#he managed to pull through - had to get some stents | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

openheart12 · 3 years

Text

Heal

A/N: Set during The Conjuring 3. Also contains dialogue from the movie.

Summary: Lorraine is by Ed’s side throughout his entire time at the hospital.

WC: 2,830

It had been hours since Ed had been taken to the hospital after the exorcism at the Glatzels where he had been gasping for air on the floor, his pulse weak and barely there.

The waiting was torturous for Lorraine, concern and fear had taken over her entire body. She barely acknowledged Judy when she arrived, not even knowing she had been called. She assumed it was Father Gordon who made the call, but she was grateful. Her daughter was the only other person who could comfort her besides Ed.

The three of them sat on one of the hospital benches, it was cold and hard and left Lorraine’s back aching. She was trying to be strong, for herself, for Judy, for her husband. Almost thirty years of history was replaying in her head. She both welcomed and hated the memories.

They reminded her of what she had and what she might be losing.

She unconsciously played with the rosary wrapped around her hand as she prayed for Ed’s health and safety. She’d plead with the devil himself if that’s what it took.

“Mrs. Warren,” the doctor called as Lorraine shot to her feet. “He’s stabilized. We’re gonna transfer him to the coronary unit.”

“So, it was a heart attack?” Father Gordon asked the dreaded question.

“Yes,” the doctor confirmed. “And not a minor one, I’m afraid.” Lorraine’s shoulders visibly sagged. Oh what she wouldn’t give to trade places with him right now.

“Can we see him now?” Judy asked.

“Not yet. We’re gonna put a stent into his artery, try to get blood flowing back to his heart.”

Lorraine had been quiet, taking in the information about her husband intently, trying to hold her tears at bay. Exhaling, she tried to steady her voice before asking, “so, is he gonna be alright?”

“We’re gonna need to run a few more tests before I’m comfortable answering that. I’m sorry,” the doctor said before leaving.

Lorraine turned to Judy who had tears in her eyes and pulled her in for a hug, taking comfort in her.

“It’s okay, mom,” she whispered, hoping that it would be. Judy knew this would absolutely destroy her mother, if he wasn’t okay, especially since she was there when it had happened and would no doubt blame herself.

Lorraine held onto her tightly as tears silently streamed down her face until she abruptly pulled back, wiping her cheeks with her sleeve.

“I need… I have… I’ll be right back,” she stammered, running off to the nearest bathroom she could find, emptying the contents of her stomach in the toilet.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. He was alive. He was breathing and she couldn’t ask for much more, but seeing him laying on that floor, it replayed through her head. If she had gotten to him sooner maybe there was something she could’ve done. The what ifs were just as bad as the memories haunting her.

She splashed some water on her face, begging her mind to just stop. Stop thinking, stop churning. She headed back out to the waiting area where she found Judy waiting for her who told her that Father Gordon had to leave but he would be back to check on him. She took a seat beside her daughter who laid her head on her shoulder and Lorraine grabbed her hand, squeezing it in support.

When they were finally able to go back to Ed’s room, her breath hitched upon seeing him lying there in the hospital bed, different tubes and wires connected to him. The color had returned to his face, but he still looked weak.

She stood in the doorway, taking in the sight of him for a few minutes. She was afraid to get close to him at first, in fear that this was some cruel dream and when she’d wake up, he wouldn’t be there anymore. Tentatively, she made her way towards him and placed a kiss to his forehead as she grabbed his hand, rubbing small circles on his skin. She sat down in the chair beside the bed and just watched the rhythmic fall and rise of his chest.

Judy watched her mom, noting how tense and afraid she looked. Ever since she was a little girl, she always watched her parents. She saw the love and adoration they had for each other and the different ways they showed it. She grew up in a house full of love, she was always surrounded by love; the love her parents had for her and each other. She couldn’t remember a time where they even so much as argued, at least not in front of her, and it made her want a relationship just like theirs.

It was remarkable really, the amount of love and happiness that was in the Warren household considering what her parents did as a living, where they were constantly surrounded by horrible things, but they always managed to keep it out of their lives at home.

And right now, it had never been more clear to see the love her mom had for her dad and it was evident in her actions since he had been admitted. But Judy could see the toll it was taking on her, she was exhausted and the bags under her eyes were already beginning to worsen.

“I’m going to get some coffee, do you want some?” She asked softly.

“No, I’m good, thank you,” Lorraine smiled half-heartedly.

After Judy left, Lorraine turned her attention back to her husband. Her eyes began to grow heavy and she decided to close them for a few minutes, resting her head on the bottom half of his legs as sleep overtook her exhausted body.

Judy came back to the room to find Lorraine fast asleep and decided to head to the house to pick up a few things, asking the nurses to call if anything happened while she was gone before leaving.

An hour passed when Lorraine was woken up by a knock on the door and she turned to see Father Gordon walk into the room.

“It was nice seeing Judy again. Will she be staying long?”

“I don’t know, um, it depends if…” she trailed off, looking at Ed.

“The nurse says that you have been sleeping in that chair. Ed would understand if you went home for a little while.”

“Did I ever tell you the story of how we met?” She asked, changing the topic away from her.

“No, I don’t think so. Just that you were young. In high school, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” she said smiling, “we were seventeen. I went out with my girlfriends and he was an usher at the movie theater that we went to. Afterwards, we went out for ice cream. He took me out to the park, but then it started to rain. And we stood under the gazebo until it stopped. That was thirty years ago. I could go back to the house, Father, but my home is here with him.”

Father extended her stay to about thirty more minutes, making light conversation with Lorraine as she talked about memories that were so near and dear to her heart and her spirits were raised a little bit. But when he left and she was alone with Ed again, her mind started to spin again. She was grateful for the time she had to herself, just being in his presence brought about a peace within her storming head.

Judy made her return a few minutes later, she had gone by the house earlier to pick up some clothes for both Ed and Lorraine and some toiletries they might need with his stay in the hospital, however long it was going to be.

The two of them sat in silence while each holding one of his hands, Lorraine didn’t even remember falling asleep until she heard her name being called multiple times.

“Lorraine. Lorraine. Lorraine,” she heard someone calling her voice weakly, waking her from her slumber.

“Daddy!” Judy called out, jolting Lorraine from her seat as Judy pressed the button to alert the hospital staff.

“Oh, Ed, thank God.” She cupped his face in her hands, stroking his cheek gently.

“Lorraine,” he tried again, “you have to call the Glatzels.”

“She just called, you’re fine-”

“The Glatzels. We have to warn them, it’s got the kid.”

“No, it’s fine, it’s over. David is safe, the demon is gone.”

“Arne. It’s got Arne!” He said as her eyes widened in realization.

Lorraine went to the first phone she could find, dialing the local police. “This is Officer Thomas,” someone answered. “My name is Lorraine Warren. I know how this is going to sound, but there’s going to be a tragedy at the Brookfield Boarding Kennels.”

All they could do now was wait. Ed was in no position to handle this case right now and Lorraine wasn’t going to leave his side when he needed her the most.

When she walked back into his room, the doctor was in there checking him out and going over some medications he wanted Ed to take, starting with nitroglycerin, a type of vasodilator to help with increasing the blood and oxygen supply to his heart. The doctor left after saying he would send the prescription to be filled and they could pick it up in a couple hours.

“How are you feeling, hon?” She asked, moving to sit on the edge of his bed.

“Tired,” he replied as he yawned. “What did the police say?”

“They’re going to send a car over there to check it out.”

“That’s not sufficient,” he argued.

“It’s out of our hands now, Ed. You need to rest.” He took a few deep, calming breaths before letting out another yawn. She leaned over and planted a kiss on his forehead before starting to stand up when he reached out and grabbed her hand, stilling her movement. She raised her brow, asking a silent question.

“There’s enough room for both of us,” he said slyly, moving over to make room for her as he patted the now vacant space next to him.

“Ed,” she laughed, “I am not sleeping with you.”

“Please,” he insisted, tugging her arm so that she was closer. “I don’t bite… unless you’re into that.”

“Ed!” She laughed, swatting his arm playfully.

“Come on, I’m tired and I can’t sleep without you. Remember our ‘never sleeping apart’ promise?”

“You’re impossible,” she said, rolling her eyes playfully before relenting and climbing into the bed next to him. He wrapped one arm behind her back, resting on her waist as his other rested on his chest. She nuzzled into his side, placing one hand across his chest over his heart so she could feel his heartbeat.

“Love you,” he whispered, kissing her temple before drifting off to sleep.

“I love you,” she whispered back, relishing in the feel of his arms around her, something she feared wouldn’t be possible again.

She was awoken an hour later by the nurse who said she had a phone call. She carefully slid out of Ed’s embrace, trying not to wake him and made her way to the nurses station where she picked up the phone, “hello?” She answered.

“Lorraine, it’s Father Newman. Arne is being brought to the prison, he killed someone and I need you and Ed here as soon as possible.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible, Father. Ed had a heart attack and he’s in the hospital. The doctor said he needs to take it easy so we might have to take a step back from this case,” Lorraine explained, feeling guilty.

“I understand, but maybe even if you could just come and talk to Arne, see if he was possessed or not would be extremely helpful.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” she said before hanging up the phone with a sigh. She wanted to help Arne, but with Ed’s health, she didn’t think it would be possible. She headed back to his room where she found him awake and seemingly waiting for her.

“Where’d you go?” He asked.

“Father Newman called, he said that Arne murdered someone and they need to find out if he was possessed when he did it, but I told him we might have to stop working on the case until you’re better.”

“We can’t do that, Lorraine. It’ll be too late by then.”

“Then it’ll be too late. You’re in no position to be working on a case right now anyways. The doctor said you need to rest and you don’t need to put any extra stress on your body which is exactly what taking on this case would be doing.”

“But-”

She cut him off, “no, Ed. I’ll go to the prison in a little while to check on him myself, but I’m not risking your health.”

“Lorraine, he needs our help,” he said, slightly raising his voice.

“No.”

“We promised to help the family and we don’t break promises,” he tried reasoning with her.

“No.” She said, her answer remaining the same.

“Dammit, Lorraine, will you stop being selfish for a minute and think of what this poor boy is going through,” he said harshly, instantly regretting the words as soon as they left his mouth. He didn’t mean them, he was angry and frustrated at the situation at hand, but he didn’t mean to take it out on her.

“You could’ve died!” She shouted, her voice breaking. She turned her back to him, wrapping her arms around herself as tears slid down her cheeks at a rapid pace. She had never cried so much in one day before and she hated it.

He had no doubt she had sat by his side the entire time he was in the hospital, she was there as soon as he woke up and guilt was already eating away at him. He could only imagine how scared she must’ve been, he remembered seeing the fear in her eyes as he laid on the ground earlier and she was probably exhausted, much like he was already.

“I’m sorry, hon, I didn’t mean that,” he apologized. “Lorraine… look at me, please. I’m sorry,” he repeated, making an effort to get out of the bed to go to her.

“Do-don’t get out of bed,” her trembling voice said. She sniffed a few times, cleared her throat and turned around towards him and the sight that met him made a lump rise in his throat. Her eyes were red and swollen with tear stains across her cheeks and her hair was coming out of the bun it had been in.

She looked like she’d been to hell and back and he assumed that’s how she felt. He knew that’s how she felt and then he had to go and call her selfish after not doing anything to him. He felt like a complete asshole.

“I-I’m sorry,” he repeated as his own tears filled his eyes. “I didn’t mean it,” he promised.

“I’m just worried about you,” she said quietly.

“I know, sweetheart and I’m sorry for what I said.” He held out his shaking hand to her which she took and he pulled her close so she was standing next to the bed. She sat on the edge of the bed, looking into his eyes and she could see the remorse and it made her heart ache for him. She knew he didn’t mean it.

“We’ll help him,” she said eventually.

“No, we don’t ha-”

“No, Ed, you were right. We made a promise and we don’t break them. But I’m not willing to let you put your health at risk either so you have to take it as easy as possible and you have to take the pills the doctor gave you.”

“I will, I promise.”

“You will be staying here for the night though, no debating.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said with a small smile. He’d do anything for her and this was the least he could do after what he said. “I won’t even complain about the hospital food,” he said laughing.

“It’s not much better than when you cook at home,” she teased lightly.

“You’re gonna give me another heart attack,” he said, feigning hurt as he placed his hand across his chest.

Laughing, she laid down next to him. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“Trust me, I know. I love you so much,” he said, turning to lay on his side as he placed his arm across her abdomen, pulling her closer by her waist. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he added.

“You’d probably starve to death,” she smiled against his neck, trying to conceal her laugh.

“Very funny,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“It’s a good thing we won’t have to find out.”

“Indeed,” he agreed with a smile as they both laid in the bed, content with each other’s company and soaking in their time together.

#the conjuring #lorraine warren #ed warren #lorraine x ed warren #the conjuring fanfic #the conjuring universe #the conjuring 3 #ed and lorraine warren #the warrens

45 notes · View notes

littlemisso · 3 years

Text

A slightly longer than planned synopis of what I think might happen next in Holby

The shadowy figure who helped Cameron with his plan and has since vanished without explanation – that’s Charlotte. She’s waiting in the Hospital car park to drive Cam away and complete his escape. She sees him leaving and drives forward to collect him, when she suddenly spots her Mum, who she believed was dead, standing by a car, She loses concentration and hits Cam with the ambulance. She stands white faced with shock as Bernie switches into Trauma surgeon mode and stabilises Cam with Henrik’s help. When Bernie tells a still unconscious Cam that she’s back for good and it will all be fine, they’ll work it out she is wrenched out of her shock and says “no it won’t” there’s a bomb. Bernie hugs her now sobbing daughter, but manages to get out of her that she made the bomb and knows how to defuse it. Bernie looks pleadingly at Henrik as if to say “look after my son” and he nods once in agreement. Bernie and Charlotte go off together to defuse the bomb – which they do. Cam survives.

It turns out that Bernie was thrown clear of the Sudan bomb and taken by some kindly local back to their village to be cared for as she recovered. She had struck her head and ever since had had amnesia. Elliot Hope, working for a charity, visited the village and recognised Bernie Wolfe and tells her who she is. It’s too much for Bernie and she tells him to keep it quiet. Concerned about her lack of recovery Eliot persuades Bernie to go to the large hospital in the town he’s based in and have a CT scan and MRI. She has a brain tumour (like irresistibility and resurrection it appear that too runs in the family). Meds keep her stable and her memory returns, but she refuses to go back to Holby or let anyone know she is alive, until she has a cure. She won’t let her kids, or Serena suffer any more – she won’t go back to die. They’ve buried her once. She won’t make them do it again.

She and Elliot work on a stent to cure her. They are almost ready to take it to trial, but they can’t do it in the Sudan, so Elliot reaches out to Jac to ask for help, not knowing that she too has the same kind of tumour. She gives the data to Eli and pushes the trial ahead as her own project.

By the time the news about Cam and what he had been doing at Holby filtered back to Bernie he was already in prison. Knowing that her son needs her she flies back as soon as she can, but by the time she makes it Cam is attempting to escape and blowing up Holby. She knew to go straight to the hospital because she called Henrik as soon as she landed in the UK. He didn’t really react because in Holby land long dead colleagues making a sudden return is not that far out of the sphere of possibility. When Bernie pulls up at Holby, all the memories come flooding back and she impulsively texted Serena a declaration of love.

Cam is withdrawn from the stent trial and sent to a secure unit to receive the psych care he needs. Bernie takes his place on the trial. She manages that by threatening to expose the theft of the work she and Elliot had done. Henrik and Jac agree, but Eli refuses to be part of it and walks out, leaving Jac to operate on Bernie alone. Jac starts the procedure well, but her vision starts to blur halfway through. Donna pages Max to take over and she tries her best, but one of the arteries in Bernie's brain is damaged and it needs a skilled vascular surgeon to deal with it. It’s at this moment that Henrik arrives at the theatre with Serena at his side. With a threat of “I’ll deal with you not telling me she was alive later” Serena steps in and saves Bernie’s life (because in Holby you can only have surgery if you are closely related to the surgeon), The op is a success, the stent it rolled out and saves many lives (including Jac’s). After a touch and go recovery Serena and Bernie go back to Serena’s barn in Cornwall and live happily every after away from Holby and no one the love or care about ever has a serious illness or dramatic accident or needs saving medically ever again.

#Berena #Bernie Wolfe #holby #my fic #sort of

14 notes · View notes

hypnoticwinter · 4 years

Text

Down the Rabbit Hole part 20

May 10, 1984.

I have been down in the Pit for about two weeks now and I feel as though I am at my wit’s end. Not only have some of these passages collapsed in on themselves but it seems as though this map, which the people at the Natural Resources office assured me was the most up-to-date map of the area they had, is horribly wrong. I keep returning to the same landmarks I have seen a dozen times now, taking passages that the map says ought to lead to the areas I am trying to reach, but I end up right back at the same spot again.

There are none of the call boxes down here; I am very far off the trail. I have the radio phone that they gave me at the office but I have not tried to use it yet. Even if I did call for help, I doubt that any of the rangers would be able to find their way to me. I have heard stories that even the people who live and work down here get lost more often than not. They don’t like to tell these stories but after having worked with them for so long, you overhear things.

I am fine on food for now, and if worse comes to worst I can always cook up small hunks of the walls and floors. I know it is frowned upon but I would rather not starve when there is a wealth of food all around me.

If I don’t return with at least a sample I will be in deep water. I am already on thin ice as it is, so to speak; when I returned from my last expedition the administrator told me that whatever I had done to the copepods had stirred them up something fierce, and that they had already taken three rangers that week. I pretended ignorance but inwardly I was terrified; if he had found out what I knew…

Sometimes I think I may be being followed, but I have seen no evidence of it. It is just a feeling. I do my best to laugh it off.

After all, who would be crazy enough to follow me down here?

May 12, 1984.

Made it to the Village but the bridge is out. Spectacular view, a vast churning ocean of acid and various fluids surging out of the orifices above and pounding down the long gullet-like drop below. The Village is taunting me from the other side.

The metal of the bridge looks befouled somehow. I’m not sure, I have not seen anything like this before. Not rust or corrosion but like the inch-thick metal has been crumpled or wrinkled like the wrapper of a candy bar. The majority of the bridge is simply missing, having probably fallen down into the abyss below. I spent an hour cursing my luck. I will have to turn back.

May 13, 1984.

Took a triocanth today. Like Rainier said, the meat of its abdomen was savoury, not unlike lobster, but with a faint and offputting aftertaste that became gradually fouler the more I ate. I had to discard the majority of it. I did not need to eat it, I still have some food left, but I wanted to see how bad it would be when I ran out.

Later in the day I began the ascent back up. I am not entirely empty-handed; I managed to retrieve some of the smaller ‘pearls’ from Oyster’s Shame. Of course they are not pearls at all, more like gallstones, but they are valuable. If you can preserve them they make a perfectly fireproof and perfectly flexible material, and I have heard that ground into a paste they can be used as components in electronics, although I haven’t the faintest idea how exactly that works. I doubt the pearls will be enough, though. If only I could have gotten to the village! I am still cursing my bad luck from the day before. I spent all evening trying to find some way to get across but there were none. It all depended on the bridge and I had not even thought that it might have been destroyed.

At least the rangers will be glad to know of it; from what I hear they venture down here only rarely.

Still feel as though I am being followed.

May 16, 1984.

I am being followed. I’ve seen the man following me, I caught him in the shadow of an ancient, halfway-drained gizzard when I happened to turn around. He was huge, twice as big as I am, and when I called out and shone my light on him he burst apart into a thousand worms or snakes or leeches and they all fled.

I would have thought that my eyes were playing tricks on me or that my mind was beginning to go but when I made my way back to the spot where the man had stood I found a leech there caught under a fold of flesh that had fallen over on top of it when it had tried to flee. It was nearly the size of my arm, but deflated and wrinkled, with a mouth full of flanged teeth. I hacked it into five pieces but some reflex still allowed it to bite me, albeit shallowly, when I picked it up.

I thought I had found the way back up but when I checked the map the passage I was in was not there at all. After about five hundred feet of treacherous twists and turns the stents ran out and the passage compressed down to nothing and I had to make my way back. I made a bright fire tonight and did not sleep much.

May 17, 1984.

I woke at three A.M. to vomit. Pounding headache. Do not feel well. Have rations gone bad?

May 17, 1984.

Not the rations. The bite is swollen and infected. I tried to climb further today but was too weak to. My arm feels like it will fall off. Something in the saliva. Why did I pick it up?

May 17, 1984.

Saw it again today. It is massive. Came to the edge of my camp and stared at me while I pointed at it with my knife and shouted imprecations. I was delirious.

It is somewhat like a starfish, in that it forms itself into a five-pointed shape, but it goes upright on two of the ‘legs’ while two others hang by its side and the other stands straight up towards the ceiling. It seems to be composed of thousands of leeches but why they band together in this manner I do not know. It did nothing to me and eventually vanished, but I passed out from the strain soon afterwards and when I came to a few hours later I was not sure if I had really seen it.

Still feel awful, but not as bad as yesterday. Think I may pull through. I will still have to find some way out of here, but I got here somehow, therefore there must be a way out. I wasn’t able to make it to the village but maybe Rainier and Duke LaVerne will understand.

I think this will be my last time coming down here. One way or another.

I look up at Elena. “That’s the last one?” I ask her, and she nods.

“That’s all they found at Tim Beaufort’s campsite down there in the Gut. There might have been more but they weren’t able to find it. Or him.”

“So that’s where the story of the Leechman comes from, then?”

“Initially,” she yawns. I close out my wrist screen like she taught me to do and then lean back, glare around the interior of Oyster’s Shame like I’m expecting the Leechman to be standing there in the corner like Mike Myers staring at Laurie Strode or something. “There’ve been other sightings through the years but nothing really concrete. Not that Beaufort’s story is very concrete either, but it was spooky. I’ve always thought it was just the Pit’s version of Bigfoot, just something you scare rookies with.”

I glance over at her. Back inside the station someone bangs into something and curses. Fumi is messing with the stove again but the mood isn’t nearly as jovial as it was before.

The Sergeant’s been trying to get on the radio with Makado for the past couple of hours but there’s some kind of interference. Elena thinks it’s from the nerve clusters surrounding this place; evidently it’s packed full and sometimes when the Pit…thinks too hard? Or something similar, some sort of equivalent, it blanks out every connection from here to the Village.

Whatever the Village is. I asked Elena but she started a couple of times and then just shook her head. “You’d have to see it to believe it,” she told me, and no matter how much I pestered her she wouldn’t budge, just giving me a secretive little smile and telling me to buzz off and then tickling me when I’d persist.

“Why’re we all dead, Elena?” I ask, after enough silence has passed. The field heating pouch is working on my MRE so I don’t have anything to do at present besides chew on a fairly grainy shelf-stable cracker and watch her eat her goulash. She looks up at me alarmed and gives me a concerned Tim Allen-esque grunt and I can’t help it, I burst out laughing. Everyone looks round at us and I let it fade fast, try not to blush, but then I’m blushing and I feel awful. “I mean,” I say in a low whisper, once everyone’s returned to their meals, “you know how earlier you said that we were all dead? After I showed everybody the video I took? What did you mean?”

“Oh,” Elena waves, taking another bite. “Yeah, that’s just like, part of the myth. Supposedly if the Leechman catches sight of you or gets your scent or however the hell it works, that’s it, it’s going to hunt you down no matter what. No way of stopping it, no nothing. Like Jason from Friday the 13th.”

“Spooky.”

“So yeah,” Elena smiles, wiggling her fingers at me, warbling her voice. “You’re next, Roan!”

“I take it you don’t think that was a Leechman on the video, then.”

“The Leechman. There’s only one, supposedly.”

“The Leechman, then.”

“I don’t know what it was,” she says, stabbing at her pouch of food. I’ve just taken mine out of the bag and nearly burned my fingers it was so hot. “It might have been the Leechman, sure. But I think if there was something like that down here, there’d have been footage of it before today.”

“There’s not?”

“There is one grainy photograph, that’s it.”

I think about that for a while, roll it around in my head like a particularly distasteful morsel of food that I know I have to eat.

Well, Roan, break it down. What if it’s true? What if there really is a giant monster made out of leeches stomping around out there and it’s going to come for you and that’s that, nothing to be done about it?

I almost, almost shove it out of my mind and forget about it, don’t even bother to entertain the notion, but I catch myself, force myself to feel that heady quake of fear that I feel rising up my throat like a hot flash when I realize that I don’t want to die, that for all of my bluster and bravado, for all of my playacting by taking up chain-smoking and coming down to Gumption on a damn-fool errand, I don’t want to die.

It’s a new feeling and not one I enjoy. It makes me feel weak. When I felt like I was hollow I think I also felt stronger.

“There something wrong with your MRE?” Elena asks, and I frown, look over at her.

“What?”

“You were just giving it a very strange face,” she says, gesturing with her fork.

“Oh,” I roll my eyes. “It’s nothing.”

“You sure?” she asks. “You’re acting –“

I reach over and squeeze her knee gently. “Don’t you worry about me, alright?”

“I’ve been doing nothing but,” she says, and I smile at her and start to say something else, when the Sergeant comes walking out of the station behind us and gestures at me.

“Merriweather,” he says, in a surprisingly calm tone of voice, “I’ve got Miss Veret on the line finally, she wants to speak with you.”

“With me?” I blurt, while Elena studiously avoids my gaze. I haven’t really prodded at it but I don’t want to push my luck with her concession about not rocking the boat until the mission’s over. She’s still quietly furious at both Peter and Makado; I’ve caught her staring at Peter several times, something close to hate in her eyes. Well, maybe that’s being melodramatic. She blames him, though, I’m certain of it, and I – well, I don’t blame her.

The Sergeant ushers me in to the back room – I can’t stop myself from glancing over at the lumpy mass in the corner, trail of blood still leading to it, now hidden beneath an emergency blanket – and holds out a wired phone receiver to me. Immediately a blast of static assaults my ears and I jerk the handset back, but then I can hear Makado’s voice and the static quiets.

“Makado?” I ask. I see the Sergeant’s eyes narrow fractionally as he registers that I’ve called her by her first name but I turn away from him, lean up against the wall.

“Hey, Roan,” she says. She’s put on a brisk, clipped tone but her voice is full of concern. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. There’s a lot going on down here, though.”

“Trust me, I know,” she groans. “We hadn’t heard from the Listening Station in a while but that’s normal, the electrical disturbances in the area can sometimes cut off communications, so nobody here had thought anything of it. I’m going to have to fill out a lot of forms in triplicate tonight. But you’re fine?”

“Yeah, yeah, nothing happened to me, I’m okay.”

“Okay, good. I, uh.”

I frown, glance down at the handset. It isn’t like her to prevaricate. “I wanted to call you first because the situation is evolving up here just as much as it is down there and…the mission might become more dangerous than I’d initially anticipated.”

“What are you saying?”

“I can get you out of there,” she tells me, and it’s like I’ve been hit by a bullet, like I’ve been electrified. I look up at the Sergeant without even meaning to and his face is as unreadable as a bare concrete wall. “But you’d have to leave now,” Makado tells me, ploughing through my moment of stunned confusion. “If you wait much longer I don’t know if I’ll be able to get you out.”

I open my mouth and close it again. I let the seconds roll on so long that Makado says my name again, voice hesitant, as though she’s afraid we’ve lost connection. “I’m still here,” I breathe. I close my eyes. “If I say yes, could you get anybody else out?” I ask her. “One of the other rangers, I mean.”

“No,” Makado says. “I need all of them down there. You can hand off the camera to someone else, I know it’s your camera but I’ll buy you a new one like I said.”

“Definitely not?”

“Huh? Oh, as far as someone else coming out? Yeah, I can’t. Don’t worry, I’ll be here tracking you on the map and I’ll be able to talk you through the way out.”

I smile faintly. “That’s really kind of you, Makado, but I’m staying.”

There’s a moment of frozen silence before I hear Makado cough. “You’re staying?” she asks, and I nod.

“I’m not a quitter. I appreciate it, I really do, but I’m going to see this through.”

I hear her sigh over the line, a whispery gust barely distinguishable from the interference surrounding it. “Well,” she says, “I guess I underestimated you.”

“I’m used to it.”

She starts to say something, then stops, and I smile a little to myself and cut her off. “It’s okay,” I tell her. “I’m okay down here.”

“You’re…doing better?”

“Yeah. I, ah…took a little field trip the other day. Felt a little better afterwards.”

The Sergeant gives me a dubious look but I ignore him.

“All the more reason to get out while you can,” she says, “but I guess you’re determined. Well, I – I admire your character. Jesus Christ,” she laughs, “listen to me, I’m losing it in my old age. Good for you. Don’t die down there, alright?”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Yes,” she says softly, “I imagine you will. Can you put Mr. Van Der Leeuwen back on the phone, please?”

“Who?” I blurt, before my eyes flick over to the Sergeant and I realize. I smile at him and I am only a little shocked when he smiles back. “Oh,” I say, “right.”

“See you.”

“You as well,” I tell her, and then I pass it back to the Sergeant and wander back out of the station, feeling like there are wings spreading behind me and trailing dust on all the surfaces as they squeeze through, feeling, infinitesimally and unplaceably, as though the Roan of even just three days ago would have jumped at the offer not quite before it cleared Makado’s lips.

Elena’s finished her meal by now and has mine sitting idly on her lap, saving it for me probably, and when she hears my footsteps behind her she leans around and cranes her neck up at me and then nearly does a double-take. I smile at her and ask what the matter is and she just says that I look happy, and when she says that it’s all I can do to stop myself from leaning down and taking her head in my hands and kissing her long and hard and slow right there.

“I am happy,” I tell her, plopping myself down next to her on the stairs and squeezing her tightly for a moment, just a moment – even if what Slate said the other day was true and we weren’t being as inconspicuous as I’d hoped, I still don’t want to make a production out of it. Not in public, anyway.

Oh, poor Slate. He’d begun to grow on me, he really had. It’s a weird feeling, knowing that he’s gone now, that the guy who was flirting with me three days ago and grinning at me just earlier while we all swapped stories just…disappeared, without even a body left behind to show for it. Now he’s nothing but memories and a bloodstained helmet.

Now Elena asks me why I’m happy and I tell her briefly what Makado had told me, and Elena’s face brightens immeasurably. “Oh, thank god,” she groans. “You’re getting out of here? You’re going to be safe?”

“I – what – no,” I tell her, spluttering a little, “I told her no, I said I wanted to stay down here. I asked her if I could get someone to come out with me and she said no, so I told her I was going to stay. You’re not smiling,” I observe, stupidly. She’s staring at me, mouth slightly open.

“Tell me you’re joking.”

“No, I’m serious.”

“Roan,” she says, starting to get up before she remembers the tray of food on her lap. She settles for just twisting around and pointing back at the station. “Go back in there while she’s still on the phone and tell her you’ve changed your mind!” she hisses at me.

“What?” I blurt, and then realize everyone’s looked round and lower my voice “Are you crazy?” I ask her.

“Are you?”

“Elena, I – I thought you’d be happy!”

“You thought I would be happy? Happy that you’re choosing to stay here, in danger, just so you can spend a little more time with me? The thing that’d make me happiest, Roan,” she says, reaching up to stroke my cheek, “is if I knew for a fact you were up there waiting for me, not hanging around down here where you’re liable to get eaten or dissolved or spiked or skewered or what the hell ever else. If I knew I would be coming back to you and that you’d be safe and sound.”

I have, I realize, at some point during that little speech, bitten my lip hard enough to leave a mark. She looks at me with mixed mournfulness and resignation and finally I manage to unstick my jaw long enough to offer a plaintive and unsatisfactory “oh,” and Elena laughs.

“This is pointless,” she murmurs. Her eyes are flicking over my face and for a moment I want so badly that it’s painful to know what she sees when she looks at me. “You’ve already made up your mind, haven’t you?”

I nod, slowly. “I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I didn’t think –“

“You stop that,” she says, prodding me in the ribs with a sly smile. I yelp and cover my mouth reflexively, glaring daggers at her, but her smile latches on to me and then I’m grinning back at her like a damn fool. “Stop being sorry for shit like that,” she tells me, a little more seriously.

“But you’re going to worry about me,” I point out. “About if I’ll die down here.”

“Anything that’s going to want to kill you has got to go through me first,” she says, and I feel as though a massive warm hand has taken my heart in its palm and squeezed. I open my mouth to tell her – well, I don’t know what I wanted to tell her.

The door behind us bangs open and I jump. “Everybody into the meeting room!” The Sergeant calls, and then me and Elena share a glance and file in along with everyone else.

“Hi guys,” Makado says, voice crackly on speakerphone, once the Sergeant’s confirmed that everyone’s inside. What passes next is about an hour of the dullest game of verbal chicken I’ve ever had the misfortune to be witness to. Makado is trying desperately to convince the team to keep on going, down to the barrows to get the crystal and then back up, and something about the subtle and quiet note of underlying nerves in her voice makes me realize something – she really doesn’t have any power over us.

I mean, think about it – what would she do if we all decided that we had had enough, that we weren’t going to go through with it, that we were just going to make our way back up to the surface and hit the canteen? She’d be furious, of course, she’d be beyond pissed at the team, but it isn’t like they were doing anything illegal. This is a company now, they’d get fired and life would move on. Maybe they wouldn’t even get fired; someone like Elena, for instance, someone with cave diving and rescue skills, would probably be impossible to promptly replace, if at all – maybe the Pit pays well, better than a place like the Coast Guard would, but you’d also have to find the people who can cave dive and don’t mind operating inside of a living nightmare like the Pit. Cuts an already slim pool in half, or more.

I think I understand now why Makado’s seemed always to behave so chummily with the people nominally under her command, something I’d noticed up on the surface; the few times she’d come to visit us in the barracks she was welcomed like one of the rangers, like a favorite boss who doesn’t rock the boat very much. It’s because as soon as the team is down here, doing something important, every decision from above becomes a negotiation instead of just an order to be obeyed.

And it also makes more sense to me why the Sergeant is such a hardass – if he’s the bad cop to Makado’s good cop, the people on the team are more likely to listen to her, just cause she’s more sympathetic – and then, double-duty, while they’re down here and under his command directly, they’re more likely to do what he says without any argument because they don’t want him pissed off at them.

Right now, though, it looks as though the Sergeant isn’t entirely holding up his end of the deal. He’s stood there like a statue for the last half an hour, only disappearing for a little bit towards the beginning to grab himself a cup of coffee, not uttering a word, his granite-like expression not slipping, not even a little. He ought to be cracking down on the dissent that’s being thrown her way but he’s not, he’s just letting Ellis and Fumi and Crookshank practically demand to know what is so goddam important about this fucking crystal that it was worth Slate dying for, and it’s got Makado in a bind because she very, very clearly does not want to tell us. She talks around it, never flat-out saying that she won’t but avoiding it. This goes on for a while until Crookshank, fuming, slams his hand on the table, making me jump. Elena, who’s been holding my hand in both of hers in her lap, glances over at me and squeezes my hand lightly, and when our eyes meet she gives me a faint smile.

“Makado,” Crookshank says, in a surprisingly level tone of voice, “if you can’t tell us what’s important about this crystal, we’re not going to get it for you.”

It would be Crookshank that put voice to it that baldly, but as I look around the table I see slow nods. “Yeah,” Fumi says, and although many of us glance over at the Sergeant, he remains silent.

Makado sighs and in it I can hear a note of defeat, trickling down plainly through however many hundreds of feet and flesh and rock.

“Alright,” she says softly.

The crystal is important, she says, because in the 2007 disaster the thing that they used to make the Pit stop from waking up entirely was an array of three carved crystals that had been found back in the 70s at the original Indian ritual grounds, and it had been determined through rigorous and secretive testing that striking the carved crystals produced vibrations of a certain wavelength impossible to replicate by any other means that exerted some sort of influence or control over the Pit. Striking them in a certain way could make it wake up, striking them in another way could make it convulse, and so on. These crystals had been incorporated into some sort of machine that was supposed to, if there ever was a disaster as serious as the one in 2007, spin the crystals up and strike a certain tone that would have been loud enough to pound downwards into whatever the Pit used for a brain and get it to go into a coma, or to kill it – they weren’t entirely sure.

The plan had worked, though not without a few hiccups, Makado says, but the biggest hiccup of all was that the crystals had shattered when that tone was struck, and since then this is the first time they’ve had one within their grasp. If they can get the crystal, get it up to the lab and carve it out the way the natives of the area must have, thousands if not tens of thousands of years ago, they might have another ace in the hole in case the Pit starts to wake up again.

I wonder, briefly, what might happen if a person were inside the Pit when that tone resounded through the creature, a tone so powerful it was able to knock out something like the Pit. I wonder about the cause of that mysterious psychic illness Peter and Makado had alluded to, I wondered about the nosebleeds Makado had told me about, when she was telling the story about the amalgam.

Perhaps -

“Because,” Makado says, “I’m not going to sugarcoat this – it is going to wake up. We’ve been hearing rumblings, down there in the depths, in the Gut and elsewhere, muscle contractions, palpitations, activity in areas that have lain dormant since 2007. I’ve been speaking to Science and their opinion is that the Pit is building up a tolerance to the sedative we use, and without that, all the other measures, the deliberate starvation, nerve clipping, muscle relaxants – they won’t be enough to stop something like 2007, or something worse, from happening again.”

I hear her blow out a big breath.

“I don’t know what it’ll be like if it wakes up again. You all know that the Pit’s too big to be ambulatory, but it’s got appendages it can move and feed with, and its size makes it a threat to a very big chunk of Texas if it were to be able to move them with coordination. Thanks to us, if it wakes up again, it’ll be hungry. You decide if it’s worth it.”

The line clicks off and we sit there in silence for a moment. The Sergeant levers himself off the wall and plonks his empty mug down on the table. “Think about it,” he says to all of us. “We’ll sleep here tonight and then tomorrow we’ll make a decision.”

So we sleep there tonight and tomorrow we make a decision. Despite the dead body in the Station nothing comes poking around to bother us, or at least if anything does it took one look at Joker and scampered off. Elena and I stayed up for a little but again we found that there was nothing to say; I contented myself with stroking my hands along the naked expanse of her body, not in a sexual way, just because I liked the way her skin felt beneath my fingertips. She held very still, a ghost of a smile fluttering over her lips. I found her hips and squeezed them, traced circles around her nipples, ran my hand down the toned flat expanse of her belly, the dark patch of stubble below beckoning me, but I controlled myself. I stared at it for a moment, then flicked my eyes up to her face, to her unruly mop of blonde hair.

Elena shifts her hands along my backside, squeezing at me, and I made a little noise deep in my throat. “You’re like a cat,” she told me. It’s the first thing either of us said in about a half an hour. Her other hand was tucked up beneath me and tangled in my hair. I leant in and kissed her.

“Do you dye your hair?” I asked her, and she laughed.

“That’s such a random question.”

“I was curious.”

“I do,” she said.

“Why?”

“Cause I don’t like brown,” she said primly. I arched an eyebrow at her.

“I have brown hair,” I pointed out, and she smiled, looks up at it.

“Yes, you do. But it looks good on you.”

“I think you’d look good with brown hair.”

“We should go to sleep,” she told me. I pull her closer against me, knocking against one of the tent’s metal support struts with my elbow.

“Shit,” I grunt, and she laughed.

We said a few more things but nothing important. I kissed her on the neck and she giggled, and then we fell asleep, arms and legs tangled together like knots. I was afraid I’d dream but instead there was nothing, not even a sensation that I had dreamed and forgotten it as soon as I’d woken, just closing my eyes and then opening them when Elena had sat up, the alarm on her watch beeping at us. I looked at the shifting muscles in her back, at the long thin scar along one of her shoulder blades, and then I reached out for her and pulled her back down into me and nuzzled my face all along the soft, smooth places of her body and she kept laughing and saying that we had to get up, that it was going to be a long day, but I told her that if that was the case we ought to make the most of our morning, and she considered that and then turned with a feral grin and fell on me and all was well for a while.

Then, when we were through, we got dressed and clambered out of the tent and found that a consensus had been reached without us, although it was one we’d agreed with – that if Slate’s (presumed) death, and the (presumed) deaths of the other four people who worked at the Deep Listening Station, and the (definite) death of the one we’d found were to mean anything, were to be worth it – I felt something like a shudder at that phrase, at the notion of a death like that being ‘worth it’ – we would have to continue. If it was as important as Makado said, we would have to continue. And when the Sergeant told us this, that we’d been outvoted, he nodded to me and said that if I wanted to take Makado’s offer up anyway, she’d informed him that she’d be able to guide me up out of the darkness, and that nobody here would think anything less of me for taking the easy way out.

And then I looked at Elena and she’d looked at me, and I thought I saw something imploring in her eyes, so I looked away from her, but I couldn’t say anything to him, not just yet. I knew that we were going to make it to the barrows today and some freakish mortal fear had taken ahold of me and its teeth were so deep and cold and serrated that I didn’t trust myself to speak. I thought of the stories Peter and Makado had told me, I thought of poor Eileen, dragged off by a copepod, and for a moment I wanted so badly to say yes, okay, tap me out, I’m done, you guys have fun down here, but it passed quickly and replaced itself with something hard and cast-iron and heavy sinking into the pit of my stomach. It took me a moment to recognize it as determination, and then I was smiling at the Sergeant, I imagine rather beatifically.

“No,” I said. “Absolutely not.”

“You’re sure?” he asked.

“Positive. Why dip out when it’s just getting exciting?”

And with that, after a little more puttering around and making sure everyone was collected and on the ball with what was to be done today, we took the second-largest vent out of Oyster’s Shame, leaving its spongy and beautiful luminescence behind, leaving the dead body behind, leaving, I certainly hoped, the Leechman behind, and began the long, slow, treacherous climb downwards to the copepod barrows.

Continue with Part 21

Back to Table of Contents

#mystery flesh pit #writing #writeblr #original writing #Michael Crichton #alt lit #spilled ink #rejectscorner #novel #disaster #caving #horror

20 notes · View notes

imagineclaireandjamie · 5 years

Note

Is The Breakup done? Or might we get more? (Please?)

The Breakup is, I’m afraid, complete for now.

But have a new one instead

Deep Within The Darkness Peering: Part i: Chapter One:

Tension hung thick in the air like an acrid mist, clearing the A&E waiting room slowly as the crowds of waiting patients dissipated in an eerie calm. Silence, an odd ebb in the usual rush, filled the large room as a group of nurses waited expectantly by the closed front doors of the hospital. It was a rare occurrence, the ringing of the blue phone, but one that made the whole place still when its shrill tone echoed along the corridors.

“Do ye think it’ll be someone dangerous?” Someone whispered from within the group, the breathy tone making it almost impossible to discern who’d voiced the question.

The group, small and made up of recently qualified and transferred nurses, all looked at one another, their glances a mixture of worried and intrigued. In the centre of the busy hub of the nurses station, the innocuous phone sat - hardly ringing - a dark contrast to the red emergency phone that was never silent. It was the central line from the city’s prison to the hospital and signalled the arrival of one of the inmates. Usually, minor injuries could be treated by the onsite doctors and it was rare for anyone to need external support. Which made it all the more interesting when it did ring.

“Beauchamp!” With the secondary waiting room devoid of life, the doctors’ voice rang out clearer than usual, making the collection of nurses jump and turn as if in tune with one another.

Claire raised her hand, timid at first until her confidence renewed and she felt more able to identify herself from the rest.

“It says in your file that you’ve a background in trauma? You published a paper, yes?” He was clear, his tone steady and sure. He already knew about her pre-med training but was clarifying the fact loudly as if to assert himself, making his decision seem solid to the rest of the staff.

She nodded, a slight smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Yes, doctor. I did.”

“Then you’ll assist on this one. It’s tricky, be prepared. Have you ever seen a transported patient before?”

“No, I haven’t…”

“They, depending on the severity of their offence and their priors, come with a swarm of guards. These tend to get in the way- it being their job,” he continued talking as he turned away from the room, expecting Claire to follow in his footsteps and not waiting or turning back to see if she’d done as he’d assumed she would, “not to allow their charge to make a bid for freedom whilst they’re here recovering. That means they have the opportunity to get in the way. Be forceful with them. They won’t be offended by you being brusque, in fact they probably prefer it that way. In return, if they’re not in the way, you’ll ignore them...studiously. We have a job to do, no matter the crime, he’s being punished for that. We don’t judge, just heal, that alright?”

“Yes, doctor.” She said again, convinced that her interest had been piqued too much to be interested in judging the man - rather, she just wished to collect as much experience as possible and this was a step in the right direction.

As they turned the corner, a flurry of activity caught her eye and it quickly became clear that the original code had been a false positive. A ruse designed to draw attention away from the real entrance of the affected prisoner.

“Ready, nurse?” Another colleague asked, appearing with her hands coated in foam from the sink.

“As I’ll ever be.” She returned, smiling courteously as she began scrubbing in.

Once cleaned and redressed, she stood quietly with the rest of the team as they waited for the head of surgery to arrive. The mask covering her face made it far more difficult to breathe than during her initial training and residency, and she had to hold her hands together in front of her to stem the shaking. It wasn’t the task that was causing this initial panic, but the build up. The calm before the storm which allowed silly niggles to escalate doubts within her mind.

But as the door slammed open and the prostrate man surrounded by paramedics and prison guards entered, all non-medical thoughts cleared from her mind and she immediately stepped into the breach.

Noise levels rose as machines beeps vigorously and doctor began passing tools and hurling instructions and observations at one another. Swept away by pure instinct, Claire made sure she kept her ears open, her hands passing various pieces of intricate equipment and dabbing open wounds with cloth as her well-trained mind swung into action.

It was only afterwards, the swirl of chaos extinguished in the small OR, that she noticed his hand -limp and pale- chained to the bed. Her stomach rolled and she had to swallow back the bile as the heart rate monitor beeped, it’s anguished howl calmed for now by the sutures and stents inserted by the doctors and nurses.

With the procedure at an end, Claire couldn’t help but step back and look over at the young man lying in front of her. He couldn’t have been older than twenty-four, the bruising and excess swelling adding something darker to his otherwise friendly looking face. His high cheekbones were tinted red, the fresh flush of blood flowing freely beneath his skin as his body began to heal. He was handsome, in a rugged sort of way but even with the lofty presence of the cuffs and the guards standing silently around her, something niggled at her. He didn’t *look* like a dangerous criminal - although, of course, looks could be deceiving. Unable to quite put her finger on it, she stepped back, being careful not to knock into one of the accompanying wardens, took a deep breath and turned to free herself from the stagnant air gathering in the room.

He looked innocent, she told herself, muttering the word to herself as she joined her fellow nurses out in the wash room. Her uncle Lamb had often poked fun at her innate ability to discern individuals’ characteristics - it didn’t happen as often anymore, not like when she was a teenager - but every so often she’d get a glimpse into someone’s soul, their aura calling to her like a colourful ghost as she stood cautiously beside them. The prisoner had been in pain, that would’ve been obvious to even the most casual of layman’s, but there was something besides that. A more prominent pain, an anguish set apart from the physical element of his wounds. And beyond that, a sort of goodness that only inhabited the rarest of humans.

“Claire?” Nurse Fitzgibbons nudged her arm, bringing her back to the present as she shook off the thought and looked over at her boss. “Did ye hear? Yer to stay wi’ him, aye? Be close by and tend to him as he wakes. Doctor Bain says he’s no longer in danger but it’d make me feel happier if he were being closely monitored. Just dinna mention it to him directly.” She winked as she walked off, as if divulging a wee secret though they’d all been made painfully aware on their first day how truly irascible Bain was. Not a man to be crossed.

“Of course…” she returned, a thankful smile covering her face as she pulled the cap from her head, throwing it into the bin with the other discarded clothing, “...I’ll make sure he’s well tended to.”

-- --- --

Despite her usually busy schedule, Claire had managed to keep her promise to Glenna. Whilst taking her lunch break, she had snuck her sandwiches along with a small cup of tea into the suite, skirting the fatigued guards as they sat playing as many games of snap as they could.

On the first day she had read his chart. She knew most of the injuries, having seen them first hand in the OR; she had, however, learned his name and his age and part of her was almost brave enough to ask his entourage what he had been incarcerated for (they certainly seemed friendly enough) though, for now, she was happy to just put a name to the face.

James Fraser was just twenty-four. He had multiple lacerations to the back, sides and neck that had clearly been embedded into his flesh with something far more punishing than hands and feet -but nobody seemed to be talking abowere the level of brutality to which he’d been subjected. Her heart twinged at the thought and she developed a deeper affection for nurse Fitzgibbons who seemed to have silently realised that before anyone else. His face had been swollen enough that one of his eyes wouldn’t have been open had he been conscious, his cheeks covered in mottled bruising.

On the second day she had taken some reading material to accompany her during her breaks. Continuing with her task, she read to herself at first, carrying her charity shop literary finds with her on her rounds before ducking in to sit for a while with young Mr Fraser. By the end of her working week she had taken to reading aloud much to the prison officers amusement.

“Do ye think Fraser can hear ye?” One had asked just as she’d gone to leave on the seventh day, just as her midweek weekend was about to begin.

Scratching her head she turned to glance at his much healed face. “He can hear, I’m sure of it.”

“How can ye tell?” The taller of the two men replied. “I used to read to my mam afore she passed. I hoped she could, but she never gave any signs that she did. It all felt a wee bit hopeless.”

It was the first hint at conversation any of the stationed guards had given making Claire late for clocking out as she placed her book back in her pocket and shrugged her shoulders. “He moves, shifts a little. And his mouth lifts as if he’s smiling. It’s happened a few times, but especially when I come to a funny part. His coma is induced though, and it’s light. He’s reacted more as the week has progressed so it gives me hope, it’s a sign that he’s fighting through the worst of it.”

The short, older of the guards scoffed, rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath before turning and walking away.

“I take it he isn’t fond of your charge?” She asked the remaining guard, the question she really wanted to ask burning holes into her tongue as she bit the inside of her mouth to stop herself from asking it.

Twisting to glance at his friend and colleague, he waited until he’d turned the corner to answer. “Nah, do you ken what he’s serving time for?”

Claire shook her head and took in a hefty gulp of air. Her heart was racing at a million miles per second, her palms sweating madly as she wiped them against the side of her scrubs.

“He assaulted a cop, someone close to him. Did a damn good job of it too, if you ask me. That’s how he came to such harm. Some of the guys, wrong as it may be, dinna take too kindly to prisoners who are guilty of hurting our own and although they don’t encourage inmate on inmate violence, they’re no’ exactly going to rush to their aid either.”

“What about you?” She asked, breathlessly, not knowing exactly what she was asking.

“Between you and me?” He returned, his voice lowering even further, waiting for her to signal her agreement before continuing. “The guy he’s supposed to have brought to harm isna a nice man, nor is he pleasant to work with. Not that he deserved it, o’ course, but on that alone I’m willing to suspend my own judgement on the poor guy. He’s serving his time, for better or for ill and I willna be a part of anything that sees any man left in this state.”

“Well, that’s good to hear.” Holding out her hand, she shook his firmly, passing him her pager number as she did so. “I’m Claire, Claire Beauchamp...and if anything happens whilst I’m away, or Doctor Bain comes back to bring him around, I’d be really grateful if you could give me a buzz, please?”

“Mackenzie,” he returned, placing the wee card in his top pocket and tapping it lightly as he smiled across at her, “Rupert to my friends. It’s lovely to meet ye, Claire. I’ll make sure I do.”

With that she waved a short goodbye and headed straight for the break room, her weary legs buckling as she pushed the heavy door and fell into the small space.

#;Mod MBD #Deep Within The Darkness Peering #Jamie Fraser #claire beauchamp #Jamie X Claire #Eventually #ficlet #outlander fanfiction

259 notes · View notes

peter-pantomime · 5 years

Text

IT Fic Recs

Richie/Eddie

the years go by like days

It’s Eddie he wants to get a hold of, though, and he does, tucking him under his arm, and ruffling his hair, making him laugh. He’s startled when Eddie looks at him with such happy, shining eyes. And, for a split-second, he’s tempted to kiss him right then, right there in front of everyone.

He wants to. Badly. He doesn’t.

He leans in, instead, and he smacks a loud, wet kiss to Eddie’s cheek, punctuating it with a “mwah!” He does it again and again. “I’m so proud of my little Eds Spagheds!”

“Get off me!” Eddie says, laughing and shoving him away, swatting at his hands.

AU. in the 27 years in-between, Richie and Eddie forget a lot, but they don't forget each other.

just be still with me

Eddie Kaspbrak is 38, working as a driver in New York. Richie Tozier is a stand up comic who comes to New York on a one way ticket to audition for SNL, and his agent has hired Eddie as his driver. There's something familiar about Richie, though Eddie knows they've never met. While Richie insists on sitting in the front seat and making something more than small talk, Eddie struggles to maintain professional distance.

Basically - what if Eddie and Richie did forget, and didn't see each other for 25 years, but they fell in love anyways.

If You Believe

What if Eddie held on just a little bit longer? What if the losers figured out how to kill it just a little bit earlier? What if Eddie made it out of Neibolt, injured and barely holding on, but alive?

When Eddie emerges from the cavern to see Richie floating, he just about shits himself.

hit me baby one more time

Richie reaches up a shaking hand and puts it on Eddie’s stomach.

“Uhhh,” Eddie says. “Is this a bit? Is this a really inopportune bit? ‘Cause I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Richie, but this is kind of an important moment-”

“What the fuck,” Richie says, not for the first or last time, and lurches forwards to hug him.

(Or, Richie gets stuck in a time loop.)

in the morning

Beverly knows there’s something going on with Richie. The way he had lost it, the way he had cried—she’s not sure if he would ever cry like that for her, or Bill, or even Stan. He had always been particular about Eddie. She pets his hair back again and rests her head on top of his, sighing and closing her eyes. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s more than she thinks. Either way, she’s sure he’ll say eventually. Richie’s never been good at keeping secrets.

This Is the Way It Ends

An AU in which everything is the same, except Reddie disappear to have sex through most of the plot points and Eddie doesn't have to die to save the day.

Love Me Like You Do

“I need you hear you say it.”

“I want it,” Eddie says back. He’s surprised by his own words, how concrete they sound, how they break through the wall of nerves that’s shrouded over him.

Richie, in all of his confident-not-confidence, leans down and kisses Eddie. It’s gentle at first, the rough chap of his lips barely grazes Eddie’s over moisturized ones but the electricity rockets down his spine and bursts into tiny electrodes all over his body. He immediately leans up, chases Richie’s retreating form and captures him in a kiss that Eddie never knew he was capable of giving.

Men of Fall

Do you remember? He watches his own hand slide closer along the armrest. Do memories transfer by touch, in this fucked up magic town? Remember, Richie, please, and tell me I wasn’t imagining things.

put it all aside and hold me tight

"I'm not sad," he lies. He thinks of how his hands had trembled after he'd gotten the phone call from Mike, the foul taste of bourbon and breath mints and his own bile in his throat. Every morning he's alone, even when he isn't. He isn't afraid, except for when he is. And he isn't sad, not really, but he is.

Not that it's any of Eddie's business.

Eddie's gaze feels like it goes right through him. There's little Richie hates more than being read, especially when it's by Eddie — there's always a split second of bone-deep terror that whispers he knows. It's familiar, something that goes way back to childhood. Still just as shit-your-pants terrifying.

Or: After the reunion dinner from hell, Richie and Eddie have a long overdue conversation about, like, feelings and shit.

up off the floor

"In a world where we can kill a fucking clown from space, Eddie Kaspbrak doesn’t get to die from a stab wound."

still it’s so

Beverly screamed when she saw them. Then she covered her mouth with her hands and just stared, tears standing bright in her eyes. Bill stood up so fast his armchair jumped back, and beside him Mike did the same. Ben got up slower, a painfully hopeful look on his face.

“Surprise!” Richie said. “We lived!”

Things that Happen after Eddie Lives

In a world where Richie manages to save Eddie from It after the deadlights, they still have problems on their to-do list. Featuring everything from Derry to Los Angeles—Richie Tozier's murder trial, Eddie Kaspbrak's divorce proceedings, bedsharing of the platonic and non-platonic varieties, an investigation of magic, a truly disgusting séance, the quintessential morosexual road trip, and OH MY GOD THEY WERE ROOMMATES.

swallow your heart

When he’s 24, at least once per night, Richie has what he would describe as an erotic nightmare. He never actually has sex in these dreams, nor does he die or even get seriously maimed. But they’re still definitely erotic, and they’re definitely nightmares.

Prompt: "I swallow your heart and it crawls right out of my mouth."

With a boulder on my shoulder

Feelin' kinda older.

Or, Eddie Kaspbrak has his fifteenth birthday party.

we’ve been migratory animals

As they reach the town limits, he sees the sign up ahead: You are now leaving Derry. A thrill shudders through him — they’re out. Things will be different now, no more deadlight-visions swallowing him up inside. Richie rolls down his window, and before anyone can do more than look at him quizzically, he unbuckles his seatbelt, lifts himself up out of his seat somewhat, and leans out the window to flip the sign off. “Fuck you!” he bellows. The wind whips his hair into his eyes, and he lets out a slightly manic laugh. Then he feels hands grabbing at his shirt, and Eddie is yanking him back into the car.

Or, the Losers take a road trip to Florida, and Richie's having nightmares from the deadlights that he can't seem to shake.

if the children don’t grow up

Richie Tozier dreams, sometimes, of heat soaking through the soles of his sneakers from the July tarmac in the town where he grew up, the name of which he can’t quite remember when he’s awake, and of someone small and warm and familiar pressed up against him everywhere.

(Some scenes from a life – Richie and Eddie at 40 and at 13 (and beyond) and at 40 again.)

Richie Tozier Versus The Flu

“His parents don’t take care of him,” Eddie had told Bill, shaking his head, “He’s probably holed up in his room with a flop sweat, and neither of his parents have ever been bothered to help him. We should go see him.”

“G-Go see him?” Bill asked, alarmed, “I d-don’t mind, b-b-but I thought you’d n-never -”

“He’s sick! Richie’s sick, Bill,” Eddie insisted, thinking Bill was not nearly as upset as he ought to be, “Richie’s sick, and no one’s gonna take care of him, if we don’t.”

last ones out

Richie wonders if it’s always been this hard for him to touch Eddie. It hasn’t; they were incredibly touchy as kids, falling all over each other, gangly limbs intertwined. Even as adults, a few days before, Richie had barely been able to keep his hands off of him. Eddie almost dying did something, though. Chipped away at something deep within Richie. From the bed, Eddie laughs.

Talk So Pretty (And Love So Sweet)

Eddie was going to kill him one day, in his lace and crop tops and knee high socks.

Let’s Hear It for the Boy

“Oh, before I forget- keep this one.”

He pulled a tape from his bag that he hadn’t played yet, and Eddie took it with a look of distrust on his face. It had his name scrawled across the label in Richie’s awful handwriting- looked more like it said Edota on it- but the thing that caught his attention was the very obviously scribbled out heart in front of his name.

“Welp,” He snapped his gum again. “I gotta go. See you later, babe. If you miss me when I’m gone, just listen to the tape. Plenty of gushy shit on there.”

June

He can’t handle being alone with Eddie anymore.

He squats next to Eddie, brings their faces close, and he looks at the freckles on Eddie’s cheeks, the familiar chestnut hair perfectly quaffed at his fringe, how long, and thick his eyelashes seem against his sunburnt cheeks.

He wants.

Desperately.

Blood Runs Cold

He wants to say the feeling in his gut is foreign, but the truth is it’s been flowering for years, vines twisting and growing in the pit of his stomach, just waiting for him to open his mouth so they can finally see the sun.

(or a short fic about Richie Coming out to Bevvie while they smoke in his room)

Show Me a Good Time

This wasn’t the first time that Richie had brought Eddie to one of his meetings. Meetings, used very loosely, meaning they were at a restaurant with however many Michelin stars, while his agent talked to him and whoever else decided to show up to the dinner. There were currently about eight of them, Eddie and Richie shoved into the corner of a booth, while someone told a story about their latest stent on tour. Lucky for Richie, the story actually happened to be good, because if not, well, they might have seen just how often Eddie was leaning over to whisper in his ear.

we’re f***ing killing it, babe

Richie has been back in Derry for three days and murdered an Eldritch horror-esque monster from space or possibly from some weird meta-verse, who knows, and faced both of his childhood fears of clowns and his own death, as well as the possibility of losing his first love just as he remembered they fucking existed, he’d like some slack cut for him on the emotional front, thank you!

Eddie is dead, but the Losers carry him out of the house on Neibolt anyway. Which is good, because Eddie is not dead.

Roads

Richie pulls out of the Orient parking lot first, and stares at the headlights of Eddie’s car in his rearview mirror.

The drive back to The Derry Townhouse is short, scary, and not well lit.

“It’s just Eddie,” he tells his reflection, trying to give himself a pep talk, but that’s the problem.

It’s Eddie.

Lakes

Ben holds Bev’s hand as they walk. Richie feels sick with grief, staggering along behind them, carrying Eddie’s dead, heavy body on his back.

Intro // Skydiving

Eddie Kaspbrak is ten years old. It's his first time at the quarry with his friends.

The descent feels like it lasts both for a few seconds and for eternity. Free fall is terrifying, but his hand is still latched onto Richie's, and it tethers him, makes him feel like he isn't just lost in space.

soul, I hear you calling

He catches a glimpse of himself, bruise-eyed and unshaven, in the bathroom mirror as he turns to leave, and that's when he sees Eddie Kaspbrak.

"At least wash your hands, you nasty fuck," Eddie says.

"Holy fucking shit," Richie screams.

Eddie comes back, sort of.

#IT #it chapter 2 #reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #myficrecs #quarantine entertainment #quarantine fics #quarantine fics it

53 notes · View notes

snarkwriteswrasslin · 4 years

Text

what ifs; adam page [one]

Notes:

This is my rewrite / alternate version of my fic Wild Side. Yeah, I’m gonna post and continue both on this blog. If I can just get myself unstuck / out of the hole I wrote myself into with Wild Side, that’d be fuckin gr9.. But for now, it’s time to put everything I have so far for What If’s on this blog, I think. Ya’ll.. I swear I plan to update this soon. I have plans. I just.. have to make my brain form the words/sentences.

Summary:

Adam and Ivy went from childhood best friends, to a couple and then they were torn apart by life and it’s pesky obstacles. Those pesky obstacles have thrown them back together now, when it seems they need each other -and most importantly, their closure, the most. Will they rekindle their flame or will everything fizzle out and die before it’s given a proper chance to grow? And just how are they going to handle all the things currently going on in each other’s lives?

Warnings:

alcohol tw, mentions of stripping / exotic dance culture, angst... heavy angst to start with. slow burn. awkward situations and occasional flashbacks / memories. fluff eventually. not as of yet, but I promise you, we will get there.

Pairing:

Adam Hangman Page x OFC, Ivy Barlow.

Header made by me. Images from Google. Don’t steal it if you didn’t make it/write it.

“Ivy Barlow?” the words of the cardiologist echoed through a mostly silent waiting room as the cardiologist looked around, trying to locate the daughter of his patient.

Ivy’s head snapped up and she rubbed her eyes. The older man walked over and sat down and Ivy swallowed hard. Before he could even get anything out, Ivy felt her eyes starting to sting with unshed tears.

From beside her, her sister Constance was starting to sniffle, shushing her two children so that she and Ivy could hear what the doctor was about to say, both of them holding hands and sharing a scared look. Ivy was the one who asked first.

“Dad… He’s.. He’s okay, right?”

“Your father’s had a heart attack.”

“No.” Constance was about to lose it and start sobbing. Ivy looped her arm around her sister’s shoulder and pulled her against her side and wiped at her eyes, addressing the doctor again. “Is he okay? What’s… Is there anything you can do?”

“We’re preparing to do a stent as we speak, Ms. Barlow. The procedure might take a few hours, but after the fact, we’ll let you both know how it went.”

“A stent… That’s… That’s good, right? It has a fairly good chance of working?” Ivy questioned, starting to feel a little numb from the shock of it all. Not even 24 hours ago, her father had been fine, they’d been face - timing and she’d been laughing at him as he bitched about one of the cows from the Henderson farm up the road getting in with his herd and the chaos that ensued. She’d been offhandedly making plans to return to West Virginia to visit as soon as she got a break from work and wedding planning.

Just the thought of Ty and their argument before she broke it off and left had her annoyed all over again. And twice as sure that she’d made the right choice, the best choice.

Her family came first. If Ty didn’t understand that by now, Ty wasn’t ever going to understand it. His reaction to her postponing the wedding to return to West Virginia to care for her father and help him on the farm clearly showed her just how wrong she’d been about the man she’d been about to settle for.

Because she made no mistake about it. She’d had about 9 hours to stew on the whole thing and Ty was simply someone she settled for.

The cardiologist explained the procedure to her and her sister Constance and after he walked away, Constance took a shaky breath, glancing at Ivy. “Dad’s gonna be fine. It’s the farm I’m worried about, sis.”

“The farm?”

“Yeah, you know last year was rough… With those 3 cows getting trich right before time for market and then the tractor going tits up. Dad… He had to take out a few loans. Then he started getting sick.”

“Why didn’t he tell me?” Ivy asked as she met her sister’s gaze, taking a deep breath and digesting what her sister was telling her.

“Because.” Constance air quoted, “You were out there in Florida doin’ things with your life like you always planned. He didn’t want to disrupt that. Guess he felt like losin’ Mom was bad enough and he didn’t wanna make you feel like you had to come back here. We all know you were hell bent on leavin’ anyway, even before Mom uprooted me n’ you n’ Carly back then.”

Ivy’s mouth opened and closed and she gaped at her sister. Finally, she managed to get out the truth. “I never wanted to leave, actually. I just adjusted to what Mom put us through because she made it seem like that was the only option we had to ‘really live life’. It was not something I would’ve chosen, otherwise.”

“I… I didn’t know.” Constance muttered after a few seconds as she squeezed her younger sister’s hand. “I’m sorry.”

Ivy shrugged and brown eyes darted around the waiting room. “Where the hell is Carly? Typical, it’s home, it’s Daddy, so she’s not comin’ unless there’s a will to be read.”

“Ivy…” Constance took a deep breath but Ivy shook her head firmly. “We all need to be here. He needs us right now. She’s always been selfish like…”

“Like Mom?” Constance questioned, sighing and shaking her head. There may be years between their mother leaving and making them tag along for the ride and now, but she’d never really been able to bring herself to forgive her mother for it. And now, knowing that Ivy hadn’t wanted to leave either and that was the cause of strain between their mother and Ivy, it only made Constance that much more convinced that she was right to keep low contact with their mother. Let her live her dream life in that Miami mansion with the stupid pool boy man on the side and an even dumber plastic surgeon husband. Constance loved the life she had here.

“Exactly.” Ivy sank back into the hard plastic chair, sighing in exhaustion. The past few hours had been scary and frustrating and lonely for her. Her eyes settled on the television screen across the waiting room and when she saw him walking down the ramp and to the ring, she nearly spat out the lukewarm coffee she’d been nursing for an hour and a half now.

“Is that… No. That can’t be… Adam?” Ivy gaped and bit her lip, raising a hand to drag slowly through light brown hair. Constance gave a soft laugh and nodded. “It is, Ivy. He goes by Hangman now.”

“Momma! Hangman!” Ivy’s nephew Jake burst through, tugging at her sister’s sleeve and pointing at the tv.

“Hangman, huh?” Ivy was still gazing at the television set in awe, biting her lip as she took a deep breath or two.

All she could think about was the last conversation she had with him. The night before she wound up being dragged off to Florida to live with her mom.

OoO

“Aw, c’mon. It’ll be fun. Just you n’ me out there together. This is gonna be my ticket outta here, darlin.” Adam’s blue eyes locked on her own and she sighed, biting the inside of her cheek. She didn’t get it honestly, why did he just have to leave? Why did everybody want to take her out of the only home she’d ever really known and wanted to know? She already had her life mapped out… And up to five minutes ago when Adam sprang the news of trying out for some small time wrestling company, she’d thought that he was going to be a part of those plans.

“Adam, I… Nevermind.”

Adam eyed Ivy and took a deep breath. “What’s wrong, hon?” he leaned in, his thumb wiping away a tear that started to roll down her cheek.

“It’s just… I thought you were gonna take over your daddy’s farm… And I was gonna go to WVU with you in the fall and we were…” Ivy paused, taking the chocolate shake from his hands and taking a big sip just to mask her unease at saying too much, giving him too much power to hurt her. Because she knew that if she said it, it was out there and it couldn’t ever be taken back.

“ Darlin’… We can still do that, hell… I mean… I might not even get signed with this company. You know yourself I ain’t the best right now. But if I don’t try, I won’t ever know. ‘Sides..” Adam took a deep breath, fumbling around in his pocket for the locket he’d gotten her. It wasn’t much, but it was a placeholder until he could one day do better. “I’ve always thought it was gonna be you n’ me against the world, remember? It’s just a week. Then we’ll figure things out a lil better..” Adam coaxed.

Ivy gazed at him, taking a few deep breaths. Finally, a smile played at her lips and she gave a slow nod, turning so that he could slip the locket on her neck. “Okay, alright. Why you gotta play dirty, huh? You know I always cave right in when you give me that look, Adam.”

Adam’s nose nuzzled against the side of her neck and he chuckled, pulling her against him, resting his head against her shoulder as he muttered in a shaky whisper, “Love you, Ivy.”

“Love you too, Adam.”

OoO

Constance cleared her throat again and snapped her fingers in front of her sister’s face. “Are you okay, Ivy?”

“Y-yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. It was just… weird. Seeing him again after all this time, even if it was just on television.”

“He comes home all the time.” Constance grinned to herself as she said it and watched her sister’s interest perk. Ivy tried to downplay it, but Constance could tell she’d gotten her attention.

“Oh yeah? Nice to know. Maybe he didn’t go off and let the fame go right to his head.” Ivy shrugged and took the pink crayon from Jenny, her niece and went to color in Ariel’s long flowing hair in the picture. But she couldn’t get it all out of her head, either. It was like seeing Adam Page on television a few minutes ago had opened Pandora’s Box for her and now, all those old what if’s were flaring up all over again.

What if she hadn’t just quietly gone with her mother that night? What if she’d fought and made it known that she didn’t intend on leaving the farm? What if she’d actually gotten to say goodbye? What if she’d tried to say goodbye and instead, she and Adam ran off that night together?

Maybe everything would be totally different right now. Maybe it wouldn’t. But at least I’d have a little closure, Ivy sighed as she thought about it and she shook her head, standing to make her way over to the little coffee pot by the nurses station.

–

The further away Adam Page got from the arena, the more solidified the thought became in his mind. He needed to get his head on straight. He needed to regroup and the only place he seemed to be able to do so was at his parents farm. The thought prompted him to pick up his cell phone and scroll through his contacts list, finding his father’s number and hitting call. While he waited on at least one of his parents to answer, he found himself stewing over the argument he’d had with Matt and Nick and Kenny before leaving.

They just weren’t listening, they didn’t care lately and that was beyond frustrating. They called themselves his friends and yet, they didn’t see that everything going on lately was starting to wear him more than a little thin. The more he pushed, the more they shoved. All he wanted to do was pull away for a while… Get some needed distance and be his own man again.

Why was that so damned hard for the three of them to understand?

His father picked up and he raised a brow when he heard the older man swearing and yelling to one of his hands on the farm. “It goes over there, damn it! You know Dalton has a place for everythin’, shit. Act like you got sense, kid.”

“Dad?”

“Hang on a sec, son.” Adam’s father took a sip of coffee and waved over his mother to take the phone. Adam’s mother took the phone from him and eyed her husband.

“It’s our son, woman!”

“Adam? What on Earth are you doin, sweetie? I just got through watchin the replay of last night?”

“I’m… I’m gonna come home a little bit, mom. Just need to think. What’s Dad doin’ on the Bar Low?”

“Ivy’s daddy had a heart attack earlier… So your daddy thought he’d come over and pitch in while Dalton was recoverin because their crop isn’t gonna harvest itself… Are you alright, son?”

Adam sighed and shook his head, found himself thinking bitterly that even knowing her dad was layin in a hospital probably wouldn’t be enough to drag Ivy home..

… because I sure as shit wasn’t enough to keep her around years ago… the thought came, even though by now, Adam knew the truth for the most part. He knew Ivy hadn’t really been given a choice in the matter, but he also felt the bitterness because she didn’t even give him a proper goodbye. She didn’t even try to fight it.

… you know she wasn’t a fighter back then, she just went along with whatever somebody asked of her, tried not to make waves… makin waves was always Connie and Carly’s thing… Adam’s mind veered off and he cleared his throat. “I’m on my way in. What all needs t’ get done?”

“Clever. My sweet clever boy.. You’re not dodgin the discussion we’re gon have. But we’ll figure all that when you get here. How far out are ya?” Adam’s mom smiled to herself as she turned to his father and nudged him. “He’s comin home for a little while!”

“What? It ain’t his downtime. He better not be quittin. Raised more n’ enough hell to go off and do that foolishness, he better not give it up. Ain’t everyday a man gets to accomplish his dream.” Adam’s father muttered, eyeing his wife who shrugged. Adam’s mom repeated her question and bit her lip, excitedly waiting on an answer.

“About 6 hours, give or take.” Adam answered after consulting his GPS. Kenny was flooding the other line with calls but Adam only rolled his eyes and let the calls keep going to voicemail. “Does Ivy? Does she know?” Adam finally bought himself to ask the question, not bothering to keep the annoyance out of his tone at the mention of her name. Adam’s mother sighed and answered calmly, “She’s movin back in, from the looks of it. Came in the mornin after it happened, your daddy was down there half the afternoon helpin her get her things in and do some repairs around the farm…”

She knew about the way things ended. And she knew it hurt her son. But she also knew there were more than two sides to a story and she felt like maybe it was high time they sat down and talked it out. Or yelled it out.

Because Adam hadn’t really been the same since.

And from what Constance let slip on occasion, neither had Ivy.

Closure was needed between the two.

Adam processed what his mother told him and grumbled quietly, taking a deep breath. Suddenly, he wasn’t so sure about his idea to go back to the farm for a few weeks and try to get his head on straight. How the hell was he supposed to do that with his biggest lingering what if right across the field? Knowing they lived in a small town and at some point, he’d inevitably have to run into her.

He was already dreading it.

“Adam?”

“I’m still here, Momma. Just thinkin.”

“Son, it’s been almost ten years. You’re every bit as stubborn as your daddy.” his mother sighed and Adam gave a dry laugh. “I ain’t the one who just up n’ left. Surprised she dragged herself back here. Heard she was doin’ real good down in Florida. Even landed herself a doctor n’ everything.”

“Accordin to what I overheard earlier, she broke it off with the guy. Apparently, he didn’t want her comin back here to do what she needed to do. And he refused t’ come with. She left him n’ came home.”

“Color me shocked.” Adam muttered dryly, letting it sink in. Talking himself right out of even remotely getting his hopes up on any form of closure.

He had more than enough to deal with right now.

Besides, Adam found himself thinking, bet she ain’t given me a second thought. It’s water under the bridge now and that’s where it needs t’ stay. In the past.

The GPS announced his turn and after a few more minutes of conversation, he hung up with his parents and went back to driving and thinking.

And he tried to keep himself from thinking about her being back, but he failed at it miserably and it annoyed the living hell out of him.

#adam hangman page fanfiction #adam hangman page fanfic #adam hangman page fic #adam hangman page imagine #adam hangman page imagines #part 1 of ?#// alcohol tw #// mentions of stripping #// fluff #// hurt comfort #// angst oh god so much angst.

2 notes · View notes

thcrnson · 5 years

Text

𝑶𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒂 𝑯𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒍

ᴛ ʜ ᴇ ɢ ɪ ʀ ʟ ᴡ ʜ ᴏ ᴀ ʟ ᴡ ᴀ ʏ s ᴄ ᴏ ᴍ ᴇ s ɪ ɴ s ᴡ ɪ ɴ ɢ ɪ ɴ ɢ

hey, did i just see olivia howell walking around the block ? oh ! yes ! the last time i saw her, i heard she wanted to be called liv. i hear they are a bartender. people around town say they are so adamant && loyal sometimes i wonder how they can be recalcitrant && brash. ( leather jackets, flannels tied around the waist, wavy dark brown hair, infinite indecision )

A brief character sheet can be found here on my muse page.

History.

tw: derogatory language, drug addiction and overdose, mentions of abuse, mention of abortion, miscarriage, and death

If there was ever a life doomed from the start, set on a path of anguish before she even opened her eyes to greet the world. It would be Olivia Howell. It was a rather typical story of a strung out high school drop out addicted to every variety of narcotics you can think of getting pregnant after whoring herself out for her next hit. It hadn’t matter to her nineteen year old biological mother that she should be taking care of herself for her child she was carrying her, seeing as she didn’t let go of any of her vices it was no surprised that a particularly bad spell caused complications in the pregnancy as well as put her own life at risk. Olivia was born six weeks premature with a hole in her heart, severely malnourished, she had to be cut out of her mother who was coding not long after being brought to the hospital.

Her mother died the day she was born, the hospital tried contacting whomever they could for her but it was no use, she’d had no one to care for her, and so no one to give a damn about the baby girl she’d brought into the world be left alone. So when she was healthy enough she became a ward of the state, actually finding a home pretty quickly. The parents she knew for the first few years of her life did perhaps love her, but it was never meant to be. Her misfortune wasn’t going to leave her anytime soon. When her adoptive mother passed when Olivia was just six years old her adoptive father spiraled, unable to take care of himself much less a little girl. She was at the states mercy once again, and became a child of the system from then on. Being jostled from home to home until she would turn eighteen.

The constant instability in her life and her early development was plenty to turn Olivia into a very angry young girl, and that never quite went away. She never had things normal, never had the best of influences around her, and she always stuck out. She got into heaps of trouble in her teens, even had a short stent in juvie at sixteen. Maybe she could’ve risen above her circumstances, it happened to plenty of kids just like her but not everyone’s life was destined for as much anguish as hers. From the age of ten on there wasn’t a single home she was placed in, in which she was safe. Sometimes it was shitty parents, or insufferable foster siblings, there were too many horrible things. and as she grew out of the system she did her best to forget about them all. Though they never did leave her entirely, never allowed her to sleep soundly at night, to become trusting of anyone no matter how genuine and wholesome they may have seemed.

The angry girl became an angry woman, things were tough for her and she made a lot of bad choices, hurt people by her words as well as by her actions. And as one pious woman once told her, her lack of faith and repentance would be damning for her soul. As broken as she was she could never last in a relationship no matter how good, sure there were faults in some of the men and few women she attempted to date, but even when there was none she found reason to wreak things herself, breaking plenty of hearts in the process of her own healing. Finally at twenty-three things seemed to be headed in a better direction. She managed to get her associate and began working as a law assistant while she tried to figure out where to go from there.

The job was finally one that allowed her to be independent and take care of herself like she hadn’t been able to before. she actually enjoyed her work and felt appreciated for her efforts. Her boss was great, though he expected good work he never hesitated to acknowledge her either, and he was quite easy on the eyes and charming in way none of the guys her own age had ever been. Not a few months into the job he had her all kinds of twisted, the flirtation was well on it’s way to becoming a full blown affair, despite the fact that he had recently married his girlfriend of five years.

It was tumultuous and she was completely wrapped up in him, like she hadn’t been by anyone else before, unable to see his manipulations and dishonesty. He made lofty promises that he never kept, and always pulled her back in with grand gestures when she tried to put any distance between them. When she got pregnant a year into their relationship he convinced her to get an abortion, and framed it in a way that made feel as if it was something she herself wanted. Things only began to get worse from there as she’d become dependent of his affections. Everything came to a boiling point a few short weeks before her death. His wife had learned about the affair a few short months prior and confronted them both, she’d made him leave her and end things with Olivia completely as a condition to allowing him to a second chance as she was pregnant. At this point he had Olivia convinced he was on the verge of getting a divorce and hated his wife. However, not only did that not happen she witnessed first hand just how much he didn’t hate her, how he begged and pleaded with her, how happy he was to have learned about the child she was carrying.

Once again left with nothing, the woman spiraled completely drowning out her sorrows in spirits, loosing her apartment, defaulting on her bills everything going to shit around her. When thanksgiving had rolled around she started her morning with tequila spending her day stalking her ex on social media becoming more and more enraged and heartbroken as he posted about his picture perfect day with his beautiful wife. She should not have gotten into a car that day, she was far to inebriated. She should not have shown up to their home to confront him, but she did and she exploded. Doing everything from yelling and sobbing to attacking him. And as she’d done that the other woman had tried to get in the way and Olivia had shoved her aside causing her to fall down a flight of stairs. As she lay there in pain and screaming about the baby, Olivia felt terrified and ashamed of what she’d done so she left. Speeding away still very much intoxicated and balling her eyes out as well at that point. It was a close call with a suburbian that she had swerve into a ditch to avoid that finally made her stop. Crying her eyes out until she sobered. When she finally got back on the road and the gravity of that night along with the state of her life hit her. And she didn’t stop, she kept going no clear direction as to where just knowing she needed to get far away from her current demons.

The Present.

Following that night, two months ago Olivia landed up in Multiville, if asked she couldn’t entirely tell you why it was this small town that she decided to stop in, to start over if that’s what you want to call it, mostly she was just tired. Going through the motions she got herself a job bartending at the local dive bar after going door to door to find out who might be hiring, she lived in her car for a week or two before she got a lead on someone looking for a roommate for their small mainstreet flat. Things have been okay, uninteresting she has no idea what she’s actually doing, if this where she’s staying, though she might as well since she doesn’t exact have anywhere else to go

Wanted Connections.

Someone who takes an interest in her, and wants to be friends despite her standoffish behaviour.

One or two one night stands she’s had since coming to time.

Her flatmate

Those are a few off the top of my head, but i’m down for pretty much anything!

#❛ ･ﾟ× ( ᴏʟɪᴠɪᴀ ʜᴏᴡᴇʟʟ )#❛ ･ﾟ× ( development › ᴏʟɪᴠɪᴀ )#mv intro

2 notes · View notes

regular-lord-reckoner · 5 years

Text

Alright so here’s what the fuck happened this time around

First of all, the hospital itself sucks

i really hate saying that because I know hospitals and everyone who works there gets shit, but I’ve had previous experience at this hospital and it was a Bad Time (aka the time they pulled a chest tube out of me without...giving me anything. No pain medicine, no nothin’. Not even a Tylenol or anything and it was...bad).

But I figured hey, that was a few years ago and I’m sure things have probably changed since then but uh...nope!

For starters, when I went in to registration they gave me my papers to take to Imaging and the lady told me where to go, but like...it’s a big hospital, it’s easy to get turned around and so when I was looking for where I needed to go one of the volunteers there offered to help, but when I handed them my papers all they saw was Quick Reg stamped on there so they took me over there and dropped my paper in this slot and told me to have a seat. (Mind you it said Quick Reg because it was the same paper from Friday when I came for pretesting, but that’s fine. I did say I was having lithotripsy so I figured they knew what they were doing.)

But I’m sitting there thinking, “This isn’t right, they told me just to go to imaging...” but I thought someone would surely grab my papers and see the mistake and redirect us but we...sat there and sat there and sat there.

Finally the volunteer came back around and went to check and was like, “This never happens, but there’s nobody back there, I’m not sure what’s going on,” so I tried to explain I didn’t even think I needed to be in quick registration but the volunteer insisted I wouldn’t be able to go any further until I did (plus my papers are now behind a locked door so I can’t just go get them) so I say okay and the volunteer manages to find someone and sure enough...guess who just needs to go to Imaging now!!

So, I go there and hand my papers over and have a seat and a few minutes later someone comes to get me so they can do an X-Ray.

They needed to see where the stone is so they know where to do the lithotripsy rather than just...aim blindly at my back or just shoot me all up and down my stent like...no thanks, so that’s fine.

But when I get finished with that they tell me to have a seat back out in the waiting room and then someone will come to get me so I’m like okay, cool.

So we sit and sit and sit and finally my cell phone rings and I answer it and it’s...a nurse from surgery. Apparently they’ve been waiting on me. For like an hour by this point. So that’s cool.

They get a volunteer to walk us down to where that’s at and so I get checked in there and get taken back pretty quickly.

As soon as I get back there the nurse is handing me a cup to pee in so we can do a pregnancy test so I’m like okay cool, do that.

But as soon as I come out the nurse is telling me there was something up with my urine when they last got a sample (on Friday) and I told her I was on my period then so maybe that was why? And she said maybe, so I go ahead and get my gown on and get in bed and shit but another nurse comes in and says my doctor wants to be sure it’s not something from the stone itself and in order to get a better sampling of my urine he wants them to do a catheter thing but like...they literally just let me go to the bathroom, I’m...empty.

But I want this done so bad I say sure, let’s try, so both nurses take a turn sticking a catheter in me trying to get out any urine at all and there’s just...none

(As a side note, one of these nurses when she was going over my history and whatnot sees that I’m taking Mestinon...I explain about having myasthenia... This lady asks me if it was just a “one time thing” and I’m like, “Well no...” ‘cause why would I still take medicine for it? I explain that I’ve had this since birth and she was like, “Oh, so you had all your vaccines and you get flu shots and everything? ‘Cause sometimes that can bring it about.” BITCH, WHAT???? SINCE FUCKING WHEN, SHOW ME ONE FUCKING ARTICLE THAT SAYS VACCINES CAUSE MYASTHENIA. SHOW ME. SHOW ME WHERE. WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT, YOU’RE A GODDAMN NURSE??? Yeah. Wild. I’m very polite and nice the whole time but at this point I’m screaming in my head.)

Eventually the doctor comes in and talks to me. Looking at the X-Ray it looks like the stone has dropped down to where he can’t really do anything with it with lithotripsy anyway, but especially with my questionable urine he says we won’t do it today so I just...y’know, burst into tears.

He writes me a prescription for antibiotics so we can try to clear up any potential bullshit so that whenever he does get rid of this thing it doesn’t just blast shit into my system and make me real bad sick which I get it, I get he’s being cautious, I get we’re trying to do the right thing here by me and I understand but like...I’m so goddamn frustrated by this point. So utterly fucking done and over it all.

The only good thing about today was that they hadn’t started an IV on me just yet. If I’d had that done and had to have it immediately taken out I would have probably cried the entire time out. Instead they left me alone for a few minutes and gave me a wet washcloth to wipe my face with and I settled down, but I had to fight the urge to start sobbing again the whole way out.

And of course, my poor dad, bless his heart, has so much trouble breathing and this is a big hospital that it’s easy to get lost in so when they let me put my clothes back on and send me on my way we get turned around and he had to do so much walking I feel bad having to have him do that, but I didn’t have anyone else to take me.

So now I’m home, I’ve got my antibiotics and the nurse just called to set up my next procedure. He’s going to try to do what he did the time before this and go in to get it out and hopefully with having had a stent in for this fucking long it might be easier this time? Idk? If it didn’t work last time I’m not sure how it’ll work this time and I have zero faith by this point anything’s going to work, they’ll probably have to just go in through my back and get it out that way but like...fuckin’ fine, I don’t care anymore. I’m just done. I’m utterly, utterly fucking done.

Oh, and naturally my mom’s off Monday and Tuesday and would have been free to take me but nooooo, the only thing they have for next week is Thursday!! Of course!!! Of course it’s fucking Thursday!! And I asked if I could at least go back to the other hospital because I like it better, but I guess the scopes at the shitty hospital are what the doctor prefers so like...fine. I’ll deal with their incompetent asses again if it’ll raise my chances of getting this fucking stone taken out of me.

So yeah. That’s my luck, baby!! This shit kicked off back in March, really, and it’s fucking May now and not only did I get another fucking X-Ray today but I took time off work and I dunno what else I’ll be billed for today but probably something!!

And naturally I came home to have another bill waiting on me, so that’s neat!! LOVE that for me!!

And I hate to be so negative and put out because I’ve tried so fucking hard to pull myself out of this fucking rut I’ve been in for...months because I wanted this to work so bad and I was so optimistic and trying my best and this absolutely just slam dunked me into the floor, through the ground, and I really just want to cry some more.

I know this is all in my best interest and I get it, I do, so I’m not trying to blame anyone or say anyone’s done anything wrong (although today was just...a cluster fuck because this hospital seriously has no idea what it’s doing at any given time) but at this point it just feels like I’m being punished for something on a cosmic level. Probably for being a bitch, Idk.

And the really shitty part is literally all I want to do right now is just get high and relax but I’m still waiting to hear about this summer employment thing at my previous job and since I dunno if they’re gonna drug test me or not I probably shouldn’t throw away three weeks now of not having any of that good green stuff in my system so I’m just like...great. Super great. Love having to be fully present for how I feel right now.

I guess I’ll just cry a little more, paint my nails, and maybe do a face mask and just try to distract myself with shit. I wish I had something positive to end this on because I hate just bitching and moaning about shit but I don’t really have it in me right now.

I just hope if you’re reading this you’re having a better day than I am. <3

7 notes · View notes

readitandreddie · 6 years

Text

rough

pairings: reddie

A/N: i wrote this back in december on a03 and i’m about to post chapter two this weekend so i figured i’d post it on tumblr!

Summary: Eddie Kaspbrak is 17 and wants to be the perfect son, even if that means harming himself or others along the way.

Word Count: 1.8k.

WARNINGS: MAJOR SELF HARM. LIKE GROSS. Angst out the ass. Abuse, violence, blood, mental illness, homophobia.

Tugging the hem of his red shorts as high as they could possibly go, Eddie exhaled the breath he had been holding. Looking down at his legs to see the scars from the past few months were starting to fade away except for the couple from a few days ago. Running his fingertip down the jagged lines, he felt his heart sink.

Why couldn’t he be normal and like girls? Just the thought of when Bev had kissed him playing spin the bottle made him want to hurl. He would never admit it to himself, but the only person he wanted the bottle to land on was Richie.

Richie. If it hadn’t been for him maybe Eddie wouldn’t be in this position. They had been best friends since before he could remember. It wasn’t until he was 16 when all of his friends were getting dates, Eddie felt himself becoming jealous that Richie was flirting with all of these random girls.

He remembers that night he decided he should tell his mother how he was feeling, wondering if it was normal. To say the least, Mrs. Kaspbrak was pissed.

You’re sick Eddie. Good boys like you only like girls. Don’t you wanna be good?

”Yes mommy.”

Those words repeated every time he pressed the razor into his skin.

Biting his lip, Eddie reached into his fanny pack for the package of gum that hid his razor and held the metal between his thumb and finger. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. You can’t like him. It’s not right. His thoughts were so loud he couldn’t hear over them if he tried.

Making a quick slit into his right leg, Eddie exhaled, feeling release rushing over him. As nice as the high felt, it went away as quick as it came. More. Shaking now, Eddie aligned the edge under the last slit and pressed. A hiss escaped his lips as he went deeper and drug it along his leg. You deserve this, you know you do. You’re sick. Tears had escaped during this, feeling pain rush to his leg.

The shaking had gotten worse as he reached for the miniature bottle of hand sanitizer that was sitting next to him and dropped it on the floor, making the boy jump. Eddie slowly placed two fingers on the outsides of the cut and bit his lip as hard as he could, knowing this was going to hurt like literal hell.

A yelp slipped out of his mouth as his fingers started moving away from the other, opening the cut he had just made. It was burning, badly. The feeling of his skin tearing was new, but he hoped this would fix him.

Finally releasing the pressure off of his legs, Eddie managed to grab the bottle of sanitizer and pop the lid open with his thumb. Clean. Clean. He needed to be cleansed. The pills aren’t helping you. You know you still like him. Lifting the bottle a couple inches above the now gaping cut, he felt himself squeeze and saw the liquid drop into his leg.

“Oh my- fuck! Fuck!” Eddie screamed, not being able to hold back his emotions. His leg was stinging, bad. Sobs escaped the boy trying to process the pain. This was undoubtedly the worst pain he had experienced, next to breaking his arm a few years back after falling off his bike. A part of him felt lucky that his mom was at work, while another part wished she would come to his rescue.

Sometimes Eddie wondered what things would be like if his mom had just loved him for him, instead of trying to change him. Would he be able to hold Richie’s hand in public? Could he wear that pair of black shorts he bought at a thrift shop with a small rainbow patch on the side for the first time? Could he be happy?

The hand sanitizer had seemed to stent the clotting process and the blood just kept coming and coming until it was running down Eddie’s leg onto the bed sheets. He needed to move before it got any worse.

Grabbing onto the bed frame Eddie lifted himself to the floor putting his weight on his uncut leg, but felt his head start to feel more like an air balloon. Sitting back down, he closed his eyes and squeezed the bridge of his nose trying to regain his strength. Consciousness was starting to slip and Eddie wondered if this what it felt like.

The next morning Eddie woke up freezing. He had passed out and slept in shorts and t-shirt. This normally would’ve been fine but being in November, he was fucking freezing right now.

Slowly sitting up, Eddie’s eyes were glued to the cut that now had a purple bruise around it with the dried blood. He wondered when he finally stopped bleeding last night. Looking over at the clock, 7:34 a.m. Ugh. School was going to suck today. He contemplated staying home, but knew that would require his mom scheduling a doctor appointment. And that wasn’t a risk worth taking.

After rummaging through his drawer, he managed to put on the baggiest pair of sweatpants he owned. There was no way jeans were being worn today. The bike ride to school was uncomfortable, but bearable compared to the pain from last night. He hadn’t realized that this cut was going to make his whole leg sore.

The first few periods went quick. He was lucky enough to be assigned work and not have time to converse with the losers until lunch came.

“H-hey Eddie.” Bill greeted him as Eddie had walked over to the usual lunch table. They must’ve still been in the lunch line. Good. He didn’t want to see Richie.

“Hi, how was the History test?” Eddie asked, wanting to keep the conversation as normal as possible. If he even hinted at being upset he knew it wouldn’t take long before the whole club knew and he was being interrogated.

“G-good. Fairly easy i-if you s-studied.” Bill answered and took a bite from the sandwich his mom had packed him.

Shit. Eddie hadn’t had any time to study since the events of last night. He couldn’t let his grades start slipping too or his mom might lose it. He wasn’t going to eat anyway so taking this time to study alone sounded great.

“I should go do that, tell the guys I said hi.” Eddie exclaimed, taking off before Bill had the chance to say anything.

A few seconds later Stan, Richie, and Bev arrived at the lunch table laughing Rich had said. It didn’t take but a second to realize Eddie wasn’t sitting in his usual spot.

“Hey Bill, have you seen Eds? Chicken and Noodles day is his favorite. I figured he already would be wanting seconds.” Rich asked, shoving a fork into the mashed potatoes.

“Y-yeah he went to s-study for the History test. I think he-he forgot.” Bill replied, giving a slight frown but quickly turned his attention to Bev.

Richie wondered to himself if he should go offer to help but quickly stopped himself. Whenever he reached out to the boy, even if it was just to hangout, he was shot down the past couple months.

Eddie found an empty bathroom to move into for the next half hour and opened the History book to begin studying. It felt nice sitting in the quiet until he heard the door fling open.

He didn’t hear any talking, which confused Eddie but he figured it was just some underclassman. That is until he saw a pair of black leather boots stand in front of his stall. Fuck. Henry Bowers.

He kept his lips pressed together as hard as they could and held his breath. Go away. Please go away. He was wishing he hadn’t left the lunch table at this point.

“Is my favorite little queer in there?” Henry asked, leaning even closer to the stall door. Eddie could hear the smirk in his voice which only made it worse. Silence.

Henry started banging his hand on the door at this point causing a jump from Eddie, letting the History book fall to the bathroom floor.

“Come out come out, or it’ll just be worse on you!” Henry stated, raising his voice to show how inferior he was to Eddie. He couldn’t move, so he figured begging was the only way out.

“Henry p-please stop. I’ll give you my lunch m-money, okay?” Eddie pleaded, wanting out of this situation.

A laugh that sounded like victory came from Henry’s mouth. Oh shit. Did he just give him what he wanted? Eddie remembered what Richie said to do if these assholes were causing him shit. “Just punch them in the dick Eds. It’ll be hard finding it but they’ll go cry to their mama’s. Don’t be scared, they like that too much.”

Henry started fumbling with his pocket knife onto the door lock until he got it open. A grin came across his face seeing Eddie sitting there staring like he had just saw a ghost.

“Should’ve just came out instead of making things so hard on yourself, hm?” Henry asked before grabbing Eddie by the shoulder blade pulling him out of the stall.

Don’t cry. You can do this. Eddie kept his eyes glued on Henry as he was shoved against the painted brick wall. A few blows to the stomach were nothing he couldn’t handle. Eddie focused on the chipping paint behind Henry as the punches got more intense. Just get through this.

Henry stepped back getting ready to kick him in the crotch as Eddie slammed his eyes shut. His boot had landed about six inches away, but was spot on the cut on his leg.

Eddie yelped at this point feeling the hot tears breaking past his eyes. Too much. Henry perked up at the sudden pain he caused.

“Bingo. What do we have here?” Henry asked, smiling from ear to ear as he went to yank his jeans partially down to see the infected cut. Eddie couldn’t stop the tears at this point.

“Jesus Christ! Who knew our little twink cut himself? Let me help.” Henry reached into his back pocket for the switchblade and smiled seeing Eddie crying so hard. He must get off on this. No one should be this mean.

Henry didn’t hesitate to drag the blade across Eddie’s leg. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Eddie stopped counting after a minute or so gaining the courage to fight back.

“Get. Off. Me.” Eddie screamed, trying to knee Henry in the balls but being pressed back into the wall. Why couldn’t he be stronger.

“Little shit!” Henry exclaimed, grabbing the younger boys arm and spitting in his face before the bell rang initiating that lunch had just ended.

Eddie slid down the bathroom wall sobbing as Henry rinsed the knife and walked out of the bathroom. No more. No more.

Eddie scrambled to pull his pants up and rolled his sleeve back down, wincing at the sudden stinging. There was no point grabbing his books, he just wanted to leave. No more.

#reddie #richie x eddie #eddie x richie #it #it 2017 #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #reddie imagine #reddie fic

77 notes · View notes

acavatica · 7 years

Text

Animorphs October: 06 First Date

“You know, usually when two guys are in the same bathroom stall, it’s for more fun reasons than the eternal struggle against the button fly,” Marco said. He glanced up at Ax, who was doing a great job pretending the ceiling tiles were at least as fascinating as last year’s Farmer’s Almanac. Marco went back to work on the remaining four buttons. “Why did Rachel even buy you pants with a button fly? No, never mind. I know she did it specifically to annoy me.”

“I don’t understand. Sssstan-duh.”

“This is what humans call a cockblock. A very literal execution of the concept,” Marco said. “Which is ironic, because I would not be getting so up close and personal on our first date if not for this button situation. I’m a gentleman.”

Ax furrowed his brow and puffed out a small sigh. “I believe I now understand even less. If that was an attempt at an ex-ks-ks-planation, I’m afraid you should continue to search for a more appropriate vocation. Vo-kay-shun.”

Marco snorted and shook his head. “Don’t worry about it and stop fidgeting.”

Ax held his breath and looked back up at the ceiling.

Ax had had to leave in the middle of dinner to demorph. After asking for more of those heavenly cheddar biscuits two times, Marco had decided he should probably go check on him. He’d made a lot of progress after two years of trial and error with “the illogical human convention of clothing,” but even Ax had his limits. A button fly was already advanced-level illogical clothing, even without the added complication of Ax’s Andalite claustrophobia in a bathroom stall.

Marco finished buttoning Ax’s pants and gave him a once-over. If Rachel could be counted on for one thing, it was that she was ready for a fight, no questions asked. If she could be counted on for one more thing, it was that she was going to pick out a great date outfit. The first time Marco had seen Ax tonight, he’d felt like the breath had been knocked out of him.

Now Ax was looking down at Marco, his eyes on Marco’s hands, which still lingered at Ax’s waist. Marco grinned at the way Ax flushed and chewed his lip. Slowly and carefully, he buttoned Ax’s shirt buttons, starting from the bottom. He left two unbuttoned and ran the shirt lapels between his fingers, straightening them. He could tell it was expensive. Another thing Rachel could be counted on for. Marco tugged gently on Ax’s fancy lapels, pulling his face down closer. He froze at the sound of the bathroom door opening and swore under his breath.

“You okay in there?” Marco recognized their server’s voice because she had given him a total of twelve cheddar biscuits. She probably thought they were trying to dine and dash. Not that Marco had never thought of enjoying a complimentary roll or chips and then leaving, but his dad actually had credit now.

“We need no assistance! Stents!” Ax stated authoritatively. Marco ground his forehead into Ax’s sternum. At least the shirt was soft, and at this distance Marco could really appreciate the fine pattern in the weave. He could probably come up with some way to make fun of Rachel to let her know he noticed by Monday.

“Listen, I don’t get paid enough to deal with this,” she said, her voice strained. “I just need to know if I should seat someone at your table or not.”

“No, we’re done in here,” Marco said quickly. “I promise we intend to tip generously. Just please leave and pretend this didn’t happen.”

The server sighed loudly, but Marco heard her shut the door behind her. Marco sighed and leaned back into the stall door. Ax was frowning. “I am sorry --”

Marco put his hand up. “Don’t, dude. This was my idea. Let’s just get back to our table before she tells a manager or calls the cops.”

“Have we broken the law?” Ax asked as Marco led him by the hand back to their table.

“Only laws of decency,” Marco said, settling back into the booth and stirring his raspberry lemonade with his straw. “At least I think.”

Marco opened the heavy menu again, scanning the entrees and trying not to worry about the prices. His dad had handed over his credit card and said I’m not giving you a limit, but I trust you not to overdo it. Marco’s life had done such a 180 in the last two years. He’d gone from having no money and barely having a dad, to being better off than ever with an overcompensating, trying-too-hard dad. He’d gone from having a dead mom to having a stepmom-slash-wannabe-tutor who wasn’t great at the whole “respecting his boundaries” thing and a real mom who was an alien slave. He’d gone from having the normal kind of shitty life to having to make the conscious choice, every moment, not to start running and never stop.

He looked up at Ax. He’d gone from having a pathetic crush on his best friend to having a hot-but-bizarre, literal space alien boyfriend. So at least some things were looking up, sometimes, kind of.

“What were you thinking?” he said. “My dad and I usually get the big combo meal and split it but, uh, you know. Order whatever you want.”

“I have not tried most of this food. Foo-duh. Duh,” Ax answered, looking down at the menu like normal people would have looked at calculus problems. “What is a langostino? Lan-go-steee-no.”

“It’s not a real lobster. If you really wanna relive old times, get this.” Marco reached over and pointed at the picture of the whole lobster on Ax’s menu. Ax’s eyes went wide in recognition. Marco grinned and looked Ax in the eye. “They kill it for you here.”

“Humans are horrible,” Ax said, wrinkling his nose and lips in a way Marco thought was really cute until he realized it was Cassie’s “changing bandages” face.

“Well if you’re not getting it, I am.” Marco set his menu down. “How else will we know it’s a special occasion?”

“I don’t know,” Ax said, his mouth full of cheddar biscuit. “My date idea -- aye-dee-uhh, dee uhhh -- was scary movies and snacks. Snacksuh. Snax.”

Marco rolled his eyes. “That’s not a date, that’s a Tuesday.”

“Why do humans think they must be less comfortable and experience more stress to have a ‘good time’?” Ax did finger quotes and Marco almost spat out his lemonade.

“It’s the human condition, Ax-man. Maybe someday your people will study us. Hopefully not the dissecting kind of study.”

“No, I believe that is your specialty, if this menu and my firsthand experience are any indication,” Ax said, muffled by the whole biscuit he’d just shoved into his mouth. Ax looked like a hamster storing food in its cheek pouches when the server came to take their order.

Dinner passed fairly uneventfully. Ax had been spending enough time in public with Marco that it’d been awhile since Marco had to give him an “act normal” lecture. Marco could tell Ax was on his best behavior. If he was totally honest, he thought he could tell Ax was on edge. Maybe Marco had overemphasized the importance of the human ritual of the first date. At this point, Marco felt like he knew a lot about Ax. He wasn’t afraid of a lot of things. Why would he be, when he could outrun, outsmart, and outfight almost anyone? But Marco knew he was afraid of being alone and Marco knew he was afraid of disappointing people.

Marco transferred his bag of leftovers to his other hand and took Ax’s in his. Ax was looking up at the pink and purple clouds of the sunset, but Marco watched a smile spread across his lips. The falling light illuminated his hair like a halo, highlighting the reddish undertones in his brown hair and skin. Marco had always thought Ax was pretty, but he seemed even prettier now that Marco didn’t have to hide that he thought so.

“You wanna take a walk through the botanical garden?” Marco asked. They were walking leisurely in no specific direction, but it was only a short detour off Ortega. “How much time do you have?”

“Approximately seventy-six of your minutes,” Ax said. “I like the botanical garden. Cassie has taken me there. There are many unique species of flowers and trees. Yoo-neek tr-tr-treee-zuh.”

Marco tried to hide his disappointment that their first date wouldn’t be Ax’s first time there. “Well, I think I can show you a better time than Cassie.”

“I hope so,” Ax said seriously. “A duck took my churro.”

Marco led them to the park. It was tiny, but it had lots of walking paths, lots of little nooks to duck into, and enough plants that even nature freaks like Cassie were into it. Marco’s mom had been into it too, which is how he knew about it. He’d avoided it for the two years he thought she was dead. It was one of the only good things about finding out she was actually worse than dead. At least now he didn’t have to add twenty minutes to his walk to school to avoid one city block.

He’d actually always fantasized about bringing a date to this park. In his fantasies, the date had always either been a hot girl or Jake. Technically, Ax was something like three-quarters that, give or take, so Marco had to count this as a success.

Ax reached out with his free hand and ran his fingertips over the Braille letters underneath the sign for the sensory garden. Marco raised a brow and pulled at Ax’s other hand. He didn’t want to get into this again.

“No, I like this part,” Ax said obstinately. He pulled Marco in the other direction and Marco was compelled to move forward. He yanked his hand away and crossed his arms, but followed. Nothing pissed him off more than people moving him without his permission because he was small.

Ax was taking his time, touching all the differently-textured plants almost like a ritual. Marco groaned internally that maybe it was and Ax was going to waste all his morph time here instead of where Marco wanted him to go.

Marco decided he felt like gambling. “You know this part of the park is for people with disabilities, right?”

Ax, carefully rubbing a leaf between the fingers on his left hand, turned his head to look sharply at Marco. “I do. Cassie explained it to me when she brought me here.”

“And you like it?” Marco felt like he was standing on the edge of a cliff. His heart was racing and there was no way to know if it was from excitement or anxiety. Everything felt the same now, anyway.

Ax frowned and all Marco could think was how pretty his lips were and how much he wanted to kiss them, if Ax would just cooperate. “If my people had different attitudes, this garden has a very appealing concept. The mixed textures and vibrant colors are very Andalite. I wish it were possible for me to come here in my natural body. My usual sense of touch is much more refined than a human’s.”

“Ax. Are you finally admitting Andalites are wrong about something?” Marco said, stunned.

“Marco. You are a brilliant tactician.”

“What’s your point?”

“I am just surprised that the same person can be so competent at battle strategy and also so absolutely lacking in interpersonal tact,” Ax said dryly. He added, under his breath, “It is almost impressive.”

A light feeling fluttered up from low in Marco’s stomach up to his chest, making him sigh deeply. He took Ax’s hand again and walked backward toward where he wanted to take him. “Come with me.”

Ax didn’t protest, and instead he squeezed Marco’s hand as he followed. Marco led Ax down a winding path that led almost to the edge of the man made pond in the middle of the park. He picked a bench that was at the furthest point between two streetlights, shrouded by long fronds of some big plant with red bunches of flowers. The dim lights shimmered off the light ripples in the water. The spot he’d chosen was right in front of a cluster of lily pads. In the faint light of the waning sunset, they were almost indistinguishable from the reflections of the palms, creating an illusion that the sky was full of flowers.

“I like this park,” Ax said, his voice almost a whisper. “These floating plants remind me of my home.”

Marco set his leftovers down next to the bench and pulled Ax down almost into his lap. Marco leaned forward, bracing himself on the bench with one hand. He put a knee on either side of Ax’s leg and pushed gently on Ax’s chest until he could climb over him enough to kiss him. Ax kissed back immediately and pulled Marco in deeper with a hand on the back of his neck. Marco felt like he was melting from the inside out and let his body settle on top of Ax.

This was their first date but it definitely wasn’t their first kiss. If you looked up the word “oral fixation” in the dictionary, there would be a picture of Ax’s human morph off to the side. Ax had become a very experienced kisser in the couple months they’d been doing whatever it was that two child soldiers do when they pretend to be normal kids who kiss sometimes. They kissed a lot. Ax wasn’t just into fun mouth experiences, though. Ax was tuned into Marco’s responses like he’d been trained to monitor the sensor array that was the small sounds Marco made and the way he gasped and went still when Ax did something right. This was a kid who apparently slept through all his classes but not his practicals.

Marco put one hand on Ax’s cheek and the other he buried in Ax’s soft, coily hair. At the touch, Ax moaned into his mouth. He nibbled at Marco’s lower lip and thrust his tongue deeper. The sounds of crickets, frogs, birds, water, everything around them was all drowned out by the pulse Marco could feel through his whole body and their rough breaths. Every inch of Marco’s skin was alight and Ax’s fingertips felt like they could have traced a burn into him. Ax’s hand stopped at Marco’s hip, pulling him closer. Ax shifted, moving his knee up so that his thigh pressed between Marco’s legs. Marco gasped, tightened his hand in Ax’s hair, and buried his face in the crook of Ax’s neck.

Click!

There was a blinding flash and Marco was on his feet, one arm blocking the light from his face, his other hand a fist. His heart was pounding in his throat and his body went from overheated to ice cold. He blinked into the light, trying to make out what had… interrupted their makeout.

“What are you kids doing?” The beam of light lowered and Marco was able to take in the broad man and his black uniform. A cop. Not a Hork-Bajir. Not Visser Three. A fucking cop. Not that he couldn’t be a Controller. Not that he wasn’t dangerous even if he wasn’t.

“We are on a date. Day-tuh,” Ax explained. “This is an outing between two people who share mutual romantic interest. Ssstuh. We are both male, which is a source of friction in your society. Tee. Sci-eh-tee. However, we are just trying to have a good time. We are both young and restless.”

“God,” Marco couldn’t help but whisper. He pulled his numb hands down his face before holding them up where the cop could see them. His mouth was suddenly dry. He ran his tongue over his teeth and swallowed. “Officer. Sir. We were just about to go home. Can… can we leave?”

The officer squinted at Ax and frowned. He shined his light directly in Ax’s eyes, which made him flinch and made Marco have to swallow the fire in his throat. “Are you high?”

“No, sir,” Marco answered quickly before Ax could make it worse, keeping his tone even despite his body feeling like it was about to shake apart. “English isn’t his first language. Please, we need to get home, my dad’s expecting us.”

“Where do you live?”

Marco took a deep breath. His mom had grown up in a police state and she hadn’t left her son with nothing. “Are we being detained, officer?” he said carefully, like he had practiced it. Because he had, when he was eight years old.

The cop clicked his flashlight back off and waved it toward the park’s exit. “You’re free to go. But keep that --” He gestured up and down at them with the flashlight. “In private from now on.”

Marco grabbed Ax by the wrist and walked rapidly away, checking over his shoulder until the cop started walking in the other direction. Marco was panting by the time they reached the park exit. His ears were ringing. His eyes were burning. He felt like screaming.

“Are you okay?” Ax asked.

Marco tightened his hand around Ax’s wrist until the skin surrounding his grip turned white. “No, I’m not fucking okay, Ax! I go out with you all the time and you could get us killed every single time. Even if that cop was one hundred percent grade A, Yeerk-free human, we’re two gay brown kids and he’s a cop. You’ve got to learn when to keep your mouth shut!”

Ax blinked blankly at Marco like he’d just watched him kick Nora’s fucking dog across the room. Immediately, Marco’s stomach dropped and he felt like he was crashing in on himself. He let Ax go.

“Dude. Sorry. I’m sorry.” Marco sat down, right there on the sidewalk, and put his head between his knees. He tried to catch his breath. “And I forgot my fucking linguine.”

Ax hesitated, then sat down next to Marco. He didn’t touch him, and Marco was grateful. “I put forth substantial effort,” Ax said finally. “But I believe this date has been what humans call a ‘clusterfuck.’”

Marco looked up at Ax, his mouth hanging open. Like a reflex, a laugh came out of his chest. It was followed by another, until he was cackling helplessly, burying his face into the stupidly soft sleeve of Ax’s shirt. When he was finally able to calm down and sit back up, Ax’s shirt was wet. If Ax noticed, he didn’t say anything.

Marco rubbed roughly at his eyes with the heel of his palm and sniffed. “You gotta be short on time now, huh?”

“Yes,” Ax said. “I only have seventeen of your minutes left in this morph.”

“They’re everyone’s minutes,” Marco said. “You wanna come to my house, reset your time, have some snacks, watch some scary movies?”

“It is not Tuesday,” Ax teased.

“Don’t make me admit you were right all along,” Marco said, letting Ax pull him to his feet.

“Unlike humans,” Ax said, in his usual imperious tone, “Andalites do not seek constant validation.”

Marco rolled his eyes and slipped his hand back into Ax’s as they walked home.

#animorphs #animorphs october #animorph prompt month #axmarco #aximili #marco #my fic #let aximili say fuck 2k17

32 notes · View notes

dameedna · 4 years

Photo

John Prine, a wry and perceptive writer whose songs often resembled vivid short stories, died Tuesday in Nashville from complications related to COVID-19. His death was confirmed by his publicist, on behalf of his family. He was 73 years old.

Prine was hospitalized last week after falling ill and put on a ventilator Saturday night, according to a statement from his family.

Music Features

John Prine's Songs Saw The Whole Of Us

Even as a young man, Prine — who famously worked as a mailman before turning to music full-time — wrote evocative songs that belied his age. With a conversational vocal approach, he quickly developed a reputation as a performer who empathized with his characters. His beloved 1971 self-titled debut features the aching "Hello In There," written from the perspective of a lonely elderly man who simply wants to be noticed, and the equally bittersweet "Angel From Montgomery." The latter song is narrated by a middle-aged woman with deep regrets over the way her life turned out, married to a man who's merely "another child that's grown old."

Bestowing dignity on the overlooked and marginalized was a common theme throughout Prine's career; he became known for detailed vignettes about ordinary people that illustrated larger truths about society. One of his signature songs, "Sam Stone," is an empathetic tale of a decorated veteran who overdoses because he has trouble readjusting to real life after the war. (Prine has said he based the protagonist around friends who were Vietnam War veterans, and also soldiers he encountered during his own two-year stint as an Army mechanic.)

Tiny Desk

John Prine: Tiny Desk Concert

Like "Sam Stone," many of Prine's songs also had an uncanny ability to address (if not predict) the societal and political zeitgeist. The understated 1984 song "Unwed Fathers" illustrates pernicious double standards pertaining to gender: The titular group "can't be bothered / They run like water, through a mountain stream," while the young women they impregnate are shamed and face consequences. Recorded for John Prine, "Your Flag Decal Won't Get You Into Heaven Anymore" criticizes people who use piety and patriotism as a cover for supporting an unjust war — a theme he'd revisit on 2005's "Some Humans Ain't Human," which pulls no punches slamming both hypocritical people and the Iraq War started by George W. Bush.

John Prine: In Memoriam

But like fellow songwriting iconoclast Shel Silverstein, Prine also cloaked his pointed commentary within whimsical wordplay. "Some Humans Ain't Human" claims that inside the heart of these turncoats is "a few frozen pizzas, some ice cubes with hair and a broken Popsicle," while "Dear Abby" has a lilting, rollicking rhythm to its verses, as it gently chides advice-column complainers to count their blessings. "Bruised Orange (Chain of Sorrow)" uses both absurdity (an altar boy struck by a train) and the mundane (a bench makeout) to encourage people to stay positive and have gratitude.

And "Christmas In Prison" boasts one of his best lyrics — "She reminds me of a chess game with someone I admire" — while embodying his quiet irreverence. "It's about a person being somewhere like a prison, in a situation they don't want to be in, and wishing they were somewhere else," he wrote in the liner notes to 1993's Great Days: The John Prine Anthology, adding that "I used all the imagery as if it were an actual prison. ... And being a sentimental guy, I put it at Christmas."

Prine was born on October 10, 1946, to parents with strong family ties to Paradise, Kentucky, a place that later served as the backdrop to "Paradise," his cautionary tale about a coal country town destroyed and discarded by corporate interests.

Raised in Maywood, a suburb of Chicago,, the young Prine devoured 45s from Buddy Holly, Johnny Cash and Little Richard, and soaked up the country music his father loved, such as Hank Williams Sr., Ernest Tubb and Roy Acuff. More crucially, Prine learned rudimentary guitar skills from his oldest brother, Dave, a folk fan who memorably gifted him a Carter Family LP. "I learned all those songs," he told NPR's Terry Gross in 2018. "And not too long after that, I started writing when I was 14. And my melodies always came out like old-timey country stuff." Around this time, Prine also started to learn finger-picking by playing songs by Elizabeth Cotten and Mississippi John Hurt, he added: "I'd sit in the closet in the dark in case I ever went blind, to see if I could play."

Although Prine also started taking guitar lessons at Chicago's Old Town School of Folk Music starting in fall 1963, he still wasn't considering pursuing music as a full-time career. In fact, he was working as a mailman and playing gigs at night on the side when a generous live review from critic Roger Ebert in late 1970 boosted his reputation in Chicago's nascent folk scene. A record deal with Atlantic Records came in early 1971, after then-executive Jerry Wexler saw Prine perform three songs during a Kris Kristofferson set at the Bottom Line in New York City.

John Prine, hanging out at Georgia State College in 1975.

Tom Hill/WireImage

Prine received a Grammy nomination for Best New Artist in 1972, on the strength of his debut, and started turning out records at a brisk pace for the rest of the 1970s. Almost immediately, his songs were covered by other artists: Bonnie Raitt did a version of "Angel From Montgomery" (as did John Denver and Tanya Tucker), while Bette Midler, Everly Brothers, Swamp Dogg and, later, the Highwaymen also recorded Prine-penned songs.

Being in the spotlight didn't come naturally. "I had a difficult time listening back to them because I was so nervous," he told Fresh Air about his early records. "I didn't expect to do this for a living, be a recording artist. I was just playing music for the fun of it and writing songs to ... that was kind of my escape, you know, from the humdrum of the world."

But Prine's early success allowed him to start approaching his career on his own terms. With manager Al Bunetta, he formed the independent label Oh Boy Records in 1981, launching it with a Christmas single, "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus." Prine slowed down his output in the '80s and '90s but expanded his sonic purview, co-writing "Jackie O" with John Cougar Mellencamp for the latter's hit 1983 LP Uh-Huh and collaborating with members of Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers for his 1991 album The Missing Years, which won a Grammy for Best Contemporary Folk Album. (Prine also won in the same category for 2005's Fair & Square.)

Starting in the mid-'90s, Prine also dealt with several serious health issues. He had a cancerous tumor in his neck removed in 1996, successfully beat lung cancer in 2013 and had a heart stent implanted in 2019. In 2018, he admitted to NPR's Terry Gross that his 1996 cancer surgery changed his voice.

"It dropped down lower, and it feels friendlier to me," he said. "So I can actually sit in the studio and listen to my singing play back. Before, I'd run the other way." He debuted his new voice — which did feel a bit rougher of comfort, like a rock swathed in moss — with 1999's In Spite of Ourselves, which featured duets on covers with female artists such as Iris DeMent, Patty Loveless and Lucinda Williams. He released a kindred-spirit sequel in 2016, For Better, or Worse, that also featured DeMent, in addition to duets with contemporary artists Miranda Lambert, Kacey Musgraves and Morgane Stapleton.

John Prine at the Edison Hotel in Times Square, 1999.

New York Daily News Archive/NY Daily News via Getty Images

Prine's career received another boost more recently, too, after his work was championed by modern Americana acts such as Jason Isbell and Amanda Shires — two artists with whom Prine collaborated — Sturgill Simpson and Margo Price. In 2019, he was inducted into the Songwriters Hall of Fame, the year after releasing The Tree of Forgiveness, his first album of all-new original songs since Fair & Square. The album featured co-writes with Dan Auerbach and long-time foils Pat McLaughlin and Keith Sykes, and debuted at No. 5 on Billboard's Top 200.

The Tree of Forgiveness ends with a song called "When I Get to Heaven," a detailed look at what Prine said he intended to do after he dies: start a band, see dearly departed family members, order a cocktail, shake God's hand and encourage rampant forgiveness. (In a nod to his usual wry streak, he also said he'd enjoy a cigarette that's "nine miles long.") The lyrics are sentimental and freewheeling, making it clear that Prine planned to keep the good times going up in heaven. It's likely that the song was intended to be a winking bit of foreshadowing about his own mortality, although now, perhaps it's better interpreted as Prine providing a blueprint for how to live life with gusto while you're still here.

0 notes

noahcoma · 7 years

Text

"Not Like This" Isak/Even;PG;aftermath of isak getting rekt by elias

Up the stairs to their apartment, Even conjured up a string quartet in his head, scoring something suspenseful.

Isak had stents in his broken nose and when Even reached over to fix some of his fringe curling around his swollen eye, Isak shrugged his touch away. And for the rest of the walk, his shoulders were drawn up and he walked about a foot ahead of Even consistently.

As they toed their shoes off, safely inside the warmth of their apartment, Even reached over to him once more to help him out of his jacket. Even let it hang over his arm as he watched his boyfriend sway-walk down the hall, leg crossing over the other, dragging his palm along the wall on his way to the bedroom..

“Let’s do it,” Even shrugged his own jacket off, and folded and tucked both in the coat closet.

Isak stifled a yawn. “I just spent an eternity waiting for a grown man to push my nose back into place like my bones are just lego pieces. I’m not exactly in the mood, Even.” He dove into their bed and nearly landed on his face because he was a child that needed 25/10 supervision. He managed to roll on his back, disturbing every blanket and pillow in his wake.

Even shuffled his weight between his feet, still stood by the main door, watching Isak through the hall. “No, not it. I meant fight.”

Isak’s hand dropped to his side from when he was rubbing one temple. “Fight?” He asked the ceiling.

“Yeah,” Even responded, voice just above a whisper. He sauntered over to the room, hovering by the door frame, shoulder against the wood. “Let’s fight.”

“Why.” Isak was basically talking to the ceiling. Maybe it worked better when they weren’t looking each other eyes to… eye. “Why do you think we should fight?”

“Because you’re mad at me.”

“No.”

“You’re mad. And a bad liar.”

“For fuck’s sake, Even.” Isak folded his arms across his stomach. “What are we doing right now?”

“Isak,” Even walked to the foot of the bed. He nudged Isak’s ankle with a socked foot. “Isak…”

“What.”

“Look at me.”

Isak licked his lips, hesitant. He pushed himself up, palms digging into the mattress’ surface behind him.

“Are you looking at me?”

Isak would roll his eyes but God hated him that day what with his eye being the size of a fucking golf ball and his boyfriend wanting to get into a whole thing. “Yes.”

Even sat on his haunches, elbows propped on his knees. “Why are you mad at me?”

“I’m not fucking mad.”

“Is it because I held you back after you hit Mikael?”

Isak tilted his head back and took a deep breath. “Even, this isn’t going to help.”

“Is it because I made that joke in the waiting room?”

“What joke?”

“You know? The one where I said that this would be a good excuse for you to get a nose job?”

Isak’s voice remained monotonous. “That was hilarious.”

“Is it because I forgot to put the clothes in the dryer this morning?”

“No, but thank you for reminding me. It’s not enough that our clothes smell like double dead seafood.”

“Is it because I held you back when you hit Mikael?” He watched Isak’s face intently.

“You already asked that.”

“Yeah,” Even occupied the space beside Isak, one leg tucked under his weight. “I just wanted to make sure.”

“I don’t give a flying fuck about Mikael.”

Even smiled. “You don’t give a flying fuck about tea either but I don’t see you trying to knock that out.”

“Even,” Isak whined, shooting back up on his feet. Even made a reach for his hand but missed it by an inch.

“Yes?” Even’s stare followed Isak, pacing back and forth.

“I already feel so fucking stupid. I don’t want to have to explain to you why I’m stupid.”

Even shook his head, touching his own chest. “You’re not stupid, Isak.”

“Yes, I am” Isak stopped pacing. He kept both hands behind his back as he leaned against the wall, directly in front of where Even was sat. “I don’t know why I did it. Or no, I do. The second I saw him and he looked at you…” Isak’s stare dropped to his feet.

“Isak, I don’t even talk about him.”

“That’s the thing.” Isak pointed out. “You don’t talk about him and I’m left to just wonder. And I need answers.”

“Great,” Even exclaimed, arms out. “What kind of answers?”

“Were you together?”

“No,” Even responded immediately. “Not really.”

“Not really,” Isak repeated. “What does that mean?”

“It means we might have fooled around every now and again, but we were never together. Not like this.”

“Fool around?” Isak shook his head at his own question, crossing and uncrossing his arms. “No, no, no, don’t answer that.”

Even’s features take on the look of mild amusement. But he was dressing everything in his sincerest tone because he doesn’t want to throw Isak off.

“When did you last speak to him?”

Even took a deep breath, head turned to the side as he thought. “Christmas, last year.”

“Oh.”

“He messaged me. I didn’t reply.”

Isak looked Even up and down, but in a way that was curious, as though venturing much too closely to the edge of a cliff, afraid to look down at the height of the fall. Even didn’t mind offering up the rest of the information just to calm Isak’s nerves: “He just said Merry Christmas. That’s it.”

Isak met Even’s gaze for only a few seconds. He brought his hands back around to pick at his nails, shaking his head slowly. “I told you this was stupid.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I don’t -” Isak sighed, shoulders slowly moving up then down. “I don’t wanna have to ask you about who you talk to. Or what you say to them. I don’t want to feel like…”

“…jealous?” Even completed for him.

“Unreasonably jealous,” Isak corrected.

“You’re not being unreasonable.” Even stood up, unhurriedly making his way to stand just a couple of feet away from Isak.

Isak scoffed. “I punched a guy I don’t know, unprovoked.”

Even tongued the inside of his cheek, unable to keep the smile from forming on his lips. “You got me.”

“Yeah.”

Even took Isak’s smile as an invitation to curl his fingers along his shoulder and squeeze. “This is the lamest fucking fight of all time.”

And when Isak laughed, he pulled him in a for a hug.

“We did have that one fight where you got ants on the bed.”

“Are you kidding me?” Even rubbed his back. “That was one of our bests. One of the more passionate ones.”

The quiet that came after was much calming in comparison. Honestly, they could be in the eye of a hurricane and Even would find a way to call it home so long as Isak was next to him. He felt Isak snake his arms around his waist and for those few seconds, things seemed to fall into place.

“How long were you fooling around for?”

The ends of Isak’s curls tickled Even’s cheek as he answered, “not long.” He knew that Isak could never ask full on, at least not yet, what he would really like to know; Did you love him? Isak skated around the question like he was vying for pro, and Even followed his lead, doing everything he could to comfort him without actually touching the question. “Not like this.”

Isak nuzzled the crook of his neck, and Even felt his eyelids slipping shut. He raked his fingers through the back of Isak’s head. “Should we talk about Jonas next?”

Isak jolted from Even’s touch like he was hot metal. “Fuck you.”

Even laughed, trying to get Isak back in his space. Isak didn’t resist for too long. He never did.

A/n: probably a little too late. But the best things in life are. No one says that.

#evak #evak fic #skam fic #skam #isak valtersen #even bech næsheim #skam english #isak x even #even x isak #even x mikael #my fic #hei briskeby #balloon squad #the balloon squad #elias bakkoush

158 notes · View notes

thatrosylife · 7 years

Text

Laugh at life's turbulence!

I haven’t updated this blog for quite sometime and there have been some huge changes, challenges and in my mind, miracles. After constant worry and anguish that I would never be able to find, let alone be successful in securing a new job, I did it! I put all the fear and pessimism to the back of my mind and took the plunge! I remember being told I had an interview and fear and panic consumed me, I thought “wow this is it, this is my chance”. I grabbed it with both hands and started preparing. I spent every spare moment I had to prepare, this was it, after 14 years of emotional bullying, I had an opportunity to finally leave my job and I wanted to make damn sure it happened. I even spent an entire afternoon sat in a lovely comfy pub on my own which takes guts, to prep prep prep. My interview came round pretty quick, I was full of excitement. My interview I felt went so well I was so happy. I though to myself “this is the job I want and this is where I know I need to be”. I had to come back down to reality the next day and back into my monotonous dark and toxic job. The only thing still niggling me was the anxiety of the travel and stress of a new role potentially making my symptoms worse. How would I cope? What would I do? Give up work completely? Answer to that, no! How would I know unless I at least tried. There I was sat at my desk one dreary morning and the phone rings, “we like to offer you the role”, the words circled through my mind over and over while feeling dizzy from the adrenaline. These words I had been so desperate to hear had finally been spoken. I was in shock and on cloud nine! Then the panic set in, but no, anxiety you are not spoiling this for me. I had a 2 week holiday to Mexico to look forward to and a new job, all in the same year I also nearly succumbed to depression. Wow what a year. I had my last day at work and after 14 years you’d think they’d be happy for me, jeez was I wrong. I don’t even think they deserve the words I am typing so I won’t waste my energy explaining it. My friends however made a lovely effort with a leaving speech for me and parting gifts. That was that, I was finally free. I felt a huge weight lift off me, what a relief it was like being set free from a prisoners camp (I imagine). Back to approaching holiday, I took half a benzodiazepine prior to flying which panicked me as I thought I was having a bad reaction but I was ok after 15 mins or so. After 10 hours we landed, got our transfer and wow, I was ok! I had been feeling a lot better since taking the Prozac so was basically in remission. I was having a wonderful time, feeling happy about starting my new job and then food poisoning hits me……why me?? It ruined the rest of the holiday but didn’t affect my symptoms and got home ok with the benzodiazepine again. Don’t think I just let it go, I am still in the process of claiming back from my holiday insurance. My first day in my new job, I get the early train, I want to be on time and make a good impression! Everything is going fine, everyone is very welcoming, kind and accepting. Then a huge wave on anxiety kicks in….jeez I wasn’t expecting that. Thoughts race through my mind “what have I done, is this the right decision, I can’t go back now”….I take a calm walk, meet a friend, calm down and carry on. I get the train home, break down in tears on Mick and then pull myself together. I try again the next day, expecting my symptoms to flare up due to the stress…..but they don’t. I was going to come off the Prozac before I started but Mick assured me this was a bad decision as I wouldn’t cope, boy was he right! It took me a few months to feel settled, I have made some lovely friends there, it is a wonderful team and I feel so lucky to have landed this job. Based on past experiences I feel this was a miracle, someone up there giving me a break! But however lucky I am I still have that dark cloud visiting me from time to time, yep you guessed it….depression! I was doing so well, ok I didn’t have the best confidence but who would starting a new job with unfamiliar faces and dynamics. I persisted through it thinking “this is a blip” but gradually I realised, I have been taking Prozac for 18 months now and was on 60mg per day, which is quite high really. I decided to take matters into my own hands and went to the doctor to change them, I was prescribed venlafaxine (Effexor). With the help from my hugely supportive manager I tapered off the Prozac and started the Effexor (quick release)….after a day or 2 I was presented with a whole host of side effects, some were expected but not as intense. I had a dry mouth like I had just eaten a bag of flour, grinding teeth which caused me to feel sick and anxious. Then the heightened anxiety! I give thanks that my work are very pro wellbeing and I was able to work from home in my own surroundings whilst enduring these awful side effects. One of the days I awoke with huge terror of leaving the house, I felt paralysed laying in bed. I got up and dressed but in tears of panic. Again I worked from home, but went back to the doctor who prescribed me the one a day slow release Effexor. He had no idea why the substitute doctor had provided fast release as these cause awful side effects, so note to everyone taking Effexor for the first time, don’t get the fast release! I've now been taking this for 3 weeks and have about another 1-3 weeks to start feeling the full effects but I’m getting there with the support of family and work. I have been listening to audio books, motivational you tube clips, colouring, exercising, Netflix bingeing and getting out in the sun for walks with the dog. I also immerse myself in my work to keep me feeling motivated and I really enjoy my job so that helps. I do this all to help keep the harmony and happiness that the tablets are not giving me at the moment. You are probably wondering why I take them, I have my dream job, I should be happy right? Not quite, depression takes over even if you have everything you could possibly want as some of you more than appreciate, but I also take these to control my stress and anxiety levels because if these increase, there is a chance my symptoms will relapse or get worse if not in remission. On a separate note, after several visits (private and NHS), procedures (lumber puncture, venography) they have come to the tentative conclusion that I have narrowing of blood vessels in the brain which is causing the symptoms, I am yet to get a formal diagnosis. This is mind settling after battling for nearly 10 years however the surgery to ease this is very invasive (stent inserted to widen vessels) and comes with life changing risks or even death. This is something I need to consider and weigh up the benefits. My symptoms are stable at the moment and I am eternally grateful for that, I think the idea of MdDS got ruled out by the consultant at Cambridge Hospital as I wasn’t showing the notorious sign, rocking. I had also travelled on the train for 2 hours everyday for work and get the elevator to the 7th floor and down numerous times a day at work. No symptoms triggered? And the floor moves where I sit and this also is fine. Who knows, I’ll have to wait for the diagnosis letter but I feel I’m there. To anyone out there battling for a diagnosis or battling with acceptance, it will come. I truly believe if you accept your “new way of life” your brain accepts it and adapts. Maybe I’m just lucky but it’s been a rocky road and it has not been easy. I’ve been subjected to emotional abuse from the people who were supposed to be helping me, closed doors in my face by ignorant doctors, loss of so called friends and wanting to end my life, but you have to keep going. Keep going for you! Laugh at what life throws at you! There is always a reason for the things that happen, good or bad. The trick is, when bad things happen, try your best to take a positive from the situation. Even if it is the tiniest thing, there is a positive in there somewhere. When you start to do this, all the bad things are just a bit of life’s turbulence. You are on a plane to happiness, there is always turbulence along the way. This is what grows us. If I hadn’t gone through everything I have, I wouldn’t be me. I wouldn’t be strong willed, determined and confident. Every time life throws me a curveball, I mentally stick my middle finger up and say “Try me” not why me! Remember god gives his hardest battles to his strongest soldiers. Laugh at life, none of us make it out alive. Stay strong x

#depression #anti depressants #effexor #staystrong #laughatlife #miracleshappen

2 notes · View notes

michellelinkous · 4 years

Text

Next best thing to being there

Larry Veldink sat in his bed at Spectrum Health Zeeland Community Hospital and faced the video screen mounted on a cart near his feet.

When a scheduled video call rang in, his nurse accepted it. On screen popped the face of Muhib Khan, MD.

“Hi, Larry. I’m Dr. Khan,” said the neurologist, who directs the Spectrum Health Stroke Center at Spectrum Health Butterworth Hospital.

This introduction kicked off a 50-minute conversation about Veldink’s imaging results, health status and treatment recommendations.

Transient ischemic attack

Just 24 hours earlier, Veldink, 78, had been poking around in the fridge at his home in Jenison, Michigan, when he suffered a small stroke—a transient ischemic attack.

He grabbed hold of the kitchen counter, propping himself up to keep from falling.

When the dizzy feeling waned, he made his way to the easy chair in his home office, where he sat until Ginny, his wife of 55 years, came home.

By then, he felt normal again.

No need to panic, Veldink told himself. He’d experienced this type of thing before and had always bounced back.

“It’s nothing new to have these occasionally,” he said. “And the last couple, I didn’t even go to the hospital.”

He knew it was a sign of atherosclerosis, the buildup of plaque in the arteries—a disease that had already led to his heart bypass surgery and stenting.

Not much more the doctors can do, he figured.

Yet, something told him not to ignore this episode.

“This time we felt that maybe we should go in and get it checked,” Veldink said.

Close to family

Living halfway between the Spectrum Health hospitals in Zeeland and Grand Rapids, the Veldinks chose the Zeeland Community Hospital emergency department because of its convenience and relative calm.

But Zeeland Community Hospital, like the other Spectrum Health regional hospitals dotting the west side of the state, doesn’t have its own neurology department.

So the Zeeland emergency department team did what they do whenever a patient arrives with stroke-like symptoms.

They contacted the stroke center in Grand Rapids.

Working remotely, the on-call neurologist directed Veldink’s testing plan and determined he didn’t need emergent stroke therapies.

This meant he could stay in Zeeland, closer to family.

Had he needed a thrombectomy, for example, he would have been transferred to Butterworth Hospital for treatment. Instead, a hospitalist in Zeeland admitted Veldink overnight for observation.

The stroke center—taking advantage of newly expanded telemedicine service—ordered a telestroke consult for the following day.

Telestroke consultation

That’s how Veldink, on Jan. 8, became Spectrum Health’s first neurology patient to participate in a telemedicine consult.

Dr. Khan conducted the appointment from a specially equipped office in Grand Rapids, 22 miles from Veldink’s hospital bed.

For stroke center neurologists, telestroke technology is the next best thing to being at the bedside.

“(It lets us) see the patient face to face and explain to them ourselves about what we are recommending and why we are recommending it,” rather than conveying information through a hospitalist, Dr. Khan said.

It’s a cost-effective way to improve access to neurological care in the face of geographic and staffing challenges, he said.

“Teleneurology is being used in other parts of the country, especially places that kind of have geography like us—where there’s like a big center in a city but then there’s smaller regional hospitals in suburbs or rural communities, and you can’t support a neurologist in each one of them,” he said.

Not only can doctors video-chat with patients and their families, they can display high-resolution CT and MRI images on-screen.

“I can actually pull up the MRI at my end and share it and they can see what I’m seeing,” Dr. Khan said.

In Veldink’s case, Dr. Khan pointed out areas of plaque buildup in the major blood vessels supplying blood to his brain.

His follow-up recommendations sent Veldink to a lipidologist—a doctor who specializes in treating cholesterol—to evaluate treatment options and lifestyle changes to slow his plaque buildup.

“We just sat there and had a discussion with him, just like talking face to face,” Veldink said. “I was quite impressed with the discussion we had. And from that, I’ve gone on for other treatments.”

Telemedicine technology made good sense to Veldink, who used to manage a business with multiple locations.

“I’m sure the outlying hospitals out in the country, they don’t have enough business to warrant having a full-time expert on staff—and this should work very well,” he said.

“You don’t have to have a (specialist) right there.”

Zeeland Community Hospital is the first Spectrum Health regional hospital to introduce telestroke consultations. Telestroke is one of a half-dozen inpatient telemedicine specialties the Zeeland location now offers.

By the end of 2020, all Spectrum Health regional hospitals will have telestroke capabilities, according to Becca Edema, a virtual health specialist.

“This is coordination of care between specialists in Grand Rapids and a regional location, ensuring that patients receive the most appropriate care,” she said.

During the COVID-19 pandemic, the stroke team has taken advantage of telestroke capabilities to keep patients in regional facilities, “avoiding unnecessary transportation and exposure,” Dr. Khan added.

Lifestyle tune-up

Veldink’s hospitalization left him with a clear game plan: Do more walking and give up his trips to McDonald’s.

“I’ve got to go on a big-time diet, lose some weight,” he said. “We’ve got to stop that (plaque buildup) or I’m going to be in trouble.”

Trouble for Veldink would also spell trouble for the team at Love INC, a nonprofit in Hudsonville, where he runs a used-bike repair and resale shop.

He’s worked there since 2001, when a stroke damaged his cognitive processing skills and knocked him out of his office job.

“The doctors told me I had to seek out something to challenge my brain every day,” he said.

Working in the bike shop turned out to be the perfect therapy.

Though his brain recovered, he never returned to the corporate world.

He’d found his place. He moved from repairing bikes to managing the shop—and he has stayed on well past retirement age.

Even with his January hospitalization, Veldink didn’t miss a beat.

“I was back in the bike shop the next day,” he said.

Next best thing to being there published first on https://smartdrinkingweb.tumblr.com/

0 notes