#like every 30 seconds i just get hit with this intense wave of dizziness and lightheadedness and then after 1 second it goes back to normal | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sserpente · 3 years

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A/N: Heyho there my lovelies! I’m finally back! I missed posting so much! This Imagine is based on a TikTok I found and what can I say? It inspired me! After this, next up, will be the 20k Special! Enjoy everyone!

Words: 3205 Warnings: colour-blindness

“What if I never find him?” You murmured, glancing at the fruit bowl with a saddened expression. Yellow bananas, green grapes, red apples. To you, they were all different shades of grey. Dull and boring, like you had been sucked into a 30s black-and-white film. Only you didn’t get a cheesy romance out of it.

You had been born with what doctors today would call a ‘remarkably rare, complicated and fascinating condition’, for you had lost all of your colour vision at the age of twelve. You still remembered what the world had looked like before—bright, rich, intense—then someone flicked a switch overnight and all you could still see was grey, grey, grey and greyer. The colours would only ever come back to you once you found the love of your life—your soulmate.

A sigh escaped your lips. Only a few people still existed with this… defect and to make things worse, you had had no idea you were one of them. Not until your twelfth birthday. Society admired and pitied you all the same and yet, being a hopeless romantic, at the end of the day, you longed to finally fall in love.

Tony chuckled. “Heads up. You’re too young to worry about settling down anyway.” He responded cheerfully and pointed at you with a screwdriver in hand. He had been trying to fix the dishwasher for a solid twenty minutes now and for a man who had built himself a pretty much indestructible suit that could fly, it was utterly amusing he couldn’t figure out why it had stopped working.

You were not an Avenger, mind you. The sole reason you were, as of right now, in the Avengers’ kitchen munching on grey chocolate chips was that your best friend, who in turn was friends with Clint’s wife, had managed to flood your shared flat over the weekend. It was utterly inhabitable now and it would take quite a while for the landlord to get it all dried up again—and since insurance would not cover the cost for staying in a hotel, for the time being, Clint’s wife had suggested you’d stay with them—right until Tony Stark had shown up and you had graciously offered you’d come hang out at the Avengers Tower. Okay, technically you had begged him but either way and needless to say, you had jumped at the opportunity and somehow even hoped that you would learn some dirty superhero secrets—but so far, nothing. Nothing but what superheroes did when they were not out and about saving the world. Truth be told, seeing Thor in Hello Kitty pyjamas and witnessing Natasha Romanoff of all people scream watching an Asian horror film had its perks but you had somehow expected for them to be called in for an urgent mission where they required a skill only you had and then they would rely on your help and you would fight and become an Avenger and… your fanfiction had always sounded too good to be true.

“Are you still there? How is that fruit bowl so interesting?” Snapping yourself out of your thoughts, you blinked.

“Sorry. What were you saying?”

“I was saying that…”

“Tony?” It was Bruce who interrupted you two, peeking his head into the kitchen almost timidly. You waved at him and he nodded, yet he failed to reciprocate your smile. Uh-Oh.

“Did something happen?”

The scientist nodded. “You might wanna put on your suit.”

“What happened?”

Bruce pursed his lips. “We’ve located Loki.”

Your eyes were still widened by the time you rushed after Tony even after he had told you explicitly (three times, to be exact) to stay put and hide until he had been put in custody.

The Loki. God of Mischief, Thor’s brother, Frost Giant, the I-tried-to-take-over-the-planet-guy. It was exciting, somehow, meeting a villain and oh, would it fuel you for your fan fiction. You almost bumped straight into Thor when they all came to a halt all of a sudden, his body a wall of flesh and muscle and making you grunt in pain—you might as well have hit a brick wall. With his hammer in hand, he ensured no one would approach his dangerous brother closely enough for him to try anything funky.

But the fact that Loki was even more handsome in person and the first villain you ever saw in person when he turned around the corner with a proud and arrogant expression on his face despite his shackles, was not what startled you to the core.

All of a sudden, there were colours. Everywhere.

Your lips parted, the impact of all the pigmentation around you making you dizzy. Loki’s armour was black, his cape was green, his eyes were blue, and his hair reminded you of the plumage of a raven. And your surroundings... The compound was silver now, the sceptre they had taken from him golden. Nauseous, you held on to Thor’s muscly arm for support. The God of Thunder frowned in concern. His eyes were blue too, his hair blonde, his cape red… too… many… colours. You suppressed a gag, overwhelmed by the sudden return of your colour vision.

“Are you okay?” Thor asked.

“G-guys… I can see colours.”

Every single head in the room, including Loki’s, turned in your direction so fast you flinched. Tony’s face was the first to fall in response.

“You are joking, right?”

Mutely, you shook your head. Your eyes locked with Loki’s, electricity rippling through you when they did. His blue irises froze you from the inside out, like each and every one of your limbs failed to resist the magnetic pull you felt towards him, and your cells longed for you to throw yourself into his arms—despite the fact he was handcuffed... and for a good reason too. Swallowing thickly, you forced yourself to look away.

Loki was your soulmate. That was impossible; and quite frankly, the god in question appeared to be thinking the exact same thing.

You chewed on your lower lip, anything to distract yourself from your predicament all the while everyone was still staring at you like you had grown two more heads.

“Take him to the cells, I’ll stay with her.” Clint’s hand on your shoulder did little to console you. Part of you still barely resisted the urge to start at Loki like a succubus, the other… the other was terrified and meant to hide in the archer’s embrace.

You could feel Loki’s blue gaze still resting on you when he led you away from the scene, staring daggers into your back and rendering you speechless until you were finally out of sight and Clint shook your shoulder gently.

“Are you sure it’s not one of the security guards that helped bring him in?”

“No… no, I saw them first. Loki was behind them. It’s… I don’t know how to explain it but somehow, Loki was in colour first, you know what I mean? First him and then, a split second later, everything else was colourful too.”

“And now?”

“Now what?”

“Do you still see in colour now?”

“Of course I do.” Clint sighed and buried his face in his hands.

“So what happens if you don’t… act on this soulmate thing?”

“Nothing. Nothing happens.” You said.

“So you don’t have to… stay close to Loki or anything?”

“No. Not that I know of. But Clint—“

“Good. Because he might find a way to use you against us. Stay away from him. Thor’ll take him back to Asgard soon enough. All we need to do first is find the Tesseract.”

Your lips were pursed when he turned to check on them and if Loki was wreaking havoc while they were trying to get him imprisoned.

Stay away from him? Of course… it was the most reasonable thing to do. Loki was dangerous, a criminal… but was that right? Now that you had found your soulmate in him?

You couldn’t get him out of your head that night. Screw the danger, you had to see him. And eventually, your curiosity and that inexplicable and strange pull you felt towards Loki got the better of you. With a deep breath, you threw your covers back and let your bare feet hit the cold floor before quietly tiptoeing out into the dark and empty hallway.

Your blood was rushing in your ears, making you hear things your paranoia and imagination cooked up to the point your heart was pounding in your chest so hard and fast you feared it might jump right out of your ribcage. No one could know, of course. Clint would positively kill you—he, along with Tony, somewhat considered himself responsible for you here. You couldn’t really blame them. If something happened to you, they’d never forgive themselves. You were an innocent civilian, after all.

And now you had been tossed into the greatest fanfiction yet. Shivering, for the cold slowly crept into your bare skin and through the tanktop and shorts you were wearing to sleep, you finally reached the corridor leading to the elevator. The prison cells, a rather new addition to Stark Tower, were located at the very bottom, the cellar, or… what you preferred to call it, a modern dungeon.

You found Loki with his back turned to you in his cell, looking pale through the glass pane. Your heart skipped a beat when he suddenly spoke up.

“I expected you would find a way to come and see me at some point. I’d dare say the Avengers have taken quite the precautions to keep you as far away from me as possible.” He mused. He lifted his chin, approaching the glass window.

It was quite ridiculous to assume that this tiny and meagre prison would keep the Trickster at bay after everything he had proven to be capable of. If only he wanted to, he could shatter that glass with but a flick of his wrist or break the heavy metal door posing as the only barrier between you.

If you were to just… unlock that door to touch him… it would be so easy. Blinking rapidly, you shook your head to chase the thought away.

“Who are you?” He asked and for just a brief moment, you believed to see genuine interest and curiosity sparkling in his stunning blue eyes.

“No one, really. You already know my name, I presume but that’s all there is. I’m not special—I mean, I don’t have superpowers. I’m just a regular human with a rare condition.”

“Oh, I see. Surely you had not hoped for a criminal of all people to be your soulmate then? A murderer? A monster?” His expression hardened.

Yes. But you were not going to tell him that. He was still the person to have made you see colours again, regardless of who he was and what he had done. There must have been a connection between you, you felt it after all! And you were certain that he felt it too.

“Thor will take me back to Asgard and the great King Odin,” he continued, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “will surely have me executed. You will never see me again. So do not worry.”

“I don’t want that.” You finally chirped, barely daring to look him in the eye. His gaze was scrutinising and intimidating… almost as if he was able to see right into your soul with but one single glance.

Loki frowned.

“I bet you’re not happy about this, are you?” A desperate scoff escaped your lips. “I’m not sure I am…” You confessed and sat down on the chair in front of the window. It creaked a little under your weight, the unpleasant sound echoing through the empty hallway.

This man right in front of you was not be trusted and yet, the desire to pour your heart out to him was so strong you felt it like a sea of emotions attempting to drown you.

“You know ever since my twelfth birthday I wondered when I would finally meet my soulmate. Who they would be, what they would be like… and then so many years passed I was beginning to worry I might never see colours again. That I’d be alone and grey for the rest of my life.”

Loki licked his lips and glanced up at you, listening intently to every single word you said.

“Now I met you and they all tell me not to trust you. I mean… I know who you are, I know what you’ve done. I can’t say I’m happy about the fact my soulmate is…” You stopped yourself, breathing in sharply. “What was the universe thinking? You are a god and I’m just… me. We live light-years apart!”

Eventually, after a moment of surprisingly pleasant silence between you, Loki hummed. “The Norns do have interesting ways.” He said, locking his eyes with yours, almost as if he was pondering if… if what? If he could imagine being with you?

“So what should we do? Never speak of it again? Pretend we have never met? I can’t just… come to Asgard with you.” You held your breath when you realised what you were considering here. Loki must have thought the same. He smirked in response—not mockingly but bitterly. “Odin would never allow a mortal on Asgard. If I was to survive my trial, that is.”

“Don’t say that. I don’t care you’re a criminal right now, I just found my soulmate, and I don’t want to lose him again right away, regardless of what happens between us.”

With a start, his face fell. “Nothing will happen between us. That would be unnecessarily cruel, would it not? Your life in the nine realms is but a heartbeat compared to mine.”

“So… this is goodbye?”

Loki hesitated. You noticed by the way his lips slightly parted without a single sound escaping them just yet.

“Yes. This is goodbye.”

The fruit bowl had become your new best friend. In the morning, tired and rather absent, you sat at the kitchen table holding on to a steaming mug of coffee all the while studying the different colours of the fruit before you like a complicated Maths formula.

“Did you have a good chat last night?” Clint barked at you when he entered the room, skipping the ‘Good morning’.

“Huh?”

“With Loki?” He probed, raising his eyebrows in an I-already-know-what-you’ve-done manner.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You said, shaking your head and focusing your gaze on the fruit bowl again. Yellow bananas, green grapes, red apples. In colour.

You flinched when Tony spoke your name. “We saw the footage on our security cameras. You sneaked to his cell last night knowing fully well why you should stay away from him, especially with… with… you know.”

Fuck… the security cameras. You had completely forgotten about those! Of course the legendary Tony Stark would have had security cameras installed all over the damn place!

Busted, you shrugged your shoulders as nonchalantly as you could muster. “I just wanted to talk him. I had to talk to him. I know what you’re all thinking—that he’s evil and brutal and cruel and ruthless… and… and you’re probably right? I… I don’t even know but… he is still my soulmate. I can see colours again because of him for Fuck’s sake! I can’t just… ignore that.”

“I get it. We don’t know what it must feel like. But it’s for the best. We don’t want him to hurt you.”

“I am his soulmate, too. He wouldn’t dare hurt me. You know maybe he’s not the monster you all think he is.”

“Are you saying that because you know him so well after last night or because that is what you want to believe?”

Both. “I just… have a feeling.”

“Right.” Tony clapped his hands. Your name left his lips almost like a plea. “You have to trust us.”

Thor nodded. “Loki is dangerous. You should stay away from him at least until we know he is not still plotting the domination of your planet.”

“What do you mean ‘at least until’? You can stop staying away from him when he’s back on Asgard and out of your reach.” Tony snapped.

“We’re just trying to keep you safe.” Steve intervened. You sighed.

“You know what? I’m getting a headache and I’m still tired, so I’m gonna go back to bed.” That wasn’t even a lie—well, at least the fatigue bit wasn’t. Besides, the blackout curtains in the room Tony let you stay in were heaven-sent.

That was until a loud tumult in the Tower woke you up again, even though you were not sure anymore you had actually fallen asleep once your head hit the soft pillow.

“W—“ Your scream of protest was muffled by a cool palm covering your mouth. You struggled briefly, ripping your eyes wide open in a weak attempt to make out who was assaulting you in the comforting darkness of your room when you suddenly heard a soothing voice shushing you.

“It’s me…”

“L-Loki?” You choked out when he removed his hand again. “Did you… did you break out of your cell?”

“It would seem so. Come.”

“What?”

He tilted his head. “I don’t have much time.”

You stood, throwing the covers back when he already reached for your hand and held it tightly, pulling you with him into the hallway and towards one of the more hidden exists of Stark Tower, a flight of stairs illuminated only by emergency lights.

“W-what are you doing?”

“I am proving to you that I am more than just a criminal.”

“Oh… but… um… where are we going?”

Loki smirked. Your eyes widened when he pulled out the Tesseract seemingly out of nowhere, its blue light glowing brightly in the dark and throwing artistic shadows on his face.

“Hold on tight.”

“Loki…”

The God of Mischief pulled you close, making you gasp. Your chest hit his, his arm wrapping around your waist. With his face only inches from yours, you could feel his warm breath on your lips, and suddenly longed to kiss him.

“You are my soulmate. I am not leaving you behind.”

“What happened to ‘goodbye’?” You chirped.

Loki tilted his head almost threateningly. “You are mine. Don’t you think I wanted to leave this place without looking back?” His expression softened. “But I couldn’t. Because of you.” And you might just be the only woman to ever love me in this way, he added silently.

“B-but… Y-you said Odin will never allow me on Asgard and… and…”

“I never said we were going to Asgard, now was I?”

Your lips parted. Could you trust him? The stranger who had finally made you see colours again? If you told him No, would he let go of you? Would he let you run to Tony and Clint and Nat so they could protect you from him? Swallowing thickly, you met his intense blue gaze and nodded.

Loki smirked and winked. “You are in for an adventure.” And you knew he wasn’t lying. Next thing you knew, you were both hurtled through space and into a shared future.

A/N: ☕

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bangtangalicious · 3 years

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death valley finale (dark v.) | part 3 (m) | teaser

summary: a summer internship at a famous record label turns wild with blurry nights of dangerous men, dirty money, and extremely hot sex. you soon get caught in a savage game of greed, power and obsession, only to find out that you are the grand prize

pairing: ot7 x f.reader teaser smut ft: jimin x reader wc: 1k

genre: smut. yandere. thriller. mafia!au rockstar!au

teaser warnings: penetrative sex, groping, breast play, choking, praise, heavy drug & alcohol use, implied masochism, rough sex, implied oral sex, implied illicit photography, manipulation, brief suggestion of death

a/n: i know ive been really busy so heres a little sneak peek teaser type thing. im really so sorry for the delay but hope you enjoy this in the meanwhile!

Breathless, the city lights glimmered in your eyes. It was a rush, seeing the world from this high in the air. From the balcony of Jimin’s penthouse, where you floated—a tight red bikini submerged in the scalding waves of his hottub. Red that matched the soft hue of coming from beneath the water, red like the color of your eyes as Jimin came up behind you, pulling the blunt from your lips so he could take a hit himself. Proceeding to trail his lips across your jaw. Thick smoke dancing against your skin. Exhaling bliss into your pliant lips.

You inhaled him. Everything he was, you let him consume you. Eyes crossed, elevated beyond sanity as he deepened this kiss, groaning against you. Hands tugging the string at your hips, allowing the garment to float away as his ringed fingers slid up your folds. Finding your clit, he bit your lip, tugging on it with a growl. Fingers caressing the sensitive flesh with tender intension.

“Jimin—“ You sighed, eyes half lidded as his palm made home over the fabric of your bikini, fondling you lightly. The tempting press of his erection nudging into your ass. He left you in gasps, moving his lips behind your ear where he could whisper sweet nothings. Filthy promises. Dirty lies.

The two of you hadn’t left the apartment in days, trapped in a haze of liquid courage, nothing but moans and the slick slapping of skin on skin, steadily harmonizing. Each time convinced you had already reached nirvana, only to be proven wrong. Bottles on bottles of liquor open as he’d tug your hair back, pouring it down your throat, licking the spill from the edge of your lips until he’d swallow you into him.

Until you’d find yourself pushed back, with Jimin pouring tequila down your body, licking all the way to your cunt. A man deprived. A man with unquenchable desire. Letting the bitter liquid fill your core before slurping it out of you. Screams filling the room as you’d hold his hands, clawing into his palms as he ate you out, high off your sweet arousal. It burned terribly. It was obscene, dirty, painful—and you loved it.

After sucking you dry, he’s shower you with praise. You were his good girl. His little whore. Tongues intertwined. Nails raking across each others backs, bodies covered in sweat. Imprints of his hands bruised around your neck, hickies all over your skin. Wrapping your tongue around him, kneading him good as he would tug your hair.

You’d fall apart, gasping for air with him right next to you. Only for him to pull you into the shower just to do it all over again. You ached—ached bad. In the best possible way. Knees weak. Trembling with pleasure.

“God I can never get enough of you” He mumbled, teeth sinking into your neck as he gripped your breasts. Pinching your nipples, he enjoyed the way you winced in his hold before ripping the bra off you, tossing it across the ledge.

“Jimin!” You squealed, giggling as the two of you watched it fall many stories down. He smirked, turning you gently so that you could wrap your legs around his hips, hands knowing to find your ass, carrying you through the water. He looked up at you in amazement. There was no way for you to know how beautiful you looked to him in that moment. His hands crawling up your back as he began to lower you onto his throbbing cock.

“I love you so much” His words were quiet, but you heard them with every move he made. He settled you down onto him, basking in the sensation of your warmth, tightly gripping around his length. "Fuckkk baby”, he lifted you, cock dragging against your walls, sending heat shooting through your veins.

Water spilt over the edge, sloshing around as Jimin began to pull you back down, pumping you slowly— not leaving your eyes for a second as he bounced you on his dick. You gripped his shoulders, allowing him to move you as he wished. His lips latched onto your erect nipple, gnawing on it lightly before suckling the sensitive nub with his tongue.

“I love you too” How could you not? With the way he was worshipping every inch of your chest with the wet glide of his tongue. With the way he filled your every crevice, leaving no part of you untouched. The way he pampered you and praised you.

It was everything you ever wanted. Right?

Your heart dropped, a pair of eyes invading your memory as yours fluttered shut. The sly smile of a man who petrified you. Who adored you. Who would do anything to get his hands on you. You were a prisoner to him, and he was trapped inside your head.

Pushing the thoughts out of your head as fast as they came, your refocused onto Jimin. “Fuck me harder” You whined, hands finding his so that you could pull them to your neck “Please Jimin…please I need you so bad”

The rockstar chuckled, choking you lightly before pulling out. He moved so fast, you were dizzy by the time he bent you over the ledge, guiding his cock easily back into your sopping heat. Fingers gripped around your jaw he pulled you back against him, teeth grazing against your cheek as he pounded you. Heavy cock hitting you deep with every thrust.

You were faded. Too drunk to mind as he filled you with his seed, plugging you up and keeping you there. Too drunk to react to the fact that across the neighboring buildings, paparazzi were having an absolute field day. Too drunk to see Namjoon’s 30 missed calls.

Too drunk to comprehend two simple words flashing on your phone screen before it too slipped off the ledge:

Yoongi’s dead.

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soysaucevictim · 3 years

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“more than ever, hour (work is never over)”

Summary: Logan goes for a run, and hits a snag when Roman seems to have found himself in trouble. Again. (This happens about a year before “Cherry Cola”, to be clear. Sanders Sides, Gym Rat AU. One-shot. Ao3 link.)

Genres: Slice of Life, Fluff, Light Angst, Sickfic(?)

Characters: Logan and Roman centric. Janus, Patton, and Remus mentioned.

Relationships: Logince (platonic), Background Intrulogical (platonic/ambiguous), Background Roceit (sexual/QPP*), Background Loceit (platonic)

Warnings: Lots of numbers, Himbro Roman, Roman Is A Disaster, illness, over-training, sleep deprivation, heat exhaustion, (not as bad as what happened in “Cherry Cola”), vomiting (mentioned), Logan Is A Good Friend

Logan was running his typical checklists before setting out for another HIIT routine over at the gym. He highly valued maintaining his cardiac and overall health. He wasn’t in the medical field like Janus is and Patton used to be, but he didn’t need those credentials to appreciate it.

Considering he was a 28 year old Homo sapien, his maximal heart rate would be 192 beats per minute. Obviously, he wasn’t keen on achieving nor surpassing exactly that red zone. To say there were diminishing returns, would be an understatement. Remus would take the notion as a challenge… to be sure.

But that value was necessary to calculate his initial target – 65% of that, to be relatively precise. 125, rounded up. He intended to reach that after some warm-up routine and the first lap or two. He would consider this the yellow zone.

Once that holds reasonably steady, his next goal was to go for 87% at the highest intensity. So, 167 BPM. Holding that line for at least a minute. 2 minutes, if he was feeling particularly bold, he was in pretty good shape at this juncture. This would be more of an orange zone.

After the spike in intensity, he would go down to 50% for recovery, or 96 BPM. Rest at that load for 3 minutes, in the proverbial green zone. And then crank the figurative gears back up to the 87% target.

He intended to repeat this for at least 10 rounds. Add more, if energy is willing. Sounded like a plan.

To hit these marks, one of the simpler ways Logan enjoyed were via the exercise bikes. But today, he thought he’ll do some laps around the indoor track. He felt he needed to work in some more devoted arm action, and that would be a reasonable way to hit this workout paradigm. This outline seemed elegant and flawless.

He reviewed all of that while he swapped out his casual shoes for runners, in the locker room.

It was exactly noon when he approached the starting line. He popped in some earbuds to his prepared playlists.

He was listening to the mix named “Warm-Up Playlist”. He knew his fellows would jab him for the plainness of it, but the utility simply couldn’t be argued with. It was a selection of songs that started at 50, incrementing up to 100 BPM in tempo. It helped him keep his pace.

He stood to the side, spending a couple minutes doing some preliminary exercises. Ankle circles, leg swings, pelvic loops, arm circles, and hula-hoop jumps. It’s important to keep all the relevant joints stable and readied. Janus would probably congratulate his refreshing fastidiousness, among their motley crew.

After that micro-checklist was completed, he started going toward a brisk walking pace. He was going to check his heart rate after a couple laps to see how close to 65% he was getting.

Halfway into his first lap, he was nearly knocked over by a blur wearing a red crop-top sweatshirt and matching shorts. Roman, clearly not paying attention to what he was doing. Predictably. Logan snorted and rolled his eyes. He had to table his thoughts about his friend’s whole methodology (or lack thereof, as far as he was concerned), or else he’d fall too far out of rhythm!

Roughly a quarter of the way into the second lap, Roman closed in on Logan again, he was going at a jogging pace to a slightly faster walk to match up with Logan. Roman waved and smiled at Logan, “Hey! Didn’t expect to see ya here, Specs!”

Logan thought the voice was Roman-typically cheery. Frankly Logan would be mystified about this man’s energy, if he hadn’t met Remus first. “Salutations.”

“Why are you going so slooow? Wanna race me? I bet I can totally run circles around you!”

“No. I have a plan I intend to stick to, Roman. You know this.”

Roman melodramatically threw up his arms and pouted at Logan, somewhat impressively coordinated to his slow jogging. “Fiiine. I’m off – I want to see how many laps I can get in, like... the next hour. Adiós, for now~”

Roman went from a jog to a run before he could get a response. Logan tutted before refocusing on getting to that 65% - that yellow zone. After the second lap, he drank some water and checked his pulse… hmmm, 55%. It was time to hit a jog. He skipped a few tracks toward that range and worked to match.

By the time Logan completed lap 3, he reached and held at 65%. So, he turned on a 1-minute interval timer and his “HIIT Playlist”, on his phone. Much of the music went at 120 BPM, give or take 30. This phase, he was going to rely on his fitness bracelet to tell him where he’s at, not enough time to do things digitally… rather, manually or with his fingers, to clarify.

He and Remus programmed this thing to flash his percentage progress, freeing up some mental space to not need to calculate that value repeatedly, whenever he looked at the monitor.

He picked up to a run for about another quarter-lap and broke into a full-tilt sprint. Every 20 or so seconds, he glanced at the bracelet, while keeping the majority of his attention to his surroundings and form.

20 seconds, 73%. Not good enough.

40 seconds, 84%. Logan grimaced and pushed his cadence up a bit more.

50 seconds, 86%. For the love of Archimedes… it’s okay. It’s close.

BEEP! 60 seconds, 88%. Orange. FINALLY. Okay, he thought he had a good read now, being consistent for the next sets should be easier.

Time to, figuratively, dial things way down. He spent approximately 20 seconds running, 40 more jogging, and BEEP.

He took a couple sips from his water bottle, before spending the remaining 2 minutes going at a walk.

1 minute, 30 seconds, 78%.

BEEP. 2 minutes, 71%.

2 minutes, 30 seconds, 60%.

2 minutes, 50 seconds, 53%.

BEEP. 3 minutes, 49%. Green. Logan sighed to himself, “Margin of error, you have to account for it… anyways.”

Round 2.

20 seconds, 76%. Better.

40 seconds, 85%. Almost there.

50 seconds, 87%. Orange, again. Locked on, Logan smiled. Now hold this for 10 more seconds…

BEEP!

Second active rest cycle.

Once he got down to a walk again, he observed that Roman was on the opposite end of the track. Still going at what he could only describe as an absurd pace.

Roman closed in when Logan was 2 minutes into this interval. 69%, by the way. Logan groaned, some of Remus’s sense of humor “rubbing off on him”. Why must people ascribe such crudeness to an arbitrary number, he wondered.

Roman was panting quite loudly, shouting down Logan, “Nerd- Nerd’s got some SPEED!”

Logan took a swig of his water bottle. “This is not the first time you’ve seen me manage this.”

Roman looked like he just realized he should have followed suit, smacking his lips and drinking several gulps from his own water supply. “R-riiight.”

“You really should pace yourself. On everything. Honestly.”

“HEY. Only Snakey McSnakerson gets to tell me that!”

“Is he here right now? Am I wrong?”

Roman was back to pouting, “I’m not going to dignify that with a response.”

“But you just-”

Roman cupped his hands over his ears, “Lalala – I can’t hear you!”

Roman ran off ahead of him again. Logan could only shake his head.

2 minutes 55 seconds, 51%.

BEEP. 50%. Green.

Round 3.

30 seconds, 80%. Not bad if he said so himself.

40 seconds, 84%. Margin of error.

50 seconds, 89%. Overcompensated somewhat, it would seem. Perhaps Roman’s competitive streak was “infectious”, today.

BEEP! 60 seconds, 91%. Orange, approaching red. Yeah, he was definitely overcompensating.

Third rest, fourth active, fourth rest, fifth active intervals... hitting his marks, pleasingly and without incident.

He was on his fifth rest, soon enough.

Once Logan was walking again, he thought he was up for extending his active intervals to 2’, for the next 5 sets. Things have been building palpable fatigue, but very manageable.

Roman still appeared to holding up, a short distance ahead of Logan, at this point. Perhaps he was slowing down. It was a few moments before the distance was closed again.

Roman was drenched, so Logan decided to ask him, “Are you quite alright?”

“Might be getting a little tired now, no big deal.”

Logan recalled some things Patton instructed all of them about and he looked at Roman more carefully as they walked slowly. Roman looked paler than usual. “Hmmm, is your head hurting, perhaps?”

“Maybe a little. Didn’t get enough sleep again, it’s probably that.”

“I imagine it couldn’t be helping but-”

Roman got a little agitated, “But what, Egg Head?”

“Are you nauseous?”

“I’m not ready to puke, not just yet, Bro Ham.”

“May I check your pulse? Or rather, how does it feel?”

“What are you getting at!?”

“Cramps? Dizziness?… I think you are exhibiting the signs of heat exhaustion.”

Roman looked like he was going to be short with Logan, but it was clear now that he was starting to get somewhat wobbly. Logan decided to prompt him again, “Here, let us go to the showers, you need to cool off.”

Roman knew he couldn’t fight Logan in his current state, “Fiiine.”

Logan was annoyed about cutting his workout short, but he could always resume later. This was more important, anyways.

Roman was lying on his back on one of the benches in the locker room. His outfit then saturated with cool shower water, holding a battery-power fan to himself that Logan let him borrow.

Logan was at his feet, “How are your symptoms now?”

Roman groaned, “You’re not “the doctor” in our group, would you please stop acting like it.”

“I do not wish to see you in the hospital, Roman.”

Roman sputtered a little, “Yeah well, I’m fine.”

“Stable, I suppose, yes. But I know you enough to know you are not “fine”.”

Roman almost shot up to rebut, but a wave of dizziness forced him back down. “Look. I just didn’t get enough sleep – mind was running a bajillion miles an hour last night. So many IDEAS to write down. And couldn’t get to sleep until way after… you know what? Nevermind.”

Logan did care and frankly saw a lot of similar tendencies between the two brothers. It disturbed him and made him wish he was able to help them get a better handle on their sleeping and general health habits. It seemed as though they were both at very high risk of something serious occurring. But at the same time, he recognized that this was not his area of expertise. All he could really do was try to be there for them.

“Speaking of which... I think I see my wall… approaching… going to-”

Before Logan could latch onto any inquiries about walls, Roman dropped the fan and started snoring. After a brief moment of worry, Logan was reasonably sure this was simply a nap, not a loss of consciousness. To his relief.

Logan thought idly, “I suppose I should at least inform Janus what occurred. Roman might not be fit to drive for a while longer.”

Logan tapped out a message, “Hey. I’m in the locker room with Roman. He likely had an episode of heat exhaustion, today. He appears to be doing okay right now. But I felt that it was worth mentioning it to you.”

It was not even 2 minutes before Janus responded with, “WHAT!?”

“He’s safe, just taking a nap. I suppose he wouldn’t mind if you took him home.”

“… omw. That dumb ass has some explaining to do. With love, of course.”

“Indeed, I shall see you shortly then?”

“Yeah, ttyl… thanks, btw.”

Logan supposed he should stick around to make sure Roman was safe before resuming his own agenda. He had to admit, like with Remus, he did enjoy seeing them get some greatly needed rest.

#spilled musing #sanders sides #logan sanders #roman sanders #janus sanders #patton sanders #remus sanders #(*i think that may be a more accurate label to this AU's Roceit)#(honestly both the twins are complete disaster humans)#(but they're in good company)#gymrat au

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set-phasers-to-whump · 3 years

Text

hiding

prompt: hidden

whumpee: shawn spencer

fandom: psych

hi! sorry for being absent for 2 days and then coming back with a fic that i think might suck? idk. i have been looking at it for too long i think... maybe you will like it? idk. i hope so tho :)

Shawn has chased more than one old man down the streets of Santa Barbara. Today’s pursuit is no different to the others - or at least, it isn’t until he finally catches up with the old dude in question (who, just for the record, is the fastest seventy year old Shawn has ever encountered).

They’re in an alley, and the other end is blocked off by several feet of chain link fence. This old guy may be speedy, but he’s evidently not much of a climber. Which is good.

“Took you long enough to catch up with me,” he says, his creaky-sounding old-man voice taunting and a little demeaning.

But his statement is fair. As is evidenced by the fact that Shawn is panting hard, bent slightly at the waist with his hands on his knees as he catches his breath.

“But I did catch you,” Shawn says after a second, straightening back up. “And now I’m going to have to call the police.”

“I don’t think so.”

Shawn is about to say something dazzlingly witty in response, but all of a sudden there’s a glint of silver and then…

Then he’s just been stabbed by someone who probably eats his dinner at 4:30.

It takes him by such surprise that he doesn’t even make a noise.

And then it hurts. Hot and blinding and sharp and intense pain radiates outward from his stomach and the knife is pulled out and it hurts even more and he feels his body collapse but doesn’t register hitting the ground. There are stars in his vision and everything is blurry and the world sounds like he’s underwater and it hurts and hurts and hurts and he looks upwards as the old man casually wipes Shawn’s blood from the knife with the sleeve of his dark jacket. He idly passes the knife from hand to hand and Shawn watches him and he really wants to just get up and punch him and he staggers to his feet amidst a haze of bright red pain and then there’s a familiar voice from behind him saying, “drop your weapon,” and Lassiter has found them, somehow. He’s never been more grateful to hear the man’s voice in his life.

“How did you find me?” he asks, before he can stop himself. He knows what he should probably be saying is, hey, I just got stabbed and maybe we should be doing something about that, but then Lassie’s explaining how he’d tracked Shawn down and he’s asking what exactly Shawn had been thinking going after a suspect alone, and then Shawn just kind of…doesn’t bring it up.

It’s not like he doesn’t try to. But Lassie is more interested in lecturing him about proper police procedure (which Shawn is familiar with - he simply chooses to disregard it).

“Lassie, um, I -” I got stabbed and it hurts really bad and could we maybe go to the hospital, please?

“I don’t wanna hear it, Spencer.”

“But -”

“If you don’t shut up right now, I swear I’ll pull over and make you walk. That man had a knife, and you chased after him because, what? You couldn’t…”

Lassie keeps lecturing him about why this was such a stupid idea (which, Shawn admits, it was). Shawn sighs to himself as the lecture goes on and on, which is a bad move, because it jostles his stab wound, and it takes all of his willpower to not just scream at the flare of white hot pain. He closes his eyes and tries to breathe normally but everything hurts and the whole front of his shirt is wet and sticking to his skin and he wonders vaguely whether he’s bleeding on Lassie’s seat, and hopes fervently that he’s not, because Lassiter will never forgive him if he ruins his upholstery.

After what feels like an eternity of driving, they arrive back at the police station. Shawn feels tired, and lightheaded, and he knows that’s bad. And they’re here now, so Lassie can’t force him to get out of the car and walk, so he decides to try and bring it up again.

“I think I’ve -” I think I’ve been stabbed, well, I know I’ve been stabbed, and I don’t wanna die but I’m pretty sure I’ve lost a lot of blood and it might be nice to do something about that.

But Lassie is already out of the car, opening the backseat and leading their cuffed suspect inside the building. Halfway up the steps, he turns around. Shawn is still in the car, and Lassie makes a gesture for him to hurry it up and follow them.

Shawn steels himself for the pain, then extricates himself from the passenger seat. It’s a painful ordeal, but thankfully, no one is there to hear his very pathetic whimpers. Once he’s out of the car, Shawn briefly turns around to check on his seat. Fortunately, it’s free of blood. He looks down at himself and sees that his clothes have not fared quite as well.

His black shirt looks wet, but the blood isn’t visible, thanks to the shirt’s dark color. The blood does reach down to his jeans, though, turning the tops of the legs rusty red. The inside of his jacket is damp, but the blood hasn’t soaked through the material, so the exterior looks clean. Shawn tugs his shirt and jacket down to hide the bloodstains on his jeans, then begins his trek inside.

The walk into the station is one of the most painful things Shawn has ever experienced in his life. The stairs are absolute hell on his wound, and he can feel more and more blood soaking through his shirt with every step he takes. He’s slowly but surely getting dizzy, and it’s getting harder and harder to focus, and he really needs to tell someone about this but he kind of doesn’t want to, now, for reasons he can’t quite fathom, and mostly he just wants to sleep. It hurts.

Finally, he makes it inside the station. There’s an empty chair pulled up next to Lassiter’s currently-empty desk, and Shawn makes a very slow beeline for it.

Sitting down is painful, but once he’s sitting, it’s infinitely more comfortable than standing or walking, and the pain lessens, just a bit. Shawn takes another look down at himself and sees, much to his alarm, drops of blood on the floor below him. The sight makes him feel even dizzier, and for a second he thinks he might pass out, and then he recalls what you’re supposed to do if you get stabbed (other than, you know, call an ambulance).

Pressure. He is supposed to apply pressure to the wound. It’s going to hurt, surely, but what’s a little more pain?

Again, Shawn has to fight to keep himself from screaming. Despite the intense pain, he keeps pressing his hands into his stomach, feeling the warm and wet and sticky fabric of his shirt. It’s the most unpleasant sensation in the world. His own blood soaking through his clothes and into his hands. He feels sick. Dizzy. Lightheaded. Confused. Afraid.

He needs to tell somebody about this before he actually passes out.

“Spencer? What’s wrong with you?”

Shawn startles at Lassiter’s voice. He sounds…oddly concerned. Hesitantly, Shawn turns his head in Lassie’s direction. Tell him, his brain suggests.

He opens his mouth to say something, but is interrupted (again).

“Are you…crying?”

Is he? Shawn raises a hand to his face and scrubs it under his eyes.

“Is that blood?” Lassiter is all seriousness now, and Shawn looks down at his fingers and remembers what they’d been doing before he’d used them to wipe his face. They’re bright red and now that he sees the blood, he can feel it on his face, drying beneath his eyes.

“What happened?”

“I got stabbed,” Shawn admits, finally. It’s such a relief to finally say the words, and he feels some of the tension leave his body.

Oh. Maybe too much tension. He’s falling.

Shawn’s body makes impact with the floor, and he can’t stop himself from crying out this time. For a second, everything is engulfed by a wave of pain that very nearly causes him to black out.

When the pain clears up somewhat, Shawn’s vision returns, and Lassie is above him, shouting something at someone and Shawn can’t focus hard enough to determine what he’s saying or who he’s saying it to. His voice is loud and commanding but there’s a look of something akin to fear on his face and Shawn wonders if he is going to die.

“Am I…” he starts, but halfway through the sentence he forgets what he’s going to say.

“You’re going to be fine,” Lassiter says, and his voice sounds certain but that look is still on his face and it scares Shawn and he doesn’t want to die, not now, not like this…

Lassie must sense him spiraling, because suddenly he’s talking again. Shawn focuses on him as best as he can, catching bits and pieces of the things he’s saying. “I can’t believe you got stabbed and didn’t say a word about it…running after a known suspect…going to punish him to the full extent of the law…”

Lassie’s talking eventually fades away, and darkness starts creeping into the edges of his vision, and somewhere in the back of his mind Shawn thinks, that’s not good, and then the darkness sweeps over him and the pain goes away and he finally falls asleep.

He wakes up and people are moving all around him, and he’s moving too, and he feels weird and he’s not exactly hurting but there’s some sort of strange sensation blanketing him and making it very hard to focus. He tries asking one of the people a question but his voice sounds muffled and he doesn’t know what he’s saying and then everything goes away again.

The next time he wakes up, he is much more aware. He’s in a hospital, and there’s a teenage girl in the bed to his right and a middle-aged man in the bed to his left. There are various machines around him that he doesn’t care to inspect, and there are four chairs positioned around the bed. All of them are empty.

He wonders where his visitors have gone. He wants to see Gus. And Jules. Maybe even his dad. He’d like to see Lassie, because he’s pretty sure the head detective had saved his life, but he doubts he’ll be here. He probably has much more important things to attend to.

So it’s a surprise when, a few long minutes later, Lassie steps into the room. He’s distracted, phone to his ear, steaming cup in his hand, and there’s a spot of blood on his jacket and a few more on his shirt and Shawn realizes it’s his blood - who else’s can it be - and if that’s true then either he’s recovered from surgery remarkably quickly, or Lassie has been here for several hours and hasn’t left. Both seem improbable, and yet…

When he’s made it halfway across the room, Lassie finishes his call and tucks his phone back into his pocket. He looks up at Shawn for the first time, and the dark expression on his face clears away when Shawn looks right back at him.

“Hey, Lassie,” Shawn greets tiredly, waving carefully with the arm that doesn’t have an IV needle sticking into it. “How’s it going?”

Lassie looks briefly like he wants to strangle Shawn for asking such a stupid question, but then he sighs and sinks down into one of the chairs, apparently resigning himself to answer the question.

“It’s going fine,” he says. “I’m not the one who got stabbed and then failed to tell anyone about it.”

“I tried,” Shawn admits. “You interrupted me. And then you weren’t there and I just…didn’t want to tell anyone.”

A look of guilt crosses Lassiter’s face. “I should have listened to you,” he says, which is an admission Shawn never thought he’d hear. He’d love to focus on it a little more, maybe tease Lassie for caring or possibly even keep the conversation serious, but he’s tired. He feels his eyes start to drift closed and he yawns.

He’s about to ask Lassie if they can continue this conversation in a few hours when Lassie sighs and says, “just rest, Shawn. We can talk later, whenever you’re feeling up to it. I’ll be here.”

It’s the nicest thing Lassie has ever said to him. Shawn would like nothing more than to say something gently teasing about Lassie really caring about him after all, but he simply falls asleep instead.

thanks for reading this! sorry for any mistakes i am super tired lol. hope you enjoyed, love u <3

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump28 #psych #shawn spencer #hidden #hidden injury #stabbed #collapse #hospital #my writing #i say things #ugghhhhh tired gn!

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eury--dice · 3 years

Text

history, huh?

chapter 3: propius

(check the rb for chapters 1 + 2 on tumblr + ao3 links!)

Adam was woken at 5 o’clock on the dot with a series of sharp knocks on his door. “Up and Adam,” Gansey’s voice called, making the one stupid dad joke that always set Adam’s blood to a boil. He was too tired to react, however.

“Kindly leave until a later time,” he called, his voice heavy with sleep. “I don’t have class for another three hours.”

Gansey opened the door anyway, striding in with more pep than anyone should have in the morning.

“You’ve made the tabloids, my friend. Your weekend with Ronan finally hit.”

“Did you sleep at all?”

“Nope,” Gansey said cheerfully. “‘From America, With Love: Ronan and Adam flaunt friendship.’” He turned on his heel once he’d crossed the length of the room, which Adam could never forget was formerly Malia Obama’s, and seated himself in Adam’s desk chair.

Adam had never been closer to considering strangulation. He elected to shove his hearing ear into his pillow instead.

Unfortunately, the muffled sounds of Gansey speaking still made their way in. “‘Photos: Adam’s Weekend in England,’ oh, that’s boring…ah-hah: ‘New Bromance Alert? Pics of FSOTUS and Prince Ronan.’”

Adam resigned himself to his fate and mentally promised himself a giant cup of coffee. “As long as I’m getting fewer death threats on Twitter, I’m happy,” he mumbled into his blankets.

Gansey ignored him. “Why are you so tired? It’s the hour of kings, time to be awake and alive.”

“I’d settle for dead if it meant I could sleep at this point, to be frank.”

“Please don’t be frank. Be Adam.”

Adam sat up, eyeing Gansey in his wire-framed glasses with disdain. “Any more puns and I suffocate myself with this pillow.”

“Please don’t,” Gansey said, but his eyes had already returned to his screen. While he read through the articles, he continued his line of questioning. “Working on the campaign late last night?”

“Not really,” Adam admitted. “I had a Press and the Presidency paper to write.”

“Just write ‘I’m Adam Parrish’ on a piece of loose-leaf paper to turn it in and you’ll probably get an A. You live it every day, for Christ’s sake.”

“And yet I still need to cite sources in Chicago Advanced.”

“You’d think nepotism would work out more in your favor.” He flicked to a fresh article, a gesture Adam only recognized from all the other times Gansey had done it. “Luckily, I think the press is eating this one up.”

Adam grimaced. “Fantastic.”

“Not-campaign-ruining, you mean.”

“That too, I suppose.” He wanted nothing more than to flop back against his pillows and get the sleep his body so desperately craved after being jet lagged for a week, but he fought the urge.

“That _ People _exclusive takes the cake, I think. I didn’t realize how much you cherished your relationship with Ronan.”

“Fuck off, please. Or end my misery.”

“No to both. Why are you even taking that press course?”

Adam slid out from under his blankets, rolling his shoulders to try and wake up more. “Curiosity, I guess. It never hurts to learn more of what not to do.”

Gansey looked up from his phone to level a glance at Adam. “And what have you learned so far?”

“…Don’t have a sex scandal?”

“You _ would _need someone to tell you that.”

_ “Hey,” _Adam said, affecting outrage.

Gansey lifted his thumb to run over his lower lip, tilting his head consideringly. “One of us three will probably have a scandal before your mother’s second term is up.”

“If there is a second.”

“Chin up, young padawan. With you working on it we’re guaranteed.”

“I don’t know, Gansey,” Adam replied. “I don’t think I’m the good luck charm you believe in.”

“Of course you are,” Gansey said. “We won the first time, no?”

Adam glanced exaggeratedly around the room and to the phone in Gansey’s hand. “I’d say so. That or we’re about to get questioned very thoroughly about the the events of last three years.”

“Don’t make me cut you off on the true-crime videos.”

His eyes narrowed, focusing on Gansey. “Don’t you dare.”

“Blue agrees, anyway,” Gansey said, successfully deflecting topics. “Said there’s a ninety-four percent chance you’ll get into a sex scandal before the general.”

“Both of you date more than I do, why am I the one who’s supposedly having a sex scandal?” Once his initial outrage passed, disbelief crept in at the time of day. “Did you just text Blue at five AM and get a response? How the hell did you manage that?”

“She’s been up,” Gansey dismissed. Adam stared at him for a moment, and then Gansey seemed to feel the weight of his stare. His eyes widened almost comically. “Oh, Christ, no, not that. Nate Silver asked for another set of eyes on the Superbowl predictions, and she’s trying to get a shoo-in with them before the primaries begin. I just brought her some coffee.”

“And you didn’t bring me any?”

“You’re the only one of us who hasn’t been up all night. You need coffee the least of all of us.”

“Don’t blame me for your bad decisions.” Adam squinted at Gansey. “Were you working on an article all night or something?”

He snorted. “Hardly. They’ve been blocking all of my pieces. Too far from my mother’s politics, too far from your mother’s, too controversial, too critical, all in that order.”

“Thought you were liking the _ Post _gig?”

“On paper,” Gansey dismissed. “I’ve defaulted to writing about Welsh history.”

“Sounds like it’s right up your alley, then.”

“Once again, on paper.”

“How do you even connect the Welsh to the hellscape of American politics?”

Gansey waved a hand. “‘Eternal spirit,’ ‘fighting for honor,’ ‘remembering Glendower and others who set a pristine model,’ et cetera, et cetera.”

“People read that? That just sounds like you in high school spouting off again.”

“Yes, Adam. People read it.” Gansey squinted at his phone again. “Twitter _ really _likes you and Ronan together.”

“We’re exciting,” Adam said dryly, reaching for his laptop. He scanned over his most recent paper while Gansey dramatically narrated replies to the gif of them on _ This Morning. _

“‘Either of them could stab me and give me one of those smiles and I’d thank them,’ Jesus Christ,” Gansey read, “They really love your fake smiles… ‘name a more iconic duo, I’ll wait,’ hm, maybe any other duo? ‘Oh my God, just _ kiss already.’” _

Adam choked out a laugh as Gansey punctuated the last one with a dramatic and uncharacteristic hand wave. “At least it’s working,” he allowed, shutting his laptop once he felt secure about his essay. “Now get out. _ Some _of us have places to be.”

Adam’s phone buzzed on his way out of his cursed Presidency and the Press course.

Somehow, the interest of those around him seemed to pique even higher when he looked at his phone instead of in front of him. It wasn’t a new sensation by any means; ever since starting at Georgetown, he’d felt eyes on him constantly, but the intensity increased tenfold each time his classmates thought he was too occupied to see them staring. He noticed every time, but of course nothing could be done about it.

The name _ HRH shitty bird boy _ popped across his screen. How strange - in only a week, he’d almost entirely forgotten that the name he had (quite maturely) given Ronan in his phone was… _ that. _As he swiped the notification open, he felt a certain amount of trepidation as to what a technology-averse prince would ever text him about.

His harassment and emergency fears flew out the window with the body of the text, simply a screenshot of their tabloid appearance with the added caption of _ youre the nerd and I’m the cool jock. _

_ Competitive yachting? _Adam asked in response, nearly tripping over his own feet while typing.

_ ffs i told them to stop writing that as my preferred sport. _

Adam felt his lips twist against his will.

_ I’m sorry, this is a common problem? _

_ you can’t even imagine. _

_ I appreciate that they consider competitive yachting a regal sport. _

_ status symbols and faux athleticism are the core of the monarchy. _

Adam blinked down at his phone, stopping short abruptly. Persephone, from behind him, adjusted accordingly.

He…hadn’t been expecting this. Any of it. The text, the almost-joking response, the casual statement about the monarchy being ridiculous despite him being in it. Their conversation ended there, and it was probably for the better. He resumed his pace, trying to get to his next class. He almost forgot about the texts, too; save for a rogue screenshot Adam sent him of speculation on Ronan’s presence in Majorca, nothing else went between them.

Sometimes, Adam could _ just barely _ get away with being on his phone during briefings with Maura. He hated to be distracted during them - they were _ important, _he knew that, but all the same occasionally she spent a particularly long time covering an obscure dignitary’s comments and he’d gotten too few hours of sleep to truly focus and someone or other was blowing up his phone.

Maura’s topic of conversation this week appeared to be a series of Buzzfeed articles run on the lack of pets in the First Family, complete with a power point dissecting their points

The glamorous side of politics, truly. Discussing a clickbait series in the West Wing briefing room.

_ iMessage chat to _ ** HRH shitty bird boy **

_ Resumed 30 October, 2019, 1:47 pm _

_ if you want a pet chainsaw dragged in a mouse the other day _

_ Ah yes, the mouse. A pet eternally beloved by constituents. _

_ we can’t all have a raven, that would be unfair _

_ Your heights of cool and goth are truly dizzying. _

_ im glad you agree _

_ Modest, too. _

_ it comes with the wealth and fame _

_ As long as you’re being straight with me, feel free to be as ‘modest’ as you like. _

_ i’m the prince of bloody england. i’m straight all the damn time _

_ That’s the biggest lhxemxlp_

His phone slipped from between his fingers, landing with a dull _ thud _onto the wooden floor. Adam stared helplessly at it, a sleek black rectangle hiding between types of oak. But Maura repeated his name, and he suddenly remembered what had made him drop his phone in the first place. He dragged his eyes up, staring at a spot on the sterile white wall just beyond Maura’s head.

“Adam,” she said a third time, but he refused to look her in the eyes. She conceded immediately. “What the hell?”

He felt his cheeks darken as blood found its way up. “I’m sorry.”

Her lips thinned just like Blue’s did, turning into a dark line on her brown face. “Do you even remember what I was saying?”

“Er…” he scrambled. “Don’t mention animals in any public setting?”

She looked at him for a long moment, then picked up a mug of coffee and took a controlled sip.

“Get out?” she said once she’d swallowed her sip.

“I-”

She pointed to the door. “I am impossibly busy. Take your phone and go laugh in private.”

He nodded once, finally, ducking under the table with his spine pressed against the bottom to grab his phone. His fingers closed around it, grip the edge of the wood, and he was up in a second.

He couldn’t regret it.

Because - well, here was the weird thing.

He wanted another text from Ronan.

_ iMessage chat to _ ** HRH shitty bird boy **

_ Resumed 31 October, 2019, 12:03 am _

_ it’s finally spooky day in your hell country _

_ Isn’t it 5 am in England? _

_ Do you ever sleep? _

_ bold of you to ask that question _

_ halloween, bitch _

_ it waits for no one _

_ I’m really going to have to advocate better habits. _

_ I understand, you’re enthused for Halloween. _

_ do you even care at all _

_ I enjoy halloween like everyone else. _

_ Though your level of excitement feels a little pagan? _

when the skeleton army rises Jesus will forgive me

_ appreciate this glorious day parrish _

_ I have enough fear in my daily life, thanks. _

_ I filed my own taxes all throughout highschool. _

_ And payed rent. _

_ The horrors of early adulthood. _

_terrifying _

_ terrible i’ll never deal with that shit _

_ You’re the prince, we know. _

_ Do you also not have enough horror in your life? _

of course i do

_ but parrish. listen. _

_ this is the one day a year all the monarchy and parliament dress as they are in life _

_ hideous monsters _

He laughed a little harder at that than he should have.

_ You’re telling me the monarchy plays dress up. _

_ ronan_frankensteins_monser_costume.jpg _

_ matthew insisted. did this on me an hour ago _

_ oh my god _

The makeup _ was _really good, and the monstrous look suited him, but hell if Adam ever said that to him.

He may have saved it to his phone, though, to glimpse Ronan’s green-paint covered skin and crooked, drawn-on stitch smile on his perfectly blank face.

Although Adam certainly didn’t intend to make a habit of texting the Prince of England, when he saw a funny bird or a stupid article or an obscure meme his first thought became _I should send that to Ronan. _And Ronan, clearly, was thinking along the same lines. The sheer number of sole emojis that seemed to tell a Ronan-centric story he received at all hours only affirmed that. And somehow, between all the pictogramme and jokes, he started to learn snatches of information. Declan was a better storyteller than Ronan, Matthew was the only person who could make Ronan attend family dinners ever since their father died, and his mother - the Queen of England, Adam had to remind himself sometimes - drew further away every day.

The problem became that he always wanted to know _ more, _and Adam didn’t know if that was due to his rampant curiosity or something else buried deep inside of him, and he was too afraid of what he might uncover by digging to look.

Adam had very few friends.

Most of that came with the territory of being part of the First Family; nothing made casual acquaintances drift away quite like being constantly surveilled by Secret Service agents and trailed by NDAs. Adam didn’t have time for small talk and coffee, a fact which he sometimes lamented and often loved. Part of this came from the type of friendship he became accustomed to with Gansey and Blue, the all-encompassing type of friendship that took over their minds in spare moments and forged ties stronger than steel between them. He’d probably forgotten how to have normal, casual friends, not friends an outsider would think he was completely in love with. And, perhaps more than anything else, it came back down to Robert Parrish and his heavy hands and ringing words. Adam’s memories of his first few years were scattered and inconsistent, but they filled up a too-large corner of his brain all the same. Blue, who entered his life at the tender age of 5, had won his trust with greater ease than their other peers, and Gansey had done the same in high school. They knew him and what he’d been through, and so they could (platonically) love him for all that he was. When campaigning and political office came into the mix, that full truth of Adam Parrish became a secret to guard like any else.

But, oddly enough, Adam had a third friend: Noah Czerny, the thirty-three-year-old baby of the Senate.

Noah and Adam met through an Aglionby networking event while Adam was a student and Noah a recently-elected congressperson, both green as grass in different ways. Adam, thrown neck-deep into a Presidential campaign, had questions, and most of the time Noah had answers. Although all of the professors had warned Adam to proceed cautiously with Czerny, Adam found nothing to fear. Noah had mellowed out quite a bit from his high school days, becoming a familiar face at political events and a surprisingly-wise piece of advice always at the ready. Despite Adam’s near hero-worship of this brand-new politician, half-Mexican just like him and just as frequent to lose sleep rewriting policies that unjustly taxed communities of color or defunded children’s education, they’d formed an improbable bond. The summer before his sophomore year, Noah let Adam closer to the politics process than even his mother had as he ran for the Senate, and Adam took to it almost at once. A politician twelve years his senior was perhaps not a conventional choice of friend, but Adam seldom remained conventional.

It wasn’t too out of the ordinary for Adam to arrive at Noah’s congressional office unannounced, either with business or without, and so when Adam rounded on Noah’s stark, bright, white office, he wasn’t at all surprised to see him ducked over an obscene number of papers.

“It’s Friday night,” Noah said without looking up, barely before Adam had even crossed into the office. As always, the tiny burst of color in the Pride flag deposited in a tourist mug drew Adam’s eye for a long moment before Noah himself did. All Adam could see of him was his brown curls, resolutely held in place even as bent over a desk. “Go party or something.”

“Damn, I didn’t _ think _ this looked like a frat. I knew something was off.” Adam slid into one of the seats across the desk. He had several inches on Noah, but he always felt smaller in those chairs across from the most important legislators in the country. “What’s got you here at eight PM?” Off of Noah’s brief, incredulous look, he amended to _ “this _particular time, I know. You’re salaried. Shouldn’t you…ever go home?”

“I’m trying to get something done so that there’s at least a hope of banning fracking in our lifetimes.”

Adam scoffed quietly, though not for lack of faith in Noah. “Let me know when you’ve cracked the code.”

_ “If, _but sure, I’ll be in contact. Now, why are you here?”

“You didn’t answer my leaving-the-building question.”

Noah’s eyes flickered shut briefly. “Jesus, Adam, I am salaried by the taxpayers of millions of Americans. I’m not going to slack on them.”

“Fine, but don’t make me drag Gansey in here to make you take a long nap and drink some hot soup.”

Adam’s phone buzzed, but he ignored it; despite it being almost 1 am in England, Ronan could presumably take the blame. Noah asked, “Did you catch the Fox town hall last night?”

Adam grimaced. He’d seen part of it, trying to multitask with his macroeconomics homework at the same time, but instead he’d fallen asleep with his head on the laptop screen. “Part of it. It was a shitshow.”

“You can say that again.”

“I honestly thought that Whelk would pull more support from the extremists. He just seemed desperate last night.”

“Oh, he definitely was.” Noah leaned away from his desk, appraising Adam as though considering his words carefully. “We went to school together.”

“Aglionby?” Adam asked. He knit his eyebrows together. “How did I not realize he went there?”

“The school doesn’t exactly love toting him.”

“He’s older than you, though, right?”

“Yes, Adam,” Noah said slowly. “I’m thirty-three. He’s already announced a bid for President. How old do you have to be to run for executive office?”

Adam scowled. “I just came from class, I can’t use my brain. He was a senior when you were a freshman?”

“Yep,” Noah replied. “We were paired in upperclassmen-lowerclassmen bonding.” His lip curled a little. “He outed me.”

“Wait, _ what?” _

“He outed me to the school,” Noah repeated. He looked back down to the papers on his desk, his voice softening to a barely audible level. “I trusted him, which was a dumb thing to do, but I was a really stupid freshman. Scared, too. He was a friendly personality.”

_ “Fuck,” _Adam said, pushing a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, that’s…”

“Terrible?” A bit of Noah’s life returned to him. “Don’t worry about it, kid. It was years ago.”

“But then…Whelk, he was the reason you…?”

“He didn’t make my parents react the way they did. They did that on their own. But no, they wouldn’t have known without him.”

Adam shook his head. “I thought it wasn’t possible to like the guy less, if only because of his politics, but he’s done it.”

“Done what? Received the full wrath of Adam Parrish?”

“He very well may.”

“Don’t worry about him. Whelk will be out soon, believe me. I know him. He may have his parent’s money, but he’s barely old enough to hold office and he’s running on fumes.”

“If he’s not, I’ll convince Blue to skew stats until he is.” Noah knew just as well as Adam that that wouldn’t change anything, but it lightened the air anyway. “It seems kind of pointless to entertain any of them. Greenmantle is probably going to win no matter what.”

Colin Greenmantle: former antique collector, congressperson from Massachusetts, and millionaire with the funds to take over the Republican primary, and very possibly the whole election, before any papers were even filed.

“It’s early,” Noah said. “Too early to worry about it. Too early to even be _ talking _ about it.”

Adam slanted a half-smile at him. “Never too early to worry about an election.”

Noah looked back to his papers before broaching the next topic. “I hear you’ve got a job on your mother’s re-election campaign.”

“Once I graduate, and maybe a little earlier, yeah.”

Noah cast a glance around the office. “Are you sure this is the life you want?”

Adam knew he was referring to the constant bustle, the fear of disappointing and harming instead of helping, and the ever-evolving media scrutiny. He knew it was the closest Noah would give to a warning. “I’m sure.”

Noah sighed. “Fine.” He pointed to the door. “But I won’t let you throw your youth away, not this early. After you graduate, Parrish. Go get drunk and make out with someone.”

Adam stood, his frame unfolding and standing tall. “You are a terrible role model.”

“Can’t hear you over the loud music.”

“You and Blue and Gansey - if I die of alcohol poisoning, it’s all your fault.”

“Feel free to blame, so long as you’re out there and not here.”

“Alright, alright, Jesus. You’ve made your point.”

“Finally,” Noah called after Adam’s retreating form. But Adam could hear the amusement in his voice all the same.

For someone so allergic and averse to technology, Ronan sure seemed to share a lot with Adam.

_ iMessage chat to _ ** HRH shitty bird boy **

_ Resumed 13 Novemeber, 2019, 8:38 pm _

_ bird.m4a _

_ she wont stop nuzzling my head?? _

_ Picking for lice, probably. _

_ God knows you have so many. _

_ my scalp is perfectly clean _

_ Forgive me for abstaining from running my hands over it all the same. _

_ I’ll leave that to her. _

He didn’t always respond, though.

Adam tried not to read into it.

(He mostly succeeded.)

Adam never tired of stepping into the Oval Office. On the Wednesday right before Thanksgiving, he stepped in with the same amount of awe he always had, allowing himself a single moment to glance around at the wide windows and perfectly upholstered furniture. He sat on one of the couches without preamble.

His mother looked up from what was in front of her on the desk and smiled, albeit a tired one that frayed a bit at the corners; Adam had seen a few particularly troublesome foreign dignitaries be escorted away not long before, so he didn’t have to guess at the reason. Ana looked like she belonged to sit right there amongst all the history at that desk, from the sun dipping just beneath her halo of hair straightened within an inch of its life and her stick-straight posture. It might have been a lot at times, but seeing her was a reminder of all the good that came from her position.

She rose and walked to join him, her heels clacking lightly at the ground before she sank onto the cushion beside him and pulled him into a loose hug. Adam had overtaken Ana in height some years before, but there had been a long gap in there as he grew - like one day he was three and a half feet tall and wrapped tightly in her arms and the next he was off to Georgetown and several heads taller. She pulled away after a minute, slowly and bit-by-bit as though savoring her moments as a mother rather than a president. Her hand reached to muss his hair a moment later, and Adam ducked away instinctively before exchanging an identical grin with her.

“God, I forgot how light your hair looks in here,” she said, leaning back a little. “Almost golden.” She tilted her head as though examining him. “Nah. Still brown. But much lighter.”

“How could you forget? The photo here was in _ GQ, _the same article that first declared me the family golden boy.” At the corner of their conversation was the knowledge of where he’d inherited that hair color, as it sure as hell wasn’t from Ana. But he let the thought stay buried, patting the dirt back down with the shovel himself. Their relationship always had an absence in it, and he didn’t particularly feel like deepening it in the Oval Office.

“Ah, so that’s the one I have to blame for your big head,” she responded, reaching for a piece of fruit from the little coffee table. It was a familiar half-jest, borne from Adam’s constant contradicting confidence and imposter syndrome. Idiosyncrasies were just Adam’s style, never one to make things easy for himself. He sometimes wondered if so much of himself conflicted because he tried to walk the middle road so often, balancing his weight over all sides to minimize the damage if the rug was yanked from beneath him, like lying down on a bed of nails: a thousand tiny, dull pains over one sharp, potentially fatal puncture. She smiled again. “Is Noah doing well?”

“For Noah he is. He would barely look up from some new reports on fracking, seems hopeful he’ll be able to garner enough support.”

Ana snorted. “Good luck with that. I’ll be shocked if it reaches the floor for debate.”

“That makes three of us, then.” He nodded towards the desk. “Bad meeting?”

The frown lines on her face deepened. “Don’t get me started,” she drawled, falling back fully against the cushions. After only a moment, she _ did _ get started regardless of what Adam did or didn’t do. “We received the memo a few days ago that a delegation from Sweden wanted to be in contact, right? Fairly standard stuff, Maura gets back to them quickly because they worded it like it was an urgent matter, and there’s a back and forth for a while about scheduling and accommodations. We’re of the belief they won’t be out here until Monday at the earliest.”

Adam knit his eyebrows together. “It’s not Monday.”

“You fuckin’ tell me. Anyway, I’m halfway through a meeting with a few UN representatives when Maura has to interrupt. They arrived at the White House, claimed they had a meeting, and just…didn’t leave. Evan Maura couldn’t get through to them, which is the thing that scared me a little.”

“You should have put Calla on it.”

“Believe me, if she were here, I would’ve. But as it was, I had to hurry out the UN members to deal with decidedly more antagonistic foreign relations.”

“Why were they even here?”

“They wanted to discuss the military relationship between our countries-”

“What the hell?”

“Yeah, I don’t know,” she said, waving one hand in dismissal. “Any points they were trying to make went straight out the window when they started pulling out cue cards, to be honest. I might have to call Löfven to smooth things over.”

“Well, there’s never a dull moment,” Adam said fairly. His mother snorted.

“Sure isn’t. Anyway,” she said, glancing at her watch, “it’s now Thanksgiving, so no more meetings for twenty-four hours.”

“It’s Wednesday.”

She pulled a face in dismissal. “We take our patriotism seriously, darlin’. Don’t want our home state gettin’ too mad.”

“Of course.”

Ana checked her watch again. “The turkeys will be on their way to the Willard by now, so we’re not ruining any American traditions today.”

“Wait,” Adam said. “Where?”

She looked at him, her eyes narrowing. “The Willard. They stay there every year.”

“What? No. _ No. _You cannot give the turkeys five-star accommodations with taxpayer dollars. You’ve been doing this every year?!”

“It’s public knowledge, sugar. Every news outlet mentions it.”

“How did I not-” Adam cut off. “There is no way you can do that! They’re turkeys! It’s a waste!”

“It’s precedent, Adam. I’m not sure if there’s anything to be done at this point.”

Adam stood quickly, pacing back and forth, and his mother stood behind him. “It’s a _ blatant _waste of money, I’m shocked we haven’t already been-”

“Hon, every president so far has done the same-”

“Imagine the story if we broke the tradition! Even conservatives would have to applaud your frugality-”

“We can’t play games with tradition, you know they already call us disrespectful-”

“-we can’t be using _ taxpayer money-” _

“-by all means, if you have the time to find lodging for two forty-pound turkeys-”

“Put them in my room!” Adam blurted. His mother stopped short.

“You’re not serious,” she said. “We’re not putting the turkeys for me to pardon in your bedroom.”

“Yes, we are.”

“Adam-”

He shifted his feet, coming to a stop. He lifted himself up to his full height. Debate Captain Adam, six-time Best Delegate Adam, and First Son Adam converged into one. His mother barely looked phased.

“Oh, God,” his mother said. “I can’t listen to another sales pitch.”

“Madame President,” Adam began, “I’d like to echo the sentiments of the forebears before me-”

“Nope,” she said, making double-time back to her desk. “You’re not going to filibuster me.”

“In 2018 alone, at least forty-three articles in the Wall Street Journal accused the sitting administration of wasting tax dollars. This came on the heels of a tax increase for Americans making more than ten million dollars per year and the subsequent pushback from a more conservative electorate in Congress.”

“Fine!” Ana said, her hand falling to the desk with a thump. She brought it back up to her head to massage her temple a moment later. “I’m too tired to hear my own history read back at me. You win.”

He sat back down on the couch, crossing his legs primly. “Perfect,” he said, allowing himself to smile once again.

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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years

Text

Heat Haze Daze

song is Kangerou Days by Kagepro and was also my bop back in seventh grade

———————

With a chilling vibrato, Jane concluded her performance of At Last. Instantly, there was a booming swell of cheering and clapping, and a very radiant look of adoration from both Kitty and Joan. The silver queen smiled bashfully, but proudly and bowed. A second later, Anne crashed into her, spinning her around in a tight hug.

“Oh! My! God!!!” Anne exclaimed, clasping Jane’s hands in hers mere minutes after releasing her from the bear hug. “That was so amazing!! You did so good, Janey!!!”

“Oh please,” Jane waved a hand dismissively. “It wasn’t that good.”

“Don’t be modest,” Aragon said. “You have a wonderful voice, dear.” Her retort was backed up by several agreeing comments in the whirlwind of a comment section on the Live.

Jane blushed. “Thank you, Catalina. Thank you everyone, really!”

After a few more compliments and Jane struggling to not be humble, the Sunday Session was wrapped up.

Or so they all thought.

“W-wait-” A nervous, shaking voice squeaked. “I’m sorry. Can I sing something?”

They all looked over to their fidgety pianist, who can’t seem to stop tugging anxiously on the straps of her overalls. Suddenly, she looked a lot younger and her choice of outfit seemed a lot dumber, but fitting for her current shy demeanor. Only Joan would wear such a thing with a sunflower yellow shirt underneath, despite it being 2020.

“You?” Kitty said. She glanced Joan up and down, as if she were trying to find an ounce of vocal talent in her. “Why?”

“Because I want to.” Joan said, gathering herself up to her full size and this time not stammering, although she didn’t seem any more mature in those stupid overalls. “Please? I have this song I wanted to sing and I’ve really been practicing and...” She trailed off, opting to look up at the queen with hopeful eyes.

Despite most of them not being all that close with Joan, they had to admit that those puppy dog eyes were extremely effective, so they gave in and agreed. Instantly, Joan perked up. It seemed she wasn’t expecting them to say yes.

“Oh joy!” Joan exclaimed in glee. She skittered back over to her keyboard, tripping momentarily on one of the crisscrossing wires on the floor in her excitement. She nearly toppled over when she sat down in her stool, but regained her balance and flashed a grin at the queens and the phone pointed at her. “Ready?”

There’s a scattering of agreements, both in person and in the chat, although she couldn’t see those. She beamed again, then promptly straightened herself up and turned to her keyboard.

In an instant, her glowing smile and shimmering eyes were wiped, leaving her face blank and focused. But even then, it was clear her nerves were beginning to take over, knowing that tons of people, including the ones she desperately wanted to impress and the ones that didn’t like her at all, were there, watching her.

Joan’s stomach flipped at the thought of singing in front of so many fans and the queens. She’d sung before, but nothing like this. Not where other people really noticed or heard her. Stage fright began to get the better of her as she awkwardly fidgeted for a moment, then got her fingers into the right place and began to play an upbeat, fast-paced tune. A moment later, her voice resonated through the air.

“August 15th at 12:30 noon I don't see a cloud above

The sun is shining down, what a pretty day

So sick of this summer heat I can't beat away the haze

The rays are giving way

And spending all of my time having conversations sitting next to you”

The words, slightly rough from a lack of a vocal career, slide gently from her lips. They shake and shudder as they come out, but hold strong and don’t fracture on the tip of her tongue like a few of the queens and many of the viewers were expecting.

Joan was actually singing.

And she was singing good.

“"Hey but I...don't really like the summertime"

And as you were petting on that cat you said such a daring thing

Right from under your breath”

It was amazing. Sure, it was no Heart of Stone or All You Wanna Do, and maybe her voice wavered and strained on simple notes a few times, but Joan was actually doing really well. A lot better than anyone was expecting. In fact, Kitty had been betting that she would have failed the moment she opened her mouth.

“Ah, and as that cat had ran away

You tried to chase it in the end

Jumping right out in front of a

Traffic light that poured a shade of red bright red”

And then, things took a jarring twist.

“Crashing in and breaking you to bits

That truck a heard a scream a little bit too late

Blood dripping everywhere and choking your smell of hair

I breathe in a gulp of air and just can't take it

Are these lies? The heat is mocking me

"What you see is exactly what you're gonna get!"

And with the blue of sky I hear singing crickets cry and

Fall right back into another dark sleep”

It happened out of nowhere- the peaceful, serene song Joan had been singing suddenly wrenched around and turned into something much more sinister with enough force to give everyone watching whiplash. The warm summer day she sang of was gone, replaced by the gruesome image of a grueling car accident. And her tone helped portray that perfectly.

Joan’s voice was dripping with gore. It oozed from her lips like pus from an abscess and stained any ears that heard the lullaby of carnage she was harmonizing. Her eyes were lit up, too, wide and shining silver. She rocked back and forth as she sang, sometimes leaning forward against her keyboard on the more intense notes, only to lean back and relax on the lighter ones, although every word in that chorus seemed to be gratuitously gruesome.

And then, her words die off and the tune of her keyboard morphed back into a gentle, peaceful hum.

“Sitting up in my bed I could hear ticking clocks the shock

Will mock my ever ringing head

I look to see the time

August 14th at 12 something noon I don't see a cloud above

The sun is shining down

And yet I hear a cry of a cricket singing loudly in my head”

The queens were shocked into silence, and not just out of respect during a performance. They were genuinely stunned by the darkness of Joan’s song. And, yes, they knew that she had her own pent up emotions, but never in a million years did they expect their shy, soft-spoken, stuttering music director to ever sing such a thing.

It was startling. Actually startling.

“"Hey but I...I really have to wonder why

Because in the dream I had last night we sat in the

Same old park we are sitting at now

"Hey, I think the two of us should leave."

But stepping slightly off the path, their heads turned up towards sky

And were gaping pointing struggling to keep away a scream”

Something flashed in Joan’s eyes. The queens braced themselves.

“Stabbing holes and splitting you in two

The beam made seam as it fell straight from the sky

Ringing an old wind chime and shaking a passerby then filling the air

Until they hit those park trees

Are these lies? The heat is mocking me

"Bet you wish you were asleep, but it's not a dream!"

Vision it blurred away and keeping my thoughts at bay I swear you stood there while keeping such a dark smile”

A tidal wave of carnage spilled free from Joan’s lips and crashed over the queens. Another vivid death is laid out for them, this one somehow much worse than the first.

The reactions to such a thing were mixed.

Aragon had her chin raised in an impressed manner. She was stunned to see Joan sing such a thing, but proud nonetheless.

Anne looked a little dizzy, as she wasn’t the best with blood, even blood in a song. She shut her eyes, trying not to think about what was happening to the poor girl being sung about, but ultimately failing.

Jane was startled. The look in Joan’s eyes gave her chills, making her feel entirely exposed even though she’s just another face in the crowd at that moment, another spectator in the small Sunday Session audience.

Cleves hadn’t expected Joan of all people to sing a song like this. She didn’t think she had it in her, so the girl had her captivated.

Kitty was backed up against Jane, her face twisted with disgust and fear. She kept looking up at her mother, hoping her pleading eyes would make her yell at Joan to stop and shut up, but she was dismayed to see Jane far too engulfed in the song to notice her distress.

Cathy was intrigued. She never really took Joan for the type to sing, and yet, here she was. And her transitions from slow to fast, from relaxed to intense, from soft to loud, where smooth and amazing. Especially the one right after the first chorus- an elongated, downward spiral of madness.

“Endlessly I see that over heated haze

And again the laughing will repeat on through the days

You've been dying for the past ten years

We are trapped in cycles and the end is never clear”

Joan’s voice has softened, as was her playing. The notes echoed around the auditorium, soft and mournful. It sounded like the ghosts of ancient monarchs whispering from beneath the floorboards.

“But a story is a story all the same

And today like any has an ending so to say

Far away and out beyond that scorching summer day”

For a moment, all is silent. The queens get just a second to breathe and recover from the madness they had just heard, and then Joan is slamming her hands down on the keys and sliding them down the keyboard, causing an awful, but fitting shriek to pierce through the air.

“Crashing in and hitting me instead you

I pushed you aside to nearly dodge a truck

Blood dripping everywhere and choking my smell of hair

You breathe in a gulp of air and just can't take it

Are these lies? I haven't heard him say

"What you see is exactly what your gonna get"”

Her voice is soft at first, but then it builds up and up and up until it’s an uproar of blood-soaked words and shrill, screaming notes. Her eyes are lit up again, this time even brighter, and her vibrato shuddered in the air. At the last line, she suddenly leapt to her feet, knocking over her stool and continuing to play enthusiastically while keeping pace with her music.

“Maybe this summer day has finally gone away

But that's all I'll say so this is where it ends now”

Before the instrumental took over, she slammed her fingers down on the keys and cried over the wailing sound, singing louder and louder and louder.

“August 14th and sitting alone on a bed a girl awakes repeating just the same

Muttering again

"Guess I failed again.." as she sat all alone

And held a cat still cradled in her arms”

With a few final notes, the song concluded. Joan stumbled back, taking deep, heaving breaths. Sweat is dripping down her reddened face. She didn’t bother to wipe it away, instead whipping around to the queens with an eager expression.

“Well?” She said, beaming at their gobsmacked expressions. “What did you think?”

#im not the best at song fics B U T #enjoy #six the musical #six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fanfic #six fanfic #six fanfiction #jane seymour #anne boleyn #katherine howard #catherine of aragon #joan on the keys #anna of cleves #catherine parr

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the--sad--hatter · 5 years

Text

Name Calling (18)

FANDOM - MARVEL MCU

PAIRING - BUCKY X READER (female reader, no physical descriptions)

WARNINGS - ALL OF THEM, SMUT, VIOLENCE ANGST

DESCRIPTION - In which the ongoing and bloody war of words between you and Bucky turns in your favor when a disgruntled one night stand of his lets slip a secret when you run into her in the elevator… Now you have all the ammunition you need to destroy your enemy but you don’t plan on killing him quickly. Oh no, Bucky Barnes was going to suffer and you were going to enjoy every second. You just didn’t count on how much you would enjoy it.

MASTERLIST

Chapter Eighteen - The Way She Makes Me Feel

Bucky was trembling with rage. The catering company lead had been a bust. The security camera’s had picked up a hooded figure handing the book to the caterer but between the camera’s and the witness there were no identifying features other than it was a white male, early to late 30’s, 5’10 to 6ft tall.

“Docherty probably hired somebody to give the book to the caterer. Even if we found him, we’d probably just be chasing down a line of unaware people. He’s not going to make this easy for us.” Steve told him despondently.

Bucky sighed, he knew Steve was right but he had hoped he would have something a little more concrete to tell her. As they trudged back to the quinjet in defeat he allowed his mind to go where it had been desperate to go all day.

That kiss.

He hadn’t planned on it, he had only intended to assure her he wasn’t mad at her but it had just happened. He had looked down at her laughing face, eyes bright and shining with relief and amusement and he had realised that he desperately wanted to kiss her again. He knew it was a risk, she might push him away and hit him. She could have laughed in his face. But she didn’t, she kissed him back with fervour. She’d run her hands up his chest and felt his heart thundering under her palm, she’d pushed her hands into his hair and gently tugged at the strands when he nipped at her lip. She’d opened her mouth and let him entwine his tongue with hers. She had taken everything he offered and given it back with equal desire.

It had taken every ounce of self control he had to pull back and let her breathe. He wanted to keep her out there on the balcony, safely ensconced in his arms all night but had reluctantly escorted her back inside to her party. She had been snatched away from him almost straight away by Thor who had shoved a flask into her hands while Sam, Darcy and Steve had chanted at her to drink. He wanted to whisk her away and have her, all of her to himself but the more he watched her laugh and dance the more calm he felt. Seeing her joyous like that had made him happy.

For months he had told himself he hated her and it hadn’t been a lie but the more time he spent with her the more she got under his skin.

When the journalists had assailed her outside the tower and he had seen her shrink in on herself, terrified he had seen a softness in her he hadn’t known was there. And when she had come to him after, filled with rage and demanding he sparred with her it had lit a fire in his blood. She had beaten him, executing a flawless move that had taken his breath away in it’s efficiency and brutality.

When he had seen Vernichtung he had realised how wrong about her he was because one look at that monster was enough to make him see how different she was from the beast inside her. The pain she had felt at what that monster had done had broken his heart and when that bullet pierced her chest he felt like it had also pierced his.

That night in the kitchen when she had tenderly pressed the ice pack to his cheek his heart had fluttered in his chest and he’d felt hopeful that maybe she didn’t hate him. The calm and serenity of that moment had stayed with him all night and for the first time in a long time he had slept long and deep, unplagued by nightmares.

The moment she had agreed to go on a date with somebody else bile had risen in his throat and he had been bitterly reminded that he couldn’t have her. When he had seen her in her dress in the hallway it was like someone had dumped ice cold water over him such was the shock when he had realised then just how badly he actually wanted her. When she had ripped a man twice her size through the sunroof of a car and carved his tooth out with a knife he knew he shouldn’t have found it quite so attractive but the ferocity she had shown had ignited something carnal in him.

And the she had fought him, desperate to escape. Even shoving his own knife into his shoulder and his anger and lust had boiled over, mingling together and clouding his mind. He had kissed her before even considering what he was doing. For a few glorious moments she had kissed him back and then came the betrayal. He had wanted to hate her for it and for a few hours he had, until he saw the depths of depravity in the soul of the man she was trying to keep him away from. When he had seen her mother dying in that church it had hit him, the real monster wasn’t Vernichtung, it was Docherty. And she had known that from the beginning. She had drugged him, betrayed him and left him behind because she was protecting him.

She was brave to a fault, unwavering in the face of danger. She would do anything she had to do without flinching to protect the people around her. She was soft and sweet and ferocious and violent all at the same time. He had spent so long fuming at her getting under his skin that he hadn’t realised she had found her way into his heart.

“Earth to Bucky...” Steve called, waving a hand in front of his face.

Bucky was surprised to see they were already back at the quinjet.

“You ok Buck?” Steve asked him.

“Yeah pal, I’m fine.”

“You sure? I know you were hoping we’d catch a lead out here.”

“We’ll get him, he’s going to slip up eventually and then we’ll have him.” Bucky vowed.

“You’re pretty invested in this. I knew you’d do what you could to help, you’re a good man but you’re really going above and beyond the call of duty for someone you hate.”

“I don’t hate her.” Bucky said with a weary sigh.

He’d wasted so long thinking he did and he was done. She was still the most infuriating person he had ever met and she made his temper flare like nobody else but he did not hate her.

“That’s great Buck, I’m so relieved. Because I was thinking..”

“A dangerous pastime.”

“Shut up jerk. That date I took her on, it was nice. Really nice. I hadn’t really thought of her in that way before then but now I am. Do you think I should take her out again?”

Bucky’s head snapped up as he felt his heart sink to his stomach. He wanted her but this was Steve. His best friend and the best person he knew. How could he compete with Captain America, even if he could bring himself to try?

“Oh. You and her? You like her?” He asked through the lump in his throat.

“Yeah. She’s pretty amazing don’t you think?” Steve replied.

“Yeah, yeah she is.” Bucky said wistfully.

She really was amazing, the most amazing woman he’d met. And she deserved someone like Steve, the only person with a heart as big as hers. He was broken out of his musings by Steve’s sniggering.

“You’ve really got it bad for her don’t ya pal? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this doll dizzy.” Steve laughed.

“Me? I thought you said you wanted to ask her out?” Bucky was lost.

“Wanted to see if you’d finally figured out how you felt about her. Glad to see you’ve cottoned on at last.” Steve grinned.

“You knew?”

“You’ve been my best friend for decades. Of course I knew.” Steve said with a shrug.

“Is that why you went on a date with her?”

“No. I did that for her. The fact it made you jealous was just a bonus. Your face in the elevator when she called you out for being jealous though, that was priceless.”

“I can’t believe everybody thinks you’re some kind of paragon of virtue and justice. You’re a little shit.” Bucky snapped.

“Don’t get mad at me because you were blind to your own feelings. It’s been exhausting watching you two tear each other to shreds, waiting for the other shoe to drop.” Steve said in exasperation.

Bucky couldn’t even be mad. Steve was right, he had been a blind idiot.

“I kissed her.” Bucky admitted.

“How’d she respond?”

“Which time?”

“How many times have you kissed her?” Steve asked indignantly.

“See, you don’t know everything Rogers.” Bucky smirked.

“Bucky.” Steve whined petulantly.

“Twice. I kissed her twice. First time was after she stabbed me. She tranquillized me mid kiss.”

Steve looked scandalised.

“Don’t give me that look, I remember when Peggy shot at you.” Bucky pointed out.

Steve smiled wistfully at the memory.

“She makes me feel alive Stevie, even when she’s shouting at me. Especially when she’s shouting at me. Everything’s a little brighter, more intense when I’m around her. The whole world just seems like more than it was the day before you know? She’s there and suddenly my heart beats faster, my blood runs quicker and I just feel so alive.” Bucky told him, frustrated he couldn’t find the words to express it properly.

“You’re in love with her.” Steve said with wonder, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Yeah, I think I am. I really think I am.”

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

Short bonus chapter where we check in on Bucky and Steve before Baby Starks first solo mission

@nerdandproud-86 @harrison-shot-first@chook007@thejourneyneverendsx@thelostallycat@inquisitor-selvala@the-corruptor @iovher@kendrawr-kitkat@phoenix-whiskey-tears @the–real-wombat@buckitybarnes@fairislesheets@angieptt@meganjonezzzz

@dugan365 @fluffeh-kitty@memanda17@krystallynx@theonelittleone

@piscesbarnes @free-as-fishes@tarastudiesalot@captainamericasbeard

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #Steve Rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers is a sweetheart #sam wilson #sam wilson x reader #sam wilson is a good bro #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff #captain america #steve rogers is a little shit #clint barton #parent tony stark #hattersmarvelverse

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booksinpublic · 5 years

Text

Endometriosis and male birth control

I turned 30 last November and I'm just now realizing the all-consuming power that my menstrual cycle has on my body. Like most women I know, I've been constantly medicated via injections, implants and pills for more than 15 years, trying to find a birth control option that doesn't ravage me with cramps, cause ruptured cysts on my ovaries or thrust my mind into a vicious darkness at random and always-inconvenient moments.

Maybe I would have reckoned with my natural cycle by now, soothed it and learned how to live with it in peace, had I removed birth control from the equation for any significant stretch of time. I don't know. But I do know I've never wanted kids, and I really like having sex with dudes (and ladies, but they’re polite enough to not randomly impregnate their partners). Male contraception doesn't exist, ergo I've always been on birth control. I've lived with the consequences of unproven, barely tested, hormone-ridden contraception methods my entire adult life, often signing up for consequences even my doctors didn’t anticipate. I've been hospitalized twice in the past two years with heart attack-like symptoms, only to have my period start between the EKGs and X-rays, explaining away my discomfort in one bloody rush. The gut-smack of realization -- Of course it’s my period, I’m such an idiot -- never fades. The second time I went to the hospital, it was in Austin, Texas, during a work trip to cover SXSW in March 2019. After nearly 10 years of reporting at shows like E3 and CES, I don’t exactly look forward to most conventions, but SXSW is different. I enjoy the casual, creative vibe of the show, and this year, I had a lineup of fantastic interviews. I was eager to get going.

My period started because I had recently switched to the pill from Mirena, a high-hormone intrauterine device that for half a decade pushed my emotions to spike and plummet unpredictably, and possibly contributed to years of debilitating nausea.

I vividly recall the day I had the Mirena implanted; IUDs were still relatively new on the mainstream circuit and there weren’t many first-hand accounts of the process online. My gynecologist said I might experience some cramping that night. I felt a pinch around my ovaries as she inserted the device with its dangling strings, t-shaped polyethylene body and 52 mg of LNG, a steroid hormone that mimics progesterone. I drove home, cramping slightly but pleased I didn’t have to pop a pill every day to maintain my non-parent status.

By that night, I was curled into a ball on the bed, clutching my abdomen, riding waves of the worst pain I’d ever experienced. That remains true to this day. I questioned everything that night, but mostly, it exists in my memory as a blur of white-hot agony. I kept the Mirena, of course. Eventually, my periods became erratic, punctuated by agonizing bursting cysts on my ovaries every few months, aftershocks of that initial night. Still, I kept the Mirena.

Fast forward five years. I’d just had the Mirena removed and was in a month-long waiting period before my gynecologist would add Skyla, a smaller and lower-hormone IUD, to my anatomy. After living with Mirena for so long, I forgot to pack my temporary birth-control pills for the Austin trip. On the third day of the show, my period arrived. Before I started bleeding, I had a fantastic day. I interviewed one of my literary idols, Neil Gaiman (and a bonus Jon Hamm), and had the rest of the afternoon to write; it was a dream situation for a convention like this. I walked to a coffee shop to work alongside some colleagues, opened my laptop, and was hit with an intense wave of nausea. My mind was gradually swathed in fog; my stomach roiled and acid hit the back or my throat. I couldn’t eat the soft pretzel I’d ordered. A colleague asked if I'd drank too much the previous night and I laughed it off, heart threatening to leap straight out of my throat. I went back to my hotel room, exhausted, and tried to finish my story. What should have taken an hour took four, and even then my editor called the draft a fever dream. I puked three times while writing it. Dizzy, short of breath, heart thundering in the pressurized cabin of my chest, I tried to eat dinner and sleep. I actually ate half of the burger I ordered. The night wore on, my colleagues went to a SXSW party, and once midnight rolled around, I tried to sleep. The tornado under my ribcage sent prickling tingles down my limbs, making my hands shake and sweat. Sleep eluded me. The signs of a heart attack are different for women and men. Many “traditional” symptoms, such as sharp pain in the chest, don't always appear in women. I knew this, vaguely, and my own body was out of whack enough that I Googled "female heart attack symptoms." I matched them all with uncanny accuracy. The websites I visited recommended calling 911 -- but then, they always do. Around 4:30AM, I called my boyfriend and then a 24-hour nurse line. I explained my symptoms and was advised to call an ambulance. After another half hour spent trying to convince myself I could fall asleep if I just tried a little harder, I got a Lyft to St. David’s South Austin Medical Center (that was $13, compared with an estimated $1,000 for an ambulance). I puked again in the waiting room bathroom, light-headed and paranoid my left arm was going numb. My period started (idiot). Over the following four hours, the doctors ran a few tests, I took some anti-nausea medication, and that was that. I was young and relatively healthy -- it was probably just anxiety or indigestion, according to the hospital staff. Even as I sat in the back seat of the Lyft on the way to the hospital, I knew the tests wouldn't return anything notable. They never did. Which, generally speaking, was a good thing. I wasn't having a heart attack -- great -- but I wasn't all right, either. There were a range of possible causes for my symptoms in Austin, and the same culprit may also be responsible for the years of isolating stomach issues I've experienced. However, by the time I left the hospital, it was clear that these episodes of heart-attacky symptoms were tied to my menstrual cycle. I did some quick online research and found a number of results that might explain my situation, all of them related to my period. This was new information. I knew about PMS and PMDD, the more extreme and debilitating version of PMS, but I'd never heard either word attached to heartburn or heart attacks specifically. I'd seen a gynecologist regularly for the past 15 years, but in the mess of other, more pressing consequences of female birth control, heartburn just never came up.

This is how it goes. I switch contraception methods and a fresh new hell is unleashed on my unsuspecting body, whether it's pain or emotional turmoil or fatigue or personality tweaks or changes in sex drive, and it takes me longer than it should to realize my symptoms line up perfectly with my new sterility regime. Shockingly, I'm not always thinking about birth control, though it's always, always in my life. All of this is to say it's bullshit there is no widespread form of male contraception yet.

THE MALE BIRTH CONTROL CON | An informational interlude by Jessica Conditt

For men, the options are, essentially, condoms or vasectomies. Vasectomies are effective, but they’re also designed to be permanent. In an outpatient procedure, surgeons snip or block the vas defrens, which normally serve as the sperm highway in a man’s scrotum. Planned Parenthood describes the process as relatively pain-free, quick and nearly 100 percent effective after a three-month waiting period. However, vasectomies are for men who are done having kids, as they’re difficult (and sometimes impossible) to reverse.

There have been a few other attempts to fill the birth control gender gap: Vasalgel is a potentially reversible solution that acts like a vasectomy, but with an injected solution rather than actual surgery. This means the process is reversible, in theory. Vasalgel made headlines in 2017 when it was successfully tested on monkeys, but there hasn’t been much movement since.

There is one potential bright spot for the future of male birth control, and it comes in the form of a thin needle.

“Most of the research has focused on the combination of testosterone plus a progestin, another sex steroid hormone that is found in men and women,” University of Washington chief of medicine Dr. Bradley D. Anawalt told Endocrine News in 2016. “Previous studies of male hormonal contraceptives have shown that injectable formulations provide effective contraception that is far superior to the condom and compares favorably to most female contraceptive options.”

In October 2016, researchers reported the results of a study into a particular injection-based method of male birth control. The shots (200 MG of norethisterone enanthate and 1,000 MG of testosterone undecanoate, injected every eight weeks) were tested in 320 men and found to be 96 percent effective. However, the study was halted because the men involved reported particularly high rates of adverse side effects, most notably depression and other mood disorders, but also acne, muscle pain and increased libido. Even with these effects, more than 75 percent of participants said they were willing to continue using the shot.

The most recent advancement in male birth control comes from the National Institutes of Health, which announced in November plans to study a gel designed to prevent pregnancy. The gel, NES/T, is rubbed into a man’s back and shoulders and works via a progestin-based compound called segesterone acetate and testosterone. The NIH is recruiting participants and the study is set to be completed in September 2021.

And that’s about it, when it comes to the technological landscape for male birth control. Promises, tests and silence.

The point here isn't that female birth control sucks or that men are purposefully thwarting attempts to devise a male version. In fact, most men I know are eagerly awaiting the day they can pop a pill and not worry about making a baby.

I'm simply tired of treating my body like a hormone-bomb test site. I'm sick to death of the daily side effects of protecting myself -- and my male partners -- from pregnancy.

That doesn't mean I'll stop any time soon. The possibility of pregnancy is still scarier than the side effects of birth control, for me and for now. I just wish men had as many terrible, effective, agonizing, freeing and emotionally disruptive options as I do.

* * * * * *

I wrote the above words in March 2019, while waiting for my Lyft to arrive at St. David’s South Austin hospital and take me back to the hotel. I typed them deliriously into the Keep Notes app on my phone, caught a few hours of sleep and then got back to covering the show.

When I returned home, I told my gynecologist about the hospital visit, the pain, the convincing heart attack symptoms. She nodded sympathetically and slid a Skyla device into my uterus. One week later, she checked on it with an ultrasound, and found a 5cm cyst inside my left ovary. It was a dense, black hole on the monitor. Endometriosis.

“Wow, it’s big,” she commented. “I’m surprised you haven’t been in more pain.”

I had been. I’d told her about it. But she’s a gynecologist -- her entire job is dealing with women in pain. My complaints of nausea and vomiting, significant weight loss, spasms of agony in my gut and irregular heart rhythms were not cause for alarm in this space. They were simply the price of having ovaries.

I had surgery last week to remove the endometrial cyst and surrounding damage. The procedure was supposed to take about an hour, but mine took three. At one point, my gynecologist was concerned she’d have to remove my entire left ovary, but she managed to keep my organs in place. Regardless, surgery isn’t the last step in living with endometriosis. It’s just the start.

The birth control bouncing around my body for the past 15 years likely kept my endometriosis at bay. The brief gap in IUD placement simply allowed my doctor to finally see it. All along, what I thought was pain from rupturing cysts was actually this disorder sticking my uterus together and filling my ovary with pus the color and consistency of melted chocolate. The cyst was apparently pushing against my bladder; since having it removed I’ve realized how painful peeing used to be.

Like with so many other symptoms, I’d gotten used to it.

#endo #endometriosis #male birth control #birth control #feminism #women #period #periods #menstruation #mirena #skyla #iud #sxsw

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taehyungpurplesme-blog · 6 years

Text

Jimin- In Denial (Part 1)

You shut your eyes close as you inhaled a deep breath, your heart's pounding wildly inside your chest. You followed the staff who had ushered all of you to the main hall. You played with your fingers as you stared on the album sitting on your lap. You were beyond nervous. This is the first time that you'll see Park Jimin up close. He's like a star and you're just some stone, it's really impossible for you to see him like this. You didn't know how lucky you were until you managed to win a meet and greet with the boys in a raffle draw by some fansite. Now, here you are, sweat building on the sides of your forehead, fingers feeling fidgety, as you waited for the boys to come out. Screams filled the air when they walked one by one in front of you, sitting on their respective chairs, waving and smiling at their fans. Your eyes immediately searched for Park Jimin, his signature mochi smile is painted on his face. Your knees felt weak and you swear that you're on the edge of throwing up as you marvelled at his glorious beauty.

Your head is spinning as the fans are called one by one. The boys are laughing and playing with their fans. Jin's laugh echoed throughout the room.

"Next, please." Your mind fucked you up when you saw the staff ushering you towards the boys. Your first stop was Namjoon, his dimples are displayed on the side of his cheeks, talking to you how your day went by as he signed your album. He ruffled your hair and winked at you before you advanced to the next member, Seokjin. He took time in making his daddy jokes on you, making you laugh. His laugh calmed your nerves. Jungkook was munching a cookie when you went to him. He gave you a cookie and you both stared at each other while eating the cookie, his bunny smile almost made you faint in front of him. Next was Min Yoongi, he's warm but definitely more quiet than the others. He asked you to stay warm during the winter and to stay safe always. Taehyung had talked about how Yeontan grows bigger every day. You laughed because of how dedicated he was to his puppy. Jhope was all smiles when you met him, his eyes are almost disappearing as he smiled at you. His voice is loud. He radiates happiness just by looking at him. You almost stumbled when you moved to the last member, Park Jimin. He was quick enough to catch you, grasping your hand, earning a loud cheer from the crowd. Your face turned red as you tried to get yourself together. Park fucking Jimin just touched you. His small hands are soft and warm. You're feeling dizzy because his presence is just too much for you. His words ringed on your ears but you just can't bring yourself to do anything but stare at him. He's really beautiful. His eyes, nose, ears, hair, cheeks, jaw, lips are all godlike. You wondered if he's real. You felt like floating in the clouds as you walked out of the hall, waving at Jimin one last time. The "you're so beautiful" coming from his lips almost made you bang your head on the table separating the two of you, preventing you from kissing him.

That was how your story with Park Jimin had started. He's an idol and you're one of his fangirls. If only you knew what would've happened, you wouldn't attend that fan meeting. You'll just settle with staring at him on your laptop. You won't ever let yourself fall for him more, to the point that you almost felt yourself drowning because of the love you had given.

A staff hurriedly went out of the room to find you. Jimin had asked her to look for you as soon as you left the hall. She found you sprawled on the floor, leaning on the wall, your mind's still hazy after your first encounter with Park Jimin. You were slaapped back to reality when you heard someone clear his throat.

"Jimin wants to talk to you, if you could just wait a little bit." She said while helping you to stand up.

"What?" You almost screamed, covering your mouth with your hands. Why would he want to talk to you? She just smiled at you, maybe she doesn't know why too. She lead you to a room, 3 floors away from the hall.

"They'll be finished in 30 minutes. Please be comfortable." She said before closing the door. You're left alone in the room. Your eyes darted on all the make ups scattered on the desk. A blazer was hung on one of the chairs, it was Park Jimin's. You busied yourself by looking at all the stuffs, never touching them, afraid of how much they would cost you if you break one of them. You jumped when you heard a knock on the door. It opened slowly, revealing Park Jimin, smiling cutely as ever.

"Hey, are you okay?" He mumbled as he slowly walked towards you. Your heart's beating wildly as he inches closer to you.

"I love it when you turn red like this in front of me, Y/N." He smirked while whispering. He had pinned you on the table, arms in between your sides. His eyes are fixed on you, a small grin on his face. You were trembling under him and he just finds it amusing. He was so fascinated with the way you gulped when he inched himself impossibly closer to you. His chest's almost brushing yours.

"I'm giving you 10 seconds to leave this room if you feel uncomfortable with this." You faced him, confused of what he means. He brushed one of his hands on your cheeks softly, cupping them.

"I want to fuck you right now, Y/N." His voice is rough, like whenever he does those growling sounds when he sings spontaneously on stage. He slowly stepped back, giving you space in case you decided to run away. He didn't know what sparked in him when he saw you a while ago. You're so pretty and innocent at the same time. He was addicted with how you stared at him. You didn't know what to do. You didn't even know if this is real or if your mind's just fucking with you again.

"Ten." He counted mentally and as soon as he reached 10 and you were still standing in front of him, he roughly made his way towards you, roughly claiming your lips. You almost drowned because of his hungry kisses. You closed your eyes as you returned his kisses, trying to reciprocate the intensity of his kisses. You were right all along, his plump lips are soft and warm, and he really knows how to kiss. His kisses made your knees weak. You heard Jimin chuckle as he wrapped his arms around your waist, preventing you from falling. His fingers brushed on your legs making you moan. He quickly slipped his tongue into your mouth, exploring and loving the feeling of your warm mouth. Your head's spinning because of the pleasure washing over your system. You can't even remember how he managed to remove your panties under your dress.

"Hmmm." You tried to muffle your moans, ashamed of yourself, as he traced his fingers on your core. He growled because of how wet you are.

"I want to hear you, Y/N." He groaned in your ear as he inserted a finger in you, making you cry.

"Fuck, Y/N. You're so tight." He cursed under his breath. His breathing is erratic. He reached for your lips and kissed you again as his finger drilled inside you. You can't even kiss him back properly.

"Jimin!" You screamed his name when he eased another finger inside you, scissoring them, making your stomach clench. He bite your lip as he savoured the feeling of you clenching on his fingers.

"You're close, aren't you?" He hummed on your ears, kissing and licking your earlobes. You moaned, unable to bring yourself to speak. He faced you, amazed of how good you look under him. Your eyes are close, sweat on your forehead, arms shaking as you uncontrollably called his name. He can already feel himself twitching by the sight of you, his tight pants becoming extremely painful for him. He buried his face on your neck down to your collarbones, nibbling and licking and biting. He smirked when he saw how he marked your neck, everywhere around your neck and collarbones was painted with purple hickeys. You heard your dress unzipping slowly, his fingers are ghosting on your back. After a second, you were already naked in front of him. He growled at the sight of you, so beautiful and perfect under him.

"When was the last time you have been touched, princess? God! You're so tight!" You wanted to tell him that you've never been touched like that but it was impossible to talk because of what he's doing to you. His head flew back as he groaned. His mouth found your breast and sucked on it, his fingers under you is now picking up a faster pace making you go crazy under him. He knew how close you are so he inserted another finger into you. His knuckles are white as he inserted his fingers knuckle deep, making you whimper as he hit your sweet spot. God! You can't even imagine how his small fingers reached you. His thumb pressed on your clit, rubbing frantic figures of 8.

"Park Jimin!" You screamed so loud when you felt the snap of your stomach. Energy leaving you as you released something that you've been trying to hold back. He immediately kissed you to muffle your screams. He continued to drive his fingers inside you as he helped you calm yourself.

"You're so beautiful, baby. I want you so much." He whispered before he layed you down on the table. He lowered your upper body on the table, your back smashing on the table. He started unbuckling his pants. You gulped as you watched him remove all his clothing. He's so big, you muttered to yourself as you stared at his cock, proudly standing on his stomach. He grinned at you when he saw you staring. He searched on his pockets and pulled out a what's supposed to be a condom because you've seen it in some commercial. He placed it on himself before stroking himself a few times. You felt your core throbbed just because of the sounds he's making.

"Are you ready?" He asked. He thrusted himself inside you before you can even answer. You shut your eyes tight. Tears started to roll down your cheeks as you felt the pain radiating throughout your body. He cursed himself when he felt something break as thrusted into you. You were a virgin! He cursed himself a few more times as he stared at you, crying beneath him.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know." He whispered while trailing kisses on your face, hoping to relieve the pain. He's about to pull himself out of you when you held his hips in place, shaking your head.

"No, please. I want you, Jimin." You pleaded, small whimpers still coming out from your mouth.

"Baby, you're hurt. Let me prepare you first." He said sweetly as he caressed your face. You opened your eyes, his dark eyes that was filled with lust and hunger, was replaced by worry. His eyes are glistening as he stared at you.

"I can take it, Jimin. Please, I really want you." You pleaded. He closed his eyes before he nodded. You sound so good, how can he possibly turn you down? He tried to stay still as he gave you time to get used to the feeling of him being inside you. You can see his muscles tensed as he tried to hold back from thrusting into you roughly. You feel so good, so warm and tight. It's making him crazy.

"Jimin, move please." You said as you caressed his cheeks. He nodded at you before he carefully pulled and pushed back into you again, making you whimper. His thumb wiped your tears as he continued to thrust into you slowly. The slow pace is making him crazy. He leaned himself closer into you, kissing you once again.

"It's going to be fine, baby." He whispered before he felt the snap of his patience. He began to pound into you faster, roughly slamming into you.

"You feel so good, baby." You can barely understand him. Your moans and his groans and the sound of your skin slapping filled the room. He wrapped his arms around your waist, carefully picking you up and leaning you by the wall. Your legs are on his arms making you stretch for him. He slammed into you faster and deeper with every second. You felt him much deeper with this angle. He's hitting every spot inside you perfectly.

"Like this?" You screamed his name when you felt him hit your g spot. You wrapped your arms around him tightly as you buried your head on the crook of his neck. He chuckled.

"Not so loud, baby. I'm not sure if the walls are soundproof." He whispered. You held unto his hair, gently pulling his blonde locks, as he continued to slam into you.

"I won't last long, Y/N." He groaned. His thumb finding your clit and drawing deep circles again. His breaths were starting to get shallow, his thrusts are already becoming unpredictable and his moans are louder.

"I want you to cum with me now, princess." He breathed into your neck, soft growls escaping his lips as he sucked on your neck. He kissed your lips as you came. His chest is beating frantically as he also reached his high. He continued to pepper your face with kisses as you both ride your high. You were already feeling sleepy as he carried you to the couch.

"That was amazing, Y/N." He giggled, the familiar glint in his eyes welcomed you when you opened your eyes. He cuddled you on his arms as he smoothed your hair before you had fallen asleep.

Jimin was gone when you woke up. A blanket was draped over you, covering your body. Your clothes are folded neatly on the table together with his hoodie. Your cheeks flushed when you remembered what had happened on that table. You tried to stand even your legs felt sore. A note containing his number and adress was left on the table next to your clothes. Two weeks had passed and you still hadn't contacted him. You can't find the courage to call him or text him. What are you supposed to say? Thank you for fucking me or Nice fucking me or maybe Can't wait to fuck you more. Those things are making you crazy. You can't even bring yourself to believe that what happened between the two of you was real. You placed the note on your pocket again as you sighed. You looked forward and before you can even blink, you felt yourself being thrown everywhere when the bus you're riding accidentally collided with another car. You opened your eyes as you tried to stand up. You felt surprisingly normal aside from the bruise on your legs and arms and the scratch on your forehead. Kids were crying and people were groaning around you.

------

"Y/N." You breathed when you heard the familiar voice. You looked up and saw Jimin running to you, his eyes are screaming with worry when he saw you. You quickly stood up from the floor and ran to him, crashing your body with him on a tight hug. Your shoulders are shaking uncontrollably as you cried on his arms. You heard him sigh, the feeling of going crazy finally leaving him when he saw that you're fine. You had called him while he was on practice. All of the people around you are not picking up their phone, probably because they all have their classes. You were so scared about what happened and that's when you decided to call him. Jimin saw 15 missed calls from an unknown number when they had a 5 minute water break. He opened the voicemail and when he heard your voice, shaking and crying, he had thrown everything and almost tripped while running for his keys just to get to you as soon as possible.

"Let's get you cleaned up, okay?" He whispered softly before holding your wrist and guiding you towards the emergency room. He left you after making sure that you're already fine. He picked new clothes for you because you're clothes were covered with blood and your skirt's half torn already. He had also paid your bills and ordered dinner before going back to you.

"Hey, beautiful." He said as he entered the room where you've been transferred. He walked to you, leaving his paper bags on the table, before kissing your forehead. A knock on the door made him pull away from you.

"Ms. Y/SN?" He asked and you nodded. The doctor smiled and walked towards you. Jimin immediately covered your lower body with the blanket.

"Are you okay?" You nodded at him as he checked your wounds and your forehead. Jimin busied himself by preparing the dinner he had picked out for the both of you.

"You're a medical student, right? I read it on your form." The doctor said as he waved your medical chart.

"You saved 5 patients because of your first aid. You're really good considering that you're just a freshman." He complimented you. Jimin looked at you. He didn't know that you're still studying or that you're a medical student.

"It's nothing. I'm really glad that I've saved them. I was going crazy outside the operating room, thinking if I just messed up everything." You said, making the doctor laugh. You bite your lip as you stared at him.

"I'm Doctor Kim. I'll put in a good word for you in your university and I can't wait to see you around, Y/N." The doctor said, offering his hand for a hand shake. You quickly grabbed his hand and bowed at him before he left your room. He looks too young to be a good doctor. Maybe he's just a few years older than you.

"I didn't know that you're still studying." Jimin said as he gave you the paper bag with your clothes.

"You never asked me." You replied, taking the paper bag and seeing clothes that looks expensive. He's Park Jimin, after all.

"Thanks, Jimin." You said before going to the bathroom to change. He held your wrist, stopping you before you can fully enter the bathroom.

"Why didn't you call me earlier?" His eyes stared at you, gently lifting your chin for you to look at him. You were once again drowned on his heavy stares.

"I didn't know what to say." You whispered. Your hands are nervously playing on the paper bag. He held your hands and placed tiny kisses on it.

"Get changed. We have things to talk about, Y/N." He whispered before opening the door to the bathroom. You leaned on the door when you entered the bathroom, hands clutching your heart. Your heart's doing crazy somersaults again just because he's near.

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"You're my girl since that day of the fan sign, do you understand that, Y/N?" You almost choked because of what he said. His voice is stern and warm and playful. You were both watching some random chick flick while eating dinner. You reached for the bottled water and quickly gulped it.

"What? Like girlfriend or something?" Your eyes are wide, still unsure of what he means by that. He chuckled at you. His laugh sending shivers down your spine. He faced you, eyes fixed into yours as he tugged some of your hair under your ear.

"You're so innocent. I can't do girlfriends, baby." He whispered as he inched closer to you. You gulped when you felt his lips on your temples.

"And girlfriends involve love and I can't afford loving someone, you know that right?" You nodded as you closed your eyes. His breath tickled your ears.

"My girl means my girl in my car, in my studio, in bed, in everywhere I want her to be. Are you familiar with the saying "No strings attached"?" He asked, his lips ghosting in your jaw down to your neck. You felt him smirk when you nodded.

"I really want you, princess. I really love fucking you." He mumbled before kissing your lips hungrily. His hands settled on your hips, tracing your curves. You cursed yourself as you realized what you had gotten yourself into you. This is wrong but for the second time, after what happened on the day of the fan meeting, you still can't bring yourself to push him away or to walk out of him or to tell him that you don't want it.

Because deep in your heart, you know that you want him too. Whether a girlfriend, or a fuck buddy, you don't even care. You just want Park Jimin as much as he wants you.

#jimin #jimin imagine #bts imagines #smut #fluff #bts #bangtan #jimin x reader #jimin x you

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brightlynested · 5 years

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At 41 weeks + 3 days and 4 membrane sweeps later…

I woke up Saturday morning, August 11th with mild contractions that were 20 minutes apart. They weren’t painful but I was pretty sure they were contractions because they were 20 mins on the dot for a few hours. So that morning Chris made breakfast for Kinley & I and then we headed to the grocery store to get a couple things we needed.

Towards the end of my pregnancy my midwife said we should have sex two times a day until the baby came to continue to ripen my cervix, so at 11:00 AM we put Kinley down for a nap and decided to “do it” (sorry if you’re reading this Mom & Dad! Lol!). We knew that if this was the real thing, it would kick start/speed up labor. Plus we figured, “doctor’s orders!” Haha

That immediately threw me into labor. Right off the bat, contractions were 3 mins apart. I was in shock. Could this really (and finally) be the real thing?! After an hour of contractions 3 mins apart, I called my midwife to talk it over with her. She had said sometimes sex can bring on contractions like that and then slow down a few hours later. She said I could come in if I wanted to, or stay home to labor as long as I felt comfortable doing so. Even though they were 3 minutes apart, I still felt like I had time on my side and felt comfortable staying home. The contractions eventually slowed to 5-6 mins apart, but they were definitely getting more intense. This was definitely the real thing!

Around 1:00 PM I called my bestie to come over to help us with Kinley while I continued to labor at home. I walked, and walked, and walked around my house ALL DAY. It was a hot summer day so instead of going on a walk outside we opted to stay in in the air conditioning. I wanted to stay as active as possible to keep things moving and also bring the baby down with gravity. When my legs got tired I sat on my birth ball and bounced and rolled my hips. The contractions were completely manageable all afternoon.

Around 7:00 PM (8 hours into labor) I knew it was time to head to the birth center. I started to get the “shaky labor legs” and the contractions were intensifying so I knew it was time to go. We still had a 45 minute drive ahead of us so I figured we needed to hit the road before things got too much more intense. When we arrived, my midwife checked me. I was 4 cm dilated, fully effaced, with a bulging bag of water. I was happy I was at least that far along.

For the next hour and a half I walked around the room continuously as I breathed through contractions. When I needed a break from walking, I would sit on the birth ball to bounce and roll around as much as I could. I would usually walk for 5 minutes and then sit on the ball for 5 minutes. I knew staying active would help move things along and I had prayed specifically for a fast labor. At 10 PM my contractions were 2 minutes apart and my midwife checked me again. I was only 4.5 cms dilated. She asked if I wanted her to break my water and I immediately said, “YES!” After she broke my water I got into the birthing tub to continue laboring.

Things picked up QUICK! Within about 30-45 minutes of laboring in the tub I asked my husband & midwife to grab the trashcan because I needed to throw up. I knew I was entering into transition which was 7 cm. Feeling nauseous and throwing up is usually a sign that you’re entering into transition.

I couldn’t believe that I was already 7 cms in such a short amount of time, but I could also feel the contractions intensifying. Up until that point the pain was totally manageable. I had told my husband right after I threw up, “Wow, I’m surprised because the contractions only really hurt for about 15-20 seconds (at its peak) and the rest of the contraction is totally manageable.” But it seemed like it was only 1 minute later that I was grueling in pain for 2 minutes straight through each contraction. I knew I had passed 7 cm and was now somewhere between 8-10 cms.

Each contraction hit me like a massive wave and I was doing my best to stay relaxed and breathe through them. Staying relaxed is one of the most important things you can do in labor. If you are tense, your cervix can also tense up and it can stall or even stop labor, so I was trying my best to hold on and stay calm.

Before I knew it, I heard myself REALLY vocalizing through each contraction. I had to because it was the only way to keep from screaming although eventually there was some screaming— and that was okay! I knew not to resist the sounds my body was making because as I screeched trough the pain I knew my body was doing everything it needed to do.

I finally reached the point where I felt like I couldn’t take the pain. Panic set in for a moment as I wondered how much longer I had to hold on. But in that moment I remembered reading several birth stories where other women got to this same point and the very next moment the baby was born. This gave me hope she was about to be born.

My midwife began reassuring me that I was SO CLOSE. I wanted to believe her, but I was wondering if she was just telling me that to comfort me or if she was serious. The date was August 11th and my sister’s birthday is August 12th. My sister was praying hard that Harlie would be born on her birthday. I remember glancing at the clock at 11:30 PM as my midwife said, “Your baby girl doesn’t want to share birthdays with your sister, she’s going to be born before before midnight.” “Really?! I thought. Was she being serious?! I pray to Jesus she is being serious!”

Immediately after I remember thinking, “the pain of these contractions are so intense, I can’t IMAGINE pushing during a contraction to get her out!”

But then suddenly, I pooped.

You might be wondering why I included this, but it’s actually a fascinating part of the story! When your baby is about to be born, the baby descends deep into your pelvis and your colon literally gets flattened, therefore you poop! No need to feel embarrassed, it’s 100% normal and something that just happens in childbirth. The cool thing was, my husband said the moment after I pooped, he saw my big, huge belly all of a sudden drop and almost flatten. The baby dropped deep into the birth canal and she was ready to make her debut.

The next moment I screamed, “HERE SHE COMES!!!”

I knew it was time to push, no one had to tell me. I very much wanted and prayed for this feeling. I told my midwife prior to birth that I did not want to be managed in the pushing phase and that I wanted a physiological birth, meaning I would follow my body’s lead on what to do because it knows exactly what to do on its own.

I began pushing and it was completely instinctual. I never told my midwife I was going to push and she didn’t say a word other than “GREAT JOB! GREAT PUSH!!” After 4 minutes of pushing, she was born! I was in complete shock!

Within 1 hour and 45 minutes of my midwife breaking my water, I progressed from 4.5 cm dilated to my sweet baby girl being born!

She weighed 9 lbs 6 oz and was 22” long!

Prior to birth, I prayed specifically for a few things: no tearing, no hemorrhoids, and a fast labor. Low and behold with a 9 lb 6 oz baby, I didn’t tear, I had no hemorrhoids, and my birth could not have been any faster. My mind was blown, and still is, how God answered each and every one of my prayers specifically and intentionally!

Delivering the Placenta

Did you know that after you deliver your baby, you have to deliver your placenta too?

After Harlie’s birth, I had to then deliver the placenta about 20 minutes later. After a few pushes it was out. After I delivered it, my midwife brought it over to show me how fascinating it was.

Previously I thought placentas were gross, but she really opened my eyes and showed me how amazing they are! (Seriously google how amazing placentas are, its fascinating!!)

As she was explaining how amazing placentas are to me, she told me she was particularly amazed by mine for several reasons. She took it over to the scale to weighed it and said that it was two times the size of a normal placenta. The average placenta size is around 1 lb and mine was over 2 lbs! She also could not get over the “health” of my placenta and said, “this does not look like a 41 week placenta! This looks like a 37-38 week, thriving placenta!” She said typically a 41-42 week placenta tends to not be as healthy because its losing its ability to nourish, but that was not the case for mine! She then went on to say that the health of my placenta is why my gestational age is past 41 weeks, and I should expect to go that long every pregnancy! I thought that was a really awesome fact and is a good reminder to eat healthy during pregnancy because you are nourishing your baby and your own body!

Funny side story:

About an hour or two after the baby was born, the nurse walked me to the bathroom (attached to the birthing room) to go pee and take a shower. After I went pee, the nurse stood me up to help me get into the shower. All of a sudden I got really dizzy and my arms and legs began to shake so I told her I needed to sit back down on the toilet to rest for a minute. Next thing I knew the strong scent of ammonia was hovering under my nose and I woke up to my midwife saying, “Welcome back!!” with a huge smile on her face.

“What? Did I pass out!?” “Yep you did, so we are going to postpone that shower until later!” We all had a good chuckle as the nurse helped me back to the bed. They said that my body did such a tremendous amount of work that I was just very depleted of nutrients. They told me I needed protein, carbs, and water - so good thing my bestie packed me a bagel, protein bar, and smart water in my labor bag just before we left the house. Mama straight HOUSED that food as soon as I laid down on the bed :)

Anyway! I hope you enjoyed the read! Harlie’s birth is sooo special to me and I pray I have another one just like it! Yes, labor is painful but it’s the best type of pain— the pain of bringing a child into the world! Birth doesn’t have to be a horror story, it can actually be a dream come true.

XO,

Christi

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