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violentferalcat · 9 months

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(just a personal thing because i do not know where to put my reading notes)

30/07/23 E. Kübler-Ross “On Death and Dying” (link to my other reading notes on the book)

*Disclaimer: Kübler-Ross’s model (five stages of grief) has been widely criticized and the author herself has expressed regret about the media misinterpreting and misunderstanding her theory. Kübler-Ross primarily applied these stages to patients in a hospital environment with a terminal illness. If you are experiencing grief, note that you do not necessarily go through these stages. It is a not a linear process.

Chapter VI: Fourth Stage: Depression

Abstract:

Depression (or the feeling of loss) can be expressed in many ways.

E. Ross distinguishes two types of depression: reactive and preparatory.

Reactive depressive episode arises from worries, fears, unrealistic guilt and shame, it spurs from external circumstances and past experiences.

Preparatory guilt arises from the dread of future losses, losing connections with the loved ones as death gets closer.

When the patient is experiencing the first type of depression, it is best to cheer them up, to support them and explain how unrealistic their feelings of guilt are.

When the patient is experiencing the second type of depression, it is best not to constantly tell them to "not be sad". Most of the time, it's best to simply sit with them in silence if they so wish, to grieve and mourn with them.

The chapter includes a full interview with Mr. H. which highlights the conflict between the patient's want to rest and mourn and his wife's energy. A brief summary is provided below.

After the initial shock and frustration, writes the author, the patient might experience a feeling of loss of something important. The depression stage sets in, however, E. Ross draws a line between two types of depression. "...I would regard the first one a reactive depression, the second one a preparatory depression. The first one is different in nature and should be dealt with quite differently from the latter."

The reactive kind of depression arises from worries and the feelings of unrealistic guilt or shame. As E. Ross puts it herself, a terminally ill woman might fall into a depressive episode after an operation due to an unreasonable belief of losing her "femininity" ("...a woman with a breast cancer may react to the loss of her figure; a woman with a cancer of the uterus may feel that she is no longer a woman"). In order to help these people, the medical staff should support them throughout their worries and depressive thoughts, convince them that everything is alright. In such cases the support of family can also greatly improve the patient's condition. "We are always impressed by how quickly a patient’s depression is lifted when these vital issues are taken care of."

On the contrary, the second type of depression - "preparatory depression" - arises from the dread of future losses. Past experiences do not play a role here, writes E. Ross, and cheering the patient will not help, unless it is the first type of depression. When the terminally ill person is going through the second kind of depression, it is better for them to express their sadness. "If [they are] allowed to express [their] sorrow [they] will find a final acceptance much easier, and [they] will be grateful to those who can sit with [them] during this stage of depression without constantly telling [them] not to be sad."

The rest of the chapter is dedicated to a full interview with Mr. H. through which the author illustrates the fourth stage and the worsened state of it due to the inability of Mr. H.'s closed ones to understand his needs. Mr. H.'s case shows the conflict between his needs for sadness, mourning and grieving and his wife's energy and high expectations of him. The full interview can be read in the original text.

Here's a short summary of Mr. H.'s interview:

Mr. H. opens up by telling that it is unlikely he will be able to talk for more than five minutes due to his condition. He is a chemical engineer, however he studied communications at the University. In April Mr. H. was informed that he had cancer, his previous doctor told him that "...his [doctor's] father had had a similar operation, in the same hospital, with the same surgeon, and that he failed to recover and died within about a year and a half at the same age. And that all I could do was just to wait for the bitter end."

After getting into the current hospital (ed. note: E. Ross worked in Manhattan, Colorado, and Chicago in 1960s - the period of her writing the book) Mr. H. was told that his case was not as hopeless as previously thought and that he had the chance of recovery. Mr. H. goes on to say that he lost his father and mother, his brother, and his 28 y.o. daughter who lived in Persia. Together with his wife, Mr. H. took care of their daughter's kids.

For almost the rest of the interview, Mr. H. tells E. Ross and the chaplain about his wife. She is a teacher and a "...heavy-set woman, full of good spirits, the kind of person that gets a standing ovation at the beginning of every class period..." Despite the serious loss of their daughter, neither Mr. H. nor Mrs. H. talked about this. In addition, his wife constantly used to pressure Mr. H. for not earning enough money. "She feels that I ought to be like the son-in-law... She also feels that I was responsible for not bringing up my youngest son well enough."

Next, Mr. H. says that he used to participate in a church choir and their other activities. He worries that his life is pointless if he is not bringing any communal good, either to the church, society or to his family. "That if I were to die tomorrow, my wife would go on perfectly normal" and "Death. It means a cessation of valuable activity." Closer to the end, Mr. H. tells E. Ross and the chaplain that he "[doesn't] fear death."

At the end of the interview, E. Ross suggests that Mrs. H. should visit them (i.e. the psychologists) to have a chat and informed Mr. H. that they talked for almost an hour (despite the patient saying that he won't last for 5 minutes).

After this, E. Ross concludes the interview at the end of the chapter, saying that the depressive episode of Mr. H. was not due to his illness, but more or less due to his continued grieving of the death of his daughter. The next day E. Ross talked with Mrs. H. and throughout the session E. Ross made an (in my subjective view) unprofessional burst of emotion. "I summarized briefly that Mr. H. had not fulfilled her [Mrs. H.'s] expectations, he was not very good in many things really, and would not be mourned when he ceased to be. Looking back at his life, one might wonder if there was anything memorable in it...."

Following her words, E. Ross told Mrs. H. what she heard from Mr. H. the other day, after which the wife started caring more for her husband. "There was some genuine warmth in her voice when she talked with him and prepared him to leave the hospital," writes the author in the last paragraph of the chapter.

(my notes were written based on the Russian translation of the original text, quotes are taken from the English version)

#studyblr #me.reading notes #me.on death and dying #reading notes #reading

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animemangasoul · 4 years

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We Parted Ways A Long Time Ago

Summery: Lucius Fox is Tim's emergency contact number.

In which Bruce and Tim have drifted apart and Bruce doesn't realize it until it's little too late

Chapter: 1/4

He’s out the door and in his car, driving full speed to the hospital before the remote can hit the carpet.

Today had been one of those rare days Bruce got to himself. Those once in a blue moon days where all his kids were accounted for but busy enough with their own interests that he’d somehow come out the other end with nothing better to do but relax on the couch.

Dick had been upstairs reading; Jason in the kitchen baking with Alfred, Steph and Damian accompanying Cass to her ballet recital and Duke out of the country with his family. Everything had been normal, calm. Too normal. Bruce should have known. Should have noticed that one of the kids had been unaccounted for.

Tim had been unaccounted for.

Swerving around the corner, his grip tightened around the staring wheel, and Bruce tried to breathe through the constricting feeling in his chest.

Bruce life was always hectic, and he was fine with it. He’d signed his life away to the job many years ago and he’d made his peace with that. Gotham needed both Bruce Wayne and Batman and the Billionaire had readily given it both. But that demanding life came with its own set of sacrifices and it had made Bruce a jaded and broken man. The time he spent with his kids had practically shrunk to nothing and his family had drifted apart, no longer connected under similar goals and similar trust of warmth and love.

It was only after his death that he’d recognized his shortcomings. Only after Tim had practically dragged him from the abyss that he’d finally taken a closer look at what he’d become and actively tried to mend fences. He had started with Dick. His son who had almost broken under the pressure to live up to his name. They’d sat down and talked things out.

There had been a lot of hugs and reassuring words, but Dick had always been the forgiving one. The kind one. The son he didn’t deserve, so despite his failings, his oldest son had practically folded into his arms the moment he had voiced his apology, and slowly, ever so slowly their relationship had built up from there.

Then of course came Jason whose hatred for him boiled over the edges and burned. Burned his skin of his flesh, flesh of bones and bones of soul. But he’d persisted. Hung on tight as his second oldest trashed, screamed, punched and fought, but Bruce hadn’t let him go. Had chased him to the end of the world and told him as many times as Jason needed to hear that he loved him. He loved him so so much and “won’t you come home son”?

It took weeks, months, but eventually his second oldest did come in from the cold and while he spent most of his time solely with Alfred, the fact that he was even here; under the same roof, and actively participating in family dinners.... Bruce couldn’t ask for more.

Cassandra wasn’t home much, but the frequent phone calls with his only daughter and her uncanny ability to make things a little less awkward between him and Stephanie had made their conversations worth every second that he took to speak with her. She was so easy to talk to and the warmth in her voice... Bruce loved her and through her, he’d gotten to know Stephanie, and it was as if his family was ever so slowly starting to mend. And the hope he’d built with the others had given him the strength to finally take the last steps to fix whatever that had been broken between him and Damian.

His youngest had been different from the others. There weren’t as much history between him and Damian. Not as much disappointment and let downs. For his youngest son, he was still unblemished, untarnished. He still was a hero not a man. It was difficult to get past the image of perfection Damian had created during his death and it was hard to sit down and get to know his son. And it hurt.... it hurt seeing him treat Dick the way Bruce deep down wanted to be treated by his son, butwith patience and time. Bruce has swallowed down his restlessness, his frustration and taken the time to get to know his son. Let down his guards little by little and let his boy see him for who he was and.... he’d seen it. That look. The curious tilt of the head, the spying as Damian trailed behind him; albeit trying not to be noticed, as his son got more intrigued by the man behind the mask rather than just the Batman himself, and....

If that didn’t make Bruce feel elated.

The first time Damian laughed in his presence is probably one of the best days Bruce had ever experienced in the entirety of his life. Watching his son turn beat red; tiny hands coming up to clap over his mouth as he tried and failed to hold back his uncontrollable giggles. Yes.... yes, Bruce would never forget that moment.

It would forever be ingrained in the fondest corner of his mind along with all the precious memories he’d made of his family.

Now, as he hurried to park his car, almost forgetting to turn of the engine in his stumbling haste to get to the hospital, he wondered how long it had been since he last had a conversation with Tim.

“Excuse me,” he said to the receptionist, looking mildly frazzled where he was leaning against the desk. “Can you tell me where Tim Wayne is?”

The old woman was halfway through a polite refusal when she looked up. Eyes widening and mouth falling open, she quickly scrambled to type something into her computer. “Oh,” she said. “So sorry Mr. Wayne. He’s in room 204. Right down the hall.” She pointed. Thin lips forming a hesitant smile. “Sorry for the misunderstanding. Too many unsavory people want to know your son’s location and I-”

Bruce cut her off with a head shake. “I understand. Thank you for looking out for him.”

With that he made his way down the hall, hands stuffed in his pocket and looking for all the world like a man unburdened, all the while his mind raising as to why Tim hadn’t called him the minute he was able. His son had apparently collapsed on his way out of Wayne Enterprises and had been quickly rushed off to the hospital.

If it hadn’t been for the news, if Bruce hadn’t been lazily shifting through the channels; too bored to put on a movie, he might have missed the incident all together.

His son was in the hospital and he hadn’t been called.

Maybe he should have asked the receptionist?

He was all his children’s emergency contact number. He should have been notified. Maybe it was an oversight on their part, or maybe Tim had refused to let them call. He was stubborn that way. Still, Bruce frowned, reading the numbers as he quickened his pace.

Not calling him would result in his boy having no one here with him in his time of need, and that was unacceptable.

Finally reaching the right room he knocked. Not waiting for an answer, he twisted the doorknob and let himself in. “Tim, kiddo how are you--” he came to an abrupt stop.

Tim wasn’t alone.

Bruce hadn’t expected him to be alone. He’d expected a doctor or a nurse or a medical staff of some kind to be there. What he hadn’t expected however, was Lucius Fox sitting by his son’s bedside chuckling about something while patting Tim’s hair.

Blinking in surprise, Bruce faltered. And it was then Tim turned around and saw him.

“Bruce!”

“Tim.” He nodded, shaking the wariness off. “Lucius.”

His son smiled up at him. It wasn’t wide, it wasn’t overly sweet but it was friendly and familiar. Still, it wasn’t the one Bruce remembered before his death—It looked foreign on the kid’s face and Tim looked so tired. So very tired, that something at the very depth of Bruce soul ached.

“What are you doing here?”

For a second Bruce thought the question had left his lips, but it didn’t. Instead his son was looking at him, still a friendly tilt to his lips but confusion crinkling at the corner of his eyes. Bruce frowned back. “I saw the news,” he said stepping closer; fingers coming to rest on the bed railings. “I heard you collapsed at the fundraiser, so I came to check on you.”

“Oh.”

The words come out airy and Tim inclines his head a little. “Wow.... thanks Bruce. That’s really nice of you! But I’m fine. The nurse called Lucius and everything seems to be fine.” Here he turns slightly to smile up at the man next to him. Said man reaching out to ruffle his hair as if it was a second nature. Bruce frown deepen. “I think I just overworked myself.” A shrug. “But the doctor said I could leave so you shouldn’t worry.”

Overworked....

Bruce hadn’t had the time to check up on his middle son and he knew the kid had been overworking himself, of course he did. Anyone who knew the younger vigilante could tell that he was taking on more work than was heavenly possible, but he’d assumed the kid could handle it. Tim had to have learned to pace himself, right?

Years of working under him and independently most have thought him something. And yet, here he was. Laying on a hospital bed. Face ashen and limbs trembling ever so slightly.

He opened his mouth to say something. To refute Tim’s ability to take care of himself, to drag him home and scold him, but just as he’d made up his mind, Lucius moved. Head tilting downward and arm coming to rest on the younger’s shoulder; squeezing it once before letting it rest there.

“We’ve talked about this Tim,” he said; voice warm but the stern scolding behind it unmistakable. And by the way Tim looked away in guilt he’d heard it too. “I know our current project is draining all of us, but you need to take a breather every once in a while, son.”

And, Bruce flinches at the last word.

It’s not even something new, there is nothing specific about the word ‘son’ that almost makes him recoil in anger. Lucius had always talked like that to all his kids. It was normal.

What wasn’t normal was Tim’s reaction to the word.

His son... his son uncoils as he hears it. Stiff muscles relaxing and face lifting into more of a sheepish smile the minute Lucius addresses him in that familial way and.... and....

Nausea almost rises up Bruce’s throat as Tim practically leans into Lucius. His old friend, running a hand through the matted hair; looking mildly amused yet exasperated. “Tim,” he says, words still stern, but Tim only hums back, pressing his face even further into the businessman’s chest.

“I know Lucius. I know.”

“Good. Now you understand that I’ll take care of everything while you take a break, right?”

Bruce expects Tim to vehemently deny the suggestion. Refuse the rest and insist that he was fine. That he can handle it. That he’s ok to continue working and ‘I can handle myself Bruce. I don’t need you to worry about me.’ But again, taking Bruce by surprise, all his kid does is nod tiredly into Lucius and mutter a soft ok.

“I’m glad we’ve come to an agreement. Now,” the man says, gently pushing Tim away. “It’s about time to get you home.”

And that’s when Bruce snaps out of the stunned daze that had been keeping him trapped. The overwhelming chaos in his mind momentarily coming to a screeching halt as he raises his hand quicker than his mind can comprehend the action. “I’ll take him.”

Tim startles, but Lucius only fixes him with a smile; it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Are you sure?” His fingers are still running through Tim’s hair and Bruce’s stomach flips.

“I’m sure,” he grits out.

Tim looks back and forth between them, lips pursed in confusion, but when neither seems to want to elaborate, he shrugs and smiles at Bruce. It’s friendly as ever albeit not as happy. Bruce relaxes under it. “Are you sure?”

The echo of the same question, this time from his son’s mouth makes Bruce stomach sink even further, but he tries not to show it. Instead grunting low and nodding. “Yes Tim. It will be no trouble at all.”

The smile turns into a grin and Tim flings the cover off himself. “Great. I’m already discharged so we can go.” Bruce silent question why he was still there if he was already discharged must be too readable, because his son shakes his head; humour dancing in his eyes. “Lucius wouldn’t let me go until he scolded me.” The words come out with an exaggerated incredulity, but the warmth coloring them are unmistakable and Bruce doesn’t like it. Doesn’t like it one it.

And for the life of him, he doesn’t know why that bothers him.

Still, “Let’s go Tim,” he says, waving the kid over with a sharp twist of his wrist while sending Lucius his signature Brucie smile. “We need to get you home.”

He tries to keep up that cheerful persona even has his muscles tense watching Tim; without hesitation lean forward to hug Lucius fox; his friend cupping his son’s face and telling him to call as soon as he’s home safe.

Even as his son, his son only affords him a tiny smile in comparison to that overly friendly display of affection and he tries to keep the mask on as Lucius reaches out for a handshake, tone light as always but smile just one the side of plastic. “I’ll be seeing you Bruce?”

Bruce nods. “Of course.” He doesn’t let them linger. Putting an arm around Tim’s shoulders and leading him out the door the second the pleasant back and forth is over. “Goodbye Lucius. Say hi to Tam for me!”

---------

They are in the car when it finally hits him.

“Tim,” he says, pulling out of the parking lot, eyeing his son. “How did Lucius know to come get you? I thought he was still on his week off. He couldn’t have seen your collapse.”

His son pauses on whatever he’s typing on his phone before looking up at him and shrugging. “I told you, the nurse called him.”

“Why?”

Something unpleasant is niggling at the back of his mind and Bruce grips the steering wheel tighter.

Tim shrugs again. Looking utterly confused. “He’s my emergency contact Bruce. I’m sure they saw his name on my medical records or something, I don’t know. It's not the first time they had to call him.”

Bruce freezes.

Sensing that something most have shifted in the air, Tim stills too.

But his son is confused. It’s so obvious that Tim doesn’t understand what has upset Bruce. Because the kid is fidgeting, fingers absentmindedly tapping at the back of his phone while his feet are wriggling on the floor. Bruce may have not spent as much time with Tim has he should have lately but he still remembers the kid’s habit, and the fact was that Tim had no idea why this new piece of information had suddenly and violently shattered Bruce’s idea of their relationship.

Breathing in deeply Bruce holds it for ten seconds before letting it out. He does that three times until his heart-rate his back to normal and his fingers don’t feel as clammy anymore.

“How many times have you ended up at the hospital since my return?” he asks, careful to keep his voice even and his eyes forward. Right now that was the safest question and Bruce desperately wanted to know everything without asking for it directly.

His son flips his phone a couple of times as he mutters nonsense under his breath. “Five times?” he finally answered, sounding unsure even of that. “Maybe seven?”

Bruce’s breath hitches. But he has to know. “And Lucius picked you up every time?”

“Yeah?”

Taking a left turn a bit too sharply than safely allowed, Bruce gritted his teeth. “You couldn’t call me?”

“No?”

Bruce tenses. “Why not?” The mild befuddlement in Tim’s voice only serves to make him even more adamant in fixing this. Them. Whatever this was.

Whatever that happened to have broken between them to the point that Tim did not even consider him as his emergency contact anymore.

“You were dead,” his son says, sounding amused. “And then you were super busy with your family so I just kept Lucius as my emergency contact.” He looks out the window and shrugs. “It made things less complicating. And...” Here he smiles faintly; a ghost of what his smile used to be but not any less genuine. “Lucius tends to freak out when I don’t call him after an accident so I thought it would be good for him to know.”

There was so much Bruce wanted to address in that answer, so much, but before he’d even had time to formulate his thought Tim spoke up again. “You missed the turn.”

Focusing back on the road, Bruce shook his head. “No I didn’t.” They were fifteen minutes away from home. Bruce wasn’t that old to have forgotten where the manor was located and he tells Tim just that, trying to lighten up the mood.

It works.

His son barking a high-pitched laughter only to slap a hand across his mouth, failing to muffle the sound.

Bruce can’t help but smile at the action.

“Don’t worry Bruce. You’re still a couple of years away from the gray hairs.”

“Just a couple?”

Tim grins. “Yes a couple. For real though Bruce. My apartment is only a couple of blocks away. You need to take the next turn coming up or we will have to take the long way back.”

Bruce’s heart stops. “Your apartment?” He hadn’t even thought of his son not coming home with him.

Sure Tim hadn’t been at the manor for months, but that’s because he was busy and Bruce had so much on his hands with the rest of his kids.

Working on getting to know them and catching up with the life he’d missed. He understandable hadn’t had time for his middle son, but that didn’t mean his kid didn’t have a home with them anymore. And with him sick, surely he would want Alfred’s cooking and a nice bed to sleep in with family surrounding him on all sides? “Don’t you want to see Alfred and your siblings again?”

Tim doesn’t miss a beat. In fact he sounds very sure of himself. “Course I do Bruce. But I’m pretty tired and I don’t feel like dealing with all the noise and death threats and stuff. So please drop me off at my apartment.”

Death threats?

Was he talking about Damian?

Didn’t Tim know that Damian had become a lot more mellow ever since his return? Sure his youngest hadn’t always been the nicest to Tim, but for Tim to hold those minor strife against him and use that as an excuse to avoid the manor? Bruce frowned.

He had thought better of his Robin.

“I’m sure they miss you son,” he says, leveling his second youngest with a look. “Why don’t you come and stay for dinner at least.”

Tim is already shaking his head before he can even finish the sentence. “No can-do Bruce. I need to rest, and I’ve got other plans today so maybe another time?”

It’s one of Tim’s ‘there is no arguing with me tone’. A tone Bruce had learned not to ignore in his years of trying to get Tim out of his shell, so despite the insistent need of having his son near clawing at his throat, he resists.

Still....

“Tomorrow it is then,” he says, taking the turn as it appears. “Alfred will be delighted.”

Tim looks startled, but a blank mask quickly descends over his features and he shrugs again. “Sure Bruce. I can work with that.”

“Great. I’ll pick you up.”

“There’s really no nee-”

“Tim,” he says. “I’ll pick you up.”

His son nods and turns away to stare out the window, a tiny amused smile curling around his lips.

The rest of the drive is taken in silence and Bruce, well Bruce, no matter how many times he opens and closes his mouth is not able to say anything. He can’t manage to strike up a conversation. Can’t for the life of him even remember a topic of interest he can discuss with his kid that doesn’t revolve around work.

God, when was the last time he’d had a sit down with his middle son and just talked?

He’d talked to Dick early this morning.

A quick reminder not to forget their movie night and a hair ruffle as his son had escaped his hold and skipped up the stairs. Jason he’d talked to just an hour before he’d seen Tim on the news. Complimenting his second oldest on how great of a baker he was and as for Damian and Cass and Duke and Steph.... he could distinctly remember the many conversations he’d had with them this week. The exasperation, the annoyance, the fondness..... he remembered it all. So why couldn’t he recall the last time he and Tim talked?

How long had it been?

A huff of laughter startles him out of his chain of thoughts and he looks over. Sees that Tim is on his phone, typing away with the largest and most impish grin on his face. Bruce heart tightens.

When was the last time he’d seen Tim so happy?

‘In the hospital,’ a traitorous voice hisses in the back of his mind. ‘With Lucius Fox.’ Bruce elects to ignore it. Instead coughing lightly and avert his gaze.

“Who’re you talking to?”

Tim takes a second to type something back before he chuckles again and grins up at Bruce. “It’s just Kon. Bart is doing something stupid and he doesn’t know how to handle it.”

Bruce tries to smile; it turns out more like a grimace. Tim doesn’t notice, being too busy grinning at his phone. “You’re still close then?”

“Of course,” his son scoffs, looking incredulously up at him. “Why wouldn’t we be? Just because they died doesn’t mean they aren’t my friends anymore?”

‘I died and you seem fine without me,’ Bruce wants to snap, but he doesn’t. He would not let himself stoop that low. Not when Tim was slowly slipping out of his hands and he didn’t know what to do to keep him there.

“That’s good.” he says instead; his smile a little bit more genuine this time. “I’m glad.”

“Thanks Bruce. Oh!” Bruce looks over and Tim is pointing out the window. “We’re here. Just park in that spot thanks.”

Bruce tightens his grip around the wheel and does as told. Almost holding his breath as he comes to a stop. It’s as if his body is expecting something, anything. Something that will make everything ok. Fix what was broken and bring them back to how they used to be. Bring back the Tim that needed him, the Tim that wanted to spend time with him but...

“Goodnight Bruce!” And with those few words, Tim is out the door and steadily vanishing behind cars; a last enthusiastic wave all that he leaves behind. Bruce doesn’t know for how long he sits there in the parking lot. Hands on the wheel and teeth chewing at his lips, but by the time he finally pulls out and begins the drive home, his mind has been made up.

He was going to get Tim back. Whatever it took.

He wasn’t ready to lose his son.

@miss-choco-chips wanted to write a fic where Tim wasn’t the one angsting and it was actually Bruce while Tim was fine with his wholeass new family and Bruce was left floundering. Hope you like it. Kinda nervous since all your new fics are literally the best thing that ever happened to me.

@throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen New Tim fic I wrote. Hope it’s your cup of tea. This time Bruce be angsting.

#Tim Drake #bruce wayne #lucius fox #red robin #batman #Batfamily Fanfic #batfamily #batfam #batman fanfic #batman fanfiction #batfic #tim drake fanfic #lucius is tim's father figure #and he's doing a great job #happytim au

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sigritandtheelves · 4 years

Text

(II) Three Iterations of a Birth (and Death)

Part Two: Epiphany

PG-13 | 3.5k wds | s8 AU (Essence/Existence); angst with implied resolution

Summary: After William’s traumatic birth, a terrified Scully withdraws from Mulder.

A/N: Sorry it took 800 years. Part One, Tragedy, is here but you don’t need to read it (it’s another version of the story and very sad/dark).

—

Somewhere in this chain of events, Mulder had made some miscalculation. Rising threat put her in danger, and so he sent her away. If he could get her far from these monsters, from him, she might be okay. But then there had been the sea of headlights, too far from the highway, too near his destination to be anything but Them. From the air it had seemed a star or beacon. A light, he could say: he’d followed a light.

But to what?

The stink of blood was still in his nose. He’d held them. He’d held them both. Such tiny fingers reaching up and out of the blanket on her chest and he’d leaned forward to let them brush his nose. A clenching in his heart.

Soft words tried to come from her lips. “Mul... didn’t...”

He held her tighter and pressed his face to her hair. “They didn’t take him. He’s here. You’re here.”

She frowned and shook her head no. “You didn’t...” but it was too much for her and she drifted under again. He willed the pilot to fly faster. The sheet he’d wrapped around her was becoming damp and tacky with blood along its underside.

On the hospital’s helipad there was a frenzy of scrubbed healthcare workers, a gurney appeared, and he tried to answer questions as best he could.

Are you the husband?

He winced and ached. Mother and child were separated for treatment and he was kept from them both, shuffled to a blue plastic chair in some chilled waiting room in northern Georgia. Scully’s blood was on his jeans, dried and cracking on his fingertips. He recalled the small arm that reached from the blanket and he let his face fall into his hands.

—

In many years of his and Scully’s scuffles with rough-around-the-edges government mercenaries and violent semi-human teratological anomalies, Mulder had become well acquainted with pestering medical staff for information. He wasted no time getting to it now, but he realized something was wrong when their responses turned from annoyed to cold. No, they could not tell him about miss Scully’s condition, nor that of the child. No, he could not see her.

He had no FBI credentials to brandish at them and wore no wedding ring with which to legally pry. So he waited and paced and drank machine-processed coffee until he didn’t know what day it was.

Some eight or twelve cups later, he caught Monica Reyes at the vending machine and watched her stiffen when she saw him. He launched a barrage of questions at her. Where is she? Is she okay? What happened to the baby? I need to see her! Frown lines deepened on her forehead.

“She won’t see you,” she said.

Mild panic, a wave of dread at her words. He wanted to believe it was sympathy he saw in her face, but it could have been only tiredness. Finally, he managed, “Why not?”

Monica’s eyes were like daggers before she turned away. “She’s traumatized.”

“But she’s okay?”

She shoved a quarter into the vending machine with too much force. “What part of traumatized do you think is okay? She won’t sleep and won’t let go of the baby, not even to let her mother hold him.”

Mulder felt a jab in his heart. “Maggie’s here?”

The machine rumbled and a soda crashed to the bottom where Monica grabbed it. “She is. She doesn’t want to see you either.” With that, she gave him a look and walked back toward the room from which he’d been forbidden. He followed, but she halted quickly, one hand on the butt of her gun and the other held up to stop him. “No. She’s under FBI protection.”

“But I’m—“

Monica tilted her head, eyebrow raised, and his jaw hung open. He was what?

He was at a loss. Scully wouldn’t see him, wouldn’t let him see her, wouldn’t let him see the baby. Was there something wrong with it? Was the child sick? Was the child not a child?

His voice came out more ragged than he expected: “Is he okay? The baby?”

Her eyes softened, just a fraction. “Yeah. He’s fine.”

“I need to see them.”

But she shook her head, hand still on her gun, and left him behind.

—

“Mulder, I can’t help you. She told the staff not to let you in, and that’s her choice.”

“But why? Did she tell you why?”

There was a pause on the line and he could hear Skinner’s discomfort, his clenched jaw. “She’s afraid.”

“Of me?”

The sound was something like a sigh, half-choked. “Yes.”

Another long pause.

“She says you sent her to die.”

Mulder didn’t have any words after that, so he hung up.

—

He tried to imagine where he went wrong, where’d he fucked up first and hardest and most irredeemably. Going back to Oregon without her, maybe. He could have sensed then that something was wrong and changed everything. Little clues fell together in hindsight that, at the time, had felt only like encouragement: the sense of something huge—that he was onto something. He thought he’d been on the brink of real discovery, but it had turned out to be disaster.

It was re-entry, though, that he’d really fumbled. Driven by rage and confusion and this overwhelming sense of loss, he’d lashed out at the only person he felt he could really hurt. He’d been ripped away, and he came back to a different world. A different Scully. All he knew how to do was chase and fight, and he’d punished her for his lack of power.

Alone, he sat in his darkened apartment, ruminating on what might have been. Three days he’d been sitting here, raging fruitlessly against his own solitude, replaying that last afternoon in Georgia. He pressed his fingers against his eyes like he could wipe the image away.

He’d stayed, despite the nurses’ warning, despite Skinner’s and Monica’s admonitions to go home. He couldn’t go until he’d seen her. Didn’t they understand that he couldn’t without seeing her face? Their faces: hers and the child’s. And he had—though only for a moment. He’d paced the hallways, stubble growing into a rough beard, circles growing under his eyes hour after hour until he’d finally caught sight of the trio of women in the far hallway—Scully in a wheelchair pushed by an orderly, Maggie and Monica behind.

“Sc—“ the sound croaked from his throat. He cleared it and tried again. “Scully!”

The woman in the wheel chair started, turned—and he caught the horrified look on her face. She held a bundle in her arms, he saw, and at the sight of him she gripped it tighter. There was none of the gentle recognition he expected. There’d been no misunderstanding: she was afraid of him. Terror was written all across her face and body.

No, he saw her mouth move. Her eyes were enormous, and almost in slow-motion he watched her try to lever herself out of the wheelchair, baby in arms. He watched her try to run, only to be held by the orderly, touched gently and comforted by her mother. (“Dana, it’s okay. You’re okay, he won’t take you anywhere.”)

Monica had turned in his direction, fury descending on her face as she stomped toward him. “Go!” She whisper-screamed, flinging her finger at him, shoving it at the exit behind him. “Get out of here! You’re scaring her!”

His chest filled with guilt and hot-lava shame. He’d wanted to call out to her again, wanted to say It’s ME, but he could see her panic and could not stand to think that he would make it worse. He stumbled back, catching the wall for balance, and then turned and hurried out of the hospital.

—

Most nights he couldn’t help it: he called Maggie’s house in fits of helpless desperation, needing anything to tie him to her, even the sound of her mother’s voice on the answering machine. Always the result was the same: a click before the machine could even connect.

After a week, Maggie finally picked up, voice sharp. “Fox, you can’t call here. It upsets her so much. She shakes every time the phone rings.”

“Thank you for answering,” he croaked. “I need to—I’m so sorry. I thought maybe she’d let me talk to her.”

There was quiet for a moment, and some rustling fabric on the other line. Then Maggie sighed. “She’s not well. She’s not herself.”

Mulder nodded, fingers gripping his hair and pulling at the short strands. “Why is she so afraid? What does she think I’ll do?” He spoke softly, like he might spook her, too, like he really was dangerous.

“She thinks you sent her to that place so those people would take the baby.” Maggie sighed. “She thinks you’ll send her away again… and that you don’t want her to keep him.”

He swallowed down fire and rubbed his unshaven face. He was looking rough, barely showered in the time since he’d driven home in a daze with his eyes burning the whole way. He let Maggie’s words sink in: that Scully thought he wanted the baby taken away. That she no longer trusted him with her life.

“You know that’s not true, right? She matters more to me than anything. She’s my… I need her.”

“She needed you! You should have stayed with her!” Maggie hissed.

He almost sobbed, desperate now and sensing that Maggie was pulling away. “I know. I know. I just—please talk to her and explain that I love her. I need her,” he said again.

A cold silence seeped through the line for a long moment. “Your son needs her too,” Maggie said, and then she hung up on him.

—

Two days later a cardboard envelope came in the mail, addressed in Scully’s handwriting. His pulse tripled at the sight of her arced cursive—his heart, the whole thing, squeezed so hard he couldn’t breathe. He was ripping at the envelope, pulling out the printed pages. Inside were the results of a DNA paternity test: perfectly straightforward, perfectly clear. With almost exact accuracy, it revealed that he, Fox Mulder, was the father of this entirely human child. He stared at the page until the numbers blurred. Probability of Paternity: 99.99%. Maternal alleles were counted as well. Nothing abnormal. Two human parents and one human child.

Shaking, reading the numbers over and over, he almost didn’t see the note she’d made in the left-hand margin: I ran these myself as soon as they’d let me into the lab. He’s yours. His name is William.

William. His son. Mulder didn’t make it back to his couch. He flopped down cross-legged in his foyer and let the paper slip from his hands. For two days he’d been haunted by Maggie’s words: your son needs her too. He knew everyone believed it already, had suspected and smirked and whispered about it for months, both before and after he returned. But he hadn’t allowed himself to believe such a thing could be true. His was a life of sacrifice and loss, near misses and furtive, stolen wins. No gift was ever without a price. This child could not have come into the world without some catch.

Yet here was the proof of this thing so simple. Here was his truth. Amongst of all their suffering—torture, abduction, disease, even death—they’d made something true and good. They’d loved each other, and from that had come an answered prayer. Yet he’d mistaken that answer for a curse, a trap. There was a tiny human in the world not because of cruelty, but because he’d finally let himself love. And from the moment he learned of this small life’s existence, he’d treated Scully like a bomb waiting to go off and reveal new deceptions.

He thought of her in that dark cabin in Georgia, screaming into the night, surrounded by strangers, bleeding into a filthy mattress. No wonder she was afraid of him.

It was long hours before he managed to get up.

—

Negotiations followed through Monica, whom he’d called in desperation: losing it, running on empty, a cracked shell. Please tell her I need to make things right.

Finally a concession: “She says you can come by, but not inside.”

“But she’ll see me?”

“Only at a distance. She’s still… she’s really scared, Mulder.”

So he drove to Maggie’s house and stood on the lawn in the June dusk. He’d showered and shaved, but cut his face with his shaking hands. He’d held toilet paper to his cheek on the drive, feeling unhinged, feeling mad with the need to see them. Monica was there too: fully armed for protection, nodding to Dana that it was safe. Scully came to the first-floor window with William in her arms. She held the boy where Mulder could see, her lips pressed to the back of his down-fuzzy head. Mulder’s breath caught. His baby. He was so much bigger already than he’d been in that helicopter. He wore a white onesie, and chubby legs poked out from his cotton-covered diaper. On his feet were the smallest socks Mulder had ever seen.

Mulder took a step closer and Scully startled, but didn’t quite back away. He lifted his hand to show her his empty palm. A gesture: It’s safe, you’re okay. In his other hand he held a stuffed elephant. He lifted that too, and danced its soft and smiling body. The infant squirmed, and Scully kissed his head again, bounced him a little. Mulder’s eyes burned, red-rimmed and teary. He sniffed.

When Scully gave him a nervous half-smile and backed away, he placed the toy elephant on the porch for her—for his baby William.

And then he drove home.

—

Later, on the phone, she let him speak, let him hear her voice.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he said. He paced circles in his dark apartment.

“You didn’t believe he was yours. You didn’t want him.”

“I do want him. Scully, I was so stupid. I didn’t know. I couldn’t believe.” He thought of those chubby legs and those little blue socks. He thought of kissing the fuzzy head like she had, of holding the small weight against his chest.

“Mulder, after everything… you couldn’t believe?”

“I never thought—“ he sighed. “No miracle has ever come without a price for us, Scully.”

“He’s a baby, not a pawn. We made him and now he’s here.”

“And that’s not a miracle?”

“Not a calculated one.”

Mulder paused, remembering the small eyes and expressive face that had bobbed in front of the window, Scully’s haunted eyes that had watched him so carefully. “Not calculated, not planned, but still wanted.”

Now it was her turn to pause, to breathe deeply and work up the courage before uttering shaky words: “Why did you send me to that place? Why did you send me away?”

He stopped pacing in his bedroom doorway, dropped his head against the solid frame. His words sounded empty, even to himself, but they were the only justification he had. “I thought I was protecting you.”

“You always think that.”

“I know.”

“You weren’t.”

“I know.”

He heard another deep breath through the line. “I was so scared, Mulder. They could have killed me. They could have killed him. What would you have done? How could you let me go?”

His face crumpled and his heart thudded against his ribs when he thought of her dead in that place, of their soft infant harmed by alien hands. “I don’t know. I--” He squeezed his eyes shut and smacked his head against the doorframe again. “I’m so sorry. I’d never do it again. I’d never send you away.”

She was crying quietly on the other end of the line, but trying to hide it. “I have to go,” she said.

His impulse was to stop her, to keep her on the line because he was so desperate for her voice, for her. He opened his mouth to say wait!, but thought better of it. He let her hang up.

“Bye, Scully,” he said when the line was dead.

It happened this way, that she’d let him call in the evenings. He would press the phone to his ear and close his eyes and pretend she was in the room with him. He listened to the baby fuss and asked questions: how big? How much hair now? (The answer was always almost none, and he would laugh.) Does it hurt when you feed him? Can I get him anything? He’s going to be so smart.

“I miss you, Scully,” he told her, as he did every night. “What can I do? What else can I do?” He was feeling the phantom texture of her skin beneath his fingers, the line of her jaw in his palm. He wanted to smell her hair again and kiss the curve of her shoulder. He would settle for holding her hands, for pressing his lips to her knuckles, for a palm to the dip of her clothed back. He’d not been so long without her in years.

“Talking is good,” she said. “I like talking. I like hearing your voice.”

He swallowed. He needed more. “How can I see you again?”

She hesitated a moment. “I don’t know. I--” she breathed deep. “I need you not to pull away again. Not to run away.”

He thought nothing could drag him from her now, if she’d only let him in. “I won’t,” he said. “I promise.” He recalled his careless antics of the spring on the oil rig, in that Federal Statistics Center, and wondered what he’d really been chasing. Running from. He winced to remember. “I want to stay with you both.”

On the other end of the line he heard a small cry, heard rustling and the infant’s fussing grow louder as she picked him up, and then the baby quieted again.

“He looks like me,” Mulder said.

Rustling fabric again then a soft suckling sound as William ate. A sniffle--Scully’s. “Yeah.”

“Let me come in next time. Let me hold him. Show me what to do.”

A deep, wet sigh and then… “Okay.”

—

There were three strong women in the house but it might as well have been an army for the way their protective energy formed a fortress. He would never dare breach their trust. He was humbled in the inner sanctum.

Dana held William on the sofa. He was wrapped in a striped blanket and sleeping against her arm, jaw slack and lips wet. She didn’t move as Mulder approached, though her eyes were wide and worried, like he might grab the baby and bolt at any moment.

“You used to trust me,” he reminded her. He fidgeted with nerves, aching to touch them both. He took in the blue of her eyes and the roundness of her face, the way her hair lay on her shoulders now--still so perfect. Still his Scully. “Hi,” he said.

The smallest smile flickered on her face. “Hi,” she said. She loosened her grip on the infant and lifted him slightly so Mulder might take him. He bent and took the blanketed child into his own arms.

When he finally held his son, Mulder couldn’t help the tears that pressed at his eyes, that burned his nose and wetted his lashes. Here was this tiny person. Here was this whole life wrapped in gauzy cotton. This had never been a game with players and pawns, he realized, but he’d let Them make him believe it was. It had always been about this: small lives that were also huge, that were everything.

He sank down on the couch beside Scully, holding William to his chest. The small sleeping face wrinkled, grimaced, then blinked awake and yawned--such tiny, perfect lips. Then somehow his own eyes were looking up at him, searching his face. A miniscule hand reached out of the blanket to touch his nose, and Mulder kissed the unbearably soft palm. “Hey, buddy,” he whispered.

After a moment, Scully shifted closer. He felt her hand come up to touch his back like an absolution.

“I’ve missed you,” she said.

A fat tear rolled down his cheek and he could only nod at first. “Yeah.” He sniffed and wiped his face on his shoulder. “God, you’ve no idea, Scully.”

Her cheek came to rest on his bicep as she reached across to touch William’s head. The warmth of it, the weight of his child in his arms, were bringing him back to life.

“Stay with us,” she said, barely a whisper.

Mulder turned from looking at the baby to search her face. Her wide eyes yearned. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, then rested his head on hers. “Forever,” he said. “This is it.”

#a thing i wrote #three iterations of a birth and death #s8 #angst #resolved angst #hopelessly self-indulgent writing #not sorry? 🤷‍♀️#i writes what i needs

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honestlyhufflepuff · 4 years

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Here are 20 reasons I am leaving the caregiver job with the client I've had since 2008: a list of unprofessional behavior and abuse by my client's guardian.

1. She said I wasn't Christian anymore, and said I was disrespecting my mother, for leaving the church I was raised in.

2. During the first year of employment, she would yell at me multiple times a week over things like leaving a lamp on (this is while I was caring for her medically fragile, high needs adult daughter). She would accuse me of being incompetent or trying to get fired for unemployment.

3. She told me I was not approved off for my honeymoon, less than a month beforehand, when I gave her over 5 months notice with consistent reminders. She harassed me over several texts while I was on my honeymoon saying I would be fired if I did not return a week earlier than I was supposed to.

4. She told me I still had to come in when I was sick and vomiting because she did not believe me. I became dehydrated and was vomiting so much that I had uncontrollable dry heaving and was unable to drive home. She refused to come home early when I told her of my symptoms, and when she did come home to see me retching into her trash can, she started handing me cleaning supplies to disinfect the trash can and the entire bathroom before I went to the emergency room...

5. ...there was no apology or ownership in forcing a sick employee to work to the point of needing to be hospitalized. She would not accept that I could not come into work for the next 3 days until my husband delivered the doctor's note.

6. I worked there throughout college, and would present my new school schedule each semester. For one class, I made the mistake of scheduling it after work. She said the schedule worked with her, but then consistently got home 30 min to and hour late. I missed so many classes that I had to withdraw.

7. Even after the hospitalization mentioned in #3, she would continue to be skeptical of any time I called in sick over the years (which wasn't often). I had no PTO or sick leave to use even when I was full time, so when I took off I didn't get paid. I was never approved to take off for any reason, and when I did take off it was accompanied by a massive guilt trip about how I was putting her family in a bind. It did not matter if it was a vacation, an illness, a doctor's appointment, or a family emergency. It also did not matter how much or little notice I gave; the guilt trips and emotional manipulation still accompanied any time I needed off. To this day, with every job I've had, I am always incredibly anxious about asking off, but it's never been a problem anywhere else I've worked.

8. Emotionally manipulative things she has said to get me to stay:

-"We don't have anyone else. I have to go to my job in order to care for [client's name]. You would be jeopardizing my job by leaving, and her well being." (If pressed she eventually admits to not looking for anyone else)

-"[Client's name] loves you like a sister, and her quality of life would go down significantly without you..." continues to tell me that if I don't do what she wants then I don't love or care for the client, even if it is because I need a job with higher pay and benefits to support my own family.

-"I thought the two of us were friends. This is very selfish of you." (Any time I don't do what she wants, like continuing to go to school full time).

-"God has put her in your life for a reason. You are called as spiritual sisters. It's your responsibility to care for her."

-"In the real world-the business world- other people won't be ok with you just taking off without approval. It's insubordinate and unprofessional." I was only 18 when she told me this, and young enough to believe her. Once again, I've literally never had a problem taking off with any other client or job because I often had PTO, and was always able to obtain leave approval easily. Even when it meant the client parent had to take off from work, they understood that the onus was on them to find the needed staff to account for people needing sick days and vacation.

9. She puts me in the middle of personal drama, constantly bad-mouthing the client's father and other attendants (who all inevitably leave after a year or two at most).

10. Told me, after a decade of infertility, that God told her I would become pregnant and have a son I was to name Amos. She said it would only become true if I prayed about it, so now when I most likely don't become pregnant, I feel it will be blamed on my lack of faith- or the fact that I am a different faith from her. I feel this instance was truly out of good intention, but ultimately unprofessional and something I would have preferred she keep to herself.

11. For years, she never got home when she said she would. I could never make plans after work because she would agree to come home at 7 and sometimes not make it home until 8:30. She always blamed traffic, needing to run an errand, or her boss keeping her. Then, when I had my own child I had to pick up from an after school program, she consitently got home on time. This showed me that she did have the executive functioning skills to be on time, but did not respect my personal time or work with other clients enough to do so before I was a parent.

12. I bent over backwards trying to help her. I scheduled less time with higher paying clients that were lower need. I sometimes worked 60 hour weeks while I was also in school. It never felt like it was enough. Even for the time I was working there 6 hours a week it was always "Why can't you stay later? Where do you have to be?" The more I gave, the more was expected, and then I was guilted for not meeting that higher expectation.

13. She refused to take the time to have team meetings with other service providers and caregivers, despite the fact all my other client families do this, and keep staff much more consistently as a result. Because of this, information and instructions were always inconsistent. With the client being significantly behaviorally challenged and medically fragile, this was at everyone's detriment.

14. Over the years, I referred 3 friends to work for her because she insisted she could not find caregivers on her own. All 3 of them lasted less than a year due to her behavior. She would then blame them and trash talk them to me, despite knowing I was still friends with them.

15. She expected caregivers to also deep clean the house. We are talking hours worth of work, that there just was not time for within the shift while also meeting the needs of the client.

16. She is openly homophobic, xenophobic, and although she thinks of herself as "not racist," she was extremely weird towards my besf friend's African fiancé. She refused to shake his hand and told me she didn't think he was with her for the "right reasons." Maybe thought he was in it for a green card? She seemed skeptical when I told her that he became a citizen 2 years prior, and that they'd been dating 6 years.

17. She has systematically isolated my adult client more and more over the years. We used to share many interests in things like Harry Potter, early 2000's pop, anime, Harajuku fashion, Adventure Time, Steven Universe, etc. One by one, everything we bonded over was off limits, due to being a "bad influence" or "demonic." She is no longer allowed to engage in any age-expected media unless it is explicitly Christian, and it breaks my heart to see how sad she gets about that.

18. When I was in college, and completely broke after just paying for books and classes, she said that she wanted me to go to the water park with her and the client. Admission was $50. I assumed she was paying since I was being required to go for work, and this was always what was done in the past. In the car, I asked if I could ride a roller coaster that the client wouldn't be able to go on while they ate ice cream. She said "Sure! You can ride whatever you like!"

So, I start getting excited. We're chatting pleasantly until the moment when she says "OK, when we get out of the car, you can go pay for your ticket first, and then I will bring..."

My stomach dropped. I told her there was a misunderstanding, and that I could not afford my ticket. She acted like it wasn't right that she should have to pay for mine. I told her that if she didn't want to, then I could study at the Starbucks across the street while they attended the park. She said no, because obviously she still wanted my help with her daughter. She paid for my ticket, making passive aggressive comments the whole time about everything I did, from how I pushed the wheelchair to how long I took to go to the bathroom despite the line.

I was no longer permitted to go ride the roller coaster, and I sat in silence while they ate their ice cream.

19. Recently, due to Covid, I do not have child care for my own daughter on Fridays. I have been bringing her to work with me, which my client's mom was supportive of. Then the client had drastic behavioral changes that I won't detail, but that O can say was significantly stressful on my daughter, and made it stressful for me to manage both of them at the same time. I told the mother, 2 weeks in advance, that I could not come in on Fridays until the behavior was consistently resolved. I do not want to get a sitter outside of maybe my aunt, due to covid, and I wouldn't expect her to do that every week. My client's mom was very understanding of this at first, seeing as we both now have special needs children, but the night before the next Friday I was scheduled to come in she berated me for not finding babysitting to the point that I started to panic. I firmly told her that I gave her plenty of notice, and then blocked her number up until the day I was scheduled to come back in.

20. When she is home at the same time I am helping her daughter, she micromanages everything. I think she is incapable of just letting me do the same work I've been doing for over a decade without standing over my shoulder and looking for something wrong.

Some background info:

I wanted to write this, first of all, to document all the reasons that I am justified in leaving, so that I can refer back to it no matter how hard she tries to get me to stay. This is like my anonymous way of getting it off my chest since no one who follows me on here knows me irl. Second of all, I want all the young professionals on here to know that, if they are treated like this in the work place, it is ok to leave!

I started working for this family when I was 18, and I am now 31. I have worked as many as 60 hour weeks, and as little as twice a month when I was full time with the state, but I have always cared for her in some capacity since 2008. I am currently working 15-20 hours a week with her.

You may wonder why I've stayed so long, and in regards to that I will say first of all that abusive relationships are hard to leave. The abuser may convince you that you are bad and won't find anywhere else good enough to take you. This can pertain to any type of relationship, be it romantic, professional, parental, or friends.

Another factor is that I love my client deeply, and my employer takes advantage of that. We grew up childhood friends, which is one reason maintaining professional boundaries with this family has been so hard.

The last reason I have stayed may be the hardest to explain, but I will try.

Sometimes she is good. My employer has made improvements over the years. Most of the worst things on here happened when I was in college. I don't know if her improvement is due to a genuine change in heart, or because she knows deep down that her behavior is why all the other caregivers left.

Whatever the reason, we do actually care for each other. We do actually connect and have a good time. She is kind to my husband and my daughter. She often tells me that I am a godsend to her family, a loyal and talented caregiver, and the best friend her daughter has ever had (although she will contradict this the moment I am not doing what she wants).

What I want people in similar situations to know is that the good moments do not erase the trauma of the bad ones. It is not my responsibility to "get over it" because she is trying to do better. A lot of the stuff she has said and done run too deep, and when she lapses into her old ways, I find myself reacting in a panic-driven, irritable way that's not really me. It's a reaction to trauma. I am not required to continue to stay at an underpaid job with an environment that evokes such emotions.

So please, if you are being treated like this in your job, then leave. You will find something else. For me, I intend to have another job lined up before leaving, but I'm on my way. For the first time in years, I've revamped my resumé, and it felt so empowering to work on a document that highlights my strengths!

For anyone in a similar position, you've got this. There are a lot of great jobs out there. There are a lot of humane employers. If you are treated like this, then label it for what it is. It is abuse. It is unhealthy. It is not ok. It is not erased by the times they are nice. And you deserve better.

#knowyourworth #employer #abuse #personal #lizzy speaks #personal vent #long post #text post #not su related #sorry for all the grammar errors i wrote this on mobile

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apprentice-lex · 4 years

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Thank you so much, dear anon! That’s incredibly kind of you 💜 It’s no trouble at all, and I would also like to use this opportunity to wish all my lovely followers (and the wonderful Courtiers fandom) happy winter holidays! ✨ Best wishes from Valerius, Valdemar, Volta, Vlastomil, Vulgora, and myself!

Winter holidays with your favorite Courtier(s) under the cut; enjoy! (sfw, fluffy, and long)

Valerius

He is familiar with holiday celebrations, but... why would you want to spend the holidays with him? He still has trouble believing you want to spend this time with him, aren't you meant to spend it with your loved ones, friends and family? Surely, someone better than him, someone who deserves your time more. He won't say it out loud, of course, but it's obvious from his careful, hesitant behavior that he expects you to tell him to go away. Before he met you, he would of course receive invitations to holiday parties, but he'd inevitably spend the holidays shut in his study, working, secretly envying all those people who were well-liked enough for someone to want to be around them. And now you're here, with that genuine smile and that look in your eyes that tells him he's worth it and you want to be around him and he just doesn't know what to do with that. Everything must be perfect. The decorations you put up together, the food you make... he's such a perfectionist that you have to stop him in the middle of decorating, take his hands in yours, and tell him to stop worrying because, yes, you want to be there with him and he is someone you care about deeply. He'd blink the tears away and try to salvage what remains of his dignity with some wry comment. But, from then on, he is much calmer, you catch him genuinely smiling - so often as no one can remember him smiling before. He commissions artists to make sure your decorations are the most beautiful in Vesuvia; some whisper that even the decorations in the palace are lackluster compared to yours. Some of the palace cooks are whisked away with the promise of much higher wages. But what surprises you the most is the evening he invites you to his estate, and there isn't a servant in sight; just Valerius alone, putting the final touches on decorations. He turns around when you enter the room, smiles, and wordlessly holds out an ornament for you to take - an invitation to help him. Of course, you happily accept. Later, he takes you to the kitchens, and for the first time ever you see Valerius try his hand at cooking. Of course, it's rather disastrous, but filled with laughter and spilled flour and icing sugar in your hair; but when it's late in the evening and you and Valerius twirl around the dimly-lit kitchens to some unheard song, laughing together, a smudge of icing on his cheek and a spoon still in his hand - but the look in his eyes is one of deep, genuine happiness - you realize that this is it. There's no other way you'd rather be spending the holidays. Tomorrow, you'll be seeing all your friends and, knowing Valerius, there will doubtlessly be a pile of outrageously expensive presents waiting for you... but tonight, just the two of you, seeing this side of Valerius no one else gets to see, the two of you dancing like this with nothing to distract you but firelight and candles and the smell of cookies in the air... that's the best gift.

Valdemar

They're not usually one to celebrate - or pay attention to - such silly things as human holidays. They have far too much to do. But for you? Oh, for you they'll try their darnest to make these the best holidays ever. And what does Valdemar do when they feel they're unprepared? They read, of course. At first, you are surprised to find a book on "DIY decorations" among their medical encyclopedias, but you ascribe it to their eternally curious nature. However, it doesn't stop there. The week after, you find one on woodworking, one on paper sculptures, and a cookbook, of all things. When was the last time you saw Valdemar eat? You decide to confront them. They don't even try to hide what they're doing from you. Instead, they seem so proud to explain in detail the various projects they started; their smile wide and sharp, their crimson eyes glittering with inhuman focus and poorly subdued joy. It's not the holidays, you realize, it's the fact that they're doing something for you. They do need a bit of guidance; catching them poring over a book and muttering "hearts, yes, easily done, I do have several no one is using anymore..." you have to explain it's paper hearts, and not actual ones, but they're a fast learner. And they do so enjoy planning, so their staff all receive a detailed schedule and meticulously thought out arrangements, what pieces of furniture go where to make room for decorations, what times the meals are to be served... They approach the whole affair like they're planning a siege, stockpiling food and giving orders for their estate to be decorated like they're planning its defenses, and not holiday decorations. All the while they wear that wide smile and that obvious joy in their eyes; it's endearing, if eccentric. So, instead of stopping them, you join them, the two of you become a a force to be reckoned with, extending your efforts to the palace. When it's time for the holiday meal, everyone shows up - and you realize that the usually solitary Valdemar extended invitations to all your friends and loved ones, because it would make you happy. So as you sit at the table together, you hold their hand and smile at them, which they return. When you have a moment to yourselves, they wordlessly hand you their gift - it is a book, with a neat, dark cover; you open it to see pages of narrow, orderly writing. It takes you a moment to recognize their handwriting. You have no time to read it with all your friends around you, sharing food and happily talking. But you see enough to understand - they gave you their journal, started on the day they met you. People misunderstand too often, thinking that because the outward displays of affection aren't as prominent in your relationship, it is somehow lacking. Those people couldn't be more wrong. In your hands, you hold pages upon pages of all the things Valdemar loves about you. You are surrounded with the proof of their affection, their dedication. "Volume one," they explain, their eyes lingering on the tome in your hands before they settle on your face, and their sharp smile widens with sheer joy. "The first of many to come." And tucked between the final pages, crafted with otherworldly skill - a little paper heart.

Volta

The changes to the Procurator's personality in the few weeks leading up to the winter holidays are... alarming. Where you'd once be invited to almost every meal - and several picnics - throughout the day, these few days she's been... reclusive. "Otherwise occupied," her servants tell you. Worried about the Procurator, you resolve to confront her and find out more about what has been keeping her so busy. You are a guest at her estate so often that the staff treats you as if you lived there... and maybe you do, with how much time you and Volta have been spending together... but you wander the long, cluttered hallways without anyone questioning your presence there. Her staff - mostly comprised of cooks and other kitchen staff - are busy with the upcoming meal. They always are. But Volta is nowhere to be found... until you hear the familiar sound of her footsteps from a long-disused hall. Covered furniture looms in the semi-darkness - the fireplace is the only source of light. Chests and shelves and piles of clothing from ages past, from every corner of the world, fill the otherwise cavernous room. And there, amidst all those things, is Volta - her dress is stained with paint, and she is running an unfinished, gold-embroidered, translucent shawl through her hands with an anguished expression on her face. You call her name quietly and she almost jumps - like you'd caught her doing something forbidden. You do not have to insist much - she shares everything with you willingly, so she shares this, as well; try as she might, she could not find the perfect gift for you. So, she tried making one. Slowly, you take in the chaos around you - half-finished portraits, done by the Procurator's own hand. Half-finished garments, hundreds of hours of focus and effort gone into the stitches. Half-finished poems and unfinished recipes, sculptures half smooth lines and half rough clay. "Nothing," she confesses, her smile tearful and trembling as she looks up at you. "Nothing is good enough. And there is no time, anymore." Wordlessly, you embrace her; she'd spent so, so many hours crafting, sewing, painting, creating with you on her mind. You were, judging from her attempts at art all around you, her sole muse almost from the day she met you. None of the works are expertly made, but all are clearly made with love. Uneven brushstrokes of a loving hand, after all, make for a masterpiece much greater than a loveless heart could ever produce even if it belonged to a master artist. Embracing her, you realize that Volta had already given you a rather priceless gift; her love, her loyalty; and, through her art, countless hours with nothing but you in her thoughts. She has given you her trust. Her hope. Her heart.

Vlastomil

He starts worrying nearly two months in advance. Others fail to notice, but you notice how the Praetor has become distracted, sweeping papers off his desk when you enter his study, stopping on your walks to talk with merchants. It becomes clear what this is about, when you enter his study in search of him one day - he isn't here, but the window is open and the wind carries several sheets of papers right to your feet. You pick them up, scanning the neat, looping script in his handwriting, and the world spins when you realize this is a list of gifts - every single thing you mentioned you wanted, even in passing, no matter how ridiculously expensive. Usually, you'd not pry into whatever you come across in his study, but this? You have to confront him about this. You bring it up that evening, while you're having tea, and the moment you pull the paper out, his silvery eyes widen anxiously, darting from the paper in your hand to your face. He's... afraid? What could Praetor Vlastomil possibly be afraid of? With much - gentle but firm - insistence, the story comes to light: yes, he has been keeping a list of all the things you mentioned wanting, and yes, he commissioned and ordered many of those things, because he absolutely cannot find a gift worthy of you, and oh, he thinks you deserve the world. Besides, he isn't really... used to celebrating holidays, with people not usually wanting to be around him... Taking his hands, you smile and you explain to him that you don't need those things, that you need him. He's at a loss for words. But the next day, you find out from palace servants that the Praetor announced he would be unavailable all throughout the winter holidays - because he is spending them with you. And indeed, you spend those days at his estate - the decorating and cooking has all been taken care of by the staff, as Vlastomil wants no distractions. He wants to share all his hobbies with you, and he wants to learn all about yours - as well as to try new things together. You try your hand at painting, at playing the piano - Vlastomil spends more time holding your hand than playing - you read a book together in the evenings, and you make sure to pick a hilariously inappropriate play just to see him blush reading his lines. It finally sinks in what he's doing - your gift-related plea was heard, and what Vlastomil is trying to do is give you something that can't be bought. The things he is adamant you deserve - his time, his attention, his care. He is sharing with you endless gardening tips and worm care trivia because he wants to share with you all those fundamental things that make him, well... him. And he wants to learn about you. In truth, you've never seen the Praetor so vulnerable, so open, so enthusiastic; his smile so genuine and the look in his pale eyes one of sincere adoration. Of course, you still received way too many expensive gifts, but the greatest one? Curling up with him under a blanket, in front of the fireplace, with a book in his hands and a faint blush on his cheeks every time he looks at you as he reads a line where the hero speaks of love. He repeats that line. But this time, he puts the book away.

Vulgora

"You LIGHT THINGS ON FIRE? I LIKE THIS!" You smile with endless patience and more than a little amusement. "You light candles, Vulgora." It's been like that ever since you expressed the desire to spend the winter holidays with them. No wonder - Vulgora lived and breathed battle. And so, all the efforts they put into decorating and preparing for the holidays were just that - war. "Our decorations shall be a thousand times more brilliant than Nadia's." When they first made that solemn promise, their gauntleted hands clenched into fists and their golden eyes narrowed, you did not take it seriously. The next morning, you woke up to the entire estate covered with decorations - Vulgora elected to decorate instead of sleeping. The same thing happened with food - they were standing in the middle of the kitchens like an avenging angel, hands on their hips, issuing commands to the kitchen staff like a general on the battlefield. The large ladle they brandished like a weapon made more than a few of the servants wince, and you were at the very least grateful the ladle wasn't sharp as you gently pried it from their hands, laughing. Vulgora set out to give you the best possible holidays with single-minded determination, and they ran their estate like a monarch would run an army. You could do nothing to stop them - not that you wanted to - so you elected instead to follow them around, laughing good-naturedly at their unshakable determination. When the holidays finally arrived, passers-by would stop to look at Vulgora's estate in open-mouthed wonder - they seem to have acquired almost every single decoration available in Vesuvia. The stockpiles of holiday food were probably enough to feed a small army, and you could do nothing but laugh at Vulgora's brilliant, sharp, proud smile as they presented their accomplishments to you. Well, the holiday meal could always be moved from the palace to Vulgora's estate, you mused. That winter - with you at their side - was the first one Vulgora didn't spend alone. As the last guests said their goodbyes you found yourself alone with Vulgora; they took your hand to lead you out onto the balcony, crisp night air stinging your cheeks, but Vulgora's cloak was warm around your shoulders. There, they wordlessly handed you yet another gift - a box, beautifully carved and made from some dark red wood. The blade it contained wasn't a surprise, as beautiful and masterfully made as it was, breathtakingly expensive, its hilt decorated with gold and rubies. What surprised you was how well it fit your hand, how incredibly light it was - and yet by merely holding it you could tell it was deadly. It was a symbol as much as it was a weapon. The laughter, their bluster, was gone; replaced with something you couldn't quite define - a quiet determination. You gazed into Vulgora's golden eyes, understanding dawning on you. They didn't need to speak. You shared the silence in the falling twilight. But you understood what the blade in your hand meant. They were the blade, and you the hand that wields it. They were the will and you the purpose which drives it. You were their hope now. Their why. Without the other, both of you would feel so woefully incomplete, now that you knew there existed another who felt like the other half of you. Tugging their gauntlet off, they quietly intertwined their fingers with yours.

#Arcana imagines #Courtier imagines #Courtier headcanons #Consul Valerius #Quaestor Valdemar #Procurator Volta #Praetor Vlastomil #Pontifex Vulgora #Valerius x reader #Valdemar x reader #Volta x reader #Vlastomil x reader #Vulgora x reader #my writing #answered asks #food cw #I still have a few WIPs but this was a time-sensitive one #thank you for the kind words once more anon #also Vlastomil will always be my baby

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aurorasilverthorne · 3 years

Text

Total Misunderstanding Part #1:

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Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING!!! Esteban, Shuriki, Armando and Fiero belong to Disney.

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Note: Elizaveta, Aléjandro, Llorona and Esperanza all belong to me. If you use them in fanfiction or fanart, please remember to give me proper credit as their creator. Thank you.

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Esteban wasn't prone to sleeping late. He'd been an early riser all his life, but he'd spent the night entertaining the queen, and had indulged in one too many glasses of wine.

I should've stopped at three...

But Shuriki had been in such high spirits and invitations to her bed were rare these days. Esteban had begun to believe Shuriki was losing interest in him altogether. The previous evening had assured him she still desired his touch.

Esteban groaned. His head kept throbbing like a pulse as he tried to go back to sleep and not think about the day ahead.

Dame Elizaveta Kapeka of the Northern Islands was going to arrive later that afternoon and that was troublesome. Shuriki always viewed other women as competition. Esteban should've been worried, but all he could think about was the noise their constant bickering would make.

I'm starting to sound like Shuriki.

Shuriki was probably still in bed sleeping off her hangover. He sat up slowly so as not to irritate his already nervous stomach.

Had he even eaten anything? He couldn't remember. Esteban was debating on whether they should just forego their meetings for the day when his bedroom door flew open startling him so bad that he fell off the bed. When he opened his eyes, Armando was standing over him, his expression that of a man on the verge of panic.

"Dame Elizaveta Kapeka is here!"

Of course she is...

Esteban hauled himself up off the floor. "Where is the queen?"

"Sleeping," Armando answered sheepishly.

Esteban gave the steward a half-hearted scowl then snatched his coat off the back of a chair as he headed for the queen's personal chambers. He managed to make it halfway down the hall before pausing to retch in a gilded vase.

Apparently he'd eaten something after all. Carrots, or corn maybe? Esteban didn't really care and he wasn't going to stick around to find out.

The drapes were closed and the previous night's candles burned down to the wick when Esteban stepped into Shuriki's bedroom. He nearly tripped over a pile of clothing before pulling back the curtains on the massive canopy bed.

"Your Grace?

Shuriki groaned.

"Elizaveta Esfir Kapeka of the Northern Islands has arrived."

"Who?" Shuriki asked her voice muffled by the blanket covering her head.

Esteban could tell she was still half asleep elsewise she would have launched into a tirade.

"Elizaveta? Older lady, silver hair pulled back in a braided bun? Green eyes? Any of this ring a bell?"

Shuriki pulled down the blanket to scowl at him. "Seriously, Estéban? We've met a plethora of women that could fit that description."

The chancellor sighed. "La Monstrua de Ojos Verdes."

The Green Eyed Monster.

Shuriki had thought she was being clever when she had given Elizaveta the cruel nickname. He wasn't about tell the queen most of the palace staff called her that when she wasn't within earshot.

Shuriki scowled. "Ugh, not her."

The last time Kapeka had come to Avalor to talk trade, she and Shuriki had almost killed each other due to an argument over negotiations. Shuriki refused to say why she detested the other sorceress so much, but she and Elizaveta were always vying for dominance any time they had to interact with one another.

Shuriki wanted nothing to do with it. "Leave me here to die."

Esteban huffed. "It's customary in Avalor for the ruling monarch to greet visiting dignitaries."

Shuriki buried her head under a pillow. "I really don't care about proper decorum."

Esteban folded his arms and began to tap his foot impatiently as he tried to figure out a way to rouse her. Then it hit him like a runaway carriage. "Well, if you aren't feeling up to it..."

"-Oh, thank Maru-"

"I'm sure Doña Paloma wouldn't mind helping with the dame."

"That money hungry hussy?!" Shuriki grabbed his cravat and yanked him towards her. "Estéban, I told you to stay away from her!"

"Mamá...? Papá...?"

Esteban and Shuriki both turned to see their seven year old twins, Aléjandro and Llorona, hovering in the doorway.

"Oh, my little darlings..." Shuriki cooed.

She released Esteban and held out her arms to the pajama clad children. "Come here..."

Esteban knelt to steal a hug from the little ones before helping them up onto the bed.

"Why are you fighting? Did Papá do something wrong?" Alé asked.

"We weren't fighting, were we, Estéban?"

Esteban shook his head. He couldn't help smiling when their children were around. "No, just having a discussion, that's all."

"About what?" Alé asked.

"Oh, nothing important," Shuriki answered, giving Esteban a warning glare to drop the subject. She smiled softly at the twins. "What are you two doing out of bed so early, hmm?"

"I don't feel good," Aléjandro replied.

Shuriki frowned. "You don't? What's wrong?"

"My nose is stuffy and I keep coughing. It makes my throat hurt, Mamá."

"My poor, sweet boy..." Shuriki pressed a hand to his forehead. "You're running a fever. Estéban, cancel everything that's on my agenda for today. If Elizaveta throws a fit about rescheduling, tell her to go eat sand. And have breakfast brought up. The children need to eat, especially Alé or his illness will worsen."

Shuriki was adamant about not using vulgar language in front of the children. She would've been spewing obscenities at Elizaveta by now if not for them. "Yes, querida."

"Can we have ice cream for breakfast?" Aléjandro asked, giving her the cutest look he could muster.

Shuriki quirked an eyebrow feigning displeasure, but her facade cracked, and she gave him a smile. "Oh, alright. The cold treat will help with your sore throat, but you'll have to finish the real food first. Only then can you have the ice cream."

Aléjandro nodded and smiled. "Si, Mamá. Gracias!"

Shuriki chuckled. "You're very welcome."

What she didn't tell the child was that she'd be lacing his treat with a medicinal potion to combat his illness. Shuriki had learned early on that the best way to convince a child to take medication was to hide it in their favorite desserts and not tell them it was in there elsewise they wouldn't eat it and she'd have to force it down their throat which was something she didn't enjoy doing.

Esteban knew it was probably a bad idea to make Elizaveta wait, especially given they intended to reschedule, but his son was sick, and he felt like it had been ages since he'd enjoyed a warm meal with his lover and their children.

Esteban even made breakfast. He cooked them guava-cheese empanadas and pão de queijo with atole and avena because they'd do less damage to Alé's sore throat when he ate them. He prayed the fruit he'd put in the oatmeal would strengthen the boy's immune system and speed up his recovery. He also prepared some green tea with honey and lemon in the hopes that it would keep Shuriki safe from the illness while she was caring for their son.

Shuriki was waiting for him when he brought in the food. She'd retrieved four year old Esperanza from her crib so she too could enjoy eating with her parents and siblings.

Esteban blocked young Aléjandro's view of the ice cream bowls so that Shuriki could stir a vial of healing potion into the already half melted treat then feign resignation as she handed the child the bowl.

Aléjandro ate every bit without questioning his mother's motives. If he'd asked, Shuriki would've just fibbed and claimed she'd let him have the sweets first due to him giving her the puppy dog eyes. They couldn't risk him getting too full off the empanadas or the potion would upset his stomach.

The boy was half way through his second empanada when he began yawning and rubbing at his eyes. "Mamá...I'm tired..."

Shuriki bit her lip to suppress a triumphant smirk as she pulled him close and stroked his hair. "I know, child. Close your eyes. I'm here. No harm will come to you."

Alé tucked himself up against her side and buried his face in her shoulder. At first, she thought he'd fallen asleep, but then the boy lifted his head. "I can't sleep, Mamá. Sing for me, por favor?"

Shuriki groaned. She wasn't a fan of music or dancing due to having a problem with sensitivity to noise. She'd gone so far as to ban both from Avalor, but had allowed Esteban to keep a guitar. Shuriki had also let him teach the children how to dance. She'd even sung a lullaby or two back when they were infants in the hopes they'd fall asleep. She'd been in desperate need of rest herself, of course, elsewise Shuriki would've taken a dagger to the throat rather than be heard singing or seen dancing around even if it was for her children who were the only people she loved more than Esteban or herself.

"Why would you want that?" she asked. "My voice sounds terrible when I sing."

"But I like when you sing, Mamá."

She quirked an eyebrow. "You can't be serious."

"It helps me sleep and makes me feel better." He gave her another one of his puppy dog pouts. "Por favor, Mamá?"

Shuriki sighed. "Fine..."

The sorceress closed her eyes trying to gather her thoughts. The Northern islanders didn't have too many lullabies as music, dancing and art were all considered nonsensical frivolities. There was a song she did remember from back when she was a child. Her mother had sung it to her on the rare occasions when she was ill.

Now is the time for the wolves and thrushes, to sing to the moon from the forests and rushes.

Sleep, my love. Sleep my only dear, in the dark.

Fragile and magical shadows will suddenly start to appear, lovely and lyrical, a frightening miracle, within your ear.

Carefully raising their voices, in a chorus loud and gracefully clear,

Over and under, the multi-toned, wonder of dreams endear.

Why are they singing, calling, and braying all night long?

What are they trying so hard to convey with their haunting song?

Sometimes when somebody loves you, they say and do things you don't understand.

And there in the harsh truth lies the proof of a parent's love.

Aléjandro fell asleep midway through the song. Esteban sat and listened to Shuriki sing while she stroked their eldest child's hair.

He tended to forget just how hard her childhood had been. The Northern Islands was a dark, cold place with authoritarian laws and an intolerance for failure of any sort. It was a miracle that she'd survived what with the horrid weather and the unrealistic expectations heaped onto her by her parents, peers, and the royal family she'd once served.

Shuriki laid Alé down beside her and curled herself around him to cuddle and protect the child while he slept.

"Put Esperanza back in her crib, and make sure Llorona gets back to the nursery on your way out, would you, Estéban?"

Esteban nodded. "Si, mi amada."

"But I want to stay with you," Llorona pouted, "I don't want to go back to the nursery. There is no one there for me to play with."

"Nonsense. You've more than enough toys to play with," Shuriki said, "And the last thing I need is for you to catch whatever it is your brother has. Now run along..." Shuriki was only half listening or she would've realized it was the lack of playmates not the quantity or quality of toys upsetting her eldest daughter.

"But, Mamá-"

"I said no," Shuriki snapped.

Shuriki hadn't meant to be so harsh towards the girl, but the damage was done. Llorona recoiled at the sharpness in her tone before retreating over to Esteban who was putting Esperanza down for her midmorning nap. Shuriki wanted to tell Llorona to come back, that she was sorry for having lost her temper, but the girl had bypassed a preoccupied Esteban and already left the room before she had the chance.

Shuriki sighed. "Estéban, would you-"

"I'll check on her on my way back to my office," he promised, pressing a quick kiss to her temple. "You just focus on Esper and Alé right now and leave everything else to me."

"Thank you."

"You're muy welcome, mi corazón."

"I didn't mean to shout at her," Shuriki admitted. "I just...it's so frustrating at times..."

"I understand what you mean," he assured her. "Llorona is going to be fine."

"Are you sure?"

Esteban nodded. "She's always been a resilient child. Give her an hour or two and she'll have forgotten all about it."

#eoa #disney #elenaofavalor #shuriki #elena of avalor #chancellor esteban #esteban flores #fanfiction #EoA #original character

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imagine-loki · 5 years

Text

Eating Crow

Title: Eating Crow

Rating: M

Author: ckoehlrbm

Prompt: Imagine Loki faking his death in order to go undercover.

Chapter: 1/? (Four intended chapters, but we all know what they say about intentions.)

Note: Please be kind. This is my first multi-chapter Loki fic. I have submitted several imagines and some one-shots, but fingers crossed our Emerald King will behave just slightly for me while writing this!

Chapter One: Breaking

Air wasn’t supposed to taste like it burned, but this did. It prickled at the skin as she reached out desperately, trying to stop the inevitable.

She had once watched a quarter balance on its side at the entrance to a sewer. Spinning and tantalizing, she knew instinctively she had no hope of catching the quarter, even at her small size. She was seven and closer to the ground than the grown man who had dropped the coin, but as it wobbled ever so carefully, she knew it would fall.

Even as she reached out to Loki now, she knew he would fall. She wasn’t tall enough to stretch to reach him, even as she screamed for him to hold on. Give her one more moment. She could almost brush her fingers against his. Don’t fall. Please don’t fall. She was almost there….

The snap of her spine widened her eyes as she heard it. She tried still to reach but she could no longer see Loki’s fingers….

Alys woke with a scream of “NO! LOKI!” and tried to bolt upright, forgetting for a moment that she no longer had that ability. It was lost to her as much as her legs were lost to her. She felt cold enter her heart again and the desire to weep was present, but the soul-deep need to cry was absent. It had been for a long while now. She had learned a valuable lesson.

You could love someone so hard that their absence rendered your soul into a pile of shreds and every breath hurt…. But you could live with that hurt.

That fateful day, a sword of one of the ancient dead had severed her spine, narrowly missing her esophagus and stomach. That hadn’t hurt so much as knowing that she had failed Loki, failed to be there the one time he truly needed her. As Hela’s troops had overrun the Bifrost, slaughtering Asgardians, she had been focused on saving him and she had failed…

And countless souls had perished for her efforts. Not that anyone was as crass as to openly blame her for the deaths that she had not prevented.

Thor had been her companion during her recovery, lifting her to and from bed as needed. The blond giant of a male had cradled her in those too-large, seemingly too-clumsy hands as if she were a precious bird and murmured about how he would always be around to help the sister of his heart. That surely Valhalla awaited her and the Valkyries would shake before her might.

Tony had designed her wheelchair thanks to a partnership between Stark Industries and an Israeli tech firm that permitted her to fight on her feet if she needed to. Her house was now a smart house, powered by the same tech that fuelled the Stark Industries building in Manhattan, and completely disabled friendly. Tony had sent in crews of workmen to make sure that she had every available comfort once she was discharged from the hospital.

Rhodey had been a guardian angel and punched the guy who called her a ‘rapeable freak’. Which was partially Rhodey’s fault since he had set up the date, but Alys didn’t blame him for other people’s idiocy. An ableist was going to be an ableist, an asshole would be an asshole.

Pepper… Pepper Potts was God’s own personal assistant. She managed everything, found live-in help, made sure maintenance was done, that Alys’ stipend from being ‘Avenger support staff’ wasn’t terminated when she was disabled, coordinated Alys’ medical care, arranged for interviews with world-class surgeons on the incredibly generous Stark Employee Health Plan, found a therapist for her to speak with when grief and hopelessness had spiraled Alys into a suicide attempt…. Pepper Potts deserved sainthood for the way she simply handled everything and then hugged you so tight that you almost couldn’t breathe for the feeling of being home.

Wanda had taken time to make sure she ate. There were soups, native Sokovian foods, some things that Vision had helped the young woman make. They were still frequent guests and most welcome. Wanda never made her feel helpless and Vision was careful to state that she was still Alys, even if she couldn’t walk. She didn’t need legs to use her brain and be herself.

Natasha gave her physical therapy to make sure her legs didn’t fully atrophy. Alys had not seen the point and had verbally expressed a wish to kick the Russian assassin numerous occasions when she felt pain from her legs being moved around. Natasha had been quick to tell her that even feeling pain was a good sign that perhaps there could be some recovery of movement. They had cried together the first time she moved her big toes, celebrating with ice cream and a rousing rendition of ‘Wait For It’ from the Hamilton musical. Of course, they had done that DURING the show, which the cast had not exactly appreciated until Tony had cleared up the misunderstanding. After that, Alys had a standing invite to join the show during matinees.

Steve had been a sweetheart the entire time, but never more so than the first time she had tried to get out of the tub by herself and ended up falling face first in the bathroom. She had screamed her frustration, weeping helplessly because she could not get into her wheelchair when it was RIGHT THERE! She should have been strong enough to do this SIMPLE task, but she wasn’t. Her legs were laying behind her like limp noodles.

The super soldier had entered the bathroom and blushed at her nudity before handing her a robe and helping her get situated on the edge of the tub. Then, with as much care as Thor, he lifted her, bypassed the wheelchair, and took her straight to her bedroom, sitting her at her vanity. “You know, there was a girl with polio in the apartment next to my mother’s. I would watch her and do her hair at times. I learned that women never feel quite right unless their hair is on point.” That said, he snagged her brush and began to comb out her brunette locks until they shone before braiding them deftly and tying it off with a green ribbon.

She smiled at the fond memories of her team putting the pieces of her back together. They had done what had seemed impossible at one point. She originally had not wanted to live in a world where Loki wasn’t there. They had persevered and won her over, though, and now she could not imagine anything else.

Alys rose for the day and with the help of her live-in aid, Brigid, bathed, dressed, and cooked her morning meal. There was a serenity in knowing that she wasn’t alone, that if she fell out of her chair there was someone there…. That her team was a shout away, that FRIDAY was watching out for her.

There was a knock on the door and Alys frowned. She wasn’t expecting anyone…. She looked at Brigid who shrugged and went back to tending the start of the evening pot roast. Alys eyed it to make sure it was large enough for everyone they were expecting before gesturing silently to Brigid to get the other one out as well. If Banner made an appearance, they would need more food.

When the brunette opened the door, she couldn’t help but stare. This could not be happening. Not again. Not when she had worked so hard to get beyond this…

Green eyes stared at her in adoration, black hair was smoothed back and flowing loose down his back. He was bittersweet trouble like dark chocolate ice cream- delicious temptation.

Alys felt herself tremble as she gazed up at him, felt the burn of tears even as she shook her head. “No. Not this. Not this dream. Please. Sweet merciful gods, not this dream….”

“My queen, my love, what dream?”

Her breath came faster and she closed her eyes, trying to regain control. She had to remember what Dr. Finklestein said. The dreams were because of the trauma. The trauma was because she had lost him so quickly. The loss still affected her, even five years later. She needed to breathe and find her center so she could exit the dream.

“You died, Loki. That day on the Bifrost. You died, my love. I’m so sorry. I know I was supposed to try to save you, but I couldn’t. This is a dream and Dr. Finklestein says that they should not still be occurring. I need this to stop, Loki. Oh, my love... “ She was rambling, even in her own head. There was so much to tell Loki, to let him know, to affirm her love still burned…

The tears were flowing down her cheek and she could taste the salt of them. They were bitter, but she could not stop them. Her arms came around her body even as her chair moved back, away from the door. She was allowing him in, even as she screamed for Brigid.

The nurse was a tall red-head, frizzy haired, friendly, bright, and personable. “Miss Crow? Are you well?”

“Brigid, this is a dream. It has to be. It’s a dream. Wake me. I can’t wake up. Please. It’s not real. He’s not here. I know he’s not here.”

“Miss Crow, you’re hyperventilating. It does look like we have a guest. Breathe for me. Slow. An eight count, miss. In, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight…. Hold, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight… Out, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight… Again, Miss Crow.” Thus being distracted by the order to simply breathe, she listened to Brigid turn to their guest.

“And who are you to so upset Miss Crow? Do you know who she is? This is Alys Crow, hero of Asgard, personal friend to the Avengers! She has Tony Stark and King Thor on speed dial. Do we need to call them?”

Loki’s voice was darkly amused, sweet sinful velvet. “You could call my brother or the Man of Iron, but neither of them could keep me away from my queen. In fact, do call the Man of Iron. Call my brother. Both of them know I am here.”

Alys’ brain was racing. This was looking more and more like a reality. A reality where Loki lived. Where Loki publicly called her queen rather than whispering it heatedly in her ear as he commanded her body like a king. Thor and Tony both knew he was here?

How had this happened?

The answer came to her so quick that she could not bottle up the rage that flooded her body. She reached out, grabbed a Waterford vase and threw it at Loki as hard as she could. “You lying BASTARD!” she screamed out as crystals shattered around Loki. “You lied to me! TO ME?! You DARED! LIE! TO! ME!”

He was staring at her like he had never seen her before. More specifically, he was staring at her chair. The look on his face was horror and Alys felt her heart shatter even further.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1VDUlDgOqCRt5AB-mOeBSwl-NyuAWDuFzFPc7zsn3Slk/edit?usp=drivesdk

#Loki #Lover #Angst #Others #Submitted fic #submission #ckoehlrbm #eating crow

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atruththatyoudeny · 5 years

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Monthy Reads | APRIL 2019

Happy 28th! Wow, April has been fantastic! Thank you so much to all the amazing authors and artists for sharing their work. @onedirectionbigbang started posting so make sure to head on over to their blog and check out all the fics and art!

Counterbalance || YesIsAWorld || enemies to lovers - motorcycle racing - ballet - implied/referenced homophobia - 44k Harry Styles loves two things: teaching ballet and racing motorcycles. Those two worlds collide when his greatest rival on the track, Louis “Tommo” Tomlinson brings his tiny siblings to Harry’s class.

Face Your Fears || SadaVeniren || a/b/o - mpreg - kid fic - implied/dubious consent - famous/ not famous - miscommunication - slow burn - angst - 92k Harry is a single father, pretending to be a beta after his alpha mated him and left him. He’s getting by just fine raising the twins when Louis walks into his bakery. Too bad him and Louis will never be a thing.

Latching Onto You || reminiscingintherain || famous/ not famous - 34k The one where Louis wants to book Harry Styles to perform at his best friends' wedding.

That's What I'm Here For || taggiecb || boss/employee relationship - age difference - farms - fluff - angst - friends to lovers - grief/mourning - depression - 46k Louis Tomlinson is a dairy farmer on a tiny farm in eastern Canada. His wife of nearly thirty years has left him and his children are all grown up and out of the house. Louis needs help running his business but has no idea where to even start looking. Luckily for him his children know just the man for the job.

(Something's Been) Hiding In My Heart || lululawrence || Sweet Home Alabama AU - exes to lovers - emotional hurt/comfort - mentions of miscarriage - implied mpreg - angst - 25k A Sweet Home Alabama AU where Louis comes home to finally get his divorce from Harry finalized so he can move on with his life. Alderford holds its own set of challenges when he returns, but by facing his past maybe he can find the healing he so desperately needs.

An Unbalanced Force || FullOnLarrie || divorce - miscommunication - 110k Harry has the rest of his life planned. Marriage. Career. Kids. Happily ever after. But sometimes plans don’t work out. That’s not necessarily a bad thing.

Fondre ton absence || scrunchyharry || amnesia - World War I - historical - 41k Harry had never really given much thought to the future. He preferred to let life steer him forward and to follow in the footsteps of Louis, his best friend from as far as his memory went, his lover, his everything. Louis knew better than he did what was good for him. It changed drastically when Louis was ripped away from him, drafted and sent to the front to fight in a war that Harry had always been sure would never reach him. Too young and too sickly to follow, Harry was left on his own for the first time in his life. When he thought things could not possibly get worse, Louis went missing at the Somme and was declared dead. While everyone buried and mourned him, Harry never moved on. If Louis were dead, he was sure that he would know it. Their lives were too entwined, he would know if half of his heart had died. Determined to find Louis, Harry did everything he could in his quest to be reunited with him, except prepare for the state Louis might be in. He did not prepare for the harsh truth he would have to face: was love possible without memories?

The Post-War BP || jaerie || a/b/o - mildly dubious consent - dystopia - post-war - mpreg - 17k The eight year war has left the country's birthrate severely stunted with a lack of virile alphas left to bring it back up. To ensure the survival of the country, the government opens The Breeding Program where young omegas can apply to carry an alpha's child in exchange for benefits. Louis' family is struggling and the BP is one of the only ways to secure a roof over their heads. Harry was drafted at the age of eighteen and spent six years of his life defending a country he doesn't recognize when he returns home. The government made the bed but it's Harry that has to lie in it.

Graphic design is my passion || FullOnLarrie || college/university - mutual masturbation - 6k Graphic design student Louis Tomlinson has exams to study for and final art projects to complete, if it would stop raining long enough for him to walk across campus. Luckily Harry Styles has an umbrella, and he’s perfectly willing to share. Louis doesn’t plan to get his heart broken and he doesn’t plan to make almost a hundred silicone dildos. One of these things definitely happens.

Fiction Romance || rougeandtonic || collge/university - blind date - misunderstandings - 17k Harry has a type. He likes older, sophisticated, mature men. Well-educated men. Men with life experience and passion for arts and social causes. Men who are established in their careers, who've sorted their lives out. Niall knows this. And so Harry can't understand why he's sat here opposite Louis Tomlinson. A punk Louis/uni Harry blind date AU.

Flawless || Throwthemflowers || strangers to lovers - injuries - angst - hurt/comfort - 25k After a debilitating surgery, former concert pianist Harry Styles isn't able to come to terms with his new reality. Sundered from his high standards of performance, Harry can't seem to feel anything anymore, except perhaps interest in his favorite coffee shop's barista, a man who seems wholly unsuited for the job and whose blue eyes hold in them the same pain that Harry struggles with every day. When fate renders them more than mere acquaintances, Harry is forced to deal with the insecurities of his condition and his stubborn pride. Louis wants to love him, but Harry can't accept that, because he can't accept himself. And besides, he's never loved. He doesn't know how. He just wants to be able to play his piano like before, because it was safe, because at its keys he could control the roiling of his heart and funnel it into music. With love, things are much too risky. Why would he ever take such a chance?

Snow Big Deal || FullOnLarrie || smut - 8k Louis is a professional snowboarder set to appear in ESPN The Body Issue and Harry is an assistant photographer working for the magazine. They have more in common than they think.

The Way Her Body Moves || dimpled_halo || Girl Direction - friends to lovers - 2k “Need help?” Harry jumps, her eyes widening as she drops the manual. She puts her hand to her chest, breathing deep. Her eyes meet Louis', her gorgeous co-worker who’s stationed in the office right next to hers. Harry has the biggest crush on her. She and Louis started working at the company the same day, right after New Year’s, and it’s been torture being around such a pretty person. Harry has caught herself multiple times staring at her, the way she talks with those soft glossy lips of hers, and her eyes. God, those dreamy blue eyes are embedded in Harry’s brain. She dreams about those damn eyes every night, she swears. Louis clears her throat, shaking Harry out of her thoughts. As much as she’s tried to get this chair together on her own, she needs the help. Harry was barely able to lift the backside of the chair by herself.

O! Yes! || homosociallyyours || a/b/o - omega/omega - sex toy store - 2k Louis is a somewhat sexually awkward omega into other omegas. When an omega-centric sex shop opens near his favorite coffee shop, he definitely doesn't plan to check it out. One friendly ambush later, he's standing inside and talking with a too pretty omega about things that definitely make him blush. He's not the only one blushing, though. Harry, the cute and enthusiastic toy store employee is too.

Small Voice In The Choir || Star55 || Girl Direction - homophobic language - 8k Louis is just a little lesbian who wants to audition for the school choir. She doesn't expect to gain a new friend from it.

All we can do is keep breathing || thealmightyavocado || Greys Anatomy inspired - medical AU - slow burn - angst - character death - grief/mourning - emotional hurt/comfort - 310k A fated story of two broken and battered boys who barely survived the unimaginable and how the love of one little brave girl defies all the odds and somehow puts them back together.

Drifting || noellehenry || enemies to lovers - implied/referenced homophobia - misunderstandings - 18k Canal Boat AU Harry becomes the owner of a shabby narrowboat, quite unexpectedly. He decides to keep it and make his longtime dream come true; he’ll start his own business, afloat. He embarks on a new adventure in a small village along the Grand Union Canal with his boat ‘Gay Tunes’ where his neighbours are the musician on the 'Black Velvet’, a fitness centre owner on the 'Slow’ and an extremely annoying bookshop owner on the 'Floating Pages’; seriously, what is Louis Tomlinson’s problem?!

Pillow Talk || FallingLikeThis || sexuality crisis - mutual pining - fake/pretend relationship - 26k When Harry starts having confusing feelings for a male classmate, his sister's best friend, Louis, helps him figure himself out. Cue lots of kissing, sex, and falling in love.

Naked Attraction || reader_chic_2 || Naked Attraction AU - meet-cute - famous/ not famous - 12k Naked Attraction: a gameshow where the contestant views 6 naked possible partners and narrows them down based off of pure attraction. Harry was not a fan of the shallow gameshow, so he decided to mix it up a little. Louis Tomlinson was the only gay and unfortunate staff member chosen to step in for one of the six possible partners when someone dropped out. He hated working there, and he definitely didn't want to agree, but it was too good of an offer to be turned down. Nothing would come out of it, surely, and they even agreed to keep his identity a secret. That all changed when famous singer Harry Styles walked out. Louis had no idea who he was, and Harry liked that about him.

Everywhere And Nowhere || 2tiedships2 || a/b/o - strangers to lovers - secret admirer - 16k Niall took a seat and said, "Apparently Louis' downstairs neighbor is a fan of giving Louis creepy gifts. Maybe I should go introduce myself and tell him that Louis actually prefers food." "What has he given you?" Liam asked. Louis shrugged as it were no big deal. "There was a rabbit's foot keychain on the door a little after he left from introducing himself and there was a small teddy bear sitting by my door tonight. Obviously I can't prove it's from him, but they seem to have his scent. I could be wrong though." "Wow," Liam said, looking deep in thought. "That's old school." "What's old school?" Niall asked. "Giving creepy gifts?" "I've never known an alpha to do it, to be honest, but he's courting you." Louis couldn't contain his look of disbelief directed at Liam. "He's courting me. Like some sort of romantic shit they'd do in the 1800s or something?"

Play It Back and Press Rewind || crimsontheory || childhood sweethearts - angst - mentions of death - 22k Harry and Louis were high school sweethearts until Louis broke it off when he moved away for uni. Ten years later they both return to their small hometown for a funeral.

Love Will Tear Us Apart || lovelarry10 || childhood friends - punks - friends with benefits - alcohol abuse/ alcoholism - drug addiction - drug abuse - recovery - angst - major character injury - 103k A story of two halves. Louis and Harry had it all - a career, friendship, and some of the best sex either of them had ever had. But Harry ruins it all with one life-changing mistake ... and Louis is left to pay the price.

Take Me Down Slow (Don't Let Me Go) || jacaranda_bloom || a/b/o - friends to lovers - omega/omega - 26k The one where Louis wants to find the right kind of partner to love, Niall hates snowboarding, Liam wants to settle down, Harry is really good with his hands, and mother nature could be the thing that changes everything.

Medicine || SophiaSoames || enemies to lovers - 23k I've had a few, got drunk on you and now I'm wasted. Louis Tomlinson doesn't do feelings. He doesn't do relationships. And when he has an itch to scratch there are always clubs and hook ups. Quick dirty encounters in dark places that feed the need that brews in the pit in his stomach. He works every hour of the day as the Front Office manager or the Clouds Westminster hotel in central London. He's a good boss, and he knows his shit. Then that asshat Styles swans in like he owns the bloody place and Louis's carefully managed world starts to fall apart. Harry Styles needs. He's impulsive and stupid and childish and probably the last person in the world who should be allowed to run the Food and Beverage department at the Clouds Westminster, however many brilliant ideas he has and seems to manage to miraculously pull off. He needs. And he needs Louis Tomlinson. It's a match made in hell. A recipe for disaster. There will be a bloodbath one day. They all know. Everyone knows.

Streetwise hercules || jacaranda_bloom || collge/university - fake/pretend relationship - 7k Uni AU, where Louis pretends to be Harry's boyfriend to scare away his one night stands.

#28th appreciation #1d fanworks appreciation day #fic rec #big bang 19 #my reads

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lfd072936 · 5 years

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Harlequin - Chapter 1

So here is the first chapter of the fanfic I posted about previously. It features a original female character I intend to be “Harley Quinn” later on, although this story is completely different from the traditional comic book one. This chapter barely has Arthur in it, but he will be featured a lot later (obviously).

Word count: 1788

Summary: a young woman named Lola Page starts working at a new wing in Arkham Asylum.

Warnings: none, except that this chapter has criminally little Arthur in it, but I had write a little bit of backstory/building.

@tiredwritersworld asked to be tagged (<3)

Chapter 2 link

Chapter 3 link

1. Fresh Meat

She had been working at Arkham for little over a year now. She liked it although with most things she could make peace and be content no matter what cards she was handed. Of course this wasn’t what she wanted to do originally, she wanted to be a dancer, which she practically was up until a misfortunate misunderstanding (as her mother called it) put her in prison.

- What do you want to do after you get out? – her probation officer asked one week before her release.

- What do you mean? I’m a dancer, I dance… that’s what I’m gonna do.

- Lola, you know you cannot go back to your old company after what happened.

- So? This is a big city, there’s plenty of fish in the sea.

- Look… word’s got around. No sane person would hire you as a dancer. You have to come up with something more… realistic.

- So then what do you suggest? I am not trained in anything other than dancing, I have no skills. Should I sweep the filthy streets of Gotham so that you can check it off of a to-do-list, while telling me how much cleaning up other people’s shit is helping me to get back on my feet?

- Come on, there surely must be something that you would like to do.

The probation officer was too persistent to shrug off so after a few suggestions she agreed to try this job. The hospital was on such a staff shortage that it only took a 10-day training for an ex-convict who was sentenced for assault to start working there. Of course she was not allowed to do anything medical or touch any drugs, but she did help out with anything else she could from feeding to making the beds and mostly interacting with patients. She was placed in the eastern wing due to her past where the lighter patients resided, those who generally did not pose a threat to anyone other than themselves. Lola proved herself to be an excellent employee over the months, despite her criminal record no incidents occurred and she was adored by the patients she took care of and the feeling was seemingly mutual. She surprisingly had immense patience and gentleness towards them.

That day however she was called into her supervisor’s office out of the blue. She knocked on her door at around noon and stepped in confidently.

- Hey, Josie!

- Hey, Angel! Have a seat… - she sat down opposite of her supervisor, a sweet old lady with immaculate style. Lola always adored the intricate braids she could put into her greying hair. – How are things going?

- Amazing as always… you know me – she said with a wide smile.

- Yeah, yeah I do. So – she usually cut straight to the point – you’ve been with us for over a year now… - Lola heard the hesitation in her voice. Something was wrong.

- Are you letting me go, Josie? – her voice wasn’t worrying more confused.

- No, God no… listen the thing is… there was a situation over at west and I need to switch you up with someone.

- Sure, no problem.

- Yeah? – Josie raised an eyebrow.

- Absolutely. It’s even closer to my stop.

- But you know that the west is one of the more, well… problematic wings. And you will get an all new supervisor, new colleagues…

- That’s alright. I think I can handle it.

- Okay – she said with a slight surprised tone. – Thank you for being so understanding.

- No… - Lola leaned forward a bit – Thank you for giving me a chance for change.

The next week she started her shift at the notorious western wing. She was greeted by one of the nurses who was assigned to show her around, although it did not seem like she volunteered for it. Oh, how wildly different this part of the hospital was. Almost all rooms were for one person, the doors were made from metal and heavy latches protected the outside from anyone that was on the inside. Guards were patrolling the floors and almost all patients outside of their cell were at least handcuffed if not forced into a straightjacket.

The nurse led Lola up on one of the lesser used back stairs.

- This is the staff area – she continued her never-ending tale of dos and don’ts. – A little bit onward there is a kitchen and a room with some beds, although I heard that you’re not allowed to take any night shifts – Lola frowned. No she wasn’t, but why did everyone have to be aware of that? Why was her past such common knowledge even on a wing she never even entered before? – But sometime we do like to take naps. A little further back are the women’s restrooms and next to them the showers. Why they put them so far from the beds still baffles me… but make sure to always lock the shower with your keys especially if you’re inside, because we have some incidents from time to time.

- Wait… what kind of incidents?

- Those patients who manage to wander off are especially drawn to this place to give a little surprise visit.

- Oh… we never had anything like that. On my previous wing incident meant someone spilt their OJ – the nurse gave a mocking laugh.

- Welcome to the wild west, Page – Lola did not laugh though, if anything she wondered how can some patients just walk into a staff shower with all these safety precautions.

Their tour continued pretty smoothly, they walked and she talked on end. She finally halted in front of the entrance of the communal room.

- Now about some of our patients. The worst are Flynt, 7-foot guy, pure muscle. He is restrained at all times, but he sure likes to bite and if he spontaneously faints close to you, don’t try to catch him. Then there’s Marigold… she hates everyone younger than her, so more and more people every year, I would just avoid her all together. And last but not least, there’s Fleck. He is currently stable on his meds, but he has some authority over the other patients. If I were you I would put my sunshine and rainbows approach that might have worked back at your old wing aside and be little more tough or else this place will crush you, but… I would try to stay on Fleck’s good side.

- But why do the other patients respect him so much?

- How old even are you? – the nurse laughed again. She was rude, but Lola decided to just swallow it for now. – He is Arthur Fleck… the guy who killed Murray Franklin a while back. Ring a bell?

Lola’s face lit up. She never would have admitted it to anyone, but she adored that clown. She thought he was an icon, the face of the protests she desperately wanted to attend, but her mother forced her to stay in their spotless suburban house, that the garbage strike could not reach. Oh, and that television broadcast that she had the privilege to see live… brilliant. She did not condone murder, but he executed it so theatrical and with much flare. Honestly she wouldn’t mind someone killing her either, if it happened in such a stylish way.

- Wait up… you mean to tell me that you have the Joker in this wing? – she couldn’t hide her excitement.

- Yes, but why are you so happy about it?

- You never met a celebrity, huh? – Lola laughed. Now it was her turn to make the nurse uncomfortable and looked down upon.

- Stop laughing! – she hissed. – He’s not a celebrity, and trust me… you will be disappointed when you see him. Now get in, and do your job!

She forced a serious look on her face as they walked in. The room was more bleak and depressing than the one at her old wing, this one clearly had more insanity in the air. She could feel almost every patient looking at her, those at least who were aware of their surroundings, and it made her uneasy. She completed the tasks upon tasks given to her wondering which one could the Joker be, but she just couldn’t tell. Finally, she approached one of her colleague who’s face seemed familiar.

- Hey, which one is Fleck?

- Don’t look right away, but it’s the one who didn’t stop staring at you ever since you arrived – she said with a grimace on her face. – I mean the one by the window. – she had to correct herself, because most patients were still staring at Lola.

- I surely am interesting.

- Well, you know how it is… you’re fresh meat. – she returned the smile, because the worker had no wrong intentions, but being called fresh meat was not something Lola thrived on.

As promised she did not look at the window’s direction, but rather went back to doing her job, feeding patients, getting them blankets etc., but after a while she couldn’t help herself. Masking it as a simple glance to the clock on the wall above the man, she could finally look at him. The man was alone with nothing but a notebook in front of him, but at the moment he wasn’t focused on that. He was smoking and looking at her. He blew out some smoke as their eyes locked and took another drag. The nurse did not exaggerate; he really was a lot different than she expected. He was thin and frail, his face wrinkly, but that look… oh that was something to die for. He was practically piercing her with his gaze and she could feel blood rush into her cheeks. She quickly looked down unable to do anything else, but from the corner of her eyes she could see him smile with satisfaction. Bastard. It was so amusingly annoying she had to smile, but made sure to turn away, so he didn’t see it.

She went on with her tasks, being sent here and there around the floor. So far she wasn’t too impressed by this wing, how somber and grey everything was, despite the walls being painted to a pretty yellow color somehow the air was grey. But there was one positive thing: Arthur. She was desperate to talk to him, even though he surely was nothing like she expected, but it only made her more curious. How much did he change, how much did the meds tone him down, was that whole persona just for television? It was impossible to tell as of yet.

#joker fanfiction #joker x ofc #joker x harley #sortof #barely any joker sorry #arthur fleck #sort of oc

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crushedbyhyperbole · 4 years

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Cleared for Duty - Chapter 3

Have you read chapter two?

Chap Summary: After a chat with Steve, Bucky tortures himself over Edwards’ assessment. A chance encounter and some eavesdropping gives Bucky some answers but there’s yet more misunderstanding. Will Bucky ever overcome his over self-loathing, and get a grip on himself?

Warnings: There’s a lot of angst, self-loathing and emotional beratement on Bucky’s part. Bucky is getting over his past traumas.

Shoe’s on the Other Foot

“You really hurt her, Buck.” Steve rested his elbows on his knees, leaning forward with a disappointed expression.

He’d come to my room for a beer and a chat about the possibility of me becoming a more active member of the team, but he’d quickly diverged from that topic onto a one I really didn’t want to entertain.

I sighed and shook my head. If I didn’t respond then it wasn’t a conversation.

Dr Edwards had walked out of the sparring suite on her own two feet, without assistance. I know she had. I checked the footage.

A large ball of guilt hung in my gut so I’d watched the recording just to torture myself some more. Yeah, I’d fucked up. I knew it, Steve knew it, the whole compound knew it. Stark was furious, calling for me to be sent back to Wakanda. Jokes of Manchurian Candidate aside, he probably wanted to put me back on ice. It wasn’t a bad idea, in fact it was a pretty good one. Smart. The problem was, there was no helping me while I was under. Steve wouldn’t allow it.

“Bucky?”

I looked up, glaring at my friend. I hated that I put him in this position but also hated that he was laying a guilt trip like this on me. Like I didn’t feel bad enough.

“Whatever it is between you two, you at least owe her an apology.”

He was right, I did. But that didn’t change the fact that seeing her was the last thing I wanted in the whole world right now.

“Have you seen the medical report?”

There was a medical report? Did I beat her that badly?

“Broken ribs, Bucky.” Steve sighed heavily before continuing. “Bruises all over her body. She’s lucky you didn’t-.”

“Kill her?” I snapped. “She gave as good as she got, Steve. I don’t have bruises to show for it but she was more than capable of defending herself.”

His frown was deep.

“I’ve seen the suit data, yeah, I know she put the hurt on you man, but she’s just a normal person, no serum, no powers, no nothing.” He seemed to sympathise but it was short-lived. “Her suit data on the other hand…”

“Just stop, okay.” I leaned back against the chair and rubbed my hands down my face. This was painful enough. My own anguish plus the extra guilt Steve was laying on me. “I know I fucked up. I’m not saying it wasn’t my fault, but I can’t take it back, there’s no rewind on this shit. It’s done.”

“You could say sorry.”

“What’s sorry gonna do, Steve? She won’t accept it anyway, she hates me, more now than ever.”

“Just talk to her.” Steve stood, putting his unfinished beer on the occasional table. This was him saying ‘apologise or else’, whatever the ‘or else’ would be.

After Steve left, I paced in my room. I’d been hiding out in here for a couple of days after the assessments, not wanting to see anyone. Steve had been my only visitor and I didn’t know whether that was because he’d told everyone to give me space or if they were too pissed off with me to bother checking in. Either way, I’d worked myself up to a guilty crescendo only made worse by Steve dropping the broken ribs bombshell on me.

“FRIDAY?”

“How may I help you, Sergeant Barnes?”

“Are Monday’s combat assessment files sealed, or can I view them?”

“Yes to both.”

He could almost sense the amusement in her disembodied voice. Curse Tony for making these A.I. things too human.

“Explain.”

“The files are sealed but as an active member of the assessment team, Sergeant Barnes, you have full access to all data, footage and results from the non-enhanced team assessments.”

“What about medical?”

“That is included in the data, sir.”

Had Steve known I’d look into it after he’d told me what I’d done to her? Or had he forgot that I had been given access?

“FRIDAY, show me the files from my session with Dr Edwards.”

“Preparing…” She said before light from above beamed a virtual display right in front of me.

It was all there; video, audio, suit data, energy outputs, efficiency readings, contact stats, medical, assessment result, recommendations for any further action. I swiped at the medical file, though maybe I should have worked my way up to it.

The report was easy enough to read, two broken ribs on her left side. I’d done that with my own flesh and bone, not the prosthetic. Extensive bruising over 70% of her body, no concussion, no contusion. There were pictures. Stills taken from the examination immediately after and also from the days after.

My chest ached, seeing what I’d done. No amount of dislike for a person should have made me lash out like that. Yeah, sure there were bound to be some bruises. These people were fighting enhanced avengers, we packed a punch. But this…

The bruises on her forearms were from blocking my attacks, some of the ones on her legs also, shins in particular. But her thighs, hips, stomach, ribs, and back were a contiguous blanket of mottled deep purple and bright blue bruises. One bruise even had enough detail to see the ridges where the articulation of my metal hand had bit into her skin. I hadn’t struck her face, however.

Feeling sick, I stumbled back, waving away the display. My room fell into gloominess without the bright images. Was I good for nothing but destruction, bringing hurt?

I had all but forgotten how she had pushed my buttons, making me angry as we fought. Now it surfaced again, prickling my scalp with annoyance. Why would she do this? Push me into hurting her? Why didn’t I stop? Why didn’t I just let Steve switch her with Maria, then this would never have happened. All very good questions that didn’t mean a damn thing because I couldn’t take it back.

Goddamn you! You broken, fucked up piece of shit. You can’t escape what you were made for, never could, never will.

It was another couple of days before I ventured out of my room. The necessity of food drawing me to the communal kitchen. I had missed the weekly grocery order and the supplies in the fridge in my room had dwindled to nothing but condiments.

I waited until it was late in the evening, when I thought all the staff would have left and everyone else would have retired to their rooms.

I had just pushed the door to the communal area open when I heard voices. It was Wanda and Dr Edwards.

My heart plummeted into my gut, stopping me in my tracks with the door cracked open no more than a couple of inches. I was about to leave when I heard my name mentioned.

Out of their direct line of sight but able to see them reflected in the glossy black backsplash of the sink panel, I eavesdropped like a teenager.

“Why are you even asking about him, Vee? After what he did?” Wanda took a sip from a large white mug. She liked tea.

“It wasn’t his fault.”

Edwards was leaning against the counter, uncharacteristically wearing trousers and a sweater in place of her usual skirt and blouse. Maybe she was here socially.

“Hmph.” Wanda frowned. “Don’t make excuses for him, he’s a big boy and can deal with his own consequences.”

“I only asked if you’d seen him. That’s all. Professional curiosity.”

“The fact that he stormed out of the assessment in the ‘murder strut’ has got nothing to do with it?”

I could hear the teasing in Wanda’s voice. Wait! Murder strut? What the hell?

Dr Edwards was silent but she looked down as if hiding her expression.

“Wow, really?”

“Can we talk about something else now? You’re clearly not going to tell me what I want to know so let’s move on.”

“What did you want to know?” Wanda put her cup down on the counter and crossed her arms, suddenly invested.

“Just that he’s doing ok.” Dr Edwards huffed a breath through her nose. “I really pushed him and I shouldn’t have.”

“Why did you, then. You know he’s volatile.”

“I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to show him that not everyone is afraid of him, that I’m here and I’m indomitable.” Veronica sighed then, defeated. “Ever since I was put on his detail, back when he first arrived, I’ve been trying to help him through, well everything. Yeah part of it is orders but there’s a part that’s not. I thought we had a connection but he really hates me for some reason, I have no clue why.”

Funny way of helping. I thought bitterly as I continued to listen in.

“He told Steve that you’re the only person who won’t ever call him Bucky.” Wanda laughed softly as if it was some cute story.

“Really?” That was genuine surprise. “It’s funny you say that actually. When we first met, he used to call me ‘Ronny’. It was a name my parents called me when I was a kid, and I kind of liked hearing it again. Then he started calling me Dr Edwards, in that stiff tone he always does, and I thought he was flirting.”

They both laughed.

“Bucky doesn’t flirt.”

“He does.”

“No he doesn’t. He’s the type to bash his woman on the head with a club and drag her off to his cave.” Wanda chortled. “Anyway, you were saying?”

Dr Edwards, paused a moment to take a big drink from her glass.

“Okay, yeah. I thought he was flirting. I won’t lie, I did it back. I figured it was a prompt, that he liked being called by his title, maybe it was a bit of tension charged camaraderie. But it wasn’t.” She shifted. “I didn’t realise how badly he was still damaged, you know, inside. What I’d thought was a connection was a complete misread. He closed himself off and made it perfectly clear that he didn’t appreciate my company, and now here we are.”

I felt like I’d been socked in the chest again. There it was, confirmation that I was the cause of this whole situation. Me, a broken thing, breaking other things around it.

“You know that’s all bravado though, right?”

“Is it?”

“Of course.” Wanda laid her hand gently on Edwards’ shoulder. “He’s working through some, uh, things. Maybe you should try to talk to him.”

“I can’t. I tried after the arm protocol debacle but as soon as I walk into a room he ghosts. Gone before I can draw a breath.”

She seemed sad, full of regret maybe. I knew what that felt like but to me she always looked full of resolve. When she would stare me down, hold my gaze until I became uncomfortable, there was nothing there but cold regard. Could she be lying to Wanda right now? Surely playing the victim would suit her cause better than admitting any fault.

“Can we talk about something else? This is fucking depressing.”

“Sure, sure.” Wanda said absently. “So how did you learn to fight like that?”

Edwards laughed. It was unexpected and a little bitter. If I could have seen her face, I knew her smile wouldn’t have reached her eyes.

“You don’t quit do you?”

“Have you only just learned that about me?” Wanda chuckled.

“I suppose not.” Edwards said wistfully. “It’s not really a long story so much as it is a strange one. I’ve done martial arts since I was a kid actually, it’s an unusual style adapted from kung-fu and jeet kune do. When I was recruited by the CIA as a tech officer, they put me through special ops training. Undercover work, infiltrating labs is harder than infiltrating governments apparently. Something to do with knowledge and expertise.”

“So you were a nerd version of Romanoff?” Wanda interrupted.

“Oh, god no! I was nowhere near her calibre. She’s a legend.” Edwards drank. “Anyway, I was headhunted by SHIELD so I took the job. Obviously SHIELD wasn’t what we all thought it was so that got me transferred to STARK Industries.”

This was all very interesting but I was getting impatient, wanting to hear how she’d managed to kick my ass. She said that she was nothing in comparison to Natasha, yet Nat had never bested me the way Edwards had, even when she was fighting for her life back in Washington DC a few years back, when I was him.

Wanda seemed to share my sentiment.

“But that doesn’t explain how you took him down. Not even Romanoff can do that.”

“It’s really quite simple.” She sighed, saddened further by the memory of their fight. “I learned him.”

Say what?

“I mean, really learned him.” Edwards took Wanda’s confusion as a queue. “When I was put on his recovery detail, I learned everything there was to know about that man. Who he was before, back in the forties. The war. His Hydra history. The arm. Every mission. Every kill. His abilities, strength, speed. His style and all of his weaknesses. Even his psychological reports. It’s always best practice to know the terrain, right? How effective would I be if I didn’t understand him?”

So you were just another experiment to her?

“The only thing I don’t know about him is how he feels.”

The restless simmering of anger burning in my chest increased until I was practically twitching. This made things so much worse. The cold way in which she’d picked out all my flaws in order to exploit them? Jesus what a piece of work.

“I fought like I did because I know him, down to every scar on his body. Every, single, one, Wanda. That’s how much I wanted to put into his recovery.” She swiped at her face and coughed nervously.

I was already letting the door swing closed, striding down the hall in what Wanda had aptly called my ‘murder strut’. I didn’t care that the door clunked against the frame after I let it swing shut unhindered. I didn’t care if either of them knew I had heard. I was done with this shit now. Steve needed to either send me on mission so I could go hurt some assholes or let me go so I could get away from this place and her.

I supposed this was how she had felt, hearing me and Steve talking about her a few weeks ago. I couldn’t care enough to feel guilty about it then, and now it felt justified. Hearing her say she studied me, learned my weaknesses, learned the terrain. For what? Manipulation? Had she resorted to this emotional conflict to try to control me, in place of her failed attempt at friendship early on? Perhaps it had been pity that had made her try the connection route first. And what for? To keep me under control? Hell, I’d rather be put on ice again.

Fuck it! It’s not worth the stress.

Then why does it hurt?

The slight cracking of her voice as she told Wanda the final piece of her story. The hasty swipe of fingers against her cheek. Was she regretting starting this war with me? Had I hurt her more than she was letting on? Something other than the physical.

Undoubtedly the latter played a part. She took a beating from me with barely a perceived reaction. I knew at what point I’d broken her ribs, however, it was the first body blow I got in on her. And she’d continued to fight afterwards. That took some control. Could I hate her and admire her at the same time?

The images of her bruised skin flitted through my mind as I strode up to Steve’s door. I knocked twice and FRIDAY let me in. Steve was sat at his desk signing reports.

“I want out.” I said, not bothering to greet him.

He turned to me and considered me for a moment before signing one final page and closing up the manila folder.

“Care to tell me why?”

“Edwards.” I said. “I’m done.”

“You spoke?”

I shook my head, clenching my jaw.

“Then what?”

He laid a hand on my shoulder; a friendly gesture despite my formal stance. I hadn’t realised I’d stood to attention, army training never too far under the surface.

“I can’t help you if you don’t talk. Was it what I said earlier?”

“I saw the files. I can’t be trusted.”

Keeping my answers short was the best way to keep the emotion out of my voice. I didn’t want to admit it to myself but I was floundering in the shallows of my own mental anguish with the deep water not too far away. Her bruises bringing back memories from a cold place in my mind. The ice cold feeling was firmly rooted in my soul despite the therapy. The words were ineffective now but that didn’t matter because The Winter Soldier was always in there, he was me and I was him. We could only destroy. If I stayed here the split that had formed in The Avengers over the Sokovia Accords would only grow wider. I had to go.

“Buck,” he began but I scrunched my face up, not wanting to hear him beg me to stay. “I don’t want to force the issue but the only reason you’re not in a cell on The Raft right now is because Tony and I took responsibility for you. You can’t just leave the compound and go live on your own until the government signs off on your rehabilitation.”

“And they wont.” I murmured, half to myself. I knew that’s what he’d say. I could tell him I’d just escape and disappear. I’d done it before, spent months and months in hiding until Zola framed me for the U.N. bombing.

“No, they wont.” He sighed. “Look, you’re not a prisoner here but there are protocols to follow, hence why you’ve always got a buddy or a shadow when you go out.”

I knew that and I accepted it. I’d never tried to shake them before but if I wanted to vanish there’d be nothing they could do to stop me.

“I’m just hurting right now Steve, I can’t be here.” I said, hoping he’d understand because I sure as hell didn’t. “I saw her in the kitchen with Wanda. They were talking about me.”

Steve raised a sarcastic eyebrow. Yeah, I knew he was thinking I deserved that for doing exactly the same thing to her. I nudged him with my elbow, my way of saying ‘jerk’.

“I learned a few things, like how she studied me to get the better of me. She must really hate me, Steve. Did I kill someone she loved, maybe one of the ones I don’t remember?”

This rollercoaster of feelings was draining my energy faster than a pack of tranq darts.

“She doesn’t hate you Bucky.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Trust me, will you?” Steve said, almost rolling his eyes. “Just talk to her, okay?”

I nodded. Accepting the fact that he was right. I did need to have this out with Dr Edwards but I couldn’t bring myself to approach her. That underlying feeling of unease I got when I was around her was enough to make me stay away, let alone the guilt from my most recent fuck up.

Over the years I’d killed a lot of people. You’d think that the weight of all of that would completely outweigh this new feeling of helplessness that was threatening to smother me. No such luck. At least the PTSD was a known quantity.

“At least book in to see Rodriguez tomorrow, get a few things off your chest.” Steve had this concerned look on his face that told me I’d zoned out for longer than I thought. “It might help you get your feelings straight.”

“I don’t want to see the shrink.” I needed less emotion, not to find more. I had so much of it right now I was slipping under the surface, close to drowning.

“That wasn’t a request, soldier.”

Figures.

FIN

Like Marvel fics? Love Bucky Barnes? Why not check out some of the other marvel works on my Bucky Barnes Masterlist.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes x original female character #bucky barnes x ofc #bucky is recovering #bucky angst #my writing #cleared for duty #bucky fanfic #bucky fic

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its-joyvely · 5 years

Text

Returning Home

reader x Jungkook

genre: angst + a tiiiiiiny bit of fluff

word count: 1.8k

summary: you and Jungkook were inseparable, but it took the hard way to figure this out

“Jungkook, you have to end this. Do you know how much hate you’re getting? Do you realize how much hate she’s getting? This is hurting both of you and it’s hurting your members, too. I don’t want to make you do this but you have to choose between her and your career. Don’t make a dumb choice that’s gonna affect the whole team though.”

The words you overheard behind the door broke your heart. Sure, you and Jungkook were getting a lot of hate, but you two had already talked about this and decided to work through it together. You two had already decided to just trust each other and focus only on each other in this relationship. To be honest, at times it had been really hard to keep going, since some of the mean comments pierced your heart right in the core, but Jungkook was always there for you when you needed support.

But now the hate wasn’t the issue. You loved Jungkook with all your heart and you didn’t want to make him choose between him and his career. BTS needed him and millions of ARMYs needed him. So if it meant making his decision easier, you decided to let him go. It would be okay for you to sacrifice yourself if it meant putting your boyfriend through less pain.

Buzz [message from Jungkookie <3]

hey y/n can we talk? can you meet me in my studio rn?

You knew what was approaching you, and it took a second for the reality to hit you and for you to accept that this was really happening. You would be strong. You would be brave. You would put on a mask for Jungkook. This was all for Jungkook.

The moment you walked into Golden Closet Studio, the atmosphere was already different. There sat your boyfriend with shoulder hunched over and eyes closed. When he noticed your presence, he slowly opened his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Y/N, we need to end this.”

He didn’t know that you knew everything. But you did. And you understood.

“Y/N, I never loved you. This entire time I was messing with your feelings. You were just a game to me. And now I’m bored and done with you so you can leave.”

Oh, Jungkook. So he had decided to pull this trick. He was trying to get you to stop loving him so that you wouldn’t get hurt. And here you knew that by letting you go he was choosing his career over you. But you know what? It didn’t hurt at all. Because you knew Jungkook and you knew how hard it would have been for him to make this decision. His hyungs and his fans meant everything to him, so you understood his choice.

Oh how foolish he was. Did he really think you would believe all his lies? Did he really hope that you would believe that all those moments you spent together were fake? With each and every hug and kiss, you had seen the sparkle in his eyes and the passion in his heart. His eyes could not fool you. You noticed the way he was trying to act cold to you, but his eyes told the truth. He just wanted to protect you.

Your reaction confused Jungkook. He was breaking up with you. He was telling you that he played with you. Why were you so calm? Why weren’t you screaming that you hated him or that he was a jerk?

You looked into Jungkook’s eyes one last time. Those doe-like eyes that had lost their spark. You didn’t let your eyes fall from his. “Thanks for everything, Jungkook. Please remember to take care of yourself. And don’t give up on your dreams.”

That’s all you said and you calmly left his studio and the Big Hit building. You felt bad for leaving without saying goodbye, but you didn’t have the emotional courage to face the other members. And the moment you left, as if it had been planned together, both you and Jungkook broke down. The fire that had been burning so strongly had just gone out.

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

It would be a lie if you said you didn’t miss him. The morning after everything had ended, you almost called him from habit, but you barely managed to stop yourself. It had really happened. It was all over for real now. It was extremely hard to try to return to normal again, but after a month, you were able to get out of the house and at least pretend that everything was okay.

But it really wasn’t. When you returned home after a long day and took your mask off, no one saw the way your face dropped at just the thought of him or how you cried yourself to sleep. You knew that Jungkook was still following you on social media, so you purposefully posted more happy images to show him. To show him that you were okay. To show him that he should move on. You hoped that he would forget about you and focus on achieving his dreams. But this was a two-way misunderstanding.

Jungkook couldn’t move on. Every night he was haunted by the thoughts of what would have happened if he had chosen you. Was this all even worth it? Did he make the right choice? So to get rid of these heavy thoughts, he resorted to work. He practice hours and hours every day, trying to perfect already perfect choreographies and overworking himself. His hyungs knew about what had happened with him and the company, and they were afraid this would kill him. But Jungkook was a stubborn guy and each night he worked hard until he would collapse into sleep, hoping to dream about a happy memory with you.

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

The Love Yourself world tour was absolutely a success. You were so proud of Jungkook and his members and seeing the fan cams of him glowing on stage made you realize that you had made the right choice. He was on stage where he belonged and you were glad he was able to continuing pursuing his dreams.

But only the members saw how Jungkook actually was backstage. All that overworking had taken a toll on his body, and this time they were seriously worried whether he would make it through the concert. They still had to go back for the encore stages, and Jungkook was uncontrollably sweating and his eyes were not focused.

Seeing this, Namjoon couldn’t take it any longer. Jungkook had made the members promise to never contact you again, but Namjoon was afraid that this would all kill Jungkook. So he did what he had to.

[message from Joonie]

y/n, I know it’s been a while and this is sudden but can you come right now? Jungkook really needs you.

Your heart felt a pang when you saw that. You knew Namjoon wouldn’t message you unless it was serious.

[message from Joonie]

and I know you need him too.

You couldn’t do this anymore. You had to go see him. You immediately got into your car and drove to the stadium where the BTS concert was. Namjoon had let one of the staff members know to let you in through the backdoor when you arrived. You were used to this, since you had visited BTS and many of their concerts before.

You anxiously waited backstage for the concert to be over. You could hear the members singing Answer: Love Myself and you knew the concert was coming to an end. Through the video screen, you saw how thin Jungkook looked. Other people might not have seen it, but his eyes told you how tired and lifeless he was. After what seemed like forever, the members gave their final bow and started coming backstage.

As soon as the lift came down, Jungkook’s legs gave out and his eyes rolled back as he fainted. The members and staff frantically hurried to get him backstage to a medic. When the members all saw you, they were relieved that you had come, but you panicked at the sight of Jungkook.

He fell to the ground with a thud and the medics were massaging him, cooling him down, and trying to get him to wake up. The other members decided to leave the room to give Jungkook his space and you did too. But as soon as you walked out and closed the door, you leaned on the wall and slid down, putting your head in your hands. You didn’t know he was doing this bad. You never realized how much this breakup had affected him. Was he like this because of you? Did you hurt him this much?

Namjoon walked over to your side and comforted you. “Don’t worry too much. Jungkook’s a strong guy and I know he’ll wake up soon. And thanks for coming. It means a lot. To all of us.” With a soft smile, he walked away with the other members and you sat there waiting for who knows how long, reflecting on your relationship with Jungkook.

-----------

You weren’t sure how much time had passed, but when the door swung open, you immediately got up. And you were face to face with him. You saw how his eyes got big as soon as he noticed you. You saw the pain in his eyes when he saw you and you saw how desperately he needed you. He looked so tired and worn out. Immediately you wrapped your arms around him and hugged him. It took him a moment for him to grasp the reality that you were actually here with him, but soon he hugged you back.

He started shaking, and the silence was soon replaced by sniffling and sobbing. It was like you two had been wandering in a dark tunnel for so long and you finally found each other at the end of the tunnel where the light was shining. This was it. You had waited for so long to feel his touch again. Namjoon was right. It was then that you realized how much you needed him and how much he needed you. You held onto him like your life depended on it and he did the same. You two were stuck in this very moment and it was just you and him in this universe. And at this point you knew you no longer had anything to be afraid of. Neither of you mentioned it, but you were both aware of the challenge that was awaiting you. So many people would still oppose your relationship. But nothing would separate you two again. He was your hope, he was your happiness, and he was your love. He was your home and whatever roadblock awaited, you two would face it together.

#bts #jungkook #bangtan #bangtansonyeondan #jk #angst #fluff #btswriting #btsimagine #btsscenario

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orderofindomitus · 5 years

Text

Running Events

Many women contact me and ask my advice on running BDSM events. I have run many events in my career so far from general fetish parties to private femdom parties, wild CFNM parties, The Order Of Indomitus which is a 3 day event, and Eden, also a 3 day event which takes place at a private beachfront mansion. I have a lot of advice to give for people who want to try to run an event themselves, from my own experience personally running events, as well as attending many other events that went great and also went sour that were run by other people.

KNOW YOUR KINK THEME INSIDE AND OUT. Is your party themed? Is it CFNM? Is it a slavery event? What kind of event are you throwing? If you do not have an expert grasp on the theme of your event, you are not going to be successful with that theme. You cannot do 30 professional sissy sessions and run a sissy event successfully, or run a slavery event without understanding slavery inside and out. People have had parties and events turn terrible when they do not have a deep understanding on what it is that they are trying to do but only a very surface grasp on what it is, or no grasp at all. Do you understand that many people can be sissies but have different ideas of what that is and means for them? Not everyone in every “theme” is the same type of submissive. Do you know how to structure your event to allow for diversity within your theme?

In order for people to have a good time, you have to understand why they would want to come in the first place. What are people looking for? I went to an event once that was full of public humiliation that was not told to the subs who signed up beforehand, or the attending Mistresses. Not only did most of them find this to be absolutely horrifying, but some of them were scarred from it. I took an uncomfortable submissive out of the party myself and removed both of us from the awful situation to damage control this as best as I could and several other women there followed suit. The person who threw the event, did not grasp why this was not ok and when we tried telling her this, she didn’t want to listen. I went to one where randomly, everyone was put in a rubber maid outfit. This was not OK with most of the people there, as they were not sissy maids or into latex and they didn’t understand why they were all made to do this.

This is the number 1 reason why events/parties fail. Most often the person running them has barely any knowledge of the kink they are trying to do at the actual event.

DESCRIBE YOUR EVENT ACCURATELY. I have been invited to so many events and also entire destination trips which were nothing like what were described to me. I was not only disappointed, but so was everyone else, subs and Dommes alike. You need to be completely transparent about what people are getting themselves into, or else you are going to wind up with a lot of angry and upset people and waste everyone’s time and money. If someone does go to an event and they are not that happy with it, it is usually because despite the description, they thought they could handle it but it turns out they are not into that kink as much as they thought they were, or not quite into a group setting after all. You never want someone to attend and not have a good time because you are a liar, or because you are not describing your event enough to have someone make an informed decision on attending. BE HONEST and you will attract the type of people who are “all about” that kind of party, leading to EVERYONE having a good time and not just a couple of people.

HAVE SAFETY EXPERIENCE WITH BDSM ACTIVITIES. Can you spot if a sub is or isn’t have a good time from across the room just by watching a scene for a minute? Can you tell if someone is being put into a situation that would not be good for them? Is that rope bondage not done safely on that sub? How long has the guy in the corner had his arms above his head in that scene? Can you keep track of many people at once by glancing around and checking on them mentally, and tell if they are or are not having a good time or not? IF YOU CANNOT, you should never do a BDSM event. You can hire experienced Mistresses to help, but you still need to make sure that even those very experienced Mistresses are doing a good job. I went to an event where many women there were not experienced and the person running the show was not checking in on everyone. You could tell that a few people were not in happy situations and there was no one to check on that. Thankfully, none were dangerous situations, but they could have been. This is why the person running the show needs to be able to notice that everyone is having a good time and that everyone is safe, and do this THE ENTIRE EVENT by glancing around and checking in on everyone, even just from a distance.

HIRE ONLY VERY EXPERIENCED STAFF. Are you going to bring in a few pro Mistresses or lifestyle Mistresses to co-host things with you? Are they extremely experienced? Are they safe players? How do you know? We often let fancy imagery and video sale fame get in the way of our logic in terms of skills experience and safety. Women are hired to do events based on being HOT and not being skilled. You can have hot AND skilled, but being skilled, safe and sane is what you need over all. While you should have your eyes on everyone at all times, you also can’t put subs and slaves in the hands of idiots. Your Mistress co-hosts should be trustworthy, dependable, and genuinely happy to be there. They should be truly caring about the experience being fun and memorable FOR ALL, and not there for a paycheck, to have something to brag about, or there to show off in front of other women by how cruel or loud they can be. Hire experienced, reputable women, so all you have to do is glance around the room and see that everyone is having a good time, instead of running around like crazy having to put fires out and yank people out of scenes, and damage control all 30 people around you.

EXPECT TO NOT SLEEP. Get as much sleep as you possibly can, but expect to not have much. Noise, stress, anything can mess up your sleeping during your event if it is multiple days, or the night before your event. If you cannot run on little sleep for a few nights, you should not take on large multi-day events.

HERD CATS. If you are running an event, you have to be a bit of an organized person and keep everyone around you on-point. You have to keep your event guests on schedule in terms of being in a certain location for the event at a certain time-frame, and also if you have a staff, keep those ladies on-time as well. Sometimes professional Mistresses who are excellent players, safe, sane, and nice to be around, are not always organized and on-time, all of the time. You are often trying to round up people to be ready on time and at a certain place on time, or to wrap things up on time. This is not easy to do, and you cannot ever rely on people being places and ready at the times you tell them to. People chat and lose track of time, constantly. You need to be able to wrangle everyone and keep things running smoothly, even your staff of professional ladies.

STAY COOL UNDER PRESSURE. You can and will encounter things that will not go right, despite all of your efforts. Sometimes a Mistress and a sub clash personality-wise and someone misunderstands a command and takes it the wrong way. Many people in this life have some emotional baggage and in the BDSM world when under the pressures of performing as a submissive, a lot of these things come out at this time, unfortunately. People who have things going on back home, tend to bring it to the party emotionally, not meaning to. A divorce. A death. We deal with all kinds of things. A tiny thing at the event not going right, will suddenly send someone into a bad emotional downward spiral of pain. Can you calmly and effectively deal with a situation like that? Are you able to have a chat with someone and effectively calm down the situation and figure out what the best course of action is? Sometimes that is them taking a break from the event and getting their head together. Sometimes it’s them being OK and jumping right back in, and sometimes they simply shouldn’t be there at this time. Can you handle this happening twice at your event? Three times? Can you handle this on top of running your event based on everything I said above? If you can’t, you should not be running an event. Human beings are flawed and we go through bad things in life and we are all walking around with some sort of baggage. Be prepared for things to go wrong here as something can and will trigger these emotions to come pouring out.

SOMEONE BECOMING INJURED. Do you know CPR? Do you have a first aid kit? Know where the nearest hospital is? Do you know who would be available to take someone to the nearest hospital? Are you in tune with everyone’s health issues and medications they might be on? If someone sprained an ankle, can you handle keeping them calm and the party still going should a situation like that happen? What if someone started having chest pains? What would you do? If you can’t answer this, you should not be running a BDSM event.

PAY STAFF FAIRLY AND BE HONEST ABOUT THE EVENT. I have gone to many events where we were unpaid or the pay was very little. When the event was not as advertised to us, not one of us was enthusiastic to work the event and give it our all, because we were lied to and tricked into going to work something awful for almost no money, or NO MONEY! Always be honest to your staff about what they are going to get themselves into and pay them fairly for it. This way they never feel lied to, and they will always do a fabulous job for you, and will want to return!

HAVE A PLAN FOR YOUR STAFF. Have a plan for your staff for what you want out of the event and give it to them ahead of time. Then have time before the event starts to go over that plan so it’s fresh in everyone’s minds. Not having a set plan will lead to disaster.

ALLOW SUBS TO COMMUNICATE. Never make the subs or slaves at an event feel like they cannot come and tell you if something is wrong. When something is bothering them, it will only get worse if it cannot be resolved right away.

CHARGE REALISTICALLY. What are your paying guests getting out of the event? Is this fair with what you are charging? Being greedy will not get you very far as you want people to return again and again to your events and say good things about them, not that they paid a lot of money and felt ripped off.

PROVIDE A COMFORTABLE ENVIRONMENT. Air conditioning or heat at a good temperature for everyone. Cleanliness. Space. Nice atmosphere. Put yourselves in the mind of the person attending. Should they be wearing shoes? Would this floor hurt their feet from standing on it all day without supportive shoes? I went to an event where people were standing on hot pavement in mid summer burning their feet on the ground because they were not told they would be doing this and all let outside for the afternoon naked. There was also no sunblock.

DEALING WITH A WEIRDO/NOT SCREENING YOUR GUESTS. You should always screen your guests very well so you never have to deal with anyone coming who is a lunatic. What if someone slips through and is a lunatic despite your efforts? How do you deal with a mentally unstable person at your event? How do you get them to leave?

Never run something that could never have a handle on. It will potentially hurt someone, and it will ruin your reputation as a professional. If you are dying to do something, it’s always best to wait until you have a lot of experience and start small to see what it is that you can handle.

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chisie12 · 5 years

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Gency Week Day 3: Daffodils/Chivalry + New Beginnings

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19071907/chapters/45384892

Day 3: It Must End Before Beginning

She then traced another scar before continuing in a softer voice. “I always get this feeling that I knew you because your face always gave me this sense of… familiarity, like I’ve seen it before.”

“And you’d definitely not find another face like mine,” I joked, seemingly feeling much lighter than I did in the last three weeks. I was elated. Just, absolutely positively elated! If she remembered loving me, that meant Angela shared the same feelings as I did before. Didn’t that mean I had a chance still? I could make her fall in love with me all over again and we could always start anew!

She returned my smile and settled my hand back onto the table before putting some distance between us. She wasn’t sure before but seeing those scars brought upon an ache deep in her heart she hadn’t known she could feel. Each and every line, no matter how faint or deep, they drew her in like a moth to a flame. Why though? She was just an ordinary cafe owner, but the young man before her had told her otherwise. Dr. Angela Ziegler, the head of medical research for an organisation long fallen — Overwatch — before then being recruited into the Investigation Bureau as head of medical staff. Everything sounded so surreal. Her? With medicine? God no. The most ‘healing’ she could do was bandaging a knife cut!

She fiddled with her fingers while letting out a sigh. Her eyes met his and she held her gaze, all traces of her tenderness gone in a blink. Yes, she remembered the wisps of the love her heart used to have, the familiarity, the mere comfort his presence held, but —

That was not her. Not anymore.

Other than the gut of a feeling, she had nothing else to go by. No memories or even the slightest form of recollection. Nothing. The best part was that she felt nothing, nothing for him at all.

“Look, Genji. I don’t want us to have a misunderstanding and I feel like I need to get this straight.” Taking another deep breath, she took a step back but that small increase of distance pulled my heartstrings taut. A bad premonition washed over me and I met her steady gaze. Even her customer service smile faded away. “I may remember loving you, but that’s clearly in the past. Right now, I don’t really know you well and I don’t feel the same.”

“B-But…”

‘Then why your tenderness? Why treat me so well? Why —’

My thoughts were interrupted when the door to the cafe opened. I opened my mouth to say something but Angela had instantly plastered on her customer service smile and greeted the newcomer, my presence seemingly vanishing into nothing. I watched in anguish, choking on air, as I vividly saw her eyes suddenly brightened and a beaming smile — bigger than any she ever gave him — upon realising who it was.

“Jacky! Jack!” she giggled and quickly circled the table to bound up before him. “My knight! Hehe.”

Jack chuckled at the bundle of joy rocking back and forth on her heels as his attention immediately focused onto her. He patted her cheek affectionately in case he soiled her spectacles with his fingerprints. “I told you not to call me that.”

“No way, sir. I can’t follow your orders,” she teased. With a grin, she led him to his usual table by the window and helplessly, he followed, knowing full well that she’d continue in her stubborn ways. Dusk was beginning to fall and it was already after work hours. People were making their way home or for dinner, to brave the traffic or wait it out, or people like him, visiting a cafe that was out of their way just to see someone.

Angela scanned the blond man, taking notice of the fine lines evident on his face and shadows beneath his eyes. Fatigue was clear from his slumped shoulders and slight scowl of his eyebrows. “Rough day at work?”

“Not really. It’s confidential but just,” Jack sighed. “We’ve just been trying to catch this guy but he’s too slippery and smart. We’ve already caught his right hand man but it seems like he’s willing to sacrifice a few key men to save his own hide.”

“Sounds difficult,” Angela tenderly rubbed the space between his eyebrows with her thumb. A small ministration, not in any way explicitly loving, but she was tender, soft and gentle as she cared. “But don’t think too much about it now. I’m sure you’ll catch him. Do you want your usual?”

“Yes, please Angie.” Jack smiled softly at her, the adoration so clear in his gaze. When she came back, she had in her hands a cup filled with soft green tea and a plate of food. “Mushroom, steak and cheese?” He asked upon seeing the pie.

“Yeap, saved the last one for you.”

“You’re an angel.”

“I know I am. Enjoy,” she sang.

He picked up his cup of Antibiotica and took a bite of his food as she left to tend to a few customers that were entering. The moment she left, his attention was solely on the food and drink at his mercy. He was famished, having to work more ever since Angela’s ‘resignation’, but as he ate, he felt the piercing stare boring holes into his skin. The hairs on his neck bristled, as if rebelling against being put under such pressure. With a sharp gaze and an alert mind, he lifted his head at the direction, only to have it fall away into shock and panic. Why was he here?

'No one was supposed to know. At least not yet.’

However, thanks to the years of war-hardened experience, as fast as the panic came, it left just as quick. Calm and steady like a rock in the river. He gave the other man a little wave and that was when the man stood up, the chair scraping against the floorboards suddenly exceptionally loud and clear, and made his way over.

I pursed my lips and fisted the ends of my scarf. I saw the way she looked at him, the way she tender lovingly cared for him, and it wasn’t hard for my enhanced senses to pick up the scent of the exact blend of Antibiotica in his cup. I stared and stared, but I wasn’t dreaming. That was definitely him; The same typical American blond man with blue eyes upon that chiselled face, muscular and tall, and a charm to his smile. It was a face I couldn’t forget and one I couldn’t be more familiar with as well. I inhaled. Deep breath in… before letting it all out through my nose. Yet, the flames didn’t calm. Instead, they were blazing in a level headed manner, like a calm ocean before the storm hit, and underneath the surface were gremlins fanning the fury, the confusion, the uncertainty. There was a myriad of questions buzzing in my mind, the next not more pleasant than the one before, but all of them revolved around one thing —

“How long have you known, commander?” I spat through gritted teeth when I stood right before his very eyes.

“Good evening to you too, Genji.” Commander Jack Morrison picked up his cup, lifted his chin and calmly sipped at his green tea. The smell of it caught my attention, a blend of leaves that’s become extremely familiar in the past three weeks before it was pulled away by his displeased tone. Crossing his legs and pursing his lips, he flatly replied, “That question of yours implies that I kept a secret from you. Although I disagree, I also possess no obligations to inform you of the affairs of my life.”

“But you knew!!” I growled with eyes narrowed. “YOU KNEW!”

Jack merely side eyed me after I slammed my hands on the table, ignoring the stares of the other customers and workers.

The stench of the green tea began to smell nauseating. The warm, calming aroma now wretched, and my anger reached a whole new peak just watching, watching him sip, sip without a care at his tea. My growls deepened and my fingers dup deep into the wood. “You fucking knew she was here! Why didn’t you tell us!”

Jack remained unfazed at my outburst, but it was that emotionless, unaffected expression that fuelled the fury that boiled in the pit of my stomach to overflow.

A hand shot out to grab Jack’s collar but the blond man sat there still unimpressed, but his muscles were tensed and his body slumped in a deceptively relaxed manner. His nonchalant expression further fuelled my fury, the rage stirring at the cyborg in me. Signals were blaring, metals overheating — not from overwork, no. It was from the sheer, utter control of not ripping his fucking American head off!

'Fuck his 'no obligations of not telling us’! Isn’t it fucking courtesy to inform? We’ve gone through bloodshed together! Wars together! Weren’t we a family? Or don’t you think her old teammates would have liked to know!? I fucking would!!’

“Genji!” A scream. “What are you doing!”

Just inches from Jack’s collar, a dainty hand latched onto my arm and I jerked to a stop midway. Her fair flesh, tinged with a slight pink, was a clear contrast to my cyborg one. My heart thumped as her fingers tightened their grip. She roughly pulled my arm down to the side and I let her without even a shred of resistance while my gaze was fixated on her hand. It was so small, the slender fingers barely gripping across my arm. As it tightened, nail digging into the metal, I felt the warm heat of her blood and I painfully craned my head up, only to flinch at the fire in her eyes, as if I’d accidentally touched a boiling pot. My shoulders fell, the energy sapping out of my body and into hers.

My eyes dropped, falling from her eyes and back to her hand. Of course, she’d protect Jack. Of course, I’m the bad guy. I’m no longer the same Genji in her heart — or in her memories.

“Just what were you doing!” Mercy seethed under her breath. “You can’t —”

“Of course I can’t!” I cut her off with a snap. This time she flinched back at the tone and I froze. Just what had I done? Yet, steeling myself, I summoned the remaining ounce of my anger, my courage, and continued. “Of course you’d be protective over your knight in shining armor. Isn’t he just the greatest?“ Yes, I definitely heard and remembered what she called him. My knight. Just great. Of course, every woman would want their knight in shining armor. No one loved those in the darkness, where we crept and hid, doing the dirty work for those in the light. And I regretted the words only a long time after. "The perfect American poster boy. Perfect for you.” Not like me. A cybernetic monster.

But I couldn’t hate her, even if she did create me into this monstrosity that I am — something that no one will ever love. Did they think I wouldn’t have noticed? The subtle mutterings under their breaths, the isolation, the fear? No one in the bureau liked me, with the exception of those from Overwatch. Even so, I’m still grateful; She still gave me another lease in life.

Her mouth hung open in shock before it twisted into an ugly scowl — yet why did it look beautiful to me still? Please, heart. Stop aching.

I watched silently, face set in stone. She was like a charging defibrillator, the pads held ready at bay, just biding its energy as sparks went off around her. But I’d let it hit me. Let it come before ending this. No need for anything more.

“You —”

Another hand, a larger and more calloused one gently draped over hers before prying her fingers away, slowly as though the glass would break. “Let me.” A deep, husky breath, and it sent shivers down my spine.

I’ve never seen the commander like this before. Soft and gentle, with the same tenderness that I knew all too well.

I used to look at her like that — I still do.

As the warmth of her fingers disappeared, I recomposed myself and faced Jack with a straight back, and spoke before he did. The air was becoming heavy, suffocating even. I breathed in a sharp inhale, the pressure curling around my heart but the smell of the green tea assaulted my senses, forcing me to choke and wheeze as the acid shot up my throat. I couldn’t. This was becoming way too much for me. Angela’s glare was sharp, like a dagger pierced through my heart and her dissatisfied scoff made the dagger dig in deeper with a good old wiggle too. An invisible force closed in, squeezing the organ further as it ached and bled.

I already hurt her. I don’t deserve her. And I can’t bear to be here anymore.

“I apologise for any offense earlier, commander. Have a nice meal. I’ll be taking my leave now.”

And thus, I turned on my heel without a single glance back. I seemed fine, that’s for sure. But my fingers shook, lips quivered and I felt a warmth in my eyes that I haven’t felt in years. Tugging the scarf higher, I took to the roofs with just the softest whimper and disappeared into the night, wishing so much: I could disappear forever.

Jack stared at the door swinging close, an indescribable feeling arising.

“Jack?”

He reigned in his feelings and smiled at a worried Angela. He patted the hand on his arm. “I’m fine. Are you alright?”

She shook her head. “I should be asking you that. That was quite rude of him.”

“Think nothing of it.” Jack seated himself again and this time, she followed. “Does he come here often?”

With a nod of her head, she began to explain, “He normally comes in the morning when I first open the cafe. Sometimes he’ll be here with his two other friends, a Lena and Jesse?”

“Jesse like a cowboy looking man?” Jack warily smiled.

“Mhmm. That’s him.” Angela sighed and stared at the half eaten pie. “Wait. Are they your colleagues? Genji called you ‘commander’.”

He could only resign himself to fate and nod. “Let’s not talk about that anymore. I’m more worried about you. How are you holding up in the cafe?”

At the mention of her cafe, her worry transformed into joy, oblivious to the quick change in topics. Her eyes twinkled and she was beaming. “It’s going great! It doesn’t get too busy sometimes but I love it! I was planning to have daffodils for the next theme next week since it would be four months since the cafe was opened. “New Beginnings”. Fitting wouldn’t it?”

“Yeah, it would be.” Just as the words left his mouth, he couldn’t help but think, ‘Four months already? Had the time pass that fast?’

“I really don’t know what I’d do without you,” Angela continued. “I don’t remember much in my life since I woke up from the hospital but you’ve always been there for me. Thank you.”

A stifling sensation gripped at him when he forced out a smile. “You’re welcome. I was just lucky that I was there when I saw you unconscious and bleeding on the floor of your apartment.”

“Yeah, that was lucky. Must have been fate or something,” she pondered. He watched lovingly as her eyes looked up in thought and her head cocked to the side with a pout on her lips.

‘It wasn’t fate, Angie.’ He thought solemnly. ‘It really wasn’t.’

“But now you’ve helped me start this cafe! And it’s a dream come true. How’d you know I would have loved this?”

As she turned her head to him, he bitterly laughed in his heart. ‘I sure knew indeed. Way back when you were head of medical research, you mentioned you’d open one when you retire from the battlefield and healing.’

“Oh, I’m not sure. A lucky guess?”

“You sure are lucky, Jacky.” She didn’t pursue further into the topic and leaned back onto the chair. “It was a good new beginning for me. Thank you.”

“And you’re welcome.” Jack smiled and finally resumed his meal. “How’s Mei coming along? She working well?”

“Yeah, she is! She makes really good iced drinks, and her bubble tea is to die for! I personally love the passion fruit black tea one. Just amazing.”

“She’s earning money for her expedition right?” Jack swallowed a mouthful of pie but his eyes never left hers more than a second.

“To the Arctic I think.”

Jack hummed a little under his breath. It was good for her to have reliable colleagues to work with. There were few customers that were arriving at the cafe on a Friday night, with only a few university students appearing for an evening snack, though they were mostly eager for Mei’s bubble tea. Jack and Angela laughed as they chatted, a nice little bubble for themselves as she took her break.

“Mei, could I please have your daily special today?” A young university student asked sweetly.

The cheerful woman behind the counter laughed. “Of course! Anything for you!”

As Mei turned around to begin her magic, the door to the cafe slammed open with a loud bang as it hit the connecting wall and a loud, boisterous voice cried out, “What about me, snowflake!?” She stared at the doors, a furrow in her brows while her rounded tassel tinkled in her hair. She was not in the slightest bit surprised at the chaotic man before her. “Where’s my bobba!”

A resigned sigh escaped, but a smile played off her upturned lips. “You want some? Get in line.”

“But snowflaaaaaake, I travelled so far to come see you.” The man ambled to stand before her and the university student scooted away, a slight fear in her eyes. Mei looked up at him as she fought to keep her mind straight. He was tall, just standing there with that toothy grin, so sure that she’d give in.

She ignored the cheeky glint in his amber eyes with a roll of hers. “Go line up. I’ll make you your favourite if you do.”

“And if I don’t?”

“You can drink Angela’s coffee.”

“Noooooo,” he whined, but seeing as how Mei wouldn’t budge, he pouted and took a huge step back, the metallic stump thumping against the floorboard. “Fine. I’ll wait.”

Mei chuckled at his sinister little laugh as he rubbed his hands together before telling the student, “I’m sorry for making you wait. Your bubble tea will be ready soon.”

Jack stared at the man that just came in with a frown. ‘I know that man… but where?’ The man had blonde hair that was slightly singed and his hands were stuffed into the ragged cutoff shorts. The black tank top hung loosely on his lean body and he tapped his foot albeit impatiently. He clenched and unclenched his hands, one of flesh and one of metal.

Feeling a heavy stare on his back, Jamison Fawkes, or better known as Junkrat, tilted his head back with an arrogant scowl. Upon seeing a familiar face in the room sitting next to a pretty blonde lady, he grinned toothily at the agent. “Hello there, commander. What’cha doing nowadays? Definitely not catching me! Wahahaha!”

The voice snapped Jack out of his thoughts as it finally clicked. “You!” He stood up from his chair. “Aren’t you in prison?”

Junkrat giggled evilly and showed him two fingers held out as a ‘V’. “I’m out, mate! Have been for a week now! It’s a new beginning for me!” Jack gritted his teeth as he watched Junkrat wiggled his hips and mockingly grin. “Can’t do nothing about, mate! I ain’t doing anything wrong. Hehehe.”

“Behave yourself, Jamie. Or you’re still having that coffee,” berated Mei from behind the counter as she handed the student her drink.

“No —” Noticing that he’s next in line, Junkrat immediately hopped to stand innocently before the counter with a grin, the words of refusal swallowed back down. “I’m sorry. I’ll behave. Do I get my drink now, snowflake?”

Mei glanced at Jack whose face was as black as the pot’s bottom. She knew that there was nothing the commander could do because technically, an ex-convict buying bubble tea wasn’t really a crime.

“Snowflaaaake,” Junkrat whined. “Baby, my bobba.”

She turned her attention back to him with a serious look, but her eyes danced with mirth just hearing him say 'bobba’. He hasn’t stopped with that ever since she taught him that. “Get your ass thrown back in jail and no more bobba for you.”

“Nope!” He straightened himself like an upright man. “Definitely not! The juice they served in prison were gross. So fake. Blergh. Don’t ever want to drink that again.” As Mei served his iced passion fruit black tea, he leaned in close across the counter and winked. “And if I went to prison again, how am I supposed to see my good, sweet little snowflake?”

Mei scrunched up her nose. “Hmph. All you ever do is bully me.”

“Ya sure ‘bout that, snowflake?” his eyes curved like crescent moons as he grinned.

"Yes, now shoo. Go back to your Roadie. I got customers to attend to.”

Mei waved her hands at him as another customer arrived. Junkrat could only walk towards the door with the straw in his mouth and call out, “Roadhog! Come in ‘ere. There’s plenty of space by the windows.”

Jack Morrison watched on agitated. Angela’s gaze shifted from him and to Junkrat who was now accompanied by a tall, large man before sighing and returning back to work. “Go take a break, Mei. I’ll take over.”

“Alright, Angela!” Mei chirped before joining Junkrat and Roadhog.

The old commander watched the happenings in the cafe, swept his tired gaze around the cafe, before finally staring at the heliotropes sitting before him. Soft purple petals swayed with the breeze while its roots stayed firm in the potted soil.

‘New beginnings, eh?’

He reached out to caress a petal, the velvety sensation somehow calming on him worked up nerves. His other hand reached out to pick up the cup of unfinished green tea by the side and brought it to his lips.

Crack.

He froze at the sound, the miniscule crevices clear beneath his fingertips. Lifting it higher to level with his eyes, he frowned at the crack lining the side of the cup, from the rim down to half the cup’s length, but the liquid stayed inside. For now.

‘That. Is not a good sign.’

#gencyweek #gency week #gw5 day 3 #overwatch fanfic #gency fic #gency au #angst #hurt #junkrat appears!

6 notes · View notes

wolfpawn · 5 years

Text

When Ghosts Come for Us

Chapter 45

NOTE This is based on the movie Crimson Peak, so if any of the subject matter in that was uncomfortable for you, you will find this similar. I will *NOT* be describing incest in this, it will only be implied, same as the movie.

As I have stated already, my laptop is broken at present so please excuse grammar mistakes and the lack of GIFs and pics.

Also, I do not own any image or gif used in this story.

HERE is the link to Chapter 1 on Ao3

Rating - Mature

Charlotte sat with Thomas Jr in her arms close to Lucille’s bed, studying the other woman’s reaction carefully.

For the past two days, Lucille had not been given the same level of medications that she had been given previously and rather than the aggression that seemed the default setting for her, as long as Thomas Jr was there, she seemed all too calm. Thomas thought it worrying and pleaded time and again for Charlotte to keep Thomas Jr away from his sister but with him working on the mines through the day, he could not prevent her from doing so in his absence.

Mrs Phillips was not informed as to the exact reason as to why Thomas and Charlotte were called upon to deal with Dr Thompson a few nights previous, but she was given half a story, that indeed, Lady Charlotte was a relation of Dr Thompson, just not as close a relation as was true and that she had gone to fix a misunderstanding with Ms Joanne, which again, had a lot of credence in reality, meaning that it was an honest enough situation and had enough sincerity in it, as a result, to cause the housekeeper to think no more of it. Everything was indeed, based in truth.

As it stood, the time had come for Thomas and Charlotte to seriously consider dates that would see their family split for a time. The weather was turning and the house was getting cold, even with all of the repairs. The chill that seeped into the house was colder than the year before, Charlotte acknowledged begrudgingly. She did not want to be parted from Thomas, but the harsh reality was, Thomas Jr was at risk if he caught cold in the winter, he may not recover and as much as she loved her husband, she loved her son more than her own life and a few weeks without Thomas Snr would be worth it when their son was able to endure and survive the danger and hardship that was infancy and early childhood. Thomas insisted that the sooner the better to settle herself and Thomas Jr in Foxgrove and that he would follow the day after the mines closed for the winter, which he estimated to be another month or so. That left the very real issue of Lucille. To be away from Allerdale Hall would be dangerous for her. She loathed travelling and around a larger staff, there was the issue that if she were to get loose in any way, everything may become more dangerous on many levels but to leave her unattended in Allerdale for the winter could not work. As a result, it was argued whether she would go with Charlotte and Thomas Jr, though Thomas was not in favour of that for their safety, or if she would remain with him until his departure, which was also an unpopular decision as Charlotte worried that would signal something dangerous also, not that she revealed it to Thomas, but she genuinely worried of perhaps something reoccurring between the siblings and she would lose her husband and in many ways she worried for her and her son’s life from that also. She argued him not having time and the fact a brother should not be as familiar with his sister as that would suggest and with a now busier home would mean others could very easily become suspicious and start talking, something they did not need, for fear of the likes of Mr Brown trying to use such to his advantage. It was decided then that Mrs Phillips would remain in Cumbria and tend to the house while Thomas remained for the mines and through the winter, as she was a married woman with a husband and Margaret would join Charlotte, Lucille and Thomas Jr to Pembrokeshire. She was used to Lucille’s routine and she was a young single woman, hence her leaving was of little consequence if anything, the young maid had never gone further than a few miles from her home and the thought of somewhere so new was exciting for her.

That led to the beginning of the packing. A cart was sent ahead with a few things that would be required, as well as to ready the house for the arrival of the Lady of Foxgrove Park and the heir of it, which would require some forewarning.

The day before she was due to leave, Charlotte was inspected by the midwife again, having been warned two weeks previous that her body was not ready yet for wifely duties once more due to some injuries she obtained, though none knew were they of Thomas’s birth or because of her fleeing, either way, her body needed to heal and Thomas, as much as it irked him, insisted they respect that for her safety and wellbeing. She was also warned that to be feeding her son herself was no guarantee she would not come to carry another should she and her husband decide on partaking in such activities once more and with one last check of Thomas Jr, the midwife deemed them fit to travel, wishing Charlotte a warm winter in Wales, citing it a far better idea for Young Thomas to have him away from the cold, that he was too handsome a babe to be taken by the frosts. Hearing the midwife talk of the casualties of the young through the harsh Cumbria weather, Charlotte’s wish that she did not have to leave her husband's side quelled slightly, knowing that born of the harsh northern weather, Thomas was too formidable to not endure another month, but Thomas Jr, though also born to it, she did not want to risk his well being, so reluctantly, she packed the last of her belongings.

“Ma’am?” She turned to see Margaret behind her in her drawing room. “Doctor Thompson is here to speak with you.”

“Thank you, Margaret, please, send him up.”

“He said that he wishes to speak with you downstairs Ma’am.”

Frowning slightly that her brother would make such a request, Charlotte contemplated what this could possibly mean. “Well then, please tell him to get comfortable in front of the fire nd make him some tea. I will be down presently.”

“Of course.” With a small curtsey that no matter how much Charlotte asked Margaret to cease doing, the young maid seemed adamant to continue, she left Charlotte once more.

Not having seen her brother since the night of the hopefully repairing of his relationship with Ms Joanne Carson, Charlotte was nervous and anxious as to how everything had fared. Margaret and Mrs Phillips did not seem to be any different since then, indicating that the town was more than likely not made aware of the familial link between the Baronet’s wife and the town doctor, though she suspected neither Mrs Davies nor Joanne Carson were gossip mongering women at the best of times, so even if her brother and the butcher’s daughter had not made amends, she dared to think that she had not told the town their secret. She was also worried that Edward had continued his self-destructive path and had continued to drink. That terrified her more than anything else. She knew what happened as a result of excess drinking, the part of the mind that reigned in the darker urges of humanity loosened its grip on such, and with time, more and more frightening things were more likely to occur, though thankfully, she believed there needed to be darkness in a person to create monsters, alcohol seemed only to bring that darkness to the fore,but she feared for her brother, that he was at risk of harming himself if his lament for Joanne was fueled by the horrid drink. Tidying herself slightly, she looked into the bedroom across the way where Thomas Jr was sleeping soundly, an alert Blake by the foot of his cradle. She thought to leave him rest, but the idea of leaving him alone so high in the house without protection worried her. Lucille seemed to want to do him no harm, but to risk that was to risk his very life. She had nightmares more than once of Lucille breaking from her drug-induced stupor and casting her young son from the highest balcony, or drowning him in the vats of clay and all sorts of other cruel, vile and brutal manner of gruesome ends coming to her son as a result of his hateful aunt, so instead, she walked into the room and scooped him from his cradle, causing him to whimper before noticing his mother’s scent and resting once more against her and make for the door. “Blake.” She need not have called the dog for he was already by her side, following his young charge like the loyal creature he was. Charlotte smiled fondly and reminded herself to pack for him also, there was no way that the dog would allow Thomas Jr into a carriage without him.

She used the elevator to go down to the main hall of the house. She always feared the steps with Thomas in her arms. When her husband carried their son down, she trusted him beyond measure, she did not always feel the same of herself, for some reason. When she got to the lobby area, Blake’s ears perked and his nose twitched. Charlotte had barely opened the door of the contraption before he rushed out and to the living area, where Charlotte had instructed Margaret to bring Edward. With an excited yip, she realised that Lily was there also and a moment later, both dogs were playing together, chasing one another around the hallway with excited wagging of their tails.

Glad to see her brother’s dog, Charlotte smiled and walked to where the dogs had just rushed to. She stopped for a moment when she saw not only her brother but Joanne Carson beside him, both smiling and talking happily together as they both rubbed a dog. Charlotte could not contain her relief and joy that all had seemed to be mended between the pair as she walked forward. “Good afternoon to you both.”

Realising they were no longer alone, they turned to see Charlotte behind them. “So you’re leaving then?” Edward’s smile fell at seeing his sister.

“Only for the winter, Thomas is too small for the colds that fill this house, I am not risking his health.”

“And your husband?”

Charlotte watched not only her brother but Joanne’s reaction to the manner in which Edward referenced her husband. It was clear she had not been made aware of the darkness in Thomas’s past, Charlotte dared to wager that even the accepting Joanne would not be able to hide her disgust at that, and with so many innocent people dead as a result of it, Charlotte thought her an honourable enough woman to have informed the constable at the very least. “He will join us after the mines close at the end of next month.”

“Will he?”

“Unless the snows are too deep by then, then yes, he will.”

“And Lady Lucille?”

“She will be coming with Thomas Jr, Margaret and I tomorrow.”

“Charlotte…” Edward’s fear became apparent.

“We will be fine, we have plenty of staff in Foxgrove to assist with her and Margaret is well used to her routine. I dare say Mrs Phillips is looking to a few months to rest after the madness that descended here this year.” She smiled reassuringly, Edward did not look overly convinced. “So, what news from town?” She walked closer to the fire and pulled out what was the makeshift cradle she and Thomas used when they wished to read in the evenings and keep their son by their side safe and warm before sitting across from her brother and his partner.

“Very little, though my father was speaking with the reverend and apparently there is to be a new police station commissioned in the spring.” Though Edward looked unhappy by the whole situation, Joanne decided to act as though it was merely a social visit and speak as such.

“Yes, Thomas was saying such, that is the reason for the late closing of the mines this winter, they asked for the clay from here for the bricks. It is far cheaper than transporting it from afar when there are mines here. According to him, it will be a fine size, at least triple the current station’s size. It will practically be the size of a prison if they do not cease their planning.”

Margaret and Mrs Phillips brought tea and cakes for the trio to drink and eat as they spoke. Edward was relatively quiet for the most part, looking sadly at his sister and looking between the women as they spoke of things of little consequence.

After a time, Thomas Jr woke, though he was still not due a feed and seemed more curious as to the voices in his environs than anything. His mother took him from his cradle and sat him up. At two months, he was able to focus on figures and seemed naturally intrigued by the world around him. His black hair was still as noticeable against his pale skin and his eyes seemed to be even bluer, though children’s eyes all seem to remain blue for a time after they are born.

As soon as Joanne saw him, she cooed. “He is adorable.” She did not seem to even be in control of herself as she rushed over to the seat beside Charlotte and stuck out her finger to stroke the back of Thomas’ hand. Immediately, he gripped it and looked down at his acquisition with curiosity and intrigue, which only caused Joanne to fawn more over him. “He is the cutest little fellow.”

“I think you have reason to worry, Edward.” Charlotte jested playfully.

“I think I will very much always have to worry of Sharpe men with the women I care for.” There was only a slight hint of playfulness in Edward’s tone. “I will be here, first thing, with all the medications you will require for the winter. I was only safely able to acquire enough until February, but Sir Sharpe has made clear you are back then, or he is, from what I gather.”

“We all will be. Mr Brown, the man who practically runs all the deals for this area of England has made clear it has to be started by then, or he will have us sued for breach of contract and goodness knows we do not want to have him after us financially as that would impede all further business for the mines, not to mention the shipping.”

“How is that?” In all her time in Cumbria, Edward worried that his sister would forget that the majority of their income depended on the shipping company she had inherited from William Hamilton.

“It is going well, though sadly, a ship sank on its way to Liverpool recently, and though she had eight thousand pounds of cargo on her, no lives were lost, so I think it to be worth it. If whatever controls the seas thinks that a fair price for those men to come home, I would pay it again.”

“It is a lot of money though, and the cost of the ship.” Her brother pointed out.

“Insurance is a great thing to have.” Charlotte grinned.

“Women are accused of not being very good at business,” Joanne stated. “But I think you to be the exception.” She looked at Charlotte as she spoke.

“I will let you in on something I have come to realise in my time dealing in business, Ms Carson. Men say that women are not of the mind for business, solely because we are of a different mind to them and they cannot figure us out with the same ease as they do other men and that scares them because then they feel they are at a disadvantage. So they have us think we cannot do it and there is no greater lie. Take you father’s business for example, a man’s trade. Do you have a brother?”

“I do not, I am afraid, I have two sisters, but my cousin, your foreman’s son is his apprentice.”

“And is he a good butcher, like your father?”

“He knows how to cut meat but I fear he will never be as good as Father.”

“Who does the accounts for your father’s shop?”

“My mother.”

“And do you assist?”

“I do, as does my older sister Rose, my younger, Mary is not of a mathematical mind, she is a great seamstress though,” Joanne answered swiftly as the answers were true and needed little thinking, but as she thought over her last answer, she paused for a moment at the words resonated in her mind. “Oh.”

Charlotte smiled. “Exactly. You, your sister and your mother are the business minds while your father and cousin are the labourers, yet who does everyone see as the business-minded one?”

“You are giving her a big head,” Edward warned, though he was smiling, seeing the pride his sister had caused his partner to feel in her abilities. He knew of her intelligence and ability but had never been able to make her see it as his sister had. Seeing Charlotte and Joanne take to one another filled him with relief and happiness. Charlotte, for all his anger at her choices, was his only living family left and for all the things he wished he could change, he loved her dearly. To see her accept and embrace Joanne, and for everything that had been thrust on Joanne regarding his heritage and secret siblings, to see her do the same with Charlotte filled him with immense joy. He watched wide-eyed as Joanne took Thomas from his mother for a moment and though the infant as confused, he did not cry at the newcomer holding him. Ignoring the dark hair of the family he loathed that his sister married into, he focused on Joanne holding an infant and in his mind, he thought of her perhaps holding one of their own someday, a thought that filled him with immeasurable joy and excitement.

All too soon, it came time to say goodbye. For the majority of their time there, Joanne held Thomas, adoring the infant who contently lay there, taking in his surrounds. When they stood to leave, Edward pulled his sister to him in a tight embrace. “I am relieved you are getting out of here but I hate knowing I will not see you.”

“Write to me, promise and I shall do the same.” Charlotte held him to her. “And allow your happiness, Edward. Embrace it.” Edward nodded in reply. Then she turned to Joanne. “I fear I shall have to take my son back.”

“I do not want to give him.” She smiled but relinquished him to his mother. “He will be far bigger when we see him again.”

“Yes, and able to sit up and babble for himself.” Charlotte looked adoringly at her son. “If there is anything you would like from Wales, have Edward inform me and I will be all too happy to assist, not just for yourself, but your family in general.”

“You do not have to.”

“Please, it is no bother. Edward is one of the most important people in the world to me and you are so incredibly important to him, ergo, I feel that you are such to me also.” She insisted.

Edward and Joanne made it to the front door before it opened and Thomas entered. “Good afternoon.” He tilted his head forward slightly as he spoke. “Forgive me, I was not aware there was anyone here, had I known I would not have been so rude as to not given my greetings earlier.”

“We merely came to say goodbye to Charlotte for the winter.” Edward’s tone was as clipped as it usually was with Thomas. “Now we had best be leaving, Joanne.” He urged her to the door.

Knowing from her asking Edward why he disliked Sir Thomas Sharpe and merely getting an ‘It’s complicated’ as a reply, Joanne knew better than to argue. With a polite curtsey, she said the quickest goodbye to Thomas, who responded with a bowed head and walked to the trap that both Charlotte and Thomas noted was to the side of the house, away from where Thomas tended to work, as though intentionally trying to hide from him. They watched as the trap left and made its way to the gates.

“Is everything alright?” Thomas dared to ask when they returned inside, looking around with a frown for a moment. “Did you leave Thomas alone upstairs?”

“No, he is by the fire.” Charlotte walked back to where she had been with Edward and Joanne, Margaret was there, tidying the delph from their tea. “He is due a feed.” She looked at her husband as she straightened up from lifting Thomas to see him looking at the stairwell. “Thomas?”

“Yes?” He looked around at her, looking baffled before noting their son in her arms. “Oh good, I do not think it wise to have him alone up there.”

“He was not...are you alright? You seem somewhat confused and worried.”

Thomas swallowed then chuckled at her words. “I am nothing of the sort, my dear. Simply tired. I am trying to have the order for the police station readied so we can enjoy the winter away from here.”

Charlotte analysed her husband for a moment. “I dare say you would give most anything to be away from here for a time.”

“If I could leave it, I would but it is where the mines are,” Thomas revealed. “This house is not a happy place, I do not believe it ever was. I am relieved that you and Thomas are leaving tomorrow. You are both of a disposition that this house does not have and I dread the idea of either or both of you being affected by it.”

Tags: @texmexdarling @ilovekingt @sigridlaufeyson @lokiloveheart @lokilover9 @wolfsmom1 @whovianwookie86-captainxev @perpetual-fangirl

#thomas sharpe #lucille sharpe #when ghosts come for us #chapter 45 #crimson peak story #crimson peak

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theliterateape · 3 years

Text

The First Call

By Wayne Lerner

THE QUIET ENVELOPED HIS MIND AND CALMED HIS BODY. Early morning time in the office was his favorite. No appointments on his calendar. No interruptions from unwanted visitors, no commotion in the hallways, no complaints from the medical staff, at least not yet. Just the opportunity to think and enjoy his first cup of coffee.

David cradled the steaming coffee like it was his only source of heat on a cold and snowy day. The bitter french roast, infused with high levels of caffeine, awakened his groggy mind. His favorite mug, a gift from his daughter, held his magic potion. Without the coffee, he found it impossible to jumpstart the day.

The motto on the mug reminded him how to approach the challenges which confronted him each day. Everything will be fucking okay, it said.

No way. This job’s killing me. How will everything be okay? I’m supposed to be in charge. Bullshit! Most days, I feel like a puppet whose strings are being pulled by everyone here.

He slammed his palm against his desk. The stinging pain brought him back to reality.

Oh, stop feeling sorry for yourself. Be a big boy.

This is what you asked for, so deal with it.

David looked at his calendar and cringed, then smiled. 6:30 dinner meeting with the employee advisory committee to discuss how to make the organization more patient friendly. That would be the only event he would enjoy that day.

Of course, there are assholes but there are good people too. They’re the ones who need your guidance and leadership. If you’re so fed up with the situation, then leave. Walk away. Find another place that suits you better

He opened his desk drawer and looked at his pay stub.

Can’t, huh? The golden handcuffs got you, don’t they?

And the rep of the place gives you creds others would just dream of.

With the good comes bad shit. It’s right there in the job description. Remember that. Have balls, would you?

The ringing of the phone reverberated throughout the office. You can tell who’s calling by the ring, whether it’s a good call or one which foretells disaster. The phone knows. Its voice sends you a message, You have to be smart enough, open enough, to understand its language.

When his Mother died, the ring was soft and sorrowful. When his wife called to tell him the results of her pregnancy test, after so many tries, the ring was loud and exuberant. When the ring hesitates and then continues, like a heart which skips a beat, it’s someone you don’t know, a wrong number or a salesman.

Today, the ring was jarring. The sound bounced off the walls of his office. It was an ominous ring. He knew there was bad news coming. Not just bad news, catastrophic news. The phone’s voice entered his body, pounding his head and hurting his ears.

His eyes locked on the caller ID and recognized the name. Linda was the chief legal officer, a holdover from the previous administration. Linda made it known to everyone that she didn't like him. Her pipeline to the Board Chair was a well-known fact. His quietude was over. And maybe, with it, this time, his career.

“Good morning, Linda,” he said in the cheeriest voice he could manufacture. “What can I do for you this glorious morning?”

This isn’t a social call. She never calls unless there is something wrong. And, with Linda, there's always something wrong.

“You got a call from the Feds! This morning? What did they want?”

He could see her face as he spoke. She was a dour woman who loved to zing him any time she could. If she was ever happy, he never saw it. Since she only saw the darkside of life, he knew this call meant something horrible was about to happen.

“They said they received an EEO claim against one of our senior officers? Which one?” “No, it can’t be true. We’re already investigating him for how he spent the funds in his budget.”

We’re just about ready to hammer that bastard with the evidence Linda and the forensic accounting firm compiled.

“Copies of the claim have been sent to the Board Chair as well! OMG! I don’t have enough trouble with him. Now this shit is happening!”

“I’m sorry. I'm not shouting at you. It is not your doing.”

“What do you mean it's mine? Gary was a holdover from the prior administration.” Just like you, you witch!

“And the Board likes him or at least they did.”

“What? There’s more?’

“The claim’s for sexual harassment? And the victim’s a person of color!”

Jesus Christ! It’s not even 8:30 yet. The shit keeps piling up.

“What do you mean, man up. You don’t need to tell me that there are no good days for a CEO, just acceptable ones.”

Linda reminds me almost everyday. If there's crap on the floor, it's mine, so pick it up.

His heart and breathing began to race as he felt himself losing control. He tried to slow everything down by practicing yoga breathing but nothing seemed to work.

The end of the line’s in sight. Now, my alleged supporters will rejoice!

David’s predecessor had been given a seat on the Board when he was cajoled into retirement. He wasn't thrilled with David and neither was the Board Chair. They wanted someone with a different background but David was the choice of the search committee.

“Linda, I have to go. The Chair is on the other line.”

“I’ll loop back with you when we’re done. Then, you and I can plot a strategy to deal with the EEO suit.”

“Yes, there will be fallout from the financial investigation. It’s not going to be easy but I’m sure we can find a way to minimize the damage.”

He heard Linda chuckle under her breath as she hung up

David’s shoulder and neck tensed as he picked up the phone. He knew this was going to be yet another miserable call.

“Good morning, Sam. How’s your merger negotiations going? The reports in the papers have been quite positive.”

“Yes, I know all about the call from the Feds and the letter we received on the investigation. I guess Linda must have called you, huh?”

That bitch! She has made it her life’s work to fuck me over.

“She and I will be meeting with our outside counsel in an hour. I’m confident we can settle the issues with little public fallout.”

“You heard about it this morning on the train?” David paused. “If I may ask, from whom?” “No way. I can’t believe there’s such a gigantic leak in the organization.”

“How do you think he heard about it?’

“His brother works for the government?”

So much for confidentiality.

“Yes, I’ll call you just as soon as Linda and I are done with our meeting.”

“Yes, I know this is embarrassing for you and the organization.”

“Yes, I know we are getting ready to go out with a big fund raising drive.” Christ! Being interrogated yet again.

“Yes, I know this will make the ask much harder.”

“We’ll have to control the message to remind them of all the good we do here.” “No, I’m not minimizing the impact bad PR can have. We’ll fix this, I assure you.” “Sam, Our biggest admitter’s on the other line, I’ll call you later. OK? Thanks.” “Hi, George. What’s going on in the Ortho world these days?”

“What do you mean you're leaving the hospital?”

You can’t leave, you asshole.

You're the chair of the department and just signed a new contract.

“We didn’t breach our agreement. We gave you everything you wanted and more! We’re building a separate building for you and have doubled the number of staff you can recruit.”

“We did not permanently reallocate your operating room time to general surgery.”

“There was no one on your room schedule at the time that a series of emergency cases hit the ER. We both know they take priority. That’s why we gave the surgeons permission to use the operating rooms, just this one time.”

“Yes, I know we should have called you first but this was an emergency. I thought you wouldn’t have an issue helping out a fellow surgeon and his patients.”

We can’t allow the ORs to lie fallow until you need them, you slime ball. You know that. You’re making a stand anyway. I wonder what you really want.

“This is what you mean when you say we breached your contract?”

“Sure, have your lawyer call me and I’ll connect him with Linda.”

“Don’t do anything rash, George. This misunderstanding is not one to take an action all of us will regret. It will be fixed.”

David slammed the phone down and tried to gain his composure. His administrative assistant came in at the sound of the noise.

“Jean, would you please cancel my next few meetings? I have a slew of problems to resolve and don’t know how long this will take.”

“Yes, get Linda on the phone. I need to start with her.”

“I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“Gail from Spencer Stuart called when I was on with George? Do you know what she wanted?”

Gail calls me when she needs a reference on someone or to jump the line to get in to see a doctor.

“Oh, she wanted to talk with me, said it was personal. I hope she’s ok. I’ll call her back before I deal with Linda.”

“Gail? It’s David. Yes, I’m doing fine. What can I do for you?”

“Can you repeat that?”

“Where’s the job opportunity? Can you tell me what I’ll be walking into?”

Neither you nor I knew the real lay of the land when you recruited me here. The Search Committee and the Board were not truthful with either of us, it turned out.

“Yes, you can’t manage an organization when your revered predecessor is looking over your shoulder and reporting every action you take to the Board Chair.”

I don’t want to jump from one fire to another. I need to make sure I understand the real culture of the organization, not the PR version.

“This place thrives on internecine warfare, Gail. You don’t know who is going to stab you first.” “Sure, I’ll meet with you. Tomorrow will be fine. Your office? 10am? I’ll be there.”

It's only 9:15 and I’m exhausted. Well, let’s get on with this circus and see if we can save it from itself.

“Jean, please get Linda on the phone and tie in our outside lawyers. Thanks.”

He reached for his mug but the coffee had gone cold. He rose to get himself a refill when the phone rang. Jean was on the other line so he reached to pick up the phone.

This time, the sound was quiet and smooth. Its voice entered his soul like Barber’s Adagio for Strings does every time he hears it. His heart rate slowed down and he began to take deep, cleansing breaths.

David picked up the phone.

“Yes, I’m the CEO. What can I do for you?”

The mug was right.

#Fiction

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