing it it’s because of you. Because somehow you don’t let me fall. If it wasn’t for you, I don’t think I would be still standing. I don’t know I’d be here. I wouldn’t be that strong.”

Bryce smiled tenderly at her puffed eyes.

“You would. Don’t you know it already, Eleanor? That strength that you have is all you. You have it inside you. You always have.”

“Don’t you know it already, Bryce? You make me stronger. You know it’s true.”

“Glad to be of service.”—He flashed her a smile that made her smile too.—“But this is mostly you.”

“I wish I could hold you right now. I miss you so much.”

“Maybe you can.”

“How?”

“There’s another hazmat suit out here. I could go inside and make you company for a while.  I hate the idea of you being alone in a moment like this.”

“Would you do that for me?”

“How dare to ask that, Eleanor Andrea Bloom? You know I would do anything for you.”

Eleanor bit his lower lip, compassing her sobs for a moment.

“I’d love to have you here with me.”

“That’s it, then.”

A few minutes later, Bryce entered the room with the hazmat suit on, and a dashing smile adorning his face.  

“Well, what do you think? Am I still handsome? Or am I somehow more handsome? Be honest.”—He said flirtily.

She shook her head, chuckling.

“God, how I missed you, Johnny Bravo.”—She said looking at him from head to toes.—"I think it’s your best look yet. You’ll catch a lot of babes with that.”

“Ah,”—He growled, taking slow steps towards her— “but you know there’s just one babe I want, and I have it right here in front of me.”

Eleanor looked up at him, almost not believing he was in front of her, that she was able to touch him.

In an intent to believe it, she cut the distance and wrapped Bryce in a tight embrace.

“You’re here, you’re really here.”

“You’re not the only one who was dying for a hug, you know? Especially after all the opportunities, I wasted in these few days."

Bryce tightened his hold, almost scared that Eleanor would vanish into thin air any second now.

“Elle, I’m…”

“Shhh… Not now.”

He nodded and both remained silent, savoring the embrace, the sweet feeling of having each other in their arms. Even if they couldn’t feel the warmth and smell they loved so much, feeling their arms wrapped around those so well known curves was sufficient. It brought them joy, peace. A sense of reality in the middle of that living hell.  

After a minute, her limbs started trembling and her breath got short.

“Come on, babe, let’s get you to bed.”

Bryce took her hand and helped her laid down. Then, somehow, he managed to squeeze in the bed beside her.  

“How’s that?”

“Much, much better.”—Eleanor placed a hand over his waist and then added: —“My brother really liked you. A lot.”

“I know. I liked him too.”

“You know?”

“I told him I was a total catch, cause I am, and he agreed with me. That totally means that he likes me, right?”

“Bryce…”—She laughed, rolling her eyes.

“What? It’s the truth! I didn’t force him to agree or anything! I mean, you did half the job by telling him all those incredible things about me.”

“He told you that? Oh, that brat!”

Bryce shrugged, amused while Eleanor shook her head.

I’m glad you finally get to know each other, and you actually liked each other.”

"I mean, it's hard not to. He's really nice and you've told me so much about him I feel like I've known him for a long time."

“I think something like that happened to me with Keiki, even if I had absolutely no idea about her existence before I met her”—Eleanor teased, feigning annoyance.

“Keiki… She’s been worried about you all day. She was crazy to come up here, but I told her you would kill me if she came. But I’ve been giving her updates every hour.”

“Oh, yes. I would’ve been so fucking mad, Bryce Lahela. I’m glad you kept her safe.”—Then she sighed.—"The poor thing, must be all alone. You should go to see her.”

“I know, but I can’t leave you here, Elle.”

“Would it be too selfish of me if I tell you I don’t want you to leave?”

“No. Not at all.”—His look softened.—“I don’t want to leave, either. In fact, I won’t leave your side, Eleanor.”

Bryce gave him a tiny smiled and they stared at each other, savoring once again the moment of being together. After a while, Eleanor laughed.

“What is it?”

“You look so fucking handsome, Bryce, it’s ridiculous, and I look like shit. I’m done a complete mess.”

Bryce chuckled, spotting the dark circles around her eyes, her tousled hair, how pale she was. He really hadn’t noticed how bad she looked.

“Yeah, you look like shit”—He teased.—"But you know what? You’re still the most beautiful creature in the universe, princess.”

Her eyes were swelling with tears, and a moment later, a sob escaped her mouth.

“Okay, okay, I take it back,”—He added seconds, later, noticing her swelling eyes. “you don’t look like shit, you look amazing, babe, incredible. Ready for a Vogue photoshoot. Ready for the Oscars.”

Bryce couldn’t tell if what escaped her mouth was a sob or a giggle, but her face had lightened somehow.

Somehow, he managed to end her anguish and ease her pain.

Somehow.

He didn’t know how.

As if it was pure luck.

But she perfectly knew it wasn’t luck.

“Gosh, Bryce…”—She couldn’t continue. It felt like she was out of breath.—"Bryce I…”

She brought her hands to the side of his head, her thumbs over the face shield as if she was caressing his cheeks.

She locked eyes with him, and that look, that adoring look made him feel millions of shivers through his all body. Those dreamy tender eyes managed to convey all the emotions that were brewing inside her.

And Bryce was finally, finally able to see it, after missing it so many times that day.

“Te amo.”

He was at last, at last able to hear it, after longing for it for so long.

Her eyes were looking directly into his soul, into his heart, pouring everything she had inside to fill him with the most sincere and sweet love. With adoration, admiration, tenderness. With the purest feelings anyone could imagine.

And those two words sounded like relief. Like she had been choking and those words out loud were acting like the air she had been needing for so long.

“I love you so, so, so much, Bryce.”

And her eyes now were even fuller with adoration and candor. Full of happiness and life, even if ten minutes ago she had been feeling ready to die.

“I… I wish I had realized sooner, and these weren’t the circumstances where I’m able to say it… but if I don’t make it, I don’t want to go without you knowing what I feel about you.”

“Babe, you’ll make it, you don’t need to do this just because you’re here.”

“I’m doing this because that’s how I truly feel. I’m in love with you.”

“You really are?”

Even if he had been waiting for those words for months, he couldn’t believe it. Even if he had been receiving signs all day, from different people, he still couldn’t believe it.

“Yes. Yesterday I was finally able to see it, but it has been there for a while.”

“How so?”

“I’ll explain it later. You need to know some things first.”

“Okay.”

“As you know, I went to Ethan’s apartment after the game.”

“Aha.”

And she told him everything that happened that night. She didn’t keep anything. Well, except the personal stuff Ethan had shared with her, but the confession, the things he promised her, the kiss, how she felt after that, what she talked with Aurora. Everything. Because she had nothing to hide and he deserved to know everything, just as it always had been.

“And I just like that, I realized that I was over him. Just like you said. I was in front of the Ethan I used to love, telling me he loved me, offering me everything. But it turned out I… I didn’t want him anymore.”

“I’m sorry it had to be this painful to you. I had no idea you had been hurt so much.”

“Yeah, I had it blocked, but I’m sure I would’ve told you if it wasn't the case.

Bryce stroke her hair in the most tender way he could, his eyes haunted.

“I’m sorry, babe. I’m for being so distant and an ass with you. I should’ve let you talk, but I was afraid of what you would tell me”

“I know. I know and I completely understood it. But I can’t deny that at some point I was afraid that… I hurt you to the point of you not wanting anything to do with me anymore. That going with Ethan that night was the last straw and that no matter what happened between him and me, you… you would want to break up."

“No, of course not. How could I decide something like that without a warning? And with something I pushed you to do? No. I was just… trying to delay the inevitable. The suffering of knowing that you gave him a chance.”

“Well, I didn’t. And I realized that I was in love with you instead. At last.”

“Are you sure about that? You know there’s no need to hurry…”

“Bryce, why is so hard to believe it? Should I shout it with a megaphone, or maybe post photos and stories on my Pictogram telling that I’m truly, madly, deeply in love with you so you can believe me? Because I’m willing to.”

Bryce laughed, incredulous.

“Truly, Madly, Deeply. Damn. Just like that Savage Garden song?”

“The very same. I like the 90s.”

“A woman after my own heart.”

She bit her lower lip, smiling.

“I cannot believe how blind I was. It has been there, the whole time!”

“I’m listening.”

“It’s…”

Her whole face lit up with that sunny smile he loved so much. For a moment, he forgot where they were.

“It’s in the way I look at you, like a fool. Like I was fifteen. It’s the fact that you’re my first thought in the morning and my last one before going to sleep. You’re the first person I think of when something good happens, or when something bad happens too. In your arms is where I feel safe, and I know there's no other place I'd rather be. And god, I laugh with all your jokes, even the bad ones, and I don't find you cocky anymore because all that you say about yourself is true, and I think about you all the damn day, Bryce. I’m all day wanting for the day to end so I can see you and kiss you. And…”

Eleanor stopped for a moment, trying to catch some breath. Bryce shook his head. He had the stupidest smile she had ever seen on him. The same smile she was sure she had on her face right now.

“Another example? My brother. I haven’t been able to stop talking about you. It wasn’t like this from the beginning, but now I’ve just realized that the last few weeks I haven’t done anything but tell him, or my mom, how happy I am with you. I’ve been even imagining how it would be if I ever introduce you to my abuela. I bet she would adore you the moment she meets you, and she would love you more than me, and would cook your favorite meal, and would give you the last spoon of ice cream and… and I really don’t care, because you deserve it. You deserve the last spoon of ice cream, and my grandma’s meals, and … Everything. You deserve everything, Bryce.  I don’t know what else to say. I’m in love with you like a teenager, and I feel like never before. What did you do to me?”

He smiled, tears of joy streaming down his face. That slump in his throat hurt again, but for different reasons. It was for the absolute tenderness and adoration he was feeling inside his chest. Admiration. Love. God. He couldn’t understand how he could love her so much. How much she meant to him. How happy and complete she made him feel. He had never felt this for anybody before, he knew it already, but now he was realizing he would never feel this way for anybody else, ever.

“I’m crazy about you too, Eleanor. I’ve been holding these feelings for so long to not scare you or pressure you, but god, I feel the same way. I think about you all day, and every time I think about the future, you’re in there.”

“That’s a relief, because for a moment I thought I was being too cheesy and clingy.”

“Babe, you’re always cheesy. You can’t help it around me.”

“You created a monster, Bryce Lahela.”

“I like cheese. I would eat cheese all day. And for the record, I would definitely share the last spoon of ice cream with you"

Bryce winked at her and then pressed her body against his.

“God, I wish I could kiss you.”

“You will.”

“But I want to kiss you noooow."

Eleanor pouted and butterflies fluttered ferociously in his stomach. She made him feel like fifteen too.

“Well, miss impatience, is nice to finally meet you.”

"Tell me that you're not dying to kiss me right now."

“I am. But we’ll have to manage with what we have for now.”

“How so?”

“Imagination. How would you like me to kiss you the next time?”

“If there’s a next time.”

Bryce scowled her and squeezed her waist.

“There will be. You’ll get through this, babe. I promise.”

She gave him a sad smile.

“So?”

“So what?”

“How will you want me to kiss you after you get out of here.”

“Mmm… I think… Slow and sweet, just like our ‘first kiss’ at Isabella’s”

“Mmm what a good kiss. Cute and romantic.”

“Or maybe passionate and breathtaking, just like that kiss at the beach, on your birthday. God, I can’t decide!”

“Don’t worry, we can always try both.”

“I hope so.”

“We will. You have to believe me.”

“Okay. I believe you. If I die, I’ll come to visit you every night, Bryce Lahela.”

“Lucky for me you won’t die. I would hate to have your ghost every night by my side and not being able to kiss you and do you dirty things.”

“Bryce!”—Eleanor giggled. “Okay, okay, I believe you. Bring me that dreamy kiss now!”

“Close your eyes.”

Eleanor obeyed and closed her eyes.

“Remember that night at the Museum?”

“I could never forget”—She muttered—.

Bryce took her hand and with the tip of her fingers, he brushed her lips delicately, exposing her inner lip for a moment. Then with her thumb, he caressed her mouth.

“I will kiss you sweetly and delicately while I hold you by the waist, transmitting how much I love you, how much you mean to me. How happy I am to have you in my life.”

After a few seconds, she opened her eyes, smiling.  

“That night was perfect.”

“Yeah, and you looked gorgeous.”

“But you, you were stunning in that silky pink shirt… And the night was so nice. Warm and starry. Oh, and there was music playing.”

“Yes, that slow jazz… When I fall in love… It will be forever”—He sang slowly.

“Or I’ll never fall in love…”—She continued.—“You remember the song?”

“Obviously. It played on my mind on repeat for like two weeks.”

“Oh. That means you had that kiss playing on repeat on your head for two weeks?”

“I plead the fifth.”

She chuckled.

“Well, I, for one, thought about that kiss a lot in the following days. Another example of how goofy you leave me.”

“Good I wasn’t the only one.”

Suddenly, her smile faded, and Eleanor looked at him earnestly.

“Thank you for taking a chance on us that night, Bryce. Since that day you’ve given me nothing but happiness. And I’m sure that from that day there was no returning point for me. Sooner or later I would fall for you, and I’m glad I finally did.”

“I would do it a million times, in a heartbeat, Eleanor.”

“And I’d choose you a million times, over and over again. I only wish that none of those million times had to involve me dying just when I realized I was in love with you.”

“You’ll make it, babe. I have so much love to give you, that I won’t let you go so easily.”

_____

A/N: Hello! If you make it this far, I have to thank you! I know it was a super long chapter, but it was really important (for the story and for me) and I honestly didn’t want to save words, nor split it in two chapters.

If I had to resume Bryce in this chapter in two words those would be: Husband material. And next chapter will be husband material x3264546.

Thank you for all your support, I hope you liked this chapter. I’d love to hear your opinions in the comments.

A big hug to each and every one of you!

A/N2: *spoiler* Graphic description of Eleanor after chapter 17:

I think it works the other way around too 😂

[mylifewithhurley]

My Life with Hurley Story

My Hidradenitis Suppurativa Story

l believe the best way to start is with a description of the disease - and this is my description of the disease, based mostly on my experiences, but also drawing from the hundreds of medical articles, forums, and discussions I've had the pleasure of reading over the past decade in my attempts to understand and manage my disease better. Hidradenitis Suppurativa (HS) is a chronic skin disease, in which pus and blood-filled abscesses form under the skin in the groin area, inner thighs, armpits and under the breasts. These abscesses can range from the size of a pea to as large as baseballs. They grow in size until they are close enough to the surface of the skin, and may break open. When they do, they either do not heal at all, or take a very long time to heal... I'm talking years. As open wounds, they constantly leak blood and pus. There is nothing more horrid than the smell of an HS wound, trust me. They are extremely painful, if you can imagine. Large abscesses can often restrict your ability to move your arms, if they are located in the armpit, or restrict your ability to walk and make it vert uncomfortable to sit, if they are in the groin or inner thigh area. With all that being said, you can imagine the shame and embarrassment such a condition can bring to a person. An individual with this disease can be extremely self-conscious and depression is very likely as well. There are some points I'd like to stress before I move on to my personal experience with the disease.

HS is NOT contagious. It is NOT the individuals fault. No one knows why this happens. HS has NOTHING to do with a person's hygiene. HS has NO cure!

IN THE BEGINNING...

My HS started out as small pus-filled bumps on my groin when I was around 15 years old. These were easily popped open and were not painful. They would come and go. They were a nuisance, but were not totally alarming. I did not know I had a "disease" at this time. I did not seek medical care. I was about 20 when bumps started appearing around my breasts. These were larger and had to grow a few days before I was physically able to squeeze them out. The pus was generally very dry, like something that would come out of a pimple on your face. It would quickly shoot out and splatter onto the mirror or whatever I was in front of. I mention this only to illustrate the change in consistency of the pus over time. They would heal, but always come back. Same spot, same size. Seeking help was difficult. I didn't want anyone to see. I can remember going to a walk-in doctor who prescribed a topical cream to rub on them. That didn't help. Eventually, the pain was too much to bare and I was forced to go to the emergency room. I went in the middle of the night. I had an abscess about the size of a quarter on my chest, between my breasts. It was so painful, I couldn't sleep. I had my first I&D (incision & drainage) that night with a very nice doctor. After he had cut it, he told me a nurse would come in to "pack" the wound and that I would be set up with home care. I didn't know what "packing" meant at that time, so when the nurse came in and simply covered the wound with gauze and tape, I thought I was good to go. That specific wound came and went over the years but it would easily break open after a week or so, and the pus and blood would pour out, like syrup, messing up my bra and clothes.

I went to a walk-in maybe a year or so later who I could tell really sympathized with me, but truly didn't know what to do. She referred me to a dermatologist. I waited months to see her. When I finally did, she was cold towards me. I didn't feel like she cared as she told me there was no point in treating this externally (I was hoping she would cut one or two open to give me some relief). She told me the only way to get rid of this was to do it from the inside. She prescribed me some pills (probably an antibiotic). I asked her if it had worked for others, and she nodded yes and she scooted me out. The pills she prescribed did wonders for the acne on my face but absolutely nothing for my HS. I was told to come back and see her in three months, but I never did. She didn't care enough.

For a long time, I just waited for the lesions to grow large and break open on their own. There's one that I actually tried opening with a needle (DO NOT DO THIS), and of course I just made it worse and probably make it stick around a lot longer than it would have had I just gone to a doctor. I had started working full time when I began getting abscesses on my upper leg, extremely close to my groin and bottom. This was extremely painful. I had to find creative ways to sit on my chair without drawing too much attention to myself. There were many days I wouldn't even sit. I would just do type on the computer standing up, pretending like I was only checking something out on the computer and would have to leave in a second to do something else. The days in which I did sit, I learned I needed to sit on my jacket or sweater, in order to not stain the chair with the drainage coming out of my open wounds, seeping through my pants and onto the furniture. I often walked funny, trying to avoid feeling the wounds rubbing against my pants. If anyone asked why, I just told them I had a problem in my leg.

It was a Sunday night when I decided I needed to see a doctor to drain one lesion on my inner buttocks. My mother took me to the emergency room. When the doctor had seen how large the abscess was, and the others that surrounded it, he called for a surgeon to come and take a look. The surgeon told me that I needed surgery, but because I had eaten dinner that night, and she and her team had already had a long day, I agreed to come back in on Wednesday for surgery. On that day, while the surgeon was briefing me on the surgery, I asked her if she didn't mind also draining a lesion under my arm. When I showed it to her, she couldn't refuse. When I awoke from surgery, she mentioned that she had arranged for a Infectious Disease doctor in the morning and also told me that I may want to consider plastic surgery, a suggestion I wish I had taken at that time. I was released from the hospital the following day and set up with home health care.

The Infectious Disease doctor examined me and prescribed me two antibiotics to take over a period of three months. Whether theses helped my case or not, I'm not sure. It's possible I could have been worse off if I hadn't taken them, but I wasn't getting better. I went on living my life just waiting for my abscesses to open and draining them myself - or going to the emergency room if I thought it was getting too large with no signs that it was going to resolve on its own. Going to the ER always meant that I was going to be set up with home health care, or what they call CCAC (Community Care Access Centre). Nurses could either come to your home to change your dressings and check on the progress of your wound, or, as they preferred, you could go into a near-by clinic every day or every other day for the same service. This may be common knowledge, but there are great nurses, and there are terrible nurses. I could write a book about my bad experiences with CCAC, but I won't elaborate. The point is, more often than not, CCAC nurses made my life more difficult than pleasant. 

DERMATOLOGY

My sister had told me about a dermatologist that would see patients without a referral. This sounded great to me because having to explain to doctor after doctor (or anyone, for that matter) about your disease and the things you've already tried to manage it is exhausting. I called and made myself an appointment for a few months later. When I met with Dr. A, I felt like he sympathized me and I had hope. He knew my disease. He had patients with my disease. He had touched my wounds and wiped away pus. He sampled the pus for testing. These are things the first dermatologist I had seen never did. He had a son who worked in clinical trials and had just finished a study on my disease with an expensive treatment called Humira. He called his son right there in the patient room to ask him if he knew of any upcoming studies so that I could possibly get medication for free, but unfortunately the answer was no. He had also treated patients with HS with Accutane, but this too was expensive. With the knowledge that I didn't have any drug coverage, Dr. A prescribed me two strong antibiotics to take over a course of three months. Those antibiotics did help some. When I revisited Dr. A after the three months had passed, he prescribed me another run of the antibiotics.

HS controls my life in every way. There's not a moment I'm not thinking about it. There's not a minute I am not uncomfortable or not in pain. There is not a decision I make without considering my disease. I have to think about my HS before doing the smallest tasks. There are times I put off going to the bathroom just because getting up, changing positions, can cause so much pain and discomfort, and I'm literally mentally preparing myself for what I'm about to experience. Needless to say, there are many activities I just cannot participate in. Simply getting into the car can be difficult. I dread going shopping - too much walking, which means wounds rubbing against my clothes. I'm often caught off guard when someone asks me why I'm walking funny, or holding my arm awkwardly, because I think I'm hiding it so well. HS also controls what I can wear. As much as I love form-fitting clothes, its just not comfortable to be in them. I don't wear anything white - my wounds will stain it. I don't wear anything sleeveless - my underarms are full of wounds I don't want anyone to see, not to mention the drainage that will have no place to hide. I try to wear my clothing as loosely as possible, but I'm fighting to keep my pride, despite this disease and I hate to look shabby. Depression is all over my face. I try to act happy as best I can, to not bring any attention to myself. I look back at old pictures, and miss how happy I was and how beautiful it was to not be in pain; to just feel nothing. I cry all the time. The tears often start because of the physical pain - but they quickly grow into a bawl just thinking about everything I've already been through, how much the disease controls my life, and how I don't have any idea how to make this better. HS affects my sleep, because it's not easy to fall asleep while you're in pain or you're too busy scratching or squeezing a nuisance of a wound. It's frustrating just knowing that I can't just tell someone, 'I have HS' and have them just know what it is and have a small idea what I'm going through - as I could have if I had something like arthritis or psoriasis. No one knows what this is. No one has heard of it. No one can ever understand - and so I don't try to explain it. I've tried before, and it only leads to individuals thinking they know how to take care of it. I've been told just to scrub it, just to take the pain and squeeze it out and it'll go away and never come back. I've been told to just use natural soaps; that my skin just can't handle the harsh chemicals. I've even been told that it's because I don't pray hard enough. Everybody thinks know, but nobody really knows. It hurts to know that people don't believe me when I say this is an actual disease! It cannot be healed by something as simple as washing it away. If it were that easy, I would have rid myself of this a long time ago, believe me. Would you tell a cancer patient to just wash it off? I didn't think so. My loved ones, who know my condition still don't know what I truly live with because I try so hard to be normal, act like it doesn't bother me, around them. Firstly, because I don't want their ideas on how to 'easily fix' the problem, and secondly, because I don't want to be pitied. I just want to be free. 

After two three-month courses of antibiotics, I was over it. I was over putting these pills into my body just to get little to no results. I stopped seeing Dr. A and went back to just dealing with it - drug free. This meant frequent visits to the emergency room and urgent care centres, and of course just waiting for some to burst on their own. I remember crying to a doctor at an urgent care, telling her how tired I was and asking her to I&D an abscess under my armpit. She told me there was no way to cure this and I was just going to have to live with it. How rude! I mean, so far I haven't found what she said to be untrue, but she could have been a little more comforting and optimistic. Can you believe she didn't even cut the abscess? She told me to take some antibiotics and wait for it to break open on its own. With this disease, I've learned that you're going to have to kiss many frogs to find your prince - kisses being doctor appointments, frogs being doctors, and the prince being a doctor who doesn't necessarily have all the answers, but just cares enough to try, and then try again. That night, I was in so much pain and a doctor refused to help me. Physically and mentally, I was fed up. I actually quit my job that next morning and applied for Employment Insurance. Getting up and ready in the morning was too hard and my supervisor was beginning to give me a hard time for the times I showed up a few minutes late after giving too much attention to a wound in the morning. I was physically and emotionally tired, and I truly just needed a break. So I quit. 

I must have had enough of 'just dealing with it on my own' again, because I decided to go see a doctor one more time. I went to see a family doctor, who prescribed me some antibiotics but also referred me to a lovely dermatologist, Dr. Nisha Mistry. Oh, Dr. Mistry, what can I say about you? On my first visit, she presented me with print-outs and spoke to me on what HS is, what the different causes might be and different treatments. Now, I had already read most of this online while doing my own research, but it truly meant a lot to me that she had taken the time out to read up on my disease prior to my visit. After I told her I had already tried antibiotics - maybe too many times, she told me about Humira. Humira defined by www.drugs.com:  "Humira (adalimumab) reduces the effects of a substance in the body that can cause inflammation. Humira is used to treat rheumatoid arthritis, juvenile idiopathic arthritis, psoriatic arthritis, ankylosing spondylitis, plaque psoriasis, and and a chronic skin condition called hidradenitis suppurativa."  Don't you just love how HS is the only disease they had to briefly define? She explained that she would only recommend this in extremely severe cases, because of the possible side effects. She had me change into a gown, and after taking a look at my wounds, she agreed I had a severe case. Unfortunately, like Dr. A had told me over a year prior, Humira is very expensive, and I didn't not have any drug coverage. She too, like Dr. A, knew of some clinical trials in which I could get the drug for free, but the trials had just ended before my meeting with her. That's when she told me about a program called compassionate care - where the Canadian government actually pays for your medicine because your doctor feels so terribly for you. That's my definition of compassionate care, anyway. She didn't make me any promises at that time, but told me she would put in an application for me. I was approved! There were a few tests and things I needed to do before I could officially start, but I eventually began my Humira treatment a few months later.  I also started working again around the start of my Humira treatment, about four months after I had quit my last job. 

I have to believe Humira helped me. It did not cure me, but I feel like my case got better. It's hard to say for sure because every time I would meet with Dr. Mistry for a check up, she would say it didn't look any better. But I felt better. My range of motion improved and I feel I was able to do more things a little more comfortably. I was still making visits to the emergency room, however. After one particular visit where I ended up staying the night, the hospital notified Dr. Mistry. She called me in a panic about a week later demanding that I come and see her right away. The hospital had totally exaggerated my symptoms. Apparently I had a fever when I was admitted, but they told her I came in shivering! They even told her I had been there for 3 days when it had really just been one night. I explained to her that it wasn't as serious as they made it seem, but she was still very concerned. She suggested I stop taking Humira immediately. At that time, I begged her to let me continue, but she pointed out that after eight months of treatment, I was not seeing sufficient results, and with the side effects of Humira, it may have been causing more harm than good. I agreed to stop, and after discussing with her some of the symptoms I was experiencing, she referred me to a gastroenterologist to check for Chron's disease, an internal medicine specialist, to just check me in general, and a general surgeon to actually operate on the HS manifestations. 

SURGERY

Dr. Mistry had suggested I see the gastroenterologist for of some of the symptoms I was experiencing. I had a consult with the gastroenterologist to explain my medical history and my recent symptoms. At that time, he said if it was Chron's, the Humira should have helped with that - but he proceeded to schedule me for a colonoscopy anyway. I was cleared for Chron's - which I was happy about - but that doctor never really addressed the reasons I may have been experiencing the symptoms Dr. Mistry was worried about. Sigh. Doctors. Dr. Mistry had wanted me to see an internal medicine doctor because I was experiencing many fevers and she just wanted to make sure my body chemistry was alright. Somehow that appointment never happened. I was, however, scheduled to meet with general surgeon Dr. K for a consultation, rather quickly, I might add. She was lovely. Before examining me, she explained that she was only a general surgeon, and if my case would require something called a 'flap', then she would have to refer me to a plastic surgeon. A quick glance at my skin would confirm that I, of course, was more of a plastic surgery candidate. My heart sank. Luckily, she knew of an excellent plastic surgeon, she said, and would be able to get me an appointment with him a lot sooner than it would typically take. She was very sympathetic and encouraging and I really wished she could be my surgeon. At that time, I had recently been to the hospital for an I&D and was visiting the CCAC nurses every night. Getting the wound packed was very painful because the incision had been made so small. Dr. K was nice enough to widen it for me. As her nurse was dressing the wound, she assured me that the plastic surgeon I was being referred to was very good, told me I was very brave and that she was impressed with how high my spirits were. If only she knew I was fighting back the tears that would burst out of me as soon as I entered my car. 

It felt like forever before I got a chance to see the plastic surgeon, Dr. T. If Dr. K had in fact expedited my appointment, I feel really sorry for those who don't have that privilege. My parents came with me to this appointment. After I had told them about what happened at my appointment with Dr. K, my dad told me to let him know of any future appointments. It means a lot to me that he didn't want me going alone. I'm guessing Dr. T had just finished reading a Wikipedia page or something on HS when he walked into my room because he was basically telling me all the things I would have read had I quickly did a google search on the disease. He basically told me at that time that surgery was not a good idea because of complications and scarring. This was before he even looked at my skin. After examining me, he tells me that he would prefer I go and see Dr. S, an expert in HS, and he would only perform the surgery if Dr. S recommended it. He told me that he would put in the referral, but not to worry because his office scheduled appointments quickly. In the mean time, he told me to focus on losing weight because HS was often made worse by heaviness. I am not a skinny girl, but I am not huge either. Weight may be a factor in other peoples HS, but not mine. I know this because I had actually lost quite a bit due to stress (of the disease) and my symptoms did not change. I didn't take it personally though. I knew he was just spewing out whatever he had just read on the internet. I was devastated, still. I had really high hopes about him because Dr. K and her nurse had praised him so much. I had even warned a supervisor at work that I may have to take time off shorty in order to recover from surgery. So of course, my heart was crushed. Another appointment that had caused me to go home and cry. 

At this point, I'm waiting for an appointment from Dr. S, but not really, because for one, I had already seen a GREAT dermatologist in Dr. Mistry, and she had already recommended surgery, and two, I no longer trusted Dr. T. It didn't seem like he was eager to help me, and so I didn't want him to. I went back to 'just dealing with it', until I got a call from Dr. Mistry's office asking me to come in to talk about renewing my Humira prescription. I thought this was odd, seeing that I had stopped taking Humira, and Dr. Mistry knew of this. I went in to see her, anyway. I told her about my experiences with Dr. Kapala and Dr. T. She told me that she actually worked for Dr. Sibbald (who still hadn't called me for an appointment, by the way), on his team in his office on Fridays, and she knew for sure he would recommend surgery. This made me even more upset at Dr. T. She offered to refer me to another surgeon. I explained to her how frustrated and exhausted I was at all the appointments and disappointments - and that I needed a break from it. She understood completely, and let me know I could call her whenever I was ready to try again.  

I got another odd call from Dr. Mistry's office a couple months later telling me that Dr. Mistry wanted me to call her to discuss my test results. It was odd because I hadn't taken any tests. I called anyway. She explained that she had been in contact with a Humira spokesperson who had asked her about my Humira experience. After she had told him that I didn't really benefit from it, he told her of a plastic surgeon who would love to help, as a 'special favor'. She said she knows I had opted to take a break from surgery consultations, but she didn't want to let the opportunity pass without offering it to me. I accepted. I wanted to at least talk to this surgeon. I was still in pain, and maybe this was my luck finally turning around. 

I met with Dr. CT on Monday, November 21st, 2016. She asked about my Humira experience and about the surgeons I had seen before her. After I told her that Dr. T had basically told me he didn't want to do it, she told me that nobody wants to do it. She explained it was an extremely messy surgery that would require a skin graft and two separate surgery weeks apart, and after all of that, my body may reject it. When briefly describing what surgery on my lower body would be like, she mentioned that I would have to urinate in a bag temporarily. As you can imagine, this is where the tears starting filling my eyes. As she was working really hard to turn me off this surgery, I'm sitting there wondering why I was even invited to this appointment. I was told that there was a surgeon who wanted to help me as a special favor and when I met her, I felt like I was just being kicked in the gut. I told Dr. Mistry I needed a break from the heartbreak of surgeons telling me they can't help me, and she sent me to a surgeon that would reject me again. The surgery did sound awful, I have to admit. Her goal was clearly to make me change my mind about desperately wanting the surgery, and she did so well that I even forgave Dr. T for rejecting me. After seeing the tears run down my face and the disappointment in my eyes, Dr. CT offered to refer me to a plastic surgeon at St. Mikes Hospital who had done more complicated HS surgeries. I declined. I was so over it. Instead of surgery, Dr. CT suggested that I should go back on Humira. She stressed that it is a very new drug and it will get better and work. Whatever. I was on Humira for eight months and it barely helped me. I'm convinced I was just injecting cancer into myself and not seeing any immediate benefits with my HS. I refuse to go back on Humira. Something has got to give. 

Dr. CT called me herself the next evening at 7:00PM to tell me she had spoken to the Humira representative, and he was doing to be in touch with Dr. Mistry in recommending some other dermatologists that have a little more experience with HS. She also said that she would contact Dr. Melinda Musgrave, the plastics surgeon at St. Mikes, and ask about any new approaches she has come across and can suggest. She explained St. Mikes is trying to develop a clinic of some sort where they can talk to HS patients about lifestyle changes, such as diet, that may minimize the effects of HS. She stressed that even though she didn't think surgery was a solution to HS, she didn't want me to believe that there was no hope, and that there were hopefully a couple things we could try before taking that route. The call meant everything for me. It lifted my spirits. It just felt like there was another doctor out there, in addition to Dr. Mistry, who was in my corner - who saw my pain and truly wanted to help.

NATUROPATHY

I had reached out to a naturopath, Dr. S. The appointment was booked for a few days after I got the call from Dr. Mistry about Dr. CT, and I almost cancelled it thinking that I wouldn't need him anymore because Dr. Mistry found me someone that would help, but I didn't. During my first appointment with him, I just spent the hour telling him about my disease and how it affected me daily. He asked questions, I would answer them. He ended the appointment by telling me that he "really, really, really wanted to help" me, and gave me a few of his ideas. He prescribed me Effer C, a supplement to help me go to the bathroom more often and Vitamin D, and we booked an appointment for about 3 weeks later. By the next appointment, he had a very detailed plan written up that predicted to have me pretty much healed in six months. The plan included a couple supplements, something called colonics, and a strict diet of no dairy, sugar, gluten or wheat. As you can imagine, sticking to that diet proved to be difficult, but I did try. I saw little to no results, but to be fair - I was not completely committed. I went to a few subsequent appointments, but naturooathy is not covered by OHIP, and although my work insurance covered a lot of the cost, it was becoming expensive to keep seeing him, and during the appointments, he was mostly just making other suggestions of changes I could make to my diet. I felt like I could handle that on my own. 

What's it like to feel nothing? I miss feeling nothing. No discomfort, no pain, no sting. I used to take feeling nothing for granted, and now I know how precious it is. I miss being able to sit down on a chair, a bed, the floor, without feeling anything. I miss being able to get into a car without feeling anything. I miss being able to drive without feeling anything. I miss walking and feeling nothing. Oh, I miss going up and down stairs without feeling anything! I miss putting on my panties, my pants, my bra, my shirt, my coat, without feeling anything. What's it like to get in and out of bed without feeling anything? To take a shower and feel nothing?

SURGERY PT. 2

After that meeting in November 2016 with Dr. CT, I hadn't really been to any doctors, with the exception of the few additional visits with the naturopath. I gained a little relief by changing my diet - but no major improvements. In April 2018, the drainage coming from my arms was uncontrollable. My shirts were soaking wet within a few minutes of changing into them. I didn't know what else to do except to plea with a surgeon to operate on me. I chose Dr. CT. I met with her on June 6th 2018. Again, she illustrated a nasty surgery that might not even be successful. I told her I didn't care, I needed to do something. She offered to send me down to St. Michael's Hopsital to see plastic surgeon Dr. Melinda Musgrave or her colleague Dr. Karen Cross, who do a lot more work with HS. I agreed to a referral, just because I could tell how badly she did not want to operate on me. If you'll recall, she had mentioned referring me to these doctors before, but nothing ever came of it.

This time, I got a surgery consultation with plastics surgeon Dr. Karen Cross, scheduled originally for November 2018, but moved up to September 2018. It was simply and honestly the best consult I've ever had. She specializes in HS surgeries and really can't imagine why I hadn't been referred to her before. She told me I was an excellent candidate for surgery, but she agreed that my disease was so active that it probably wouldn't be effective. She requested that I see a dermatologist of her choice, follow their suggested treatment for about three months, and after the disease had calmed down, she would operate. I loved speaking with her because she just got it. She knew exactly how I was feeling as a person living with HS without me having to tell her. She knew and answered all my questions before I even had a chance to ask. It was obvious she had spent real time with other HS patients because she truly just got it. She was so hopeful and encouraging. She let me know that it would be a long journey to recovery, but that we would be on that journey together - and that I should always let her know where my head is at and how I'm truly feeling not only physically, but emotionally. I had never met a surgeon like her and even if I don't end up getting a surgery, I'm so glad that my path lead me to her - just to know doctors like her exist. 

CLINICAL TRIALS

Dr. Cross referred me to dermatologist Dr. Afsaneh Alavi, also specializing in HS. She enrolled me into a clinical research study for a potential new "antibody therapy". Without going into much detail, I was required to go into a clinic every two weeks for intravenous infusion and complete a small questionnaire on a phone-like device nightly. I officially began getting dosed in October of 2018. A lot like my experience with Humira, I couldn't see any changes in the way the disease physically presented itself, but I can say the day to day pain dropped considerably and my quality of life increased. However, in mid-December, I developed a large abscess on my upper thigh. It had been growing in size and pain for about a week before my next scheduled infusion and meeting with Dr. Alavi. After examining the abscess, she decided immediately to take me off the study and arranged for me to have it drained that morning. She prescribed Ertapenem, an antibiotic infused intravenously daily, for four weeks.

ERTAPENEM

Ertapenem is an antibiotic administered intravenously. I was taught how to run the IV on my own at home. It took about 30-45 minutes and then I would wrap up the IV site with gauze until I was ready to do it again the next day. While showering, I used a arm cast protector I found in a home health care store. It's basically a long plastic glove-bag that spans the entire arm, the way a cast would, and tightly seals before the shoulder. I couldn't use that arm to clean myself with, but the IV site was protected from the water. My IV site would have to be changed every 3-5 days. I would go to a CCAC clinic to have a nurse set up a basic IV line in my arm or hand. I have very difficult veins, and so nurses often had a hard time starting my IV. On every visit, I was poked multiple times before one was successful. There was a night when the nurses were not able to find a good vein, and I was sent to the emergency room for one of the nurses there to try. I waited four hours that night just to get an IV started. Initially, the plan was for me to have a procedure done to get a 'picc line', which is more secure than the regular IV and could remain in my arm for weeks without having to be moved, but that wasn't scheduled until week three of my four week course of the drug and it just didn't make sense at that point. All this to say, the treatment of Ertapenem caused some minor inconveniences, but overall I was pleased with the results. 

Ertapenem was the best treatment I've received so far. I felt virtually no pain during the 4 weeks I was on the medication. My wounds pretty much dried up. Although you could still see them, there was no drainage coming from any of my wounds. My clothes remained dry throughout the day and through the night and I never worried about staining my seat. Proving this, my laundry loads we significantly smaller and my jeans/pants were clean enough to re-wear before washing.

CLINICAL TRIAL DRUG: IFX-1

Although an effective treatment for me, I could not remain on Ertapenem for very long. Antibiotics are not meant to be taken long-term. I was on the drug for about five weeks. With permission from the sponsors and executives of the clinical trial, Dr. Alavi allowed me to continue treatment with the clinical drug, IFX-1. During the first phase of the trial, I was either being given the active drug, or a placebo. Dr. Alavi wanted to give me a chance to enter the second phase of the trial, which guaranteed active drug administration.

Since beginning the second phase, I can confidently say I feel better. I have not experienced any large new abscesses, and the ones I already had are smaller and draining less. The most improved symptom is my ability to move; my range of motion. I am able to move my arms and legs in ways I wasn't able to do before. This alone has improved my mood and my quality of life. Dr. Alavi agrees, I will still need surgery to remove the skin that the HS has completely destroyed over the years, but if this drug makes it to the market, I believe it could help many of us keep the disease under control. 

December 30th, 2019 Dr. Cross performed a 'left axilla extraction with flap' surgery on October 31st, 2019. She removed all of the affected skin from my armpit and pulled skin from my back to replace the missing skin. It was a day surgery that took about 3 hours. The wound was cared for by near by clinic nurses. It took a little over a month to fully close. The surgery went extremely well and I am please with the results. I will meet with Dr. Cross again in a few months to talk about my right arm. Dr. Alavi thinks I should return to Humira in the mean time, but at this point, I don't think I want to take that route. I know it's only been a couple months, but I believe surgery is the solution for me. 

November 22nd, 2020 Dr. Cross performed the same surgery, this time on my right axilla on August 20th, 2020. Again, the surgery went well and I am pleased with the results. Now, I don’t have any inflammation or affected skin in my armpits and it’s truly changed my life. I can wear sleeveless tops and I don’t have to worry about drainage messing up tops with sleeves. I can finally wear white if I choose to. I do still have some HS on my lower body, but nothing that warrants the surgeries I needed for my arms. I will try to treat what’s left with diet changes - specifically the keto diet and will keep you updated.

The rest is still unwritten...

[banditthewriter]

Redolence - Billy Russo - 4

Part four of this A/B/O series. I may have forgotten to add phone sex to the warnings. Reminder, I use a comprehensive set of warnings so please be mindful. If you have questions or concerns, shoot me a message!

Redolence: the quality of smelling strongly of something or of having qualities (especially smells) that make you think of something else

Warnings: Smut. No really, lots of smut. Also angst because yeah. Sex in various positions. Oral sex (male and female receiving.) The reader does sleep with other Alphas but it is only ever mentioned, never described. Some talk of slave trade, not detailed. Angry sex. Unprotected sex. Reader experiences a bad panic attack that is described.

Tags are at the bottom. Let me know if you would like to be added to one of my tag lists!

*gif is mine*

Enjoy!

*****

This time when Billy left, you felt a certain lightness in your chest. He had made you promise to call him at some point before he had to come back. You had been hesitant to do it before, but for some reason you didn’t feel the same hesitation after that night.

There didn’t seem to be anything wrong with having sex with Billy in your own blankets. All of those training classes that had said that it was a colossal mistake had been exaggerated. Billy seemed fine, even if he smelled more strongly like you until he took his shower.

After you put the cups in the sink, you went into your bedroom and froze. You were assaulted with the scent of you and Billy, but it also smelled like home. The effect made your knees weak.

Maybe those training classes meant it was a mistake for you, not for the Alpha.

Begrudgingly you gathered up the bedding to take to your laundry room. As much as you didn’t want to lose the special scent of you-and-Billy, you knew that you wouldn’t be able to handle it for much longer. You already wanted Billy more than you should.

Although wasn’t that part of the Companion Center? Finding someone to mate while at the center was not only allowed, it was encouraged. So what if you and Billy were gone for each other? That just meant the two of you should probably…

What, talk about mating? You felt like an idiot just thinking about it. Yeah, Billy obviously liked spending time with you and sleeping with you, but did that mean he wanted more? You were good sex, easy sex, you wanted him from the first moment you sniffed him basically. Jesus, you were almost as bad as the Omegas that rolled over and presented the moment they saw an Alpha.

Still, it wasn’t impossible for you to maybe talk to Billy about something, right? He gave you his phone number and he obviously wanted you to use it. The two of you could be friends.

Friends that fuck, sure, that was a thing right?

The more you thought about it, the more you talked yourself out of it. You wanted more with Billy, but you couldn’t see how someone like him would settle for an Omega he met at the Companion Center. He’d probably end up with someone he met out in the real world, maybe a pretty Alpha woman who had a steady job and didn’t fuck people for a living.

The night after Billy’s visit, you found yourself sitting in front of your computer late into the night. Your body felt strange, tense and yet heavy. Whatever illness you had didn’t seem to have let up much except for when Billy was there, but you were probably just so excited to see him again.

You checked in with Karen and looked at the photos from her new place. There were even a few of her and Frank.

He wasn’t what you expected, but they looked so happy together. And he was handsome, if a little imposing. 

While you flicked through some newsfeeds, your mind strayed to Billy. You hadn’t looked him up on any sort of social media because you didn’t want to know what his life was like outside of the walls of your apartment. If you found out that he was dating someone, it would break your heart.

But there was one place you could get information that wasn’t personal. You signed into the Companion Center’s network and called up the Alpha registry. You had his Alpha ID memorized so you typed it into the search and waited for the page to load.

There weren’t any comments on his profile but that didn’t surprise you. It’d been so long since he had been there, you were the only Omega he had seen and you never commented on these profiles unless you’d had a bad experience.

You scrolled through his description and his background, things you already saw the first day you accepted his request. Instead you scrolled to the bottom of the page where his Alpha information was entered in. 

History of suppressants, irregular ruts, Alpha levels of… holy shit. Billy’s Alpha levels were the highest you’d ever seen. No wonder your body reacted to him the way that it did if that was the case. It wasn’t something special between the two of you; he just had that much pull over Omegas.

You scrolled through a few more of the tabs on the page until you found one of interested Omegas. This website was only accessible by Omegas. You rarely used it but some Omegas were on it daily. They’d comment on their Alphas, some of the comments being crude or completely inappropriate. Sometimes they would select an interest in pairing with the Alpha. 

Billy’s page had over thirty interested Omegas. That meant if he didn’t ask for you but wanted to pick a new Omega, he’d get these thirty to pick from first before they tried to match him with another favorable Omega. 

You recognized a few of the Omegas that had expressed interest. Some of them would be a good match for someone like Billy. And every single one of them were trained the same as you; what did you have that they didn’t? What would make you better for Billy than they were? 

Nothing.

You clicked off the page and closed your laptop. You shouldn’t have looked. Knowing that Billy was an advanced Alpha didn’t change how you saw him or how you felt about him, although you did think it might have something to do with what he felt about you. You had pretty high Omega levels; of course a high level Alpha and a high level Omega reacted like this together. But knowing that and knowing that if and when he got tired of you, he had thirty other offers just waiting for him?

That night you curled up into your bed and tried to pretend that you could still smell Billy’s scent on your pillows.

------

It had been a week since you'd had an Alpha request. You didn't mind the break, but it meant being alone with your thoughts a lot. 

With Karen gone, you weren't as social as you had been. You were friendly with some of the other Omegas at the center, but not friendly enough to seek them out. 

You could go out to the city and do some shopping, but it was raining and you didn't want to be soaked. Calling Karen was an option but she was working as a journalist now and you knew she would be busy. 

Plus it was Friday. Surely at six pm she would have a date. 

Perhaps you could call your family and see how everyone was feeling. It was a good idea, but you didn't have the emotional capacity to deal with them. Especially when their first question would be if you were still whoring yourself out.

It didn't matter that you had made a lot of money over the few years you worked at the center. They still just considered you a whore.

You picked up your cell phone and looked through the few contacts. There was one in there that you hadn't dialed before.

Billy had told you to call him. Maybe you would at least send him a text. Then he could ignore it if he was busy.

You composed a quick text message to him.

Hi Billy it's Y/N. You don't have to respond, I just wanted to say hey.

You hit send before you had a chance to second guess yourself. Before you could put the phone down, it lit up with a phone call and Billy's name. 

"Oh shit," you whispered as you lifted the phone to your ear. "Hello?" 

"You could have just called me," he greeted with a smile in his voice. "Texting takes too much time."

You curled your legs up onto the couch under you as you sat down.

"I didn't know if you were at work. I didn't want to interrupt an important meeting."

His laugh didn't sound the same over the phone, but it was better than nothing. 

"I own the business, I can do whatever I want. But I worked from home today. I had a doctor appointment that took a few hours."

That drew you up short. 

"A doctor appointment? Are you ill?"

You thought about how you had felt lately, tense and sore. Maybe you weren't the only one. Or perhaps you got him sick. 

"Plastic surgeon. I looked him up after my accident and they were just now able to fit me in for my second consult. Wanted to show me what I'd look like after."

You ran your thumb over an uneven stitch in the hem of your yoga pants. 

"You're going to get plastic surgery?"

There was a beat of silence on the other side before you heard a sigh.

"I thought about it. You saw me not long after the accident. Not only was my face fucked up, but my head was too. I thought fixing my face would fix me."

"I didn't think your face was fucked up," you said in a rush before you could talk yourself out of it. "I thought it looked like it must have hurt, but I still… still thought you were the most attractive man I'd ever seen."

And that stayed true to this day. 

Billy scoffed on the other side but you didn't think he was blowing you off. In fact it seemed like he was maybe a but embarrassed. 

"I don't think that I'll go through with it. They aren't as bad as I thought they'd be and…"

You made a soft, inquiring noise in the back of your throat to urge him to continue. 

"And if I have surgery, I'll be in recovery for a few weeks and they'll put me back on suppressants."

"Oh. And you don't want to mess up your ruts now that you're getting back to normal."

"Yeah," he said quietly, "and because it would mean I wouldn't get to see you for a while."

You were stunned silent at that. What was the appropriate response to someone saying something like that to you?

"Billy, you shouldn't make that decision based on me. We can still talk on the phone while you recover."

"I know, but it's not just that. I was so vain about my face, my looks. I felt hideous like that, you know. But you saw me when they were barely healed and you didn't… you didn't even flinch."

It felt like your heart was breaking for him. 

"Of course I didn't flinch. It was obviously something traumatic that had happened to you. I wouldn't… I could never find you hideous."

The honesty was something you couldn't help, not when it came to Billy. The honesty just seemed to come out of you. You didn't even mind it.

 "You're amazing," he breathed across the line.

You felt warmth fill you at the praise. Of course you weren't sure you deserved it, but you weren't about to turn it down. 

But you did want to tell him something. 

"I do want to admit something Billy. I looked you up on the Companion Center intranet. It doesn't have personal information on there, but I uh, I did see your Alpha levels listed."

He let out a chuckle and if you didn't know better, you would say he sounded a little embarrassed. 

"Yeah, those," he said with another laugh. "Military said they'd never seen such high levels from a kid in the foster system before."

You were stunned and you weren't sure if it was because Billy had been an orphan or if it was because he was telling you about his life. 

"You were in the system?"

"Uh, yeah, I was safe havened at a firehouse in Albany. Without a family history, I got passed over a lot as a kid. People don't really wanna mix with an unknown element."

You understood that. You were unclaimed but at least you could tell people who and what your parents were. Billy didn't know. 

Most likely his mom was an Omega and his dad would be an Alpha. You wondered if he had ever tried to track them through the government blood tagging system. 

"I think it's bullshit. I'm an adult who makes her own money and makes her own decisions but because I'm an unclaimed Omega, I have to have proof of protection otherwise I'll be scooped up by Omega hunters or government people? Why do our positions dictate that?"

"Couldn't agree more," he said sincerely. "I should be judged by what I make of myself, not something I had no control over like being abandoned or being an Alpha."

It felt freeing to talk to Billy like this. Besides your rants with Karen, you mostly didn't talk about the incongruity of the situation. You were an Omega who not only accepted your position but benefited from it, but that didn't mean you were blind to the struggles of others. 

The two of you were quiet for a moment after that. You didn't want the call to end yet though. 

"Do you–" you began right as he asked "Would you like–"

Both of you let out a laugh at having talked over each other. 

"You first," he offered softly. 

"Do you need to go? I don't want to hold you up if you're working."

"You're not holding me up. I was actually wondering if you would like to go get dinner together."

It was frowned upon, but it wasn't against the rules. But there were protocols about these things. Most interactions with Alphas outside of the center had to be approved by the center. Phone calls, talking online, those were allowed because the center trusted the Omegas to keep things casual. But an Alpha and an Omega who have slept together hanging out in person? That was usually reserved for pairs that were starting the mating process. 

"Forget I asked," he said quickly. "How about instead we make dinner together? How does that sound?"

You nearly melted into the couch cushions.

"That sounds wonderful. I'd like that very much."

You could hear the smile in his voice as he agreed.

------

"Wait, wait, did you really think it was a good idea to tell your drill sergeant to blow you?"

Billy's laugh echoed over the phone. As he explained that no, he was pretty sure he was going to get his ass kicked, you settled down onto your bed and tugged your cover up to your chin.

The two of you had made it a habit to talk on the phone almost daily. Every now and then Billy would be busy at work and he would have to stick to text messages instead. And of course you would have an Alpha that you would have to assist.

Those times you’d just tell Billy that you would be busy. You didn’t want to burst the bubble of contentment that had settled around the two of you. Of course he knew what you would be busy with, but both of you could pretend it was something else—anything else—if you didn’t put it to words.

His rut was most likely coming up soon and you couldn’t help but think how it was going to be different. The two of you talked about so much during these phone calls; you couldn’t just pretend that Billy was an Alpha that you were helping. No, there was so much more to it now. So much more to him.

“Where’d you go?”

You made a noise in the back of your throat as you realized that you had stopped reacting to whatever he was saying. 

“I’m so sorry Billy, I swear I was listening but then I started thinking about… well, it’s almost been a month since you were here last.”

The last time he’d been there, you had forgotten to change your sheets. You weren’t sure why that stood out to you so much since the actual sex hadn’t seemed any different, but you couldn’t shake the fact that it meant something. You just weren’t sure what.

“My rut will be back in a few weeks,” he replied, his voice a little lower than before. “I’m not noticing any symptoms yet but once I do, I’ll get to the center to request you.”

You had already decided to decline any Alphas that may request you around the time that Billy would be coming to the center, but you couldn’t tell him that. That felt too much like a declaration and you didn’t want to make one of those. Whatever the two of you had, it hadn’t been put to words and you weren’t about to break that routine.

Your mouth spoke without permission from your head.

“I wonder if you would have noticed me if it hadn’t been for my scent,” you said softly, your eyes trained on the ceiling of your bedroom.

“What do you mean?”

Once you realized what you had said, you wanted to kick yourself. That was playing in dangerous territory. Instead of taking it back or ending the conversation, you sucked in a deep breath and explained.

“You picked me from my scent, right? I just wonder if you would’ve even noticed me if we had met, I don’t know, at a bar or somewhere.”

If it was normal, if the two of you were just you and not Alpha Billy and Omega Y/N. And by his response, he was thinking the same thing.

“So if we were both just at a bar, minding our own business. Say I had to go up to the counter to order a beer and you’re sitting there. You want to know if I would have noticed you?”

You felt ridiculous, but you needed to know.

“Without my scent, without knowing me. Just… from your impression of me sitting there. Would you have even said hello?”

Why were you holding your breath? Why did it matter? You were basically asking him if he found you attractive, if he would have wasted his time with you, but it didn’t matter. The fact was that the two of you did know each other and you were friends now. That’s all that mattered. That’s all that—

“Of course I would have said hello. I would have turned the charm up to eleven and flirted with you, tried to get your name.”

A flash of giddy warmth filled you and you kicked your feet, hoping he couldn’t hear it.

“You would?”

“You kidding me? You’d be beating the guys off with a stick and I would have… would have tried my best to get you to come home with me. If you could stand the sight of the scars.”

Billy was confident in himself, you’d seen it, but there was still some insecurity under the surface. It all revolved around those scars.

“Scars or no, I think I probably would have thought you were crazy for talking to me. And if you tried to get me to go home with you?” You took a breath, feeling the tightness low in your stomach. “I can promise that you would have succeeded.”

There was silence on the other line and you wondered if you had overstepped, but a moment later you heard him let out a deep breath.

“I would’ve showed you a good time if I took you home,” he promised in a low, rough voice, his accent a little more pronounced on some words. “Would’ve made you feel good.”

Your breath was coming out faster, a little dizzy as you listened to his voice over the phone.

“I don’t think you’re capable of making me feel anything but good.”

You weren’t sure if that even made sense. And it didn’t help that your voice was breathless as you spoke.

God you were gone on this man.

“Y/N, where are you right now?”

You looked around your room as if you had forgotten where you were. You’d forgotten everything that didn’t center around this conversation, this man, his voice.

“I’m in my room,” you said as you shifted under the covers a little, “in bed.”

“Are you under the covers?”

“Yes.”

There was silence on the line and then a slight rustling.

“Take the covers off.”

Your heartbeat was thundering in your chest, but you moved to do as you were told. You kicked the covers down to your feet, your toes curling but it wasn’t from the sudden cool air on your bare legs.

“Billy,” you began, but he cut you off with, “What are you wearing?”

That tightness that had been in your chest had moved lower, lower, until it settled in the pit of your stomach. At his words, your thighs automatically clenched together.

“Shorts and uh, a t-shirt.”

You wondered if you should have lied, should have said something about lacy lingerie. But you didn’t even own the stuff so that wouldn’t feel right. You didn’t want to lie to Billy, not even about that.

“I’m gonna ask you a question and I want you to tell me the truth, alright?” At your assent, Billy let out a breath that rattled into the speaker for a second. “Do you want to touch yourself with me right now?”

If it was possible for your heart to break free from your chest, it would have right then. Instead you just pressed your hand over where you could feel it pounding and closed your eyes.

“Do you want that?”

It wasn’t an answer, but you needed to hear him say it.

“You want me to tell you that I had my hand down my sweatpants from the moment you told me that I would’ve been able to take you home? Or should I tell you that I think about this every time we talk on the phone? Or,” he added in a tone that could only be described as seductive, “do you want me to tell you that every time I jerk off between my ruts it’s to thoughts of you?”

God. You rolled onto your side in order to put more pressure between your legs. Your eyes were still squeezed shut. If you did that, you could almost imagine he was in the bed with you.

“Yes,” you breathed out when your eyes finally opened, “I want you to tell me those things.”

His chuckle made you squeeze your legs together. Your hand moved to rest low on your stomach but no further.

“Tell me something then. I told you all my secrets, I want you to tell me one.”

You should have seen that coming. You bit your lip and rolled back onto your back, your chest rising and falling with your heavy breathing.

“I don’t touch myself,” you said softly, wondering if he could hear your heartbeat over the phone. “My secret is that I want to touch myself right now. With you on the phone with me.”

It was a long moment before he responded.

“Take your clothes off.”

You didn’t have to be told twice. And there was no way it was Alpha compulsion because it didn’t work over the phone. You sat up and pulled off your shirt, glad you had gone without a bra tonight. Then you made short work of your shorts and underwear.

“You too,” you said as you settled back down onto the pillows.

“Already done sweetheart,” he said with a grin in his voice. “Put the phone on speaker for me, alright? I want you to have two hands for this.”

You did so with a shaking hand, letting him know once you were done. He let out a pleased noise that made you wetter. As if he knew what had happened, he let out a soft laugh.

“Play with your nipples for me. Both hands. You know how I do it when I get my hands on those perfect tits.”

You moaned as your hands complied with his demands. He was always firm with you, his fingers tugging and pulling on your nipples. You alternated between that and firm grasps since that’s what he did.

“Are you… are you touching yourself Billy?”

You needed to know. You needed to know that you weren’t the only one.

“I’m making it last. If I touch myself right now with you making those noises, I’ll come before I can even jack myself.”

Just the thought made you moan. That you did that to him astounded you.

“If I was there, I’d eat you out. I can’t tell you how much I love the taste of your pussy,” he said lowly, his voice trickling over your body. “Since I’m not there, I want you to touch yourself. Spread that pretty pussy. Tell me how wet you are.”

You knew that he was a talker, but you really did think it might break you this time. Without the urgency of the rut over both of you, his dirty talk was going to turn you into a puddle before this really began.

Legs spread, you slipped one hand down your stomach and between your legs. You ran your fingers up and down your slit, feeling how wet and hot you were.

“I’m dripping,” you admitted as you continued to just rub yourself. “I’m going to leave the bed soaked after this.”

His moan made your thighs flex.

“Touch your clit for me. Not fast, just tease it for me.”

The moment your fingers were on your clit, you wanted to rub fast and hard, but his words made you keep it slow. You rubbed over the nerves until you were panting, your knees bending to try to give your hips leverage.

“Billy, please,” you begged as you continued to rub.

“That’s it, that’s my girl. Now put a finger inside. C’mon, let me hear you.”

You didn’t need to be asked twice. At some point he told you to add another finger so you pumped two in and out of your pussy, your thumb rubbing against your clit between thrusts. It wasn’t graceful but it felt good. Your hips moved in tandem with your fingers. Your other hand continued to play with your breast as you fucked yourself.

His breathing got heavy and you thought you could heard the sound of skin on skin. You definitely could hear his grunts. 

“I wish that was my hand. Or my mouth,” you admitted shamelessly as you moved, voice breathless and low. “I can’t stop thinking about getting my mouth on you. I want to… I want to taste you.”

He let out a loud moan that echoed over the line. 

“Fuck I want that too. I’d love to see you with my come on your face.”

Your back arched as you pumped faster, harder. You could tell that you were close and you could only hope that Billy was too.

“Please, I need… please Alpha, I need you.” Your mind was so far gone, so focused on your orgasm, that you didn’t even realize what you said.

“Yes, I’m here. Come for me, my Omega, come for me.”

Your back arched so far off the bed that you were basically upright, your body shaking from an incredibly intense orgasm. Your pussy clenched around your fingers. Your heaving breaths echoed in the quiet room as you flopped back down on the bed.

On the other line, you heard Billy’s panting grow faster until he was groaning out his own orgasm. Once it was quiet on that side as well, you slowly pulled your hand from between your legs. 

“Are you still there?”

“Yes,” you answered quickly as you sat up, reaching for tissues near the bed for your hand. “Just uh, cleaning up.”

The sheets were beyond help. You’d need to change them before you could fall asleep. 

Instead you just rolled out of the wet spot and grabbed your phone. Once you switched it off of speaker, you pressed it against your ear and shut your eyes once more.

“Billy?” He made an inquiring sound on the other side and you bit your lip before you asked, “Will this change things?”

He was silent for a moment before his soft, soothing voice was back in your ear.

“I think we’ve been changed for a while.”

------

In the middle of the night, you jolted upright. In the space between awake and asleep, the words you’d said that night on the phone with Billy came back to you.

You’d called him Alpha in your moment of need. And he had replied, hadn’t he? He called you his Omega. 

It was the heat of the moment, you told yourself as you laid back down. And he hadn’t mentioned it so… so maybe it didn’t mean anything.

It didn’t stop your mind from playing the moment over and over again until you fell back to sleep.

X

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[captainscanadian]

Better | Bucky Barnes x Reader (Part 2)

My Masterlist

Part 1

Summary: While Bucky’s friends were genuinely concerned about his decision to stay at your bedside in your time of need, he seems to be worried about your hesitance to accept his affection. As much as you wanted give into your own desires, your past is holding you back from doing so. And Bucky being Bucky, he’s going to find out why.

Word Count: 3066

Pairing: Doctor!Bucky x Doctor!Reader, Nurse!Wanda, mentions of Steve, Sam, Natasha, Clint & Peggy as minor characters

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of Abuse & Alcoholism, Surgery, Organ Donation, IV & Needles, Emotional Distress, Physical Pain, Drugs, Hospital Stay

A/N: You should all blame Glee for this one, I was told to up the angst so I took her word and decided to make this angsty. I’ve never written something like this before so I would love to hear your feedback! :)

Wanda Maximoff was always on top of things when it came to her patients. The way she organized the charts and made detailed notes of her own to update the doctors during rounds had made her a personal favorite to most of them. Aside from the usual tasks of taking vitals, changing IV's, changing drainage tubes and giving the right medications at the right time to her patients, she also took the initiative to care for the doctors who also worked their asses off. It was no secret that she made their lives a lot easier, as that was one of the reasons why Bucky had always trusted her.

As her shift was finally coming to an end, she proceeded to hand off her patients to the nurse who was taking over her place for the rest of the day. After updating her on all of the necessary changes that had been made to the patients' treatment plans and making sure that the other had a clear understanding of all of the timings for medications, she picked up her red cardigan that rested on the chair and shrugged it on over her purple scrubs. She let out a yawn as she checked the time on the computer screen in front of her, noticing that even she had been here for a whole day. If anything, she couldn't wait to get back to her apartment and sleep.

After bidding farewell to her fellow nurses at the desk, she walked around the counter to peek down the hallway of the post-op ward. She had kept an eye on your hospital room throughout the night and into the morning. She knew that the man who had entered your room at dawn was still there, even though it was now nearing noon. She had noticed him step out of the room twice or thrice to use the bathroom, but he always seemed to return to your bedside within minutes. She wondered if Dr. Barnes had even eaten a proper meal since his surgery last night. Knowing him, he probably hadn't. If there was one thing that Wanda knew for sure, it was that Bucky was not taking the best care of himself as much as he was hoping to take care of you.

She made her way downstairs to the hospital's cafeteria in hopes of picking up some food for him before she left, only to run into Natasha, Sam, Steve and Clint having a quick breakfast together before their respective surgeries. She walked up to their table and sat down on the empty chair, her arms crossed against her chest before she sighed. "I think someone should drag Barnes out of her room by his hair and tell him to go home." Even Wanda had assumed that Bucky would only stop by your room before he left the hospital, that he would want to go home to sleep in his own bed at some point. But the way he had let himself stay in your room for hours on end was slightly concerning to her to say the least. 

"Is he still there?" Natasha asked the nurse as she took a bite of her sandwich, a hint of surprise in her voice as she heard what the other had just said. She happened to find Bucky sitting by your bedside when she had come in to check on you during her morning rounds. She had been surprised to say the least, as she had assumed that his workaholic self would have found some other broken heart to fix. But upon hearing that he had spent his hours off from work by your bedside, even she couldn't help but wonder what was going on with him. 

Wanda nodded before sighing. "I think he took a bathroom break every two hours or so but I'm pretty sure he hasn't eaten anything in a whole day. And it's not like he's talking to her for hours on end or anything like that. She's still knocked out from pain meds and he's just sitting there."

It wasn't a surprise to your friends that he was there for you. They had always known that he cared for you. If anything, Bucky wasn't the best at hiding his true feelings. Perhaps, you may have been oblivious to them until now but they all knew that there was something that was going on with him when it came to you. It was evident in the way he had sprung to talk you out of donating your liver. Clearly, he had been worried about you. In a way, his actions were only confirming their suspicions about his feelings for you. 

"So, he's just sitting in her room for hours and watching her sleep? Like does that not sound creepy at all to you guys?" Sam asked as he shook his head. "The boy's lost his mind." 

"He hasn't been home in three days." Steve informed as he finished his lunch, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "I had to drop him off a change of clothes this morning. I don't think he plans on going home... ever." 

Clint chuckled as he shook his head. "Who would have known that our little surgical robot even had it in him? I think we should be proud of the effort that he's putting in to be there for her." 

"Clint, there's a fine line between being there for her and watching her sleep like an absolute maniac." Sam retorted. "Bucky's the latter. He's gone officially insane. I would suggest getting him a psych consult with Rhodes if I were you." 

Natasha rolled her eyes as she set down her sandwich. "I still don't think he's going to fess up to having a thing for her once this blows over."

"I have a little faith." Wanda shrugged. "But it's nice of him to be there fore her. Her own mother hasn't been down to see her and... it breaks my heart, poor Y/N has to go through this alone." She couldn't help but frown at him. "It was so selfless of her to do what she did." 

"I'm proud of her." Steve admitted, smiling. "And I'm glad Bucky's finally decided to do something about his feelings for her. If anyone could thaw out his cold dead heart, it's Y/L/N. And if anyone could handle a selfless risk-taker like her, it's him." 

"And if anyone could grab some food for that sappy romantic asshole, it's me." Wanda mocked as she stood up from her seat and chuckled, just as a confused Peggy Carter walked up to the table. 

"Hey, do any of you happen to know why Barnes texted me to drop off a copy of Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice?" She asked as she sat down next to her husband, earning a confused look from the rest of the table. 

"What did I tell you? He's reached absolute insanity." Sam announced as he stood up from his seat and picked up his tray. "I have to go. I have an appendectomy in twenty minutes. I'll see you guys later." 

Watching him walk away, the nurse turned back to the table. "I'm going to get the guy some breakfast before I leave. Miss. Carter, I can take that book to him for you if you want?" She offered.

"Sure, darling." The hospital's in-house attorney handed her copy of the Shakespearean play to the nurse before sitting down on the seat next to her husband. "I don't even want to know what's gotten into him."

"I'll see you guys tomorrow." Wanda bid farewell to the rest of them before she made her way over to grab some food for Dr. James Barnes. 

The mid-afternoon sun peaked through the curtains in your hospital room when you woke up, the drowsiness of the pain medications wearing off as you slowly began to feel the pain in your abdomen once again. You winced slightly as you opened your eyes, your hand moving quickly to cover them as you squinted at the light. Your throat was so dry that not even trying to swallow your own saliva would help. Your turned your head to your side to reach for the remote and call for a nurse when you noticed the familiar dark-haired doctor still sitting by your bedside.

It took you a moment to take in the sight of him. He looked so different from the last time you had seen him. His navy blue scrubs have now been replaced with a pair of dark jeans and a plaid shirt, his formerly disheveled jet black locks now scooped up into a messy man bun. His baby blue eyes were glued to the paperback book he was reading and his eyebrows furrowed, something you noticed that he did a lot when he focused intently during surgeries. You had to squint to make out of what he was reading, but all that was picked up by your blurry eyes was the name 'William Shakespeare' in big bold letters. It made you wonder, since when did Dr. James Barnes even like Shakespeare?

"James..." You whispered, clearing your throat as the dryness making you feel uneasy. "James."

His sapphire-like eyes darted back over to you as the look of worry blanketed over his face. "Hey..." He set down his book, not even bothering to mark the page and leaned over to take your hand. "How're you feeling?"

You took his hand and held it tightly, feeling him give you a gentle squeeze. "W-Water..."

"Oh... yeah, one moment." He reached for the plastic cup on the nightstand before bringing the straw over to your lips. "There you are..."

You took a few sips of the water as you finally got rid of the dryness in your throat, giving him a nod. "Thanks."

Bucky set down the water before sitting back down in his chair, his hand still holding onto yours. "How are you feeling? How's the pain?"

"Better." You told him before letting out a sigh as you shut your eyes for a moment, still not used to the light. "How long was I out?"

"A few hours." He said, softly. "Natasha was here during morning rounds. She said that the internal sutures and the Steri-Strips are still in place. There's no bleeding from the incision so that's good. The tubes can come out in a few days once your intestines start working again. You should be able to go home in about a week."

"That's good news." You opened your eyes to look up at him and gave him a weak smile. "Have you been sitting here for a while?"

He had been by your side when had fallen asleep a few hours ago, and now that you had woken up, he was still here. It made you wonder if Dr. Barnes had spent the hours of your unconsciousness by your bedside. A part of you wanted to believe that he did because you remembered the gentle kiss he had given you on your forehead as you drifted off. But you still held yourself back from making that assumption. Certain events of your past were reason enough for you to not have any expectations or make any assumptions regarding people's affections.

"I mean, I did step away to use the bathroom a few times. I showered and got changed. But other than that, I've been sitting here, just me and my book." He held up the book he had been reading and you finally noticed the title of it. He had been reading The Merchant of Venice, the play that you had made a reference to while you were in your medicated state. You remembered that.

You couldn't help but let out a chuckle. It did not surprise you that he had taken your recommendation in Shakespearean plays. A part of you was well aware that if you weren't confined to you bed the next couple of weeks, he would be willing to do much more than just read what you had told him to read. Even if James Barnes hadn't confessed his true feelings for you, there were times when be couldn't conceal them from you either. Aside from the fact that he had tried to talk you out of donating your liver, Bucky's previous displays of affection only ever included several occasional cups of coffee during your shared late night shifts.

"This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood; the words expressly are 'a pound of flesh:' take then thy bond, take thou thy pound of flesh; but, in the cutting it, if thou dost shed, one drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods, are, by the laws of Venice, confiscate, unto the state of Venice." He recited the passage as his lips curled into a smirk. "That scene almost made me regret not going to Law School."

You were slightly surprised by the fact that he was able to memorize the lines even though he had probably just read it. "How are you saying that on top of your head?" You asked, curiously. "It's certainly not a passage that one could remember so easily."

"I may have a bit of a photographic memory, believe it or not." He replied as he laughed softly.

"Yet you didn't do well in English class?" You remarked, your eyebrow raised at him.

"I just never liked Shakespeare." He admitted, laughing softly. "So, I didn't even bother trying with that class."

You let out a breathy laugh, wincing slightly at the pain in your abdomen.

He frowned for a moment and squeezed your hand once. "Is there anything I can get you, Y/L/N?"

"No, I'm alright." You shook your head before letting out a sigh, your free hand rubbing your temples as you leaned back in your bed. "You should go home, Dr. Barnes. You've been here for a while."

"It's fine, I don't mind. I have today and tomorrow off and there's not much I can do to keep myself entertained." Bucky informed with a shrug of his broad shoulders. "I know how awful it could be, being stuck in bed like this for a whole week. I have no problem keeping you company until then."

"But you said that you reached your weekly limit. That means you must have been here for what, three or four days now? If you stayed with me until you were due back at work, and knowing you, you would work another sixty-hour shift. That's almost a whole week of not leaving this hospital and..." You shook your head. "Staying in this place for that long can drive anyone crazy. You should go home, Dr. Barnes. Get some sleep in your own bed. Honestly, I'm not going anywhere. I have the nurses and whoever is the intern on call for tonight to keep me company. I'll be right here when you come back."

"You've been here for a few days too, doll. And you're stuck here for another week, just like I am." He reminded. "There's no point in going home when I know that I'm going to keep thinking about what you're up to. Even though I would be home, trying to sleep on my own bed, my mind would be right here in this room."

You rolled your eyes at his argument. "Barnes, I really don't have a choice in that matter. But you do." When he said that his mind would be right here in this room, right here with you, you knew exactly what it meant. While either of you were willing to accept your feelings for each other and confess, the subtly of it all was finally getting to you. You wanted to tell him that you always felt like the two of you were more than friends but you couldn't. You couldn't afford to let someone in to your messy life, because usually they end up hurting you or you end up driving them away. And you did not want either of these things to happen with Bucky. "Just go home."

"And I choose you." He blurted out, not even second-guessing what he had just said. "I'm staying."

You bit down on your bottom lip as you gently pulled your hand back from his grip. Your eyes glazed over as you looked away from him. "James... I'm..." You were at a loss for words, not knowing what to say. You had been living alone since you were eighteen years old, trusting no one but yourself to take care of you. It wasn't easy for you to be out in the real world on your own but you had learned to survive. Three minimum wage jobs and eight years of school had toughened you up, but in the presence of Bucky Barnes, you felt yourself breaking down.

Perhaps it was the drugs or the fact that you were emotionally traumatized by the process of this surgery itself. But you did not feel like yourself right now and it sucked. As much as you wanted to give in to your desire to feel loved by someone, you knew you shouldn't. You would only end up getting your heart broken, again. "I'm sorry, I... I almost forgot." You quickly blinked away your tears before turning back to face him. You couldn't see the sight of his frown but it was for the best. "Wanda told me that she would look into the status of my sperm donor but she never got back to me on that. Do you mind... looking into it? I'm worried that he might start rejecting... that piece of me."

This was no metaphor but it seemed like Bucky had figured that out. While he did not know of your current situation with your family or what exactly had happened in the past that made you leave them in the first place, he intended to find out. He was curious as to why you were willing to put yourself through this and why you were indirectly refusing his affection as well. He knew that there was more to you that what everyone in this hospital knew of, something so personal to you that you had hid from almost everyone you knew. "I'll find out." He gave you a weak smile before nodding.

[chickensarentcheap]

Best Part of Me -Chapter 29

Warnings: none really

Tagging: @ocfairygodmother​, @innerpaperexpertcloud​, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​, @alievans007​

The water is scalding. Causing her to wince; ripping the breath from her lungs as she steps underneath it. Accepting it’s brutality and punishment in an attempt to exchange physical pain for internal. She bites down on her bottom lip hard enough to break skin and draw blood; holds her breath and bouncing up and down on her heels as she suffers through the temporary agony in the hopes of gaining long term relief.

Her heart aches. A pain far more intense than anything she’s ever experienced in her thirty-five years.  An emptiness has settled deep inside of her; holes that had long ago been patched back together threatening to burst wide open. The anguish is unbearable. The start of what feels like prolonged state of mourning that comes with expected yet still devastating loss. It’s a painful and bitter pill to swallow when you’ve the end of your rope and no matter how desperately you try to hold on, you still wind up torn apart and broken in the end.

Tyler’s confession had blindsided her; knocking the wind clear out of her and sending both her emotions and her reality into a violent tailspin. She’d a setback when it came to alcohol. After all, he’d fallen off the wagon three times in the last six and half years and the last time she’d relegated herself to the fact that it would always be part of their life. Comforting herself with thoughts of how at least he wasn’t a mean or a violent drunk. Loud and obnoxious, and often overly emotional and sensitive and sometimes even absentminded and neglectful, but never intimidating or aggressive. That she would never tolerate.

But he hadn’t had Oxy in his system since the rehab stint after Dhaka, and it had been successfully flushed from his system and he’d never gone back to it again. It’d been a tough battle, but he’d come out happier and healthier without the added weight of dependency. For almost seven years he’d never given the drug a second thought and had dedicated himself to living a cleaner life; hating the mere thought of taking anything stronger than over the counter pain medication despite being in near constant agony.

Things had been better. Even with alcohol still in the picture. Once he was off the Oxy he became calmer. More content. Those jagged and rough edges softening. But then the Dhaka nightmares began and was closely followed by depression and PTSD; powerful and unrelenting demons that had dragged him into the very depths of hell. Convincing him that he -and everyone around him- would be better off if he had died that day on the bridge. There’d been no reasoning with him while in that state, and it had taken two legitimate suicide attempts and as many psych ward stays to convince him to get the help that he so desperately needed.

But they’d made it through. Somehow emerging from the darkest and most dreadful times -and a six month separation- stronger than ever. Surviving things that would have torn most couples apart. And even though the battle with alcohol had remained, not once had he ever mentioned needing or wanting or Oxy. Even while rehabbing from painful knee and shoulder replacement surgeries. He’d just battled through it; never complaining, barely wincing or grimacing even on the worst days. He’d accepted it as his new natural state of life; permanent punishment for the bad decisions and the horrible things he’d had to resort to just to stay alive. A life of physical suffering in exchange for having a life at all.

It had been hard. Hearing the confession as it tumbled from lips. The stark and brutal realization of just how lost and troubled he actually is; seeing the desperation and vulnerability...and even shame and disgust...in his eyes and all over his face. It’s difficult; loving someone that much and having to watch them suffer. Knowing that there’s more you can do for them and feeling completely and utterly helpless. There’s no words that can make things better or take all the pain -both physical and mental- away.

She’d known the moment he’d said it that things were out of her reach. That HE was out of her reach. That there was nothing more she could say or do that would make even the slightest bit of difference. That if things keep spiralling out of control and the want and need became too powerful to control, he would fall back into old habits. And that will be the final straw. No more chances. No more thinking that love alone is enough to save someone. It should be -and it would be- in a perfect world. But there’s only so much she can take; only so much fight left in her. And if he gets to that point, she will have lost him. With no chance of ever getting him back.

The tears come now. Spilling down her face and joined by painful, choking sobs that cause her entire body to quake. Tears of anger and frustration; profound sadness that accompanies an impending loss. The ache in her heart and the tightness in her chest increasing, and she places both palms and her forehead against cool, smooth tile and closes her eyes. Standing directly under the steaming, pounding water until there’s no more tears to shed and the sobs settle into nothing more than soft, pitiful whimpers.

You can do this, she tells herself, even though the emptiness and the tremendous sense of loss say otherwise.  You’ve gotten through worse. You got through Dhaka. You got through what happened on the bridge. You can get through this too.

She thinks of those minutes and hours immediately afterwards; sitting in a packed OR waiting room still clad in the same clothes and Doc Marten boots she’d been wearing on the bridge. Covered in dirt and grime and blood. So much blood. Some of it still bright and damp and smelling fresh, other areas thick and dark and stiffening the fabric of her t-shirt. It had caked and stained her hands and gathered under her nails; travelled all the way to her elbows and was streaked across her face and forehead and had even settled in her hair. She’d been alone. No Nik. No Yaz. No team members whose names she didn’t remember. And the shock of just what had happened -the things she’d seen and the things she’d done- had left her feeling numb. As if her body and mind were acting on their own accord and she had absolutely no control over them.

She can remember the looks on other peoples’ faces. Their outright horror and disgust at being confronted by so much blood,  their obvious concern for her fragile mental state, and genuine curiosity. Complete strangers had offered her drinks of water and juice and small snacks, yet couldn’t refrain from asking well meaning yet horribly invasive questions that she had no reasonable answers for. A nurse had brought her a pair of scrubs and socks to change into and had escorted her to a staff shower so she could clean herself up. And she remembers standing under the water watching as all the blood washed away; swirling around at her feet before disappearing down the drain.

She hadn’t been in the waiting area for ten minutes before the surgeon had come out with his first update; grim faced and stern, not an ounce of confidence in his eyes. Giving her the clear plastic bag packed with Tyler’s belongings; whatever could be salvaged, that was. Combat boots, cell phone, the watch and the bracelets he’d been wearing, the utility vest. She’d spent half an hour in a public washroom trying to scrub the latter clean; sobbing uncontrollably as she tried to ignore the rips and the tears and the bullet holes, using hand soap to attempt to get all of the blood and dirt out. Her stunned and foolish brain convincing her that it HAD to be done. After all, he might need it again.

Tightly screwing her eyes shut, she drops her chin to her chest; breathing slow and steady as she lets the steaming water pound against her body. And while soothing, it does nothing to wash away the vivid and haunting memories that will forever plague her mind.

****

She finds him on the couch; in nothing but a pair of tattered old sweats with his legs stretched out and his bare feet propped on the coffee table.  Eyes closed and breathing soft and steady; Addie lying high on his chest with her face against his neck, his cheek pressed against the side of her head and a protective hand on her back. It’s quite the sight; that big, strong man made up muscles and tattoos and scars with a tiny baby clad in a bubble gum pink sleeper. And she’s quiet and stealthy as she picks up his cell from where it sits on the coffee table, quickly snapping a picture before returning the phone to its resting place.

“What’cha doing?” It’s a groggy mumble, stirred awake when he feels her plucking the empty baby bottle from where he’d set in between his thighs.

“You fell asleep,” she explains, then places the bottle on the table. “Want me to take her? I can put her in her crib and you…”

“Leave her. She’s fine for now.”

With his free hand he reaches out and takes hold of her wrist, gently tugging her towards him and down onto the couch. Arm wrapping around her when she settles in tightly against him; legs tucked under her, head against his shoulder, a hand on his stomach.  

The familiarity of him is comforting; smooth skin against her cheek, the smell that clings to him, the warmth of the strong, solid body and the feel of those tight, well defined abdominal muscles under her fingertips as she slowly and methodically traces each one. Yet she can feel the tension in her shoulders and that aching -that dread- that lingers in the pit of her stomach. And she wonders if he’s fallen asleep again; if those demons and those monsters have finally agreed to let him rest.  Until she feels the brush of his thumb along her shoulder and then his body moving against hers as he carefully moves Addie from her resting place; laying her along his forearm with her head in the crook of his elbow, then tucking her tightly into him.

“Everything okay?” Tyler asks, and she nods. “You haven’t said much since we got home.”

That was eight hours ago, and since then they’ve maybe had five minutes of meaningful conversation. Despite putting on a good front with the smiles and the laughs, they’d been fabricated for the most part. She’d been quiet and distant. With him, with the kids, even with Salena who’d cover over to ‘hangout’ with Ovi and Kyle while they held down things on the homefront.

He’d thought things were okay; that his confession and the open and honest -and completely rational- talk afterwards had been a good start. That while it was going to be a long, hard road, at least they were beginning it on the right foot.  And he hates how weak it makes him feel; how the last seven years of fighting PTSD and depression and everything that comes with him have left him a neurotic, self conscious mess.

“There hasn’t been much to say,” she says, as her fingers continue their exploration of his abs and the small scars and imperfections that mar his stomach. “It’s been one thing after another since we got home.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “It’s been a little...I don’t know…”

“Off the reservations?”

He chuckles. “That works.”

“And it annoyed me that there were so many goddamn people here. Ovi and Chloe and Kyle and Salena.  Like what the hell? We’re not a drop in centre or a shelter for wayward youth.”

“Well someone did have to watch the kids.”

“They should have left when we got back. They didn’t have to stick around. It’s like having four other kids. We have to entertain them and feed them and worry about keeping them happy. I’m their maid or their mother. Like, fuck off already.”

Tyler grins. “You’re feisty tonight.”

“It just pissed me off. I love having my brother visit and I like Salena and it’s nice to have a friend. But God. Go away. I like when it’s just us and the kids and I don’t have to worry about other people.”

“Fuck ‘em. I don’t worry about anyone else. Just my people. That’s all that I care about.”

“Is it wrong that I’m glad my brother is next door eating the neighbour’s ass like a cupcake?”

“When you say it that way? Yes. It is. It is wrong. In so many ways.”

“I mean, I know he just met her and despite what he says, I know it’s one of the main reasons he broke things off with Nik. But at least he’s out of my hair. I’ve got enough to deal with. I don’t need his bullshit on top of it.”

“You know what I think? I think we’re the last two people who should be talking about things happening too fast between him and Sabrina.”

“Salena,” she corrects. “I don’t know if you actually don’t remember her name, or if you just call her Sabrina just to be a dick.”

“It’s just to be a dick,” Tyler admits.

“You honestly don’t like her? It’s not just you being paranoid for no reason?”

“It’s not that I don’t like her. I just don’t trust her. And not in a paranoid or overprotective way. I’m working on being okay with the ‘you having friends’ thing. I’m good with that. There’s just something about her. Something that doesn’t sit right. And you've always said I have good instincts.”

“Very good instincts. Amazing instincts, actually.”

“Well they’re telling me that there’s something not right with her. That she’s not who she says she is. Who you think she is. Even Millie said she doesn’t trust her.”

“Well in all fairness, Millie is five and hates anyone who doesn’t put pineapple on pizza or who eats steak cooked past medium rare.”

“I just want you to be careful. I’m not saying don’t talk to her or don’t hang out with her. ‘Cause I get that you need friends. Just be careful around her. Don’t get too close, don’t say too much. That’s all I ask.”

“Okay,” she says, a smile on her face as she pats his stomach and kisses his shoulder. “See how agreeable I can be when you don’t freak out and we actually talk about things?”

“You are less of a bitch.”

“You know, you start out so well and you always manage to end so badly.”

“Kind of like everything in my life.”

She frowns. “That is not what I meant and you know it. I meant it as a joke. I was teasing you.” She tousles his hair, then runs her fingers through it. Loving the messy ‘bed head’ look it so easily takes on. “Are you alright? You’re not…?”

“Thinking about getting drunk and high? No. I’m not. I honestly haven’t thought about that since this morning. I don’t think about it all the time. It’s not every day, twenty four hours a day. Just when shit happens.”

“Like Ovi wanting help,” she concludes. “And your dad. And the nightmares.”

Tyler nods.

“I mean I get it. I do. I don’t know exactly what you’re feeling or what’s going on in your head, but I know you struggle. I know you’ve got a lot on your plate and a lot of things inside of you that are weighing you down. And I know the kind of life you’ve lived. The things you’ve seen and the things you’ve had to do. That would mess anyone up.”

It’s been a lifetime of turmoil. An abusive childhood, the death of his mother at a young age, a tumultuous marriage right out of high school, and the death of his first child. And he’d spent years devoting himself to the military and then to the job. Never taking time to truly rest and worry about himself.

“I don’t want you to think less of me,” he says. “I don't want you being disgusted or disappointed or…”

“Okay, first off,” Esme interjects. “I won't let you talk about yourself like that. Because none of that is true. I’m not disappointed or disgusted. Not in the slightest. And I could never think less of you. Because I know what kind of man you are and I know you’re strong and resilient and you’re loyal and protective and all those amazing things that make you, you. I mean, yeah, I won’t lie; there’s some things about you that drive me batshit insane.”

Tyler smirks.

“But it’s stupid shit like your snoring and how cold your feet are and you have the nerve to put them against me in bed. Or how you refuse to separate laundry before putting it in the machine and we’ve had to throw out so many clothes. Or how our last Christmas in Colorado you actually used a staple gun to put the lights on the house.”

“Don’t hold back baby,” he grins. “Tell me how you really feel.”

“But it’s dumb stuff like that. It’s the little things that drive me nuts but don’t make me love you any less. And I bet you have a whole list of things that drive you crazy when it comes to me.”

“It’s not actually a list, but…”

“But they’re still things that drive you nuts, right? Do they make you love me any less? Even the more serious things. Are they horrible enough to make you think less of me?”

“Of course not.”

“Well then why would I think that way about you? You’re not a terrible person because you’ve got issues. It’s not like you were a mean or an abusive drunk. That would have been a lot worse.”

“You would have totally kicked my ass if I ever got like that.”

“I would have given you the ass kicking of a lifetime. And then I would have taken your kids and left and I would have made sure you never found out. And that would have hurt you a lot more than anything physical I could have done.”

It’s the harsh and honest truth. As much as she wants him around, she would be more than capable of surviving without him. Of taking the kids and giving them a good life; somewhere safe and happy, away from the turmoil and heartache that booze and drugs would cause. And he wouldn’t blame her if she did leave. If that six month separation had taught him anything, it’s that she’s a hell of a lot stronger than anyone...even him...gives her credit for.

“If you go back to that...the booze...the meds...especially the meds..I can’t stay with you, Tyler. I can’t. Not because I don’t love you. Because I do. With everything I am and everything I have. But I love my children more and I won’t let them grow up like that. I refuse to let them go through that. I can live with going back to the job, but if you go back to the way you were when we met...if Oxy comes into this house or I find you’re sneaking off and doing it somewhere else...we’re done. I’ll walk out of here and I will take those kids and I won’t look back. And I know you don’t want that.”

“I don’t want that.”

Emotion chokes at him; tears filling his eyes as he looks down at the baby sleeping soundly against him. So tiny and so perfect. Everything that’s beautiful and good about the two of them existing in those six pounds and fifteen inches. Five times he’d experienced this; the joy and the profound love that comes with being a dad. And six months away from his kid had felt like a lifetime and had nearly destroyed him.

“You could survive without me,” she says. “But I know you wouldn’t survive long without them.”

“I don’t want to live without any of you,” he tells her. “We’re in this together. The second we found out about Millie and when we decided to get married. I don’t want to lose them and I don’t want to lose you either.”

“But you will. If you go back to the way you were.  The booze, the Oxy, the death wish. If you go back to that, we are not going to make it. Because I need to think about those kids first. I won’t let them grow up like that and you shouldn’t want them to either.”

“I don’t. I don’t want that. I don’t want to be that person again.”

“I can handle the job. If you decide you want to go back, I can accept it and we can live like that. That won’t kill us. But the rest will. And I don’t want that.  I don’t want to have to walk away. Because I love you. More than I ever thought I could love someone, especially after Mark. I’d rather live with you than without you.”

“Even with the snoring and the cold feet?” he teases.

“I just tell you to put on socks or to roll over and be quiet. Sometimes I plug your nose until you can't breathe and you wake up.”

“So you are homicidal.”

“I’m not trying to kill you. I’m trying to wake you up and to stop your snoring. Now if I covered your nose and your mouth, you might have a valid concern.”

Tyler smirks.

She tightens the hold on his hair, then presses his lips to his temple, followed by his ear, then down to his cheek. Lips warms and feathery as they travel along his jaw as she speaks. “You are the strongest person I know. That I’ve ever known. And I need you to fight this. Harder than you’ve ever fought anything else. Even after Dhaka. Because you have little humans that love you and adore you and would miss you so much. If you can’t do it for myself or for me, do it for them. I mean look at her…” she reaches across to him to run a palm over Addie’s head; the dark hair soft against her skin. “...look how beautiful she is. How perfect she is. You did this. You helped make this. Something so amazing. Why would you not want to fight?”

“It’s not that I don’t want to. I just don’t know I have anything left to fight it.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it. You don’t give up. You’re not a quitter. Maybe before we met and you felt like you had nothing to lose and thought you deserved to die. But now you have everything to live for. So if you think I’m just going to sit back and let you...of all people...just give up, you have another thing coming. So stop,” she kisses his cheek. “Stop your shit and get it together and fight this thing. Promise me, Tyler. That you’re not going to give in to this.”

“I’m not going to give in,” he assures her. “I don’t want to lose you or my kids. That would kill me quicker than anything else ever could.”

“See , now THIS is when being ferociously stubborn is a good thing,” her face and voice seem brighter. “And isn’t she something else?” She traces the outer edge of Addie’s ear with her fingertip. “She’s just so tiny and so perfect and so amazing.”

“And beautiful,” he adds. “Just like her mom. We did good, yeah?”

“We did. Five times. It’s surreal, isn’t it? If you think about where you were seven years ago compared to now.”

“I don’t even want to think about where I was seven years go. I mean, other than when you walked into my place looking all cute and shit in your little shorts and your tank top.”

“I still can’t believe you remember what I was wearing. It’s not like it was anything spectacular. Not like Nik and her blouse cut down to her belly button nearly.”

“I never paid attention to what she was wearing. I was too busy looking at your ass in those shorts.”

She laughs. “You were honestly checking out my ass?”

“And other things,” he admits. “I’m a guy. I’m gonna look. Especially when fresh meat walks through the door.”

“Fresh meat? Really? That’s what you thought of me?”

“I don’t mean it in that way. I didn’t know who you were; I’d never seen you before. And you just show up out of the blue and walk in looking like that? Yeah, I checked you out.”

“You were very sly about it because I thought you hated me.”

“I didn’t hate you. I was nice to you.”

“That was nice? That was you being nice?”

“Okay, so maybe you annoyed me a little.”

“I annoyed you now?” she laughs. “How did I annoy you? I barely spoke to you or looked at you.”

“I didn’t like that Nik just showed up like that and brought someone with her. And it threw me off that you looked like you did and your ass looked like it did. And I hadn’t had sex in like four months, so…”

“That’s what it was! I annoyed you because you were sexually frustrated.”

“Pretty much,” Tyler nods.  “And you were wearing those shorts and that strap of your tank top kept falling down. I kept wanting to push it back up but Nik was there and that would have been really awkward if I’d kicked her out and made her wait while I banged you.”

“Awfully bold of you to assume I would have succumbed to your advances.”

A sly grin spreads across his face. “You so would have.”

“Actually, yeah. I would have,” she agrees, and then bursts out laughing and drops her forehead onto his shoulder. “You’re a bad influence! You and your blue eyes and your stupidly handsome face. For what it’s worth, you sort of annoyed me too.”

“How? I behaved myself.”

“You did. But I was annoyed at how ridiculously good looking you were. I’ve seen a lot of mercenaries, but I’d never seen one that looked like that.”

“So you were checking me out too.”

“Of course I was. I’m not blind. I know a good thing when I see it.”  She jumps off the couch and heads for the kitchen, returning with a carton of ice cream and two spoons. “I mean, you were all tall and big arms and broad shoulders and the pure definition of walking sex. And the voice…” she drops down beside him once more, handing him a spoon and pulling off the lid on the ice cream. “...that would have sealed the deal. If you had said drop your pants, I would have done it, no questions asked.”

“Talk about a wasted opportunity.”

“Well we made up for it over the course of five days,” she reasons. “I couldn’t give it up in the first ten minutes. I already looked like a big enough slut after knowing you for three days.”

“For the record, I never thought you were a slut.”

“That’s reassuring. I thought you were one, so…”

He frowns. “That’s not nice.”

“A guy doesn’t look like you and not get laid a lot. I’m just saying. And the things you knew how to do and how well you did them? Yeah. I knew you were a player.”

“Yeah? Well for someone who claims to have only been with three guys including me, you knew a little too much and were a little too willing to let me do certain things.”

“You’re going to complain about it seven years later? Really?”

“I’m not complaining. I’m just saying how it seemed.”

“Well you spend four years never having an orgasm other than the ones you give yourself, then let’s see how you feel when someone comes along and gives you multiple.  I have to say, you were on the ball that night.”

“I wanted you to keep coming back for more so I had to make a good first impression.”

“Oh believe me. You did. Because here I am, seven years later, looking like a hot mess after having five kids, and still putting out.”

“You’re beautiful. Always have been. Always will be.”

She arches an eyebrow. “Even after that many kids?”

He gives her a wink and leans in to kiss her. “Especially after that many kids.”

****

He groans as he stands; a grimace on his face and limp more pronounced as he carries Addie to her playpen; gently placing her inside and then tightly tucking a blanket around her.

“You okay?” Esme asks, as he returns to the couch, sitting down beside her once more. “You haven’t limped that bad in a long time.”

“I’m just stiff as hell,” he assures, then frowns as he reaches for one of the spoons. “Are you trying to make me fat?”

“You’re in a bulk. Ice cream will help you do that. Although I should be getting you fat. So then I don’t have to worry about all those thirsty teachers and playground moms.”

“You already don’t have to worry about them. Besides, you should be more concerned about the neighbor.”

Esme grins. “She thinks you’re a snack.”

“A snack? Fuck her. I’m the whole goddamn buffet.”

“Plus extra dessert. And those warm lemon smelling face cloths some places give you.”

Tyler grins. “I think that’s honestly the best and the weirdest compliment anyone has ever given me. Just so you know, you’re the whole dessert section of the buffet. Plus extra chocolate sauce and sprinkles.”

“You keep sweet talking me like that and I may just jump you right here.”

“Yeah? You promise?”

“We’ll see…” she singsongs, and they lapse into a companionable silence as they dig into the ice cream. Listening to Addie’s soft breathing and the sounds of the nocturnal wildlife that lingers on their property.

“So…” he breaks the silence. “...I was thinking.”

“Uh oh. I don’t know if I like the way you said that.”

“About what you said today. About the job. How you’d be okay with me going back.”

Both eyebrows arch as she regards him.

“I just want you to hear me out, okay? Just listen to what I have to say before saying anything back or freaking out on me. Can you do that?”

Esme nods.

“I have an idea. Actually, it was Ovi’s idea first but I tweaked it and made it make more sense. More beneficial. For me. For us. As a family.”

“Alright,” she swallows some ice cream and helps herself to another spoonful.

“What if I started my own operation? If I got my own group of guys together and made up a  team and got the word out that we’re available and looking for work? What if I was the boss. The Nik of things, so to speak.”

“Where would you find the guys?”

“It’s been almost seven years since Dhaka but my name still has a lot of pull. I let people know I’m looking for mercs, there won’t be a shortage of interested people. And I have a few that have been itching get back into it  and would jump at the chance.  Remember Nathan?”

“The marine from New Zealand?”

“He’s been wanting to break away from Nik for a while. Says she’s losing her touch and things are going to shit.  He’s put his name out there but has gotten a lot of interest.”

“What are his numbers like?”

“Decent. Got a good kill record. Not that that means everything when it comes to the job. But he hasn’t gotten seriously hurt, hasn’t gotten a client or a teammate killed, or royally fucked up.”

“So he’d be one to take a chance on.”

Tyler nods.

“Who else?”

“Just guys I’ve worked with before. That I know work hard and I can trust. Nik won’t be happy though.”

“Because you’re getting into it and getting a piece of that pie?”

“That and I’d be pinching some of her guys. And she knows if people know it’s my operation, we’ll start pulling all the big jobs. Word travels fast in the game and if surviving Dhaka did anything…”

“It boosted your reputation,” she concludes. “Big time. People will be shocked. If you decide to get back in it. Especially if you get back in as a boss. Is that really something you want to do? Or would you rather be right in it getting your own hands dirty?”

“I’d rather come home to my family. And there’s a way better chance of that if I just run things. I mean, I’d have to go where the jobs are, but I wouldn’t have to go out right out in the field. I’d just stay behind and run shit.”

“Hmm…” Esme taps the bowl of her spoon against her lips as she considers his word.

“What are you thinking?” Tyler asks. “And be honest. Don’t just say that you think I want to hear.”

“Well, first, I think it’s a huge step for you.”

“In a good way, or…”

“Of course in a good way. In a very good way. You have the experience. You know how you want things done and you know how you want guys to be. And you know they’ll work for you and that they’ll work well.”

“But…”

“Actually, there is no but. Not that I can think of. And I already told you that I was okay with you going back. Even when it was just the thought of you back out in the field. Could you run things from home? Until there’s a job and you have to go wherever?”

“Baby, in this day and age and with the technology out there? I could run things while taking a shit.”

“And it’s something you’d be happy with?”

“I think so. I think it would stop me from missing the job. I’d still be in life, but not actually in it. I would be a hell of a lot safer, that’s for sure.”

“I know I’d feel better about it,” she admits.

“It would take a bit. To get everything off the ground. I might need your help.”

Her eyes widen.

“Just with intel stuff and getting the word out. Nothing serious.”

“I am not getting involved like I did in Ireland.”

“I wouldn't want you to. Strictly behind the scenes. I promise.”

She sighs. “I suppose I could help with that. What’s in it for me? What kind of payout do I get?”

He grins. “My undying love and loyalty?”

“I already have that. Next.”

“Lots of dick?” he tries again.

“I already get that.”

He shrugs. “I don’t know then. What do you want?”

“I want to go away. Just the two of us. For a couple days. Three at the most.”

“Okay,” Tyler agrees. “Where?”

“I want to go to Kimberley.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Why the hell would you want to go there?”

“I want you to call Koen and tell him we want to stay at the shack. That we’ll pay for him to stay somewhere else for two or three days. I want to go hiking and I want to camp for a night at that gorge you told me about. Where you jumped off the cliff and scared the shit out of Rata.”

“That’s all you want?”

Esme nods.

“Really? You don’t want flowers or expensive jewellery or…”

“I don’t want those things. I want to go away. With you. Just the two of us. And that’s where I want to go. Can you make it happen?”

He gives a confident smile. “Consider it done.”

[theemeraldscribe]

Scar Writing Reference

Here’s just a writing reference for scars from a person with scars:

soooo ....

(All of this is based off of my personal experience, so it most likely won’t be the same for everyone. I have a good number of scars from surgeries and injuries, all of which I got abt 10-ish years ago, so they have all completely healed, but all are very much still visible and apart of my skin.)

1. Appearance. 

(this this obviously different for different skin tones btw)

Completely healed scars tend to look white, or lighter than the base skin color. if they were a surgical cut which was stitched back together, the skin may be very slightly raised at the center of the scar. The skin around it tend to be darker, or redder, like a very faint outline around the scar itself. This change in discoloration makes the scar more noticeable, but not from a distance. I’ve seen this type of dark to light coloration even on the smallest of cuts or burns, as long as they damage the skin enough.

Very shallow injuries or burns tend to not have any lighter coloration, instead they heal as a fainter, slightly darker mark on the skin. 

Scars that are deeper, or indent into the skin can be the reverse of this. The outer edge is the lighter slightly raised part, while the very center which goes below the normal layer of skin is more red or darker in color. If there are veins close to the healed skin, they will be a lot more noticeable and shade the area a blue or purple slightly. 

There are no pores or hair on the scar tissue and even a little bit around the scar. The skin is more smooth, and slightly thinner. This smoothness causes the scars to reflect light easier and in direct light can be a little shiny or white. On larger areas of scar tissue, the skin can dry out easier and cause some flakiness of the top layer of skin. 

2. Touch

Scar tissues feels like the soft, thin, delicate skin on the inside of your wrist. It is very smooth, sometimes even more delicate and thin depending on how serious the injury was. 

For the person who has the scar tissue, when someone touches it, it can feel like nothing, uncomfortable, or even hurt. Sometimes when a scar is healed, the nerves that were apart of that skin did not, so when something very lightly comes in contact with it, you don't feel anything. However, this can lead to the scar feeling uncomfortable when someone else touches it.  You know how its hard to tickle yourself, but someone else can really easily tickle you. That's the same for touching scars, except instead of feeling ticklish you feel unconformable. When you touch your own scar, and don't feel anything from the scar tissue, your brain is expecting this and is ready. When someone else does it, but your brain is registering that it should feel something, it freaks out and can lead to an uncomfortable pit in the stomach like feeling. 

It can also, of course, feel painful, even after the tissue is completely healed. For deeper scars, like ones that indent into he skin, the muscle is damaged and those nerves are a little messed up, but can still register feeling. When pressure is applied, even just a little bit, it can be painful for that person. Not, oh my god my arm is broken, painful. But like a pinch that's dragged out. It hurts.

*****Always keep in mind the skin around the scar tissue area, it gets effected too.  It can be extremely sensitive, sometimes more than the scar tissue itself. If the skin was stitched together to close a wound, then the skin and muscle around it was pulled and shifted, this can cause the nerves to become very sensitive. Usually, if the skin was pulled more from one side then that area will be a lot more sensitive than the skin on the other side of the scar. Putting pressure on this skin can be EXTREAMLY uncomfortable, usually painful like applying pressure to a deep scar. The problem is that this skin looks normal and healthy so most people won’t understand why you flinched or grit your teeth. 

Other people often want to touch scars. Its just how our monkey brains work, so you can’t really blame them. Having friends or family poke at, rub their thumb over, or squeeze the skin around a scar is a weirdly common occurrence for people with noticeable permanent scars. Sometimes this happens because the other person wants to check to see how the tissue is healing or to see if it fades when the skin is moved around. Yeah, it sucks for the person who actually has the scar and can commonly feel like an invasion of privacy. It was a wound at one point, and though now it may be a badge of honor, no one is entitled to touch your body. 

3. Covering up or showing off

This differs for each individual and is effected by a ton of different factors. The cause of the scar is a big one. Traumatic experiences, personal histories, painful issues can all make someone want to cover their scar. Sometimes its covered so that the person themselves doesn’t have to see the reminder, sometimes its covered so other people won’t ask. 

Sometimes scars are very visible and difficult to cover up. This tends to cause to very opposite reactions in people. Some people will immediately ask, which is kinda rude but also expected. Some people will notice and not say anything. They will never bring it up. I’ve had friends for years who have never even mentioned my very visible scars. If you want to talk about the story, you actually have to prompt it. 

Scars can also be a victory badge, the person is proud of the battle they won, or they’ve grown to recognize their scars as a symbol of problems they overcame even though during the time it felt like a loss. I’ve never really seen anyone in real life who showed off their scars by decorating them in some way or purposefully drawing more attention to them. Usually, people who are proud of theirs just don’t cover them, let them speak for themselves. Getting tattoos to decorate a scar or draw emphasis are obviously possible, but I can see why not everyone who is proud of their scars does this since the skin is sensitive and tattooing is already painful enough. 

What I feel like is most common, and what its like for me, is being neutral about your scars. If there's no interesting story or traumatic event, then there's no cause to cover up or show off. For me, my scars were from a surgery when I was a kid, so I grew up with them. To me, they have been like freckles or birthmarks. They are just there and I make no move to cover them. I don’t think they are ugly, and they are not hurting me (ya known when people aren’t poking them). They are just apart of my skin, they make me look like me. I do get defensive when people recommend I get plastic surgery. Sir, I know you did not intend it, but that's a bit offensive. That’s basically telling a person that their healed body looks wrong, looks ugly, and should be fixed. That is the decision of the person with the scars. There is nothing wrong with getting plastic surgery to cover a scar, as long as that person wants to because it will make that person feel more comfortable, happier, with their body. Not to appease everyone else. 

So i guess in the end, if you are writing a character with scars, and want to put some detail into the experience of having scars, go for it. Just remember in the end, scars never define the person. They’re apart of them. But just a part. 

[hudush]

time after time

song: time after time by the wind + the wave

book: open heart

pairing: bryce lahela x mc (kimberly wadsworth)

word count ~ 1 140

a/n: “short drabble”  🤡 this is my first time writing something like that in english which isn’t my first language so i’m really sorry for any misspellings and grammar errors! please point them out so i can edit this trainwreck eye--. also, the next one will have some angst in it?? ofc it is if i write it  🤡

❝ stop moving, i’m almost done ❞ prompt from this post

          The sharp hospital fluorescent lights most certainly did not help Kim’s dull headache. A chilly air blast from the AC swept under Her scrubs and made her shiver, despite the white coat thrown over her shoulders.

           She always got cold fast and not moving for a while just made it worse. Sighing, she rubbed her arms and got back to counting drops falling from her banana bag.

           The truth was – she knew she shouldn’t have agreed to cover her colleague’s shift, already being exhausted and not having eaten for the whole day (Ethan Ramsey was a rather demanding boss and even thought he told her to take a break, Kim wanted to stay with her patient), but she needed extra money, now more than ever.

           She winced. Just thinking about her brother’s debt made her feel both angry and downcasted at the same time. She could send him some extra cash but if he got back into gambling–

           ‘Stop moving, I’m almost done.’

           Kim looked up, concentrating on Bryce’s focused face – the furrowed brows and a Little crease between them, faded freckles dusted over his nose and cheeks, strands of hair falling into his eyes. Can he even see anything?

           ‘I still think,’ she started, ‘it would be better if someone from plastics would look at it.’

           Bryce smirked, glancing at her for a second.

           ‘Who is the surgeon here, me or you?’ She could hear the humor in his voice. ‘Besides, maybe I’ll get into plastics?’

           Kim narrowed her eyes at him, remembering how he complained about being on plastics rotation last week – while Bryce was excited for any surgery he could assist, both of them knew he lived on adrenaline, the rush of blood when a new car crush victim was admitted, making decisions in a split of second. The excitement and thrill of someone’s life depending on your sharpness.

           He would also rewatch the most intense episodes of Grey’s Anatomy during their monthly marathon.

           Everyone knew Bryce Lahela would choose trauma. It was just a matter of when.

           He caught her staring and flashed her a smile that made her blush.

           It wasn’t like her to be intimidated, especially not by Bryce. But after the ethics hearing, after the party, after the night spent with Bryce, something changed between them. During his break, Bryce would seek her out even more. Staying at each others apartments after long and tiresome shifts just to spend more time together, cuddled under the sheets. It’s just easier, they would tell their roommates. Kim’s apartament was closer to the hospital, and Bryce drove a car. She would come up with excuses, noticing Jackie shooting her knowing glances, seeing Bryce coming out of their bathroom in the mornings. He would just smile when his roommates would ask about Kim’s coat hanged on a hook in the hall of their apartment.

           But despite the warm tones of their voices, the quiet whispers in the dead of the night which made them slowly discover each other piece by piece, despite the light teasing touches making her heart flutter and the ones that made them pant, wanting more and more, despite everything – they didn’t talk about it.

           She knew that the pace of their lives, sometimes not seeing each other for days just to steal a few moments in the on-call room, not being able to plan something just because there’s incoming trauma from a car crash, someone had to stay with the patient, or they simply didn’t have time for one another–

           Maybe he didn’t need more. Didn’t want more. Maybe that’s all they were – friends who stole hushed secrets and passionate touches leaving them both lighthearted and content in each other’s embrace.

           And maybe, just maybe, Kim once thought that they may be something more.

           But she stayed silent, taking what he was willing to give.

           She squirmed, sitting on a hospital cot, moving her legs back and forth, her shoes squeaking on the floor. There was no point in thinking about it, at least not when Bryce was just inches from her, stitching a cut on her forehead.

           Just an hour ago she found out how dangerous are hospital beds if you just got off from your 48 hours shift, heavy-eyed and most certainly dehydrated.

           After getting her almost killed by the bed, Sienna wouldn’t stop apologizing and Kim was pretty sure her roommate, when she saw the cut, would look for the head of plastics if Bryce didn’t show up and reassured her he would be more than happy to help.

           ‘I need to practice anyway’, were his exact words at which Kim started to protest.

           ‘There you are’, said Bryce, finishing stitching her up. She felt his touch lingering on her face for a second just to disappear like it was nothing in another. ‘Good God, I’m so good at this, you won’t even have a scar.’

           Kim rolled her eyes and hopped of the cot, inspecting the cut in the mirror. He really did a good job but just because of the smug smile on his face, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, admitting it.

           After putting a small bandage on the cut, she turned to Bryce, suddenly nervous, not knowing what to say. He glanced at her from putting away the instruments.

           Aware of his stare, Kim shifted from foot to foot, feeling her cheeks going red. She coughed, clearing her throat and wiped her cold hands on her blue scrubs.

           The scalpel jockey would not make her anxious, and especially the way he looked at her right now, as he was thinking about the way they clung to each other two nights ago, how their bodies would fit together–

           ‘Thanks for…’, said Kim sheepishly, pointing at her forehead.

           Bryce just smiled and nodded. ‘Are you free tomorrow night?’

           She stopped with her hand on the door handle, looping back at him, going over the Schedule in her head.

           ‘Why?’ He could hear suspicion in her voice that made him chuckle.

           ‘It’s Nico’s birthday. We’re going out to Donahue’s for some drinks.’

           ‘So now you’re hanging out with the vagina squad?’ Kim raised her brows thinking about Nico, an obstetrics and gynecology resident she worked with on a few cases.

           Bryce sighed, slouching his arms. ‘I already hang out with IM residents, I have lost my dignity a long time ago.’

           Narrowing her eyes at Bryce, Kim raised her middle finger, receiving a wide, playful grin from him.

           ‘I’m changing my Netflix password. You can pay for your own’, she turned away, hiding her smile.

           ‘So?’, he asked stopping her from walking out.

           Kim hesitated for a second. Tomorrow was one of the rare nights, when she would be free. But she promised her brother…

           She sighed, shaking her head at herself. He’s not a child anymore.

           ‘I’ll try to be there.’

[heytheredeann]

I was tagged by @mysteryandnonstopfun, thank you! Here it comes... with occasional commentary, because I’m me.

APPEARANCE

i am over 5’5 // i wear glasses/contacts // i have blonde hair // i prefer loose clothing over tight clothing // i have one or more piercings (I’m assuming ears count here) // i have at least one tattoo // i have blue eyes // i have dyed or highlighted my hair (I’ve done highlights one time in high school! It wasn’t exactly my decision as my mother had reign over my hair, but it wasn’t so bad lol)  // i have gotten plastic surgery // i have or had braces (so. many. years.) // i sunburn easily // i have freckles (not too many and they mostly come out because of the sun, but it counts, right?) // i paint my nails // i typically wear makeup // i don’t often smile // i am pleased with how i look // i prefer nike to adidas // i wear baseball caps backwards

HOBBIES AND INTERESTS

i play a sport // i can play an instrument (I can sort of play the guitar, but it was a while ago tbh) // i am artistic // i know more than one language // i have won a trophy in some sort of competition // i can cook or bake without a recipe (I mean... I don’t bake, but everything that I can cook at this point I do without a recipe... though I’m not sure if it counts because it’s pretty basic stuff LOL) // i know how to swim // i enjoy writing // i can do origami // i prefer movies to tv shows (I know that this is a little absurd to say, but movies feel like Too Much Of A Commitment a lot of the time LOL) // i can execute a perfect somersault (I had to google what this meant and... um. I don’t know what ‘perfect’ means and it’s been AGES since I’ve had to do it anyway but. um. sorta? possibly?) // i enjoy singing // i could survive in the wild on my own // i have read a new book series this year // i enjoy spending time with my friends // i travel during school or work breaks // i can do a handstand 

RELATIONSHIPS

i am in a relationship // i have been single for over a year // i have a crush // i have a best friend i have known for ten years (two, actually!) // my parents are together // i have hooked up with my best friend // i am adopted // my crush has confessed to me // i have had a long-distance relationship // i am an only child // i give advice to my friends // i have made an online friend // i met up with someone i have met online

AESTHETICS

i have heard the ocean in a conch shell // i have watched the sunrise// i enjoy rainy days (it’s raining right now!!!) // i have slept under the stars // i meditate outside // the sound of chirping calms me // i enjoy the smell of the beach // i know what snow tastes like (...l o o k, when your dad’s side of the family has a thing for skiing and kids get thrown in the snow since before they can stand this becomes kind of inevitable) // i listen to music to fall asleep // i enjoy thunderstorms // i enjoy cloud watching // i have attended a bonfire // i pay close attention to colours // i find mystery in the ocean // i enjoy hiking on nature paths // autumn is my favourite season

MISCELLANEOUS

i can fall asleep in moving vehicles (I absolutely cannot. Maybe I doze off for two minutes if I’ve been awake for 20 hours straight, but I will wake up immediately. sigh.) // i am the mom friend (I mean. a little.) // i live by a certain quote(s) // i like the smell of sharpies // i am involved in extracurricular activities // i enjoy mexican food (what I’ve tried, yeah!) // i can drive a stick-shift // i believe in true love (I’m assuming that “true love” means “there is someone out there made exactly for you, go find them!”, I believe more in like building true love, if that makes sense) // i make up scenarios to fall asleep // i sing in the shower // i wish i lived in a video game // i have a canopy above my bed // i am multiracial // i am a redhead // i own at least 3 dogs 

I tag: @im-the-punk-who @misscrazyfangirl321 @grayson-dick @rainbow-motors (I think I haven’t see you guys do it... I think.......)

[szopenhauer]

Did the last person you kissed celebrate your last birthday with you? no

Who is the person you would least like to be stuck in a lift with? Why? smelly drunk puking rapist murderer - do I really have to explain? If your parents looked in your inbox and read your messages, would they find out anything you didn’t want them to know? my sexts Have you cried at all during the past week? ... When was the last time you felt disappointed? What was the reason? now, no comment Who was the last person you had an argument with? how would you feel if that person never spoke to you again? both good and bad

Do you like forks with three metal pokers, or four? I don’t care Would you ever wear a hat with cat ears on it? I already do 

Have you ever eating raw sugar by itself? when I was a kid I was stealing it from my grandma’s sugar-bowl  Do you paint your left or right hand fingernails first? I don’t recall but probably left as I’m righty What about for your feet? not that I paint them but whatever What’s the scariest thing you’ve ever done? hmm... Do you think fish are cute? some can be If you found an ant on your food, would you still eat it? doubt it How much do you weigh? 42 kg now

What was the shortest amount of time you’ve known someone before you’ve dated them? but dates or relationship?

Do you have any theatrical experience? If so, what have you done? just school

Don’t you hate it when people talk about their relationships constantly? every subject you talk about constantly is getting on my nerves tbh

Is there anything you need to say to anyone? I don’t know how/what/if I should/want to

If you could have anyone to do your eulogy, who would it be and why? my dad

If given the choice, would you rather go to Subway or a Chinese restaurant? Subway

Do your neighbors annoy you in any way? many ways

Whose car were you in last? I was in a taxi

How late did you stay up last night? I barely slept at all because of cannula/venflon and feeling like I’m choking, also noise and anxiety

What were you doing at 12:30 this afternoon? coming home 

Who did you last see in person? mom

When was the last time a member of the opposite sex hugged you? today (my father)

What is on your wrists right now? finally nothing and that feels weird, I constantly want to fix my ID wristband but it’s not there anymore

Where did you get the shirt you’re wearing? second hand - it has an elephant and Perfectly imperfect written on it

Do you like clowns? very

Are you listening to anything at the moment? I am

Do you twitch when your falling asleep? it happens at times but only rarely

Are your dishes in the dishwasher clean or dirty? we don’t own a dishwasher

Are you at home or with friends more often? home and I like it that way

Would you date someone 15 years older than you? noooo

Do you own a strapless bra? nah

How are you feeling at this exact moment? it’s complicated

Are you someone who worries too often? absolutely

Do you ever wonder how other people see you? obvi

What is one good thing you’re known for? How about one bad thing? don’t ask me

Are you taller than most? lmfao 

Are you the type of person who likes to be out or home? take a guess...

Has anyone ever said i love you to you and not meant it? it seems

Do you regret going out with the last person you did? going out as dating or just spending time with somebody outside?

When was the last time you showered? few days ago because I couldn’t move my arm :( 

Who did you last talk to in person? my mother

Do you ever have days where you just don’t do anything? yeah

Have you ever been extremely tired but refused to go to sleep? hahaha

What’s the longest amount of time you’ve been stuck in traffic? not sure

What area of math are you best at? Worst? dunno

How do you feel when you meet someone with the same music taste as you? only Dorota had similar taste in music to mine not counting my current gf’s love towards 80s songs that we share

How often do you “half-ass” things (put little effort in)? often?

Do you ever feel self-conscious when you eat around other people? yes

Has a teacher ever made you hate yourself/your work? sure

What’s something that makes you incredibly nervous? everything?...

If you don’t have glasses, how would you feel if you had to get them? mixed feelings

If you do have glasses, how would you feel if you didn’t need them anymore? -

Have you ever considered going to art school? I have considered and am slightly regretting that I didn’t

How quickly can you write an essay? depends

Favorite episode of Spongebob? it’s not my fav but I remember the one where Spongebob painted the room most (why tho?)

Do you have any silly/odd emotional connections to anything/anyone? would say so

Do you play with your phone in awkward situations? I might

Do u own a rolling pin?: u don’t? :o

What’s your ideal indoor temperature?: never checked 

Does your kitchen have a theme?: ... apparently poop is the theme 

Are u a pack rat?: mhm

What’s the grossest thing u have found in your food?: bug, hair, piece of plastic...

Do u like ice cream sandwiches?: why not

Ever worn a flower in your hair?: for a moment

What surgeries have u had?: none 

What health problems do u have?: what health problems I don’t have?...

Do u like to sleep in?: yasss

Don’t ya just hate foot cramps? who likes those? 

Would you say you have an infectious laugh? not really Shouldn’t you be doing something else right now? omg thx for a reminder :o What is something you worry about often? every single thing Do you walk fast or slow? compared to?... Would you consider yourself healthy? Both mind and body. not at all Does sitting in waiting rooms drive you insane? not as much as majority of people, I can wait for a long time when I see the point and don’t feel the worst, I don’t need much entertainment to not get bored What form of public transport do you use most often? bus Would you consider yourself an adrenaline junkie? the opposite Have you ever been arrested? If so, why? I’m an angel Do you ever put sticky notes around the place to remind yourself of things? I have shitload of notes but they’re not sticky  Would you eat a spider for $50? hell no Would you rather be a kangaroo or a koala? koala Are you easy to talk to? am I? Can you juggle with more than two items? I can’t juggle with one item pfft At airports do you ever worry your luggage won’t arrive? scary but luckily I don’t travel by plane What other windows have you currently got opened? fb, youtube, tumblr drafts, google translator and google searching Who else is in the same building as you? my parents Would you like a penny farthing bicycle? maybe Would you ever consider visiting Ireland? what for? Would you like to visit Venice? no thx Did you ever eat leaves when you were a kid? my sister did Do you have any flags in your house? we occasionally put polish flag on balcony Are there any ‘keep off the grass’ signs where you live? just don’t throw trash on the ground on cemetery Have you ever walked on the grass with such a sign? that’s rude unless you really didn’t notice or had no choice Are you double-jointed? could say so At school which area of science did you prefer: biology/chemistry/physics? definitely not physics Which did you prefer between geography/history? neither Have you ever driven a tractor? didn’t have an opportunity  Does the smell of the countryside bother you? animal shit does Do you drink more water or juice? water 

Sweater weather or tank top weather? Which do you prefer. I like it hot, I hate winter but I enjoy sweaters Is there a cat in the room you’re in right now? stuffed only Do you enjoy going to the movies? prefer to watch movies at home

Are you an animal lover? I admire from afar How tall are you? according to my doctor I lost 2 cm  Is there anything you want to ask anyone right now? God  Are you gay, straight, bi, lesbian, asexual, or not sure? asexual/lesbian Are you more negative or more positive? negative Have you made any life altering decisions lately? I’m deciding

Do you have any songs currently stuck in your head? not atm Have you made a CV? several Where is the last place you applied for a job? (If you have) which was the last one... Are you photogenic? I’m ugly

What are you listening to right now? stopped because family member is asleep What are you going to do tomorrow? shopping if anything

Have you ever been judged on something you wore? been bullied

Think QUICK what word begins with c? clown :D

Are you a funny person? I believe  Be honest, do you go for looks more or personality? personality is more important but I’m picky

Are you a flirty person? a bit

Are you homophobic? I’m homo myself so...

How would you react if someone said you ruined their life? I know I ruin everybody’s lives

If you’re home alone, do you still close/lock the door when you use the bathroom? I don’t lock ‘em even when I’m not alone

What’s the stupidest song you’ve listened to today? nothing stupid

How is your hair currently styled? it’s dirty and after this survey I will wash my head finally

Do you ever stay up late just to be awake oh well...

Would you ever write a letter to someone you haven’t met yet, like your future spouse? I don’t think so

Would you rather spend the day watching movies or on an intense hike? entire day just one thing?!

Are you stressed about anything? always Have you ever stood on a frozen solid body of water? too dangerous for me Are you one of those people who take like, 50 Facebook quizzes at a time? whoops :x What’s on your bed? it’s so clean/empty that it freaks me out Are you texting anyone? no longer

Did your last beverage contain caffeine? it was just water

Did you get any friend requests on Facebook today? did not

What’s your least favourite song by your favourite artist? for example - one of my fav bands - Queen - I dislike Radio Gaga and We will rock you

What’s your best friend’s middle name? no middle name!

Who was the last person to comment on your Facebook status? my partner

If the person you miss turned up at your door now, how would you react? woah wtf

Where were you THREE hours ago? in here

What are you wearing right now? my leggings with colorful heart pattern

Who was the last person you talked to on the phone? parent

Have you bought any clothing items in the last week? I got two shirts and socks 

What day is tomorrow? Friday

Do you remember the first person you ever kissed? we’re together now again

Ever use someone else’s toothbrush? that’s disgusting, don’t!

[kihyunswrath]

about monsta x sasaengs

fellow monbebes i just read kimchitokki’s twitter and i’m fucking pissed and there’s just one thing I want to say about it and that’s the tl;dr: i know it upsets you but do not take her words seriously like for real

like. the chances of her having a normal job and then still finding out a PLENTY of private info about several groups at once, following them all around the world and literally breaking into their houses without ending up in jail? slim. sure she might follow the groups around, she might be wasting all her life and money on stalking them, like i don’t doubt it for a second that she pushes her miserable ass wherever she can get and that mx members would like to throw up at the sight of her, but that’s literally why she has turned to all of you guys to fund her lifestyle. that shit’s expensive.

she with 100% certainty pulls stuff out of her ass to make money and continue her abusive behavior. why else would she be so generous sharing them juicy bits about idols’ private “personalities”, their unhealthy habits, fights they’ve had and same-sex relationships, exes and idk, next she probably claims she knows what color their underwear is every given day? think about it. she writes about it in the most public platform possible, both in korean and english? if she has such an easy access to all that and is actually sharing their private info in exchange for profit, starship has been so careless about their privacy that she wouldn’t be the only one knowing about this stuff. meaning none of those things would be secrets at this point. we would all know. 

her lack of empathy, kindness, reason, intellect and sanity is one thing, but it’s another thing that people literally fund her because they think they truly need to find out if and who mx members are dating or if they... like, whatever, smoke?

like for real. most of her replies are so dumb, sweeping generalizations that i could also write similar replies. i have common sense, i have been a fan of mx for a long time and i have studied korean ent industry for years. but i’m not asking for money because i’m not a dipshit, so whatever, here’s my helpful replies to the most burning questions we all want to know! for free! so you don’t have to go ask her the same things and pay for lies!

1) are they in a relationship? of course they have or have had relationships, they are people. just most likely less often than people would like to believe, given their lack of time to do fucking anything but dance/practice/perform themselves to early grave. yes, with 99% certainty at least some of them are dating right as we speak. yes, most likely at least one of them is gay/bisexual/etc. because statistically speaking, that’s just plausible. none of us fans will ever end up with them, so we should be happy if they ever get to date anyone - that means they’ll be happier and receive extra energy and inspiration and will be taken care of. if you trust and love mx members, you can also trust the people they have chosen. and in the extremely unlikely case one of you would end up dating one of them: it still doesn’t matter what they are choosing to do with their lives right now. 

2) are they dating idols, fans, foreigners? lol who’d be able to provide for them the best? most likely people who they can... like. meet more often than once a year, who understand their daily struggles, who aren’t pisspoor - and given the idol industry standards they’ve gotten used to over the years, they most likely will also be attractive people around their age. so most likely not fans, nor foreigners. and most likely not that random idol you’re thinking of. 99% of the time it’s someone you’ve literally never heard of.  

3) do they smoke? do they use drugs? do they drink alcohol? probably, probably, yes. like for real, these people sleep 0-5 hours per night and are constantly expected to look, sound and seem absofuckinglutely stunning and spotless. it shouldn’t be humanly possible, and perhaps it isn’t. they’ll use shortcuts, whatever those might be, and consuming unhealthy stuff is like. one of those.

4) and the previous point includes plastic surgery and other body modifications/injections/meso threads/expensive treatments. mx has money, plastic surgeries are common practice, plastic surgeons are good at what they’re doing, and idols are literal representatives of that whole industry. plastic surgery wouldn’t be nearly as big of a business in korea without hallyu.

5) do they end up fighting sometimes? yes, just like everyone else. could their personal ways of handling arguments get in the way of fixing stuff? obviously. could it sometimes take time for them to recover from fights, breakups, disagreements, leading them to appear unhappy for a period of time? yes, that’s life. could one of the members be less familiar/close with someone else within the group? again, yes, that’s more likely than not. could one of them be somewhat distant with everyone within the group? let’s be real. they have other friends too, life outside of this job. they might grow distant at times and focus on themselves/their other friends more. or they might not want to hang out with each other very often outside of schedules. it also has absolutely nothing to do with us. it doesn’t benefit any of us to learn whether they have been fighting about something. as long as they don’t explicitly express their concerns, we can assume things are going just fine. they don’t need to be absolutely best best friends in order to still enjoy working together - and yet, them fighting and having disagreements is not a sign of them not being best best friends, so there’s that too.

6) could they be sick or having a dangerous diet? yes, probably one of them is sick right now, or recovering. being an idol is a very unhealthy job in itself, plus people do tend to get sick from time to time. we can offer them our constant support, care and love and ask them how they are doing, we can ask them to get more rest and keep eating well. but that’s all. they have their own support network who truly know what’s going on in their lives, and there’s nothing more we could do either way. and despite their unhealthy job, they are all young, physically active and have an access to good medical treatment, so the chances of them dying all of a sudden without us having the slightest clue is like. almost nonexistent. 

7) are they different behind cameras? well idk what do you think? do they pick their noses, examine the gunk they found and eat it afterwards when they’re alone? do they have farting competitions? do they scratch their balls and continue their day without washing their hands? do they have explosive diarrhea and pimples they pop in front of the mirror? do you think there would be a horrible stench coming out of their mouths in the morning? yes to all of those questions and all the others i didn’t list but we were all thinking of nonetheless. they are probably much less friendly, considerate, cheerful or tactful in real life. they might be, like, not even the smartest or nicest people you could imagine, because they’re human beings, and that’s ok. they’re already doing more than they ever needed to, and nothing so far has indicated that they are actually evil people in real life. 

8) are they going to enlist or disband soon?  monsta x is literally doing better than any other group starship ever had. they’re doing better than 90% of other kpop groups. starship staff would probably rather cut their own heads off rather than disband mx (before everything is sucked out of them). having said that, shownu has to enlist next year, and the 93-liners will join the year after, so obviously that means the remaining members will have to focus on solo stuff and such. but that most likely will be a breath of fresh air to them, since they no longer have to be so hyper-focused on those insanely tight world-tour schedules. maybe they’ll finally have more time to be creative, learn new skills and produce more carefully constructed stuff. so even though it’ll be sad for us fans, it also has good consequences.

and like i’ve said 1000 times before: be happy for whatever monsta x or any other kpop group decides to do, because they quite literally did not have to do it. they are full human beings who are doing this because they wanted to. because they decided to see the effort and work through all the hardships. they owe us nothing. they don’t have to do anything for us. their public presence is a bonus, a gift, an additional benefit, an extra perk we have a privilege to see and enjoy. we gave them their success, our money and our time, but that was our own decision. they can decide to quit and walk away whenever, no explanations needed. they can change the course of their careers and do things differently, and there’s nothing we can do about that. we can only be thankful for whatever content, whatever glimpses of their life we could see, and we have absolutely 0 right to ask for more. 

__________

so there. everyone buying information from kimchitokki or even considering doing that: please stop. even if she was right about everything, which she obviously isn’t, you’re supporting a psychopath who isn’t capable of loving anyone but herself. she doesn’t support monsta x - she’s the one causing them illnesses, depression and stress. she’s a fucking gross disease and needs to waltz straight into jail.