#nurse zilch

[juliusschmidt]

Hoping all is well with you and that you are surviving the cold cold cold weather! <3

Hey!!! Thank you!! We brought our baby home in the blustery weather the day you sent this. 😊😂 Hope you survived, too!

It’s ….. baby js #2

[a-b-riddle]

Part 7

Can't stop thinking about how the 141 met reader

(she's a long one. not entirely happy with it either so may edit later)

No harm done yet.

You never saw Simon actually hurt anyone. Johnny and Kyle would share stories about poor recruits who fucked around and eventually found out that Simon had no issue beating them within an inch of their life.

You knew he had a reputation and, like the rest of them, had blood on his hands. But it never bothered you. Didn't make you think twice about loving him or seeing him as the protector he had always been to you. To be frank, you could never actually picture any of them being violent.

But his voice... Fuck. His voice. It fucking rattled you. You actually feared for those fucking idiots now. Sure, they deserved to have their asses kicked, but an ass-kicking was probably going to be a welcomed after thought to whatever Simon would do.

You rinsed off, not bothering to wash your hair, but needing to wash up before getting in the bed. Hoping the scalding hot water washed away the uneasiness on your skin that had began to settle into your bones.

Even feeling fresh and laying in clean sheets, you still found yourself tossing and turning wondering exactly what did Simon do?

Did he walk away? Realizing you weren't worth the trouble, did he just tell them to knock it off?

You had stupidly expected Simon to check in. To check if you made it home alright or at least to let you know he was okay. So you waited... And you waited. You had half a mind to call him yourself before remembering it wasn't your place anymore to care. You had cared enough for the five of you.

It was well past two in the morning before you finally called it a night.

The next morning, still nothing from Mr. Riley. Not a 'did you home alright?' or 'are you okay?' text. Nada. Zilch.

Whatever.

Fuck him.

You had to open up shop, but luckily your Saturday mornings were much more relaxed. The shop wouldn't be open until 10, so you had the time to sleep in and enjoy the morning.

By noon, Mere had sent you several texts reminding you that you had promised to go out. You had tried to dissuade her. The encounter with those men last night had brought back sour memories. One involving handsome men coming to your rescue when it was most certainly needed.

You had tried to bail. Giving her any excuse you could: Last night put you on edge. You no longer wanted to go out. After last weekend, you just needed some down time.

Eventually you had realized she was not taking no for an answer after she had shown up to your apartment, already ready for a night out.

"You're not wearing that, are you?" Mere asked. Mere was in her usual Saturday femme-fatal attire. The black leather pants that accentuated her curves and red corset paired well with her freshly box dyed color black hair.

She looked more like a dominatrix than someone who worked at an attorney's office. Even if both professions included bending someone over and fucking them for all their worth. You wondered who would charge more by the hour....

You had pulled out a off white lace square neck top and a pair of high waisted medium washed baggy jeans. A perfectly cute outfit for a night out. Which was your defense when she had suggested you needed to change.

Tab had arrived later than expected (something about a system being down at work), but made up for it by bringing a pre-game snack. Yes, you had officially reached the age where you no longer starved yourself hours before going out to get more drunk quicker and cheaper. No you had to eat carbs or else you wouldn't be able to leave your room the next day as you pathetically nurse a hangover.

Tab wore a denim skirt. If you could even call it that. It paired well with the white tank top that you could make out the shape of her nipple piercing.

But they looked hot. Really hot.

"This is a perfectly acceptable outfit."

"For a day at market, not for trying to get laid."

"I don't want to get laid." You said, rummaging through your closet, yet again. "Getting laid is what got me in this mess in the first place."

A little over two years ago

"Fuck him." Tabitha wrapped her arms around your shaking body as you continued to sob. "He was a prick who didn't fucking deserve you."

"He couldn't even get you to cum." Mere felt the need to remind you as if that would somehow lessen the blow of your heartbreaking into a million shards. The shrapnel feeling like it would kill you.

"I loved him," your voice is small. "I fucking loved him." You had been dating for almost three years. You had his grandmother's ring on your fucking hand for God's sake. "I'm so stupid."

"You are not stupid." Tabitha gave you a squeeze. "He was a liar and a fucking coward." Meredith rubbed her thumb on you bare leg, offering physical reassure. Letting you know even if she wasn't the hugger Tabs was, she was still here.

"You can't keep locked up in this apartment." She was unfortunately right. You had not only barricaded yourself in your apartment for two weeks, but you hadn't returned to your bedroom. The scene of the crime. "You need to get out."

"Yeah," Tabitha rubbed your arm as if trying to coax you out your metaphorical shell. "Get some fresh air. We can go grab a treat. Maybe go out for some coffee." It didn't surprise you that Tabitha was offering a treat to entice you to leaving your sanctuary.

"I was thinking going to a bar." It also didn't surprise you that Mere offered her way of coping. Getting so drunk that you forgot what you even sad about. Or going out and finding someone to fuck the sadness out of her.

"Because getting alcohol in her system in this state is just what she needs." Tabitha was the mom of the group whereas Mere was the fun drunk aunt. They balanced one another out.

"Actually," you said, giving a pathetic sniffle. "Going out would be nice." Getting away from the apartment is what you need. And going out would be the excuse you would need to get yourself all dolled up.

What you hadn't planned for was getting so pissed that you had manage to breakaway from your friends. Searching for them in teh crowd of people. Failing and when you pulled out your phone were met with a completely black screen.

Dead. Perfect.

The same moment you swore the night couldn't get any worse, it did.

He looked the same. Same as he been four months ago when he asked you to become his wife. Same as he had been two weeks ago when you had caught him fucking another girl. The girl he told you not to worry about. The girl he insisted was just one of the guys. A girl you had told him time and time again would fuck him the moment she had the chance.

It wasn't always great to be right.

When your eyes connected, your body had went into immediate flight mode. Every neuron in your body was shooting out signals of RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN. So that's exactly what you did.

You fucking bolted.

Or felt like you bolted. But you could only scurry so fast in chunky heels while simultaneously pulling down your skirt that had decided to ride up. Aching to show your ass for all of London to see.

You had made it a quarter of the way back to your apartment. Your feet aching. Toes pinched together from the strap digging into them.

"Baby, please!" You heard him before you felt his arm clamp down on your shoulder. Hard. When did his touch become something heavy? Something that practically burned you.

You turned. Eyes brimming with unshed tears as you hissed at him to leave you the fuck alone. The begging came, but you turned around. Determined to go home. He didn't deserve the chance to explain himself and he could most certainly shove his apology up his ass.

He wouldn't shut up. Insisting it was a mistake. A one time thing her fault. How she seduced him. As if he were the victim in all of this. You weren't buying it. Not for one moment. One doesn't accidentally invite some slut over and fall balls deep into her while they are in the same bed he shares with his fiancée.

It wasn't until you were in a more dimly lit area that he had gotten the nerve to grab you. His grip was firm on your arms as he held you in place. "Listen to me!" His voice was panicked.

The feeling of anger slowly began to dim as something else began to rise.

Fear.

You were afraid.

You were in a part of town not many people were out and about in at this time of night. No bystanders to really take note of the scene, or at least not any caring enough to stand by and watch; even for entertainment.

Your friends didn't know where you were at and you were tipsy. And alone.

"Cardan," you swallowed, trying to steady your voice. "Please let me go."

"Not until you talk to me," his fingers dug into you. "We can work this out, okay? It was one mistake." He tried to argue, his voice rising, soaked in desperation. "What's one mistake compared to three years?"

"Cardan," you tried to pull away, his grip only tightening. "You're hurting me." It came out as a pathetic whimper. You were so close to crying, too afraid to scream.

"Hey!" A voice barked from behind you. It caused your whole body to stiffen."Get your fucking hands off her. Someone noticed. Someone was here. Someone was here. Someone was here.

"We are having a conversation." Cardan's eyes left you, looking at whoever stood behind you.

"The lass said to leave her be." Another voice. Someone else. Two (three if you counted yourself, but in that moment you couldn't) people against one. There was no a possibility of you getting the fuck out of this situation.

Cardan stood firm. His eyes looking past you. A silent refusal to back down.

"Either you let her go," another voice. Another accent different that the first two. "Or we fucking make you."

"One against four. Odds aren't in your favor, mate." Four. Four men stood behind you. Faceless strangers there to help you.

"This doesn't concern you." Cardan bit out.

"Aye," Scottish. The second guy was definitely Scottish. "I think it does if she's tellin' ye' to piss off and yer bein' a bawbag about it."

"So what'll it be?" The third voice, deep and threatening, yet still so... calming. As if the vibrations from his deep, rich pitch washed over you.

Cardan looked back at you, his eyes not as manic. He realized he didn't have a chance. This was a fight he had to walk away from or else he wouldn't be walking away from it at all. "I'll swing by tomorrow, okay?" He asked.

You couldn't do anything, but nod. Agree that you could talk tomorrow in the safety of the sunlight. Eventually he walked across the street before fading out into the night. Blending in with the shadows.

You turned around to meet your would-be saviors.

Four men. All slightly older than you and so handsome you felt foolish for gawking at them as if this were your first time seeing a man. Hell, maybe it was. At least specimens like this. All of them tall and broad. Towering over you.

No wonder Cardan got the fuck out of there. Tabs was right. He was a coward.

"You alright?" The one who first spoke up asked. You could place his voice. Now just needed to place the other three. He had a hearty mustache and mutton chops. A look on any one else would make you immediately get the ick. But for a moment you wondered if that mustache would tickle... "Do you need us to call anyone?"

You felt your cheeks flush with heat.

"I just want to go home." You said. "Thank you for stepping in. I don't know what would have-" You stopped. Too afraid to think about the possibilities. There was a time you would never believe that Cardan had the ability to hurt you.

There was also a time you believed he would never cheat. You weren't really sure what to believe anymore. "Anyway," you continued. "Thank you again." You turned on your heel before continuing your stride.

You had only made it several feet before you were stopped again. "Which way? One of us can walk you home." You weren't entirely sure. But with a dead cellphone and a unhinged ex probably lurking in the shadows, there was little time to weigh the pros and cons before giving them a general direction of where you lived.

Which just so happened to be the direction in which two of the four lived. The Scot and one of the two who had yet to speak. The first one, who had still yet to introduce himself instructed the two of them to drop you off and let him know you had made it home alright.

You had hoped that the rest of your night would be met with silence, but the Scot couldn't seem to help himself. "I'm Johnny." He introduced. "And the spooky, silent type is Simon." He gave a playful wink. You gave him your name, not wanting to be rude.

"Not my place to ask," he began. "But what was the deal with that fucker? Ex-boyfriend?"

"Johnny." Simon's tone held warning. You appreciated the defense, but frankly didn't care. These were strangers. Who cared what they thought.

"Ex-fiancée," you clarified. "One who decided to fuck another girl in my bed. Not even our bed. My bed."

"Jesus fucking Christ," the Scot swore. "I was right. He was a fucking bawbag." For whatever reason, that made you laugh. For the first time in two weeks you fucking laughed. And it felt like you were breathing again.

Simon was quiet, not contributing to the conversation and just letting Johnny babble. Talking your ear off in a short trek as if it were an olympic sport.

You were so distracted with his voice you hadn't realized how far you had made it until the sound of your keys clattering onto your kitchen counter brought you back.

Back to a situation you didn't know how the fuck you landed in.

Two men (who you don't know) are in your apartment. Your friends don't know where you are. You are a little bit too inebriated to plan and exit strategy. Doesn't exactly help your confidence in fighting them off since they are built like fucking brick houses.

"He won't come sniffin' around here botherin' ya, will he?" Simon asks, speaking for only the second time since he had threatened Cardan. You shake your head.

"No," you said. "I have him blocked on everything. So I think when he saw me tonight it was just kind of an opportunity, I suppose?" You offer. Cardan had showed up to your place one time with a random assortment of flowers and a useless apology you had to hear through the door as you covered your mouth. Concealing your cries. Too afraid to let him know you were there.

Too afraid that some part of you would be weak enough to take him back.

"We'll leave ye' be." Johnny said, nodding his head toward the door. "But if he comes bein' a shite to ye again, you can give us a call."

"Phones dead." You explain, holding up your phone as if you needed to prove yourself. Johnny offered the brilliant, yet simple solution of giving him your number. He sent off a text, knowing it would be there when you turned back on and promising to check in later.

They both gave subtle nods of goodbye before turning away.

And just like that, they left. The door clicking softly shut behind them. You stood, frozen for several beats before walking over and locking the door.

You plugged your phone into the charging cable, waiting until it lit back to life before shooting off a text in your group chat with Tab and Mere.

Sorry I took off. Ran into Cardan and fucking made a dash for it. Sorry if I worried you. I'm at home. I'm okay. Grab lunch tomorrow and we can talk about it? My treat?

You signed off the text with a heart emoji and turned your phone on do not disturb. Too afraid of your friends going all Mama Bear on you for running away while drunk. Even if your reasons were valid.

You had texted Johnny again. Not because Cardan dared to bother you again, but to thank him. Acknowledging that not many men would have done for you what he and his friend did. Johnny assured you it wasn't anything.

Before you knew it, the two of you were hanging out with Simon always tagging along. It took you a while to realize he did actually like you, but his stoic nature was just who he was. You had met Kyle and John, both as charming and respectful as Johnny and Simon.

John had been the first two mention wanting to take you on a date. It didn't go well with the other three. They all had the same intention and a rock, paper, scissors tournament seemed to juvenile to figure out who got the privilege in courting you. Eventually, they had decided to ask you.

Putting you on the spot to answer the question that had begun to tear them apart: which one of them will it be?

Johnny made you laugh. He was the first person you thought about calling when your day was a bit grey. He saw the positive in everything and was the one who made you feel like even the bad days weren't so terrible.

Then there was Simon. The one who you felt like was your safe place in body and mind. You would babble all day talking to him, thankful when he would let you rant. Your mind was able to go on auto-pilot in terms of safety because you knew Simon would handle it. He also gave the best hugs.

John was the one who instilled the confidence in you that you needed. Your bookstore, your writing, whatever aspirations you had, no matter how wild, John would support it. Nothing was too big. After you all started dating, he was the first person you ever let read your book. He gave you praise as well as critique, pointing out multiple plot holes and helping you craft it better. And never once taking credit for it, even when it was due.

Kyle was the most thoughtful one. He was the one who knew you liked trying knew things so he made an effort to always make date nights interesting. A new restaurant, a new activity or experience. He was the biggest giver of the group.

So when they did ask you, you answered honestly.

"I can't choose." They insisted that you didn't need to spare their feelings, but you stood firm in your decision. "No. I can't choose. I'm interested in all of you." When they pressed on why the fuck you didn't say anything earlier, you told them to avoid this kind of situation. Where you had to choose. You were fine continuing on as just friends if that meant you got to keep all of them.

Mere and Tabs were great friends, but they are the ones who helped pull you out of the slump. The ones who made you feel lovable. The ones who made you feel like a woman again.

"Helloooooo." Mere's hand waved in your face while another held something she had found in your closet. "So are you going to change or not?" Your eyes darted to the skimpy glittery black dress. The same one for your first date with them. Your stomach twisted as you took the sparkly dark fabric in your hand.

You nodded as if trying to shake the memory out of your mind. "I'll change and we can go." Better just to get it over with.

The place that Mere had dragged you to was a club that played music that you would only listen to while encapsulated in the aroma of cheap liquor and sweat. Your outfit form-fitting. The material too stiff to be comfortable, but it was cute. The hem of your dress coming to rest just below your ass cheeks. Hugging your body in a way that made you feel self conscious the moment you stepped out of your building.

Mere had run into some work colleagues. Names you couldn't and wouldn't remember. There had been a high profile divorce going on. Very messy. She had been so encapsulated by the gossip that she hadn't notice you and Tabitha had slipped off toward the bar.

Tabitha insisted on shots and you needed something to get your mind off the less than exciting night. Your expectations weren't high, but fuck. You would have been much more comfortable wearing the jeans. You felt like a piece of fucking meat. It would have been so bad if someone were gonna buy you a dr-

"This seat taken?" It was a cliche introduction attached to a slightly better than average face. Decent enough where it didn't hurt to look at him, but not attractive enough to be a seat.

"By all means," you said turning back to Tabitha who looked at the guy now sitting to your left and raising her eyebrows. Fucking hell. Not her too.

"It's pretty packed tonight." He commented, attempted to make small talk. You hated small talk. At least unless it came to Johnny who would get into discussion on politics, religion and why on the side was the best way to fuck because it gave him 'a perfect view of the front and back of ye.'

"You come here often?" You asked, not wanting to be a total bitch, but having absolutely zero desire to be entertaining him.

"When I can." He said. "I prefer the Artifact a couple of blocks down. Not many people heard of it. A bit of a hole-in-the-wall place." Oh cool. A fucking hipster who liked to act superior at knowing a place that is underground. You could feel any possibility of getting your pussy wet, dry at the thought of this man actually wanting to come onto you.

Jesus, when did you become so harsh.

I blame Simon.

"Oh," you say, no longer interested in entertaining the conversation. "Sounds lovely. My friend and I just came out for a bit of girl-" you turn to look at Tabitha who had somehow miraculously disappeared in the 45 fucking seconds that your back was turned....

Little bitch.

"Bathroom, I suppose." He laughed. It was the sincerity in his voice that irked you. God, why was he pissing you off just trying to start a conversation?

"I suppose." You gave a soft smile back, turning once the bartender had come over to grab your order. Which the stranger next to you had insisted buying. Nothing quite as arousing as obligated conversation.

"There's no need for that-"

"Percival." He introduced. "But my friends call me Percy." Your immediate thought was who the fuck names there kid Percival. The second was to offer him a fake name. Real enough to be believable, but fake enough where if he tried to search you up on any social media, you could just deny having any.

"I hate to be brash," he started. Then don't. "But I can't imagine a girl like you being single."

"Not really looking for anything romantic at the moment." You say, the first time you've been truthful this entire conversation. Percival leaned in closer, before asking in a low voice that he was doubt trying to convey as sexy, "Are you sure?"

And there it was. The final ick that nailed the coffin shut.

You offered in a soft smile before swallowing hard. "Percival,"

"My friends call me-"

"I'm going to be frank." Your voice is soft, as if explaining to a small child why we don't always get the things we want. "I just got of a very long and deep and meaningful relationship and the idea of being near another man in any intimate or emotional capacity wants me to cause very serious bodily harm to said man."

His expression fell.

"I appreciate your confidence in coming over here and making small talk, but if you're wanting to fuck me or even attempt to be friends, I must inform you that is no only not in the cards, but not in your best interest." You turned, downing the rest of your cocktail.

"Time for a trip to the bathroom myself, I suppose." You stood from your seat, having to readjust your dress.. "Have a good night."

You were washing your hands when a red-faced Mere walked into the bathroom. Tabitha on her heels with a concerned expression.

"What did you do?" Mere asked.

"What are you talking about?" You asked. You had half a mind to ask them why the fuck they pulled a disappearing act after insisting you go out.

"You told Percy you would castrate him?" You looked as if you had been slapped. The pieces falling into place to reveal a totally fucked up puzzle.

"You fucking tried to set me up." You seethed, a finger pointing accusingly.

"Well, fuck, what did you expect me to do?" She asked. "You were sulking."

"Listen to me!" You cried. "I want you to listen to me. I was with them for two years. It hasn't even been two weeks and you're going behind my fucking back and trying to set me up with fucking Percival? How the fuck do you even know him? Do you even know him?" She ignored your last question. How convenient.

"I thought it would be good to get it out of your system." She tried to defend, her pissyness now matching yours. "You always do this. I was just trying to help."

"What do you mean 'I always do this'?" Your eyes turned into slits.

"Why don't we just calm down and-" Tabitha tried to stop the escalation. Mere, very obviously, ignored that cue.

"You get so hung up on a guy, or in this case guys, it takes you fucking weeks to recover." You stare at her. Unsure if she was really comprehending the bullshit that had come out of her mouth.

"I'm certain you aren't trying to make me feel bad for grieving a relationship that I was in for over three years to a man I was engaged to. To find him fucking in my apartment, in my bed the same week I was going to get my wedding dress."

"It's not just Cardan," she went on. "Issac in our second year of school?" You gave a humorless chuckle.

"Oh yes," you said condescendingly, "the boy I had dated from 14-years old- until I was 19. The boy I gave my virginity two months before he told me he was not only not interested in me, but women in general." As if that somehow lessened the blow. "Absolutely shouldn't have bothered me a bit."

"You only went out for classes and food for two months!" She said as if you had hit a pedestrian with your car. As if you were a fool for being so distracted by a breakup you couldn't be bothered to carry on with life as normal.

"I'm sorry that I actually take the time to grieve my relationships." You said. "I forgot that it may be hard for either of you to comprehend what a relationship is like considering the only relationship either of you have is with your work or with each of us."

"Hey!" Tabitha said. "I understand your pissed, but there isn't need to attack us like this."

"Attack you?" You asked. "Attack you? This isn't me attacking you. This is me responding to an uncomfortable situation that you put me in. I told you I didn't want to even think about me. I didn't want to fuck someone else and you go and do this?"

"He seems like a decent guy." You roll your eyes.

"Probably why he's not your type, right?" Mere crossed her arms over chest. Eyebrow arched as if she were hoping the words enticed you to realize that you had a history of going after the wrong guys.

Unfortunately, it did not.

You sucked on your teeth, carefully choosing your words before World War III broke out in a nearly vacant bathroom in South London. You took a deep breath. Calming yourself as best as you could.

Before saying fuck it and letting it loose.

"Just because your idea of coping is getting drunk and fucking someone you plan on never speaking to again, quite literally discarding them like trash, doesn't mean the rest of us cope the same way." You hoped it hurt. You hope it stung the same way she had tried to sting you.

You had hoped that your word would be the final blow before both sides called a treaty.

"You mean like they did you?"

And just like that, you heart stuttered. A rapid dum dum dum in your chest as it had been tripped up by her words. The truth in them heavy. The shift in the air was almost immediate;.

"Sweetheart-" Tabitha had tried to reach out before you jerked away.

"Enjoy your night." You said, grabbing your purse where you had left it by the sink. "I'm going to go home and wallow in my self pity." You exited the bathroom, hearing your named called again before shifting it into gear and getting the fuck out of there.

Weaving through the sea of bodies like water flowing around rocks.

Who the fuck cares if you want to cry? To grieve? To be angry? To get closure? To move on? Who cares if you don't want to be the girl who gets her heart shattered and not fuck somone else? Who wants to feel the comfort of a familiar body, a touch that feels safe one last time before you go back into a world where you will only be touched by a stranger?

It didn't matter that you were the one to breakup with them, even if the relationship was broken. It's foundation cracked.

What did matter is that the people who should have supported you and in the way you were dealing with your loss in your own way, didn't. And that's the part that they seem to forget. It is a loss. It's mourning someone who hasn't died. Someone who is still living, yet still no longer there.

"Off already?" Percy cut in the way, blocking your escape. You weren't in the mood.

"Listen-" you started before he cut you off.

"Not anything romantic, I know," he raised his hands as if in defense, "but maybe like another drink or a dance?"

You closed your eyes, wanting to hold off starting a scene and tearing him a new asshole. "Like I said, not. interested." How much clearer could you spell it out?

"Come on." He said, his hand coming to rest on your hip. The grip on it weak. You were by no means the type of woman that could take on a man like the ones you still held in a chamber of your heart. But you could most certainly handle your own against Percival. "I'm asking for a dance. After what Meredith told me, I figured you'd be down for at a little more than that."

"I don't follow." Your blood ran cold. Your heart praying that any assumptions that were running through your mind were wrong, they were wrong.

"She mentioned you having a group of like guys you fucked, but stopped fucking." He shrugged, offering a coy smile that you ached to wipe off with the back of your hand. "I don't judge. It's kind of hot honest. Did they run train or-" You felt it then. His hand had traveled from your hip to the curve of your ass.

And you froze. You froze like a coward. Too afraid to speak or scream. Too ashamed to push him away, cause a scene.

But you didn't need to do any of that.

In an instant, Percy's hand was off of you. It took you a moment to realize that a figure dressed in black stood beside you. Your own personal grim reaper.

"Put him go!" You pleaded, breaking out of your trance. You took hold of his arm putting all of your body weight on his arm, trying to break his hold. He didn't falter.

You could handle you own against Percy.

But Simon could fucking kill him without breaking a sweat.

You looked at Simon's face. His eyes were darkened. The soft brown you had once loved staring into were now almost black. You could even make out the dark circles, even in the unsettling flickering of strobe lights in the club.

"You touch her again and I'll slit your fucking throat. Understood?" Pure venom fell from Simon's lips, but you knew he wasn't lying. Simon was the type of man who didn't say something he didn't mean.

You knew that all too well.

Percy choked out an ineligible, gurgled response as Simon's hand held firm on his throat. "He understands, goddammit, no let him down!" You ordered hitting at him as if it would stop him. "Simon, please!"

It was only when you said his name, did Simon loosen his grip. Letting Percy drop to a heap on the floor before he started a having a coughing fit, trying to suck in as much air as he could.

Simon looked down at you and the exit before scooping you up and hauling you over his shoulder like a sack of flower.

You wanted to die. You wanted to crawl in a hole and die and never show your face again.

"Get in the car." He at least had the decency to open the door for you. Simon wasn't a flashy man, by any means, but he was still a man. A men did love their cars.

He stood, waiting for you but you didn't move. You glared up at him. He had carried you out of there in the most humiliating way possible. You had to fight against the hemline of your dress or else everyone would have gotten an eyeful.

Hand still on the door, he leaned down, getting closer and closer to your height. "You get your ass in this car right now," his breath warm against your ear. "Or I'll have you over my fuckin' knee." His tone was sharp. It wasn't seduction in form of a threat. It wasn't even a threat.

It was a promise.

"We're over." You reminded.

"Do you think that'll fuckin' stop me from spankin' some sense into your bratty ass?"

"It doesn't give you the right to fucking do that to people, Simon!" You huffed. "You could have killed in."

"Could have," he agreed. "But didn't. You're welcome." he nodded toward the car. "Now, in you go or I'll do it here. You already know I don't mind an audience."

The heated seats were a bit to warm for your liking against your bare ass. The tension in the air was uncomfortable. Your hands ached to touch the radio. Anything to stop the silence between the two of you.

"I got home fine the other night by the way." You said, looking out the window, hoping to make him feel like shit for not checking in like he should have.

"I know you did."

"What do you mean you know I did?" You asked, turning to look at him. He shrugged as if it wasn't anything out of the ordinary, not stopping.

"Just did." Was his only answer.

"Are you fucking stalking me, Riley?" That made him laugh. You would have felt better if there was at least a sense of humor in it, but, instead, only disbelief.

"Oh, Riley now, is it?" He asked.

"You're not my body guard, Simon." You snapped.

"Not trying to be," he said. "I was never trying to be." You caught it. A very small slip, but it was something... something you couldn't place.

"Then why?" You ask, your tone softening. "For someone who makes it very apparent to be done with me, you sure do show up at convenient times. Hard not to think your keeping tabs on me."

He didn't say anything. No explanation or excuse. Not evena smart ass comeback or remark.

His hands reached forward and turned on the radio, turning the volume just loud enough that if you were to try and continue the conversation, your words would be drowned out.

He pulled up in front of your building, yet you made no move to get out. You turned off the radio, soaking in the silence once more. You wanted to know why? Why was he appearing out of nowhere like a fucking ghost? Why was he helping you?

He sighed before putting the car in park and stepping out. Coming around to your side he opened the door. "Get inside. Go to bed." There he was again. Fucking bossing you around as if he still had a say.

You wanted to cuss him out. To spew hateful words just as he did you.

But you didn't.

You were tired.

So fucking tired. And the idea of going to bed did sound pretty good in that moment. You made it to the door of your building before he spoke again. "And if you need to out at this time at night call a goddamn cab."

"Why?" You asked, turning around. "Getting tired of having to follow me around on foot, Si?"

There was a pregnant pause. Neither of you speaking. His body shifted forward, as if contemplating getting closer to you. As if the pull you once had was still there.

With his eyes trained on you, you felt a chill run down your spine. Twice you had seen that look on Simon's face before. The look that he had given the figures concealed in the shadows last night. The same look he had given Percy.

Only this time, it was directed at you.

One that personified the saying, 'if looks could kill.'

"Because," he growled out, "the next time I find someone else touching you that way, I'll fucking kill them."

[pucksandpower]

Newsflash

Charles Leclerc x reporter!Reader

Summary: after two years as a paddock correspondent, you’re convinced that Charles Leclerc hates your guts for no apparent reason … but maybe everything is not what it seems

“Wake up, Y/N. It’s race day!”

Your colleague, Natalie, bursts into your hotel room without knocking, as usual. You groan and pull the covers over your head, not ready to face the chaos that is sure to ensue in the paddock.

“Come on, sleepyhead! We have to be at the track by seven this morning for pre-race meetings,” Natalie says, yanking the duvet off you.

“Alright, alright, I’m up!” You grumble, slowly swinging your legs over the side of the bed. “What time is it anyway?”

“5:30. Which reminds me, I need coffee,” Natalie says, already headed for the door. “Meet me in the lobby in 20!”

You spend the next 19 minutes hastily getting ready — putting on minimal makeup, throwing on your favorite jumpsuit, and frantically gathering up notes and gear for the day. You take one last glance in the mirror, trying to smooth down your bedhead, before resigning to just throw a cap on over the mess.

Hustling down to the lobby, there’s a rush of personnel all around — mechanics, engineers, PR reps, and media darting about with coffees and laptops and headsets already in place. You spot Natalie nursing a large black coffee and beeline over.

“Ready to do this?” She asks with a grin.

“As I’ll ever be,” you reply with a shrug. The truth is, the nerves are already bubbling up in your stomach. You love your job as an F1 reporter for Sky Sports, but the pressure and scrutiny is immense.

The two of you pile into a car with the rest of the broadcast crew and head to the track. On the ride, you glance over your meticulous notes on the teams and drivers one more time, paying special attention to Ferrari.

Ever since you started covering F1 two years ago, one driver has basically refused to give you the time of day — Charles Leclerc.

For some reason, whenever you are around, he bolts in the opposite direction. When you have attempted interviews, he literally turns and speedwalks away without a word. Other drivers will chat with you, joke around, and give thoughtful answers to questions.

But Charles? Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

You can’t figure out why he hates you so much. You’ve scoured your past comments and coverage looking for anything that could have offended him, but come up empty.

Is it something personal against you? Were you mean to him in a past life or something? It hurts, to be honest. You try to stay professional, but his obvious disdain for you still stings.

Sighing, you put your notes away as the car pulls into the paddock. It’s going to be a long day.

After hair, makeup, mic checks, and a final meeting, it’s nearly time for the broadcast to go live as cars start lining up on the grid. Nerves buzzing, you watch Charles warm up with his performance coach across the pit lane, headphones in and clearly in the zone. As always, he walks right past you without a flicker of acknowledgment.

Your heart twinges, but you swiftly push the hurt aside. It’s showtime.

The next few hours are a blur of rushed interviews, sound bites, stats flashing across screens, and organized chaos. After the race finally ends, there are more interviews, podium ceremonies, and press conferences to wade through before you can take a breath.

“Man, that was brutal!” Natalie huffs as the two of you finally plop down in chairs in the media room later that afternoon. She cracks open a Red Bull and takes a long drink. “You hanging in there?”

“Yeah, I’m alright,” you reply half-heartedly. The truth is, you’re drained — physically and mentally. And of course, the interaction with Charles, or lack thereof, is weighing heavy.

“Why do you let that pompous twerp get under your skin so much?” Natalie says with a frown, seeming to read your mind. “He’s a rude, stuck up jerk who isn’t worth the energy. Forget about him.”

You shake your head with a sigh. “You’re right, you’re right. I just … I don’t know, I never did anything to the guy, and it still stings.”

Just then, the door to the media room swings open, and Charles himself strides in. You inadvertently tense up as he approaches the couch, looking calm and confident in his usual Ferrari polo, and folds himself down between Max Verstappen and Lewis Hamilton, who rounded out the rest of the podium.

Here we go again, you think with an internal eye roll. Just gotta get this over with.

“Hello,” Charles says with an easy grin as he settles into his seat, “What have you got for us today?” Various reporters immediately start firing off questions, undoubtedly looking to get a headline from the race winner.

You gather your courage, take a breath, and call out “Charles, Y/N with Sky Sports here. Can you walk me through your thought process behind that daring pass on Lando in Turn 12?”

To your shock, the second Charles hears your voice, his whole demeanor shifts. He seems to freeze, shoulders hunching slightly, grin dropping from his face as his cheeks instantly flush deep red. He looks panicked almost, eyes darting around the room, before landing briefly on you.

“Uhh … b-bathroom. Need to go. Bye.”

And with that, he leaps up from the couch and practically sprints out of the room.

A stunned silence falls over the space as everyone stares, stunned, at the empty space he left. You feel your stomach drop through the floor, tears of embarrassment and humiliation prickling at your eyes.

What did you do wrong? Now he’s made a total spectacle, running away from you in front of your peers. Mortified, you shakily stand up, chair clanging backwards, and rush from the room as well. Needing air, you bolt outside until you find a secluded spot out back of the paddock, leaning against a wall as the tears flow freely.

“Hey, hey … what’s going on? Are you okay?”

The soft, concerned male voice startles you, and you gasp looking up. There stands Charles, looking alarmed and guilty.

“I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to freak out like that. Please don’t cry!” He moves closer, though still keeps his distance.

You blink rapidly, beyond confused. “What … what are you doing out here? I’m clearly the last person you want to be around.”

He sighs heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. “This is really hard for me to admit but … I like you. As in, I have the biggest crush on you. That’s why I get so flustered and basically black out anytime you talk to me. It’s pathetic, I know.”

Your jaw actually drops open in disbelief. “You … what? You like me? Is this a joke?”

“No! No, I swear, it’s the truth,” he says, face turning red again. “I know I come across like a total jerk, I just freeze up around you because honestly? You’re just so stunning and brilliant, and I get unbelievably shy and nervous. The words won’t come out. It’s like an out of body experience! I chicken out and run away like an idiot every time.”

You stare at him, trying to process this. All this time, all the hurt and embarrassment … it was just because he developed a crush?

“I’m so sorry for how I’ve treated you. I know it must seem like I despise you. The truth is, you make me feel like a stuttering teenager with my first crush again,” Charles continues, looking at you beseechingly. “I understand if you think I’m a total tool, and I have a lot of work to do to make this up to you. But I swear, I really do like you, Y/N.”

At this, his face splits into a sheepish grin, eyes twinkling with mirth. You feel a laugh bubble up in your chest as relief washes over you.

He doesn’t hate you. In fact, it’s quite the opposite! You appraise him, really looking at him for the first time. From his twinkling green eyes to his adorable dimples to the lock of chestnut hair falling across his forehead, he’s unbelievably charming.

You shake your head, smile growing. “So this whole time, you’ve just been acting like an awkward schoolboy instead of giving me any indication of your true feelings?”

Charles laughs self-consciously. “Embarrassing, I know. Look, I promise I’ll do better-”

“Yeah, you’ve got a lot to make up for,” you say, crossing your arms and giving Charles a playful but pointed look. “All the grief and heartache you’ve put me through the last two years? This calls for serious groveling, mister.”

Charles immediately drops to one knee dramatically. “Y/N Y/L/N, light of my life, apple of my eye. I am but a humble driver, unworthy of your affection. But if you would do me the extraordinary honor of allowing me to court you properly, I vow to spend every day showing you how enchanted I am by your wit, your beauty, and your strength.”

You can’t help but giggle at his over-the-top chivalrous display. “Oh get up, you goofball!” You grab his hand and pull him back to his feet. “I’m just teasing. Well, partially teasing. I do expect you to apologize to me properly. Take me to dinner or something.”

Charles visibly brightens. “Dinner? Really? Yes, absolutely! In fact, let me take you right now. We’ll go to that little trattoria down the road. You deserve to be wined and dined for putting up with me.”

You consider this for a moment, taking in his eager, handsome face. The truth is, despite his past behavior, you find yourself captivated by Charles now that you understand what was really going on. His confidence, talent, and intensity are wildly attractive. And the way he’s looking at you now, with softness and admiration in his eyes .... it sends tingles down your spine.

“Alright, lead the way, hot shot,” you say with a wink.

Charles’ grin stretches even wider, if possible. “After you,” he gestures forward with a flourish, then falls into step beside you as you head towards the exit.

“I really am sorry for being such an idiot around you,” Charles says quietly after a moment of walking in comfortable silence. “The way I’ve acted was totally unacceptable. You deserve so much better.”

You glance over at his earnest expression and feel a little pang in your chest. “It’s okay, really. I get it now. Just think how close we could have been this whole time though if you’d just … I don’t know, talked to me like a normal human being!”

Charles chuckles ruefully. “Oof, so true. Honestly, I’m impressed you didn’t write me off ages ago as a complete lost cause. Clearly you’re far more patient and forgiving than I deserve.”

“Yes, I really am,” you agree teasingly, giving his arm a playful shove. You both laugh as you reach the paddock exit and emerge out onto the bustling street, taking in the energy of the crowd.

You jokingly elbow Charles’ side. “Still though, as dashingly handsome as you may be, don’t think you’re completely off the hook! I expect to be wooed and romanced properly going forward. No more running off scared like you’ve seen a ghost!”

“It’s a deal,” Charles says easily, looking thrilled. “Romance and wooing, coming right up.”

Reaching the charming little restaurant, Charles opens the door for you with a sweeping bow. You grin and step inside. Somehow, you have the feeling this is going to be the start of a wonderful evening.

No more misunderstandings. Just the two of you, getting to know each other properly over a delicious meal with the slight chill of the evening settling in around you.

And you can’t wait.

***

The next few race weekends are a whirlwind as Charles seems to do a complete 180 in his behavior towards you.

Gone is the shy, nervous wreck who could barely look you in the eye. Instead, he goes full-steam in the opposite direction, seeking you out constantly and showering you with attention.

It starts the following week after Friday practice. You’re standing in the paddock scribbling notes when you sense someone approaching. Looking up, you see Charles striding over, helmet in hand, usual calm confidence exuding from him.

“Ah, Y/N, just the reporter I was looking for,” he says with a warm grin, sidling up beside you. “Walk with me?”

Flustered by his forwardness but flattered, you quickly nod. “Uh, sure!”

Charles immediately links his arm casually through yours and starts leading you away down the paddock, journalists and crew members glancing over with raised eyebrows. You catch Natalie’s eye and she mouths “WTF?” at you with a stunned look. You just give a tiny shrug, feeling your face heat up.

“So tell me, what did you think of my lap times today?” Charles asks once you’re a few paces away from the crowd.

You blink, surprised he’s looking for actual feedback. You decide to give an honest assessment. “Well, I think you were sliding the rear end quite a bit too much through Sector 2 and losing time. The car didn’t look fully settled-”

“Brilliant analysis as always, Y/N. I knew I could count on you to give it to me straight,” Charles interrupts with a respectful nod. You feel yourself preen slightly at his praise. “Some changes to differential settings should sort that out, I think.”

He then launches into a surprisingly technical explanation of his plans to adjust the setup. You find yourself nodding along, captivated, as he outlines the various weight transfer issues and how he aims to mitigate them.

He’s speaking to you like a true engineer, not just a reporter. You realize with a jolt that he’s never gone into this level of detail with you before in any interviews.

“Sorry, I’m rambling a bit here, aren’t I?” Charles says sheepishly when he pauses. “I don’t want to bore you with too much technical detail. But you just have such a good eye and ask such insightful questions, I find myself wanting to really dive into this side of racing with you.”

He gives your arm a soft squeeze. “Anyway, let me know if you have any other observations or advice. I trust your analysis completely.”

Before you can properly respond, the two of you round a corner only to nearly walk directly into Sergio Perez, who’s heading the opposite direction. He does a comical double take at seeing the two of you arm-in-arm together.

“Ah, hello Checo!” Charles says breezily, not releasing you or missing a beat. Sergio looks hilariously confused.

“Uh … hello?” is all he manages before Charles is steering you onwards.

“See you around, mate,” he tosses over his shoulder with a wink.

You glance back to see Sergio frozen in place, staring after you both looking utterly bewildered.

The weekend continues in this vein, with Charles constantly pulling you aside to chat at length about setups, strategies, even asking your opinion on development directions for next year’s car.

He treats you with the utmost seriousness and respect, like you’re one of his most trusted advisors. It’s shocking and flattering after the cold-shoulder treatment for so long.

Whenever the broadcast crew has a break, Charles inevitably finds you and whisks you off to look at telemetry data together (which sends a poor PR officer chasing after the two of you with an NDA after the first time Charles decides to pull you into the garage) or watch video, going into painstaking detail to get your thoughts.

By Sunday, it’s become a bit of a running joke among the team, with people exchanging amused glances whenever Charles appears to disappear with you once again.

“There goes Loverboy Sharl, dragging poor Y/N off yet again to pore over spreadsheets and onboard footage,” Natalie jokes with an eye roll during a break, making the crew laugh. “How does that man ever find time to, you know, actually race?”

You shoot her a heatless glare, though you have to admit — as sweet as it is having Charles’ undivided attention, as a reporter the over-accessibility is becoming a touch much.

When the race concludes later that afternoon, Charles immediately finds you amid the chaos of the media scrum.

“Y/N!” He beams down at you, still sweaty and in his racing suit with the top half unzipped. “Come take a look at the race data with me? I want to walk through my lap times and tire deg, see if we can spot any areas to improve ...”

“Actually, I’m sort of totally swamped right now,” you gesture at the sea of people around you. “But maybe later?”

His face falls slightly. “Oh. Well I suppose I did already monopolize a lot of your time this weekend. No rest for the media?”

He gives you a lopsided smile but there’s a flicker of disappointment in his eyes. You feel a little stab of guilt.

“Tell you what though,” he continues, brightening again. “Come find me later before we fly out. I’ll have a surprise waiting for you.”

“A surprise?” You ask with a raised brow. “What does that mean?”

“Ah ah ah, no hints!” Charles laughs, wagging a finger. “Just trust me. Don’t leave without seeing me first, okay?”

With that, he leans in and unexpectedly gives you a swift peck on the cheek. You freeze, eyes going wide, feeling your face flame. Pulling back, Charles winks cheekily at you before turning and sauntering off.

Dazed, you lift a hand to touch the spot he kissed, feeling the heat radiating from your cheek. Did he really just … right out in the open like that … with the cameras recording live?

Glancing around, you see Natalie and a few other crew members staring with mouths agape. Toto Wolff is even giving you an amused look as he walks past, one eyebrow arched knowingly. Utterly mortified, you duck your head down and hurry off to find a quiet corner to collect yourself.

The next race sees the flirting and PDA ramp up even higher. Charles can’t seem to resist finding any excuse to drape an arm around your waist, stroke your arm, or playfully tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Every interaction has an undercurrent of flirtation and innuendo. And the cheek kisses become almost routine, pressed on you in front of other drivers, team bosses, cameramen, you name it.

“I can’t take you anywhere, can I?” You finally say in flustered exasperation after he ambushes you with a very public, lingering kiss on the cheek in the paddock one day. You struggle to sound annoyed, but a pleased grin tugs at the corners of your mouth as you say it.

“Sorry, ma chérie, I just can’t seem to resist around you,” Charles replies, absolutely zero shame in his voice or demeanor. “You’re lucky I have more self-control than to start making out right here in front of everyone!”

You gasp and slap his arm, scandalized, as he just throws his head back and laughs heartily.

Meanwhile, the double-takes and stunned looks from everyone around just keep coming. Even the normally straight-faced Fred Vasseur can’t seem to hold back smug grins whenever he sees the two of you getting cozy.

“Go on and get a room already, you two!” He finally chuckles one day as Charles passes by in the paddock with his usual arm draped around your waist.

“Don’t tempt me!” Charles quips back without missing a beat, giving you a roguish wink.

Soon, literally everyone in the paddock and broadcast team is aware of and commenting on the developing romance between you and Charles.

He makes no attempt to hide it whatsoever.

“Honestly, I think they’re the most nauseatingly adorable couple I’ve ever seen,” Jenson Button jokes to the rest of the broadcast team one evening as they all watch Charles throw his arm around you yet again and plant a smacking kiss on your temple.

“The honeymoon phase never ends with those two,” Natalie agrees in a wry tone, rolling her eyes. “It’s like they’re a pair of horny teenagers making out behind the bleachers.”

You just shake your head with a bashful smile and accept the good-natured ribbing. The truth is, despite Charles’ very public displays of affection causing some embarrassment and teasing from your colleagues, you find it hard to truly mind.

There’s an earnestness and joy in his demeanor whenever he’s with you that makes your heart swell. You’ve never seen him so openly happy and carefree as these past few weeks. Gone is the tightly wound, intense competitor. In his place is a warm, playful soul who can’t help but let his delight in your company shine through.

And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t find his romantic attentions flattering and thrilling. The way his gaze smolders when his eyes meet yours, the tingle of electricity you feel whenever his hand brushes yours, the butterflies that erupt in your stomach when his lips graze your cheek — it all makes you deliriously giddy, like a lovesick teenager yourself.

So you endure the good-natured eye rolls from Natalie and jokes from the broadcast crew with an easy smile. Because the truth is, you’ve realized how deeply you’ve fallen for Charles in return.

“You’ve got me utterly love drunk, you charming fool,” you murmur against his chest one evening.

The two of you are tucked away in a quiet corner, Charles’ back against the wall with his arms wrapped around you as you stand embraced, soaking in a few stolen moments of intimacy together.

“The feeling is mutual,” Charles replies easily, resting his chin on your head. “I’m not sure I’ll ever recover from this madness.” He pauses, absentmindedly stroking your back. “Honestly, I half expected you to get sick of me hanging around all the time by now.”

You pull back to meet his warm green eyes. “Are you kidding? I love having you around. I still have to pinch myself that you actually want to be with me after the way you treated me for so long!”

A flicker of regret passes across Charles’ features. “I truly am sorry for being such an ass before, Y/N. I hope with time you can forgive me.”

“Already forgiven,” you assure him softly. “We’re here now. That’s what matters.”

Relief blossoms on his face and he leans in to nuzzle his nose against yours. “Thank you, ma belle. For being the most patient and kind woman on earth.”

You grin, eyes fluttering closed as his breath tickles your skin. “Mmm, I wouldn’t go that far. But I guess I do possess some super-human tolerance for broody and aloof superstar drivers with commitment issues.”

Charles chuckles at that and you can feel the rumble of it against your body. “Lucky for me then, or I would still be utterly lost.”

His mouth finds yours then, soft and intoxicating. You melt into the kiss, savoring his warmth, his scent, the gentle stroke of his fingertips along your jaw. All semblance of poise escapes you when you’re pressed against Charles like this. He never fails to make your head spin and body thrum with want.

A polite cough from nearby causes you to break apart abruptly. You blink, dazed, to see Natalie standing with an eyebrow arched sky high.

“Hey lovebirds,” she says in a wry tone. “Sorry to disturb the sunset groping, but they’re calling for final broadcast checks in 10.”

Face flaming, you duck your head and extract yourself from Charles’ embrace. He just shoots Natalie a cheeky grin, entirely unabashed.

“Better get going then,” Charles says cheerfully, giving you a quick peck on the cheek. “Wouldn’t want you to be late because of me … again.” He winks.

Natalie rolls her eyes hard. “Oh I’m sure that would be a first. See you in 10, Y/N.”

With that, she turns on her heel and heads back towards the pits. You glance up at Charles shyly.

“I should … uh ...” You gesture vaguely.

“Yes, yes of course,” Charles says, squeezing your hands affectionately. “Work calls. Don’t worry, I’ll be waiting around the next corner to steal more kisses as soon as you’re free.”

You laugh and give him a playful shove. “Go on then, you impossible man! I’ll see you in a bit.”

Heart fluttering, you watch him saunter off before heading for the pits yourself, still feeling delightfully dazed.

This is really your life now. Surrounded by racing, the thrill of competition, the roar of engines … and consumed by budding love every time Charles Leclerc is near.

As far as dream jobs go, you think with a lovestruck smile, you’ve really hit the jackpot.

[scientia-rex]

Wound Care

Ok so, take this with a BIG grain of salt, because I may be a medical doctor BUT you need to know how much wound care training we get in medical school: none. Zip. Zilch. There may be medical schools where you do, but mine wasn't a bozo factory and there was NO wound care training. Everything I know I learned from one of several sources: an intensive 2-day wound care course I did in residency (highly recommend), the local Home Health wound care nurse (highly recommend), a completely batshit insane old white male doctor who started our learning sessions by yelling Vietnam War stories at me (do not recommend), a hospital wound care nurse (highly recommend), and experience (oh god do not recommend).

The first thing you need to know is that wound healing varies dramatically across the course of a lifespan. Kids? Kids will heal. If they don't, get their ass to a pediatrician because there's something genetic going on. Young adults will heal. Middle-aged adults will heal. You know who doesn't heal for shit? The elderly, and people with severe illnesses, and people with uncontrolled type II diabetes.

Your body needs several things in order to heal. It needs macronutrients, so you need to be able to EAT protein, fat, and carbs. If you are on total parenteral nutrition, aka TPN, aka IV nutrition, you are going to be worse at healing. If you are starving yourself, you are going to be worse at healing. If your body is desperately funneling all the calories you take in to surviving your COPD or cancer, you are going to be worse at healing.

It also needs micronutrients. If your diet sucks, you won't heal. Take a multivitamin once in a while.

There are two CRITICAL skin components to healing: collagen and elastin. Guess what we stop making as we age. Promoting collagen isn't just good for "anti-aging," it's good for NOT ripping your skin apart. Taking oral collagen is probably bullshit because your body is going to have to disassemble it to get it across the intestinal membranes to absorb, but it's also harmless, and if your diet REALLY sucks, who knows. Give it a try. Collagen is made of amino acids; think protein.

Another absolutely crucial component is blood flow. As people age, they start to develop cholesterol plaques lining arteries that eventually pick up calcium deposits. This makes blood vessels less elastic, which is a problem, but eventually also blocks them off, which is a much bigger problem. If someone has the major blood flow to their feet decreased by 90% by arterial stenosis, they are not going to heal for shit AND their foot's gonna hurt.

One component of blood flow I hadn't thought about before going into medicine is fluid retention. The way your body works, blood exits the heart at a very high velocity, but slows to a crawl by the time it gets into capillaries, the smallest blood vessels in the body. Water is a very small molecule and can leave the blood vessel, especially if there aren't big, negatively-charged molecules like proteins like albumin in the blood vessels to hold the water there. And we're built for this--some water is supposed to leak out of our blood vessels when it gets to real little vessels. It gets taken back up by the lymphatic system and eventually dumped back into the bloodstream at the inferior vena cava. But if you aren't making albumin--for instance, in liver failure--you may leak a LOT of fluid into the tissue, so much that your legs get swollen, tight, the skin feeling woody and strange. This isn't fixable by drainage because the fluid is everywhere, not in a single pocket we can drain. And because it puts so much pressure on the tissues of the skin, it often results in ulcers. Congestive heart failure, liver failure, kidney failure--these are all common causes of severe edema, aka swelling due to fluid in the tissues. And they're a real bitch when it comes to wound care, because we have such limited resources for getting the fluid back out, which is a necessary first step to healing.

Pressure is another common cause of wounds. Pressure forces blood out of those little capillaries, so you starve the cells normally fed by those capillaries, and they die. It's called pressure necrosis. Very sick people who can't turn themselves over--people in the ICU, people in nursing homes--are especially prone to these wounds, as are people with limited sensation; pressure wounds are common in wheelchair users who have lost some feeling in the parts of their bodies that rub against those surfaces, or diabetics who don't notice a rock in their shoe.

So, if you're trying to treat wounds, the questions to ask are these:

Why did this wound happen?

-Was it pressure? If it's pressure, you have to offload the source of the pressure or else that wound will not heal. End of story. You can put the tears of a unicorn on that thing, if you don't offload the pressure it won't heal.

-Was it fluid? If it's fluid, you have get the fluid out of the issues or else it won't heal. You can sometimes do that with diuretics, medications that cause the body to dump water through the kidneys, but that's always threading a needle because you have to get someone to a state where they still have juuuuust enough fluid inside their blood vessels to keep their organs happy, while maintaining a very slight state of dehydration so the blood vessels suck water back in from the tissues. You can use compression stockings to squeeze fluid back into the vessels, but if they have arterial insufficiency and not just venous insufficiency, you can accidentally then cause pressure injury. The safest option is using gravity: prop the feet up above the level of the heart, wherever the heart is at, at that moment, and gravity will pull fluid back down out of the legs. Super boring though. Patients hate it. Not as much as they hate compression stockings.

-Was it a skin tear because the skin is very fragile? This is extremely common in the elderly, because they're not making collagen and elastin, necessary to repairing skin. If this is the case, make sure they're actually getting enough nutrition--as people get into their 80s and 90s, their appetites often change and diminish, especially if they're struggling with dementia. And think about just wrapping them in bubble wrap. Remove things with sharp edges from their environments. I have seen the WORST skin tears from solid wood or metal furniture with sharp edges. Get rid of throw rugs and other tripping hazards. I had somebody last week who tried to a clear a baby gate and damn near destroyed their artificial hip.

The next critical question: why isn't it healing?

-Are you getting enough nutrients? Both macro and micro?

-Are you elderly?

-Are you ill?

-Do you have a genetic disorder of collagen formation?

Fix why it's not healing and almost anything will heal. If you're diabetic, find a medication regimen that improves your sugars and stick to it. If you're anorexic, get treatment for your eating disorder. If you have congestive heart failure, work with your doctor on your fluid balance. Wear the damn pressure stockings. Prop up your feet.

If, after those two unskippable questions are done, you want to do something to the wound--apply a dressing, do a treatment--that's a whole other kettle of fish. I'll write that later. The dryer just sang me its little song and I need to put away the laundry.

[ronearoundblindly]

Ari- Baby is sick for the first time

Ari Levinson x best friend!reader (now fiancé)

New Parent Panic, a Bedrock and Blueprints tale

Warnings for protective!Ari, Ari not communicating, you doing the same, and then everyone gets their shit together and it's fluff. WC 2k *Off in the distance an ol' timey man pops up: "An argument, you say? You wrote an argument?? How different from your usual!!" Ha-ha. Yeah. We get it. Ro's the same hoe as last year... **I am not a mother. I know what would reasonably be categorized as zilch about babies. I have, however, seen this overwhelmed and guilty behavior from several of my peeps as they raise their youngins, so that's good enough for me. You're doing fine. I promise.

Sure, there was the rather severe diaper rash incident, and the time when nursing her turned your nipples into raw portals for a newly-discovered circle of hell, but nothing could have prepared you for this day.

Rachel was...meh this morning when Ari left for work. A little whiny, not sleeping well, but she's an infant; that's not new. Overall, she's actually been a very straight-forward baby.

And then you don't know what happened.

You napped very hard until noon (after only a moderately successful feeding) and by then Rach had a fever.

You called the nurses' hotline. You gave her the dose of baby meds. You're trying to keep her hydrated, at least, if she can't be happy right now. You just have to stay vigilant and wait it out.

But that's not easy.

She's crying and won't sleep, she'll barely eat, and you don't have a separate car. You only want to call Ari if it's to say "we need to take her to a doctor." You're not there yet.

So you do the shittiest feeling thing you can think of, the most painful thing, and you wait.

You don't sleep. You barely eat. You take Rachel's temperature like you are monitoring the possible meltdown of a nuclear reactor. One wiggle of a degree in the wrong direction, and that Bat Signal is going on.

I can do this, you tell yourself. I've wanted to be a mom for a long time, so I can do this.

Except you don't sleep and barely eat.

Ari arrives home precisely when he said he would, the exact number of minutes (after work shuts down for the day) that it takes to drive to the house, predictable, dependable, and utterly useless when he opens the door and asks "why is she crying?"

"Because she hates me," you blubber, holding her to your chest, arms cramped from cradling her for so many hours at this point.

"She need meds?"

Of course, I gave her the fucking meds.

"Hungry?"

No, asshole, I purposefully starved your fucking child for my own amusement.

"Calm down," Ari snips back. "I'm just trying to help."

Well then fucking help me!

By now, you likely look as if you're in a war zone: disheveled, manic, and possibly--definitely--hostile.

"Okay, okay, let me just take a piss and then I'll hold her."

"Yeah, of course. Whatever you want. Whatever you need." You turn your back to him before grumbling, "not like I haven't had to hold it all afternoon..."

Ari's still-booted feet land heavily beside you again. "Then I'll take her now," he grits through clenched teeth, "and you can use the bathroom."

"No. I already have her."

"Fine. I'll be right back."

"Take your time."

The way you lace the words with a sickly sweet melody has Ari spinning on a heel and staring at you through his long eyelashes, a tick in his jaw stopping him from saying something he might regret.

"Kid," he finally sighs, "just tell me what you want me to do, and I'll do it."

He runs a hand over his beard while he waits for your answer. A few seconds later, his hip juts out, arms akimbo, and he bites his bottom lip expectantly.

You just walk off toward your phone on the kitchen counter and call the nurse hotline back.

"I swear, woman," he mutters as you leave, but you're glad he can't hear you sniffle back a sob.

It should be reassuring that the nurse has no new advice for what to do. You're doing everything correctly. You're doing all you can. Don't worry. Keep checking her temp and giving her whatever fluids she'll take. That's all for now.

It doesn't feel like enough. It doesn't feel like all a mother can do.

Ari? Ari waltzes up to the fridge and cracks himself open a beer.

You don't even have words, only flaming hot vibes that will melt his face like a Spielberg movie--you have got to stop watching movie marathons during late-night breast-feeding--if you stare hard enough at his casual blue gaze.

"So," he begins, "you figure out what I gotta do?"

What had been steady whimpering from Rachel has amplified into wails that bring tears to both hers and your eyes.

They just fall down your cheeks, and you wipe them from your chin before they can fall onto your screaming child.

Ari's judging frown makes your stomach turn while he steps closer, bends at the knees, and takes his little girl in hand.

Less than a minute later, Rachel stops, and you just cannot fucking handle it. The only quiet moment you've had in six and a half hours he gets to enjoy moments after coming home.

That's not fair. Cure fucking cancer already, Levinson, and save us the goddamn grief!

The tears and the tired are choking you.

Ari tells you to go freshen up in the bathroom, but that is the most horribly wrong way to say anything to you, ever, in a moment like this.

You stomp out the front door, rip open the sliding back door of the SUV, and crawl onto the cab floor. Once the latch clicks behind you, face buried in the blanket kept on Rachel's car seat, you scream.

You whimper and you cry and you get your fucking time to be angry at all your feelings today because it's bullshit.

You didn't take your own temperature. You didn't get rest and drink plenty of fluids. You didn't take any medicine. All you keep going over in your mind is whether or not you were sick first. Did you have something you gave to your daughter? Is this your fault?

So the tears and the choking continue for...as long as they take.

You don't know how much time has passed before the car door is yanked open again. Thank the stars you are facing away. You can't look at Ari right now.

"Is she okay?" you ask with a watery voice.

His big, warm hand rubs across your back, making you sink further into the upholstery.

"Took a few ounces of a bottle and went down in her bunk."

Ari likes to call Rachel a part of his 'squad,' so he talks to your infant daughter like they're going on 'missions' to the store or getting a bottle from the 'mess.' Your bedroom has thus become the 'barracks.'

Sometimes, he holds her sitting up against his chest and uses her feet to 'march' the pair of them across the house.

Left. Left. Left right left.

And almost always, there's a giggle, too.

"Up you go, kid," Ari huffs, maneuvering you into his arms.

"No," you whine, so tired you can't tell what it is you don't want.

He just keeps saying, "I know. I know," until he's carried you inside.

Instead of taking you to the couch or the bed, Ari sits you both down in the front hall, balancing you on his lap while he loosens his boot laces and finally kicks the sturdy shoes off, placing them on the mat a couple feet away.

He presses his lips to your temple, rough beard gently scrubbing over your eyelid and cheek.

"How many times I gotta tell ya to call me?" he whispers. He doesn't expect to have this same argument again, not like this, but his point still stands. "You know, you're warm, too."

If it's another question, you don't answer that either. You change the subject.

"Did you take her temp?"

He nods, and the number he tells you is the same as it was thirty minutes ago, or rather, thirty minutes before he came home.

Ari squeezes you tighter. "You want to get into bed, and I'll bring your some juice and meds, huh? Meet you in there?"

"I'm a bad mom," you breathe.

"What?" He pulls away, smacking his head on the wall behind him. "What are you talking about?"

How are there more tears left in your body? You should be nothing but a shriveled husk at this rate.

"Bullshit," he practically seethes. "Don't you ever say that again."

"I shouldn't have--"

"Stop."

"--you were--"

"Stop it," he blurts, firm and serious.

"But I'm the one who wanted this, Ari!" Your most powerful voice only comes out as high whisper. "Me. I wanted kids. This whole time. I bitched about how Joanna's done, and I thought I could just--" you swing an arm out dramatically "--and I suck at it. Rach even likes you better!"

"No, kid. She was exhausted. I only got here at the right time."

"It's 'cause your comfy and you smell good--"

"--not sure about that--"

"--and she loves you," you bemoan.

Ari snorts out a laugh.

"She loves you, too. You're her mom." He tucks you in closer, soothing you with petting hands wherever he can reach. "I love you. So much. So, so much."

He finds your hand and the sapphire ring he put on it, spinning it gently on your finger. He hasn't gotten to make good on his promise. Planning a wedding, even a small one, with a newborn is almost impossible, but that seems to be part of the problem.

Anything to do with you or you two feels selfish when there's three. Guilt grips you when you stop to daydream about your big day because it's not about Rachel. She's the most important thing. She will trump you forever as the single most--

"Can I tell you a secret?" Ari's timbre rattles close to your ear. "You're my favorite."

You slump into his chest until your forehead braces his throat.

"Almost not fair, really," he drawls. "You've got a decade of brownie points, and she's managed to make me buy more pads for her than I've had to for y--"

You pinch at his side harshly, biting back a smile, the salt from dried tears on your lips flooding your mouth.

"Oh! And you can control your bladder for a whole day, which is downright impressive wh--hey now--" Ari scuttles on the floor to evade your attack on his ribs. "I'm just...being...honest," he chuckles.

"You're a jerk is what you are, old man."

He easily grabs both your arms and pins them together in front of him.

"Yeah, but I'm your jerk. Your old man, kid. I'm yours, okay? You are not alone here. You don't have to know how to do everything by yourself." He lowers his voice as well as his face to yours. "And you mean just as much to me as that little girl in there. You hear me?"

There's a different lump of emotion lodged deep in your chest. You only nod because you can't speak.

He makes your foreheads meet.

"Please be okay. I could never do this without you. Any of it..."

That's when you realize what bothers you so much: Ari should need you to raise Rachel, but you never truly acknowledged you might need him to raise her, too.

This enormous weight of clutching every thread of life in your own two hands isn't real. You can share. You are meant to share your life with Ari. Ari is meant to share his life with you. Rachel shares life with you both, as she is meant to share with everyone around her. It's a lesson she has the opportunity to learn a lot younger than you, apparently.

He gets you to drink a whole bottle of water. He brings you some food and medicine while he handles some laundry and cleans out the day's bottles. He leads you with both hands to the bathroom, finally, and then gets you settled in bed.

As you fall asleep, you watch Ari take Rach's temperature again.

He lets out a silent cheer and holds his hand over her.

"High five?" he whispers. "No? It's fine. We'll work on that."

The last thing you see is Ari playfully lifting her from the basinet, sneaking out to the living room to enjoy a movie marathon, just for a little bit, snuggling together while he winds down for the night.

All that matters is she's safe and happy.

That, and of course, waking up in Ari's arms, listening to his slow breathing and Rachel's faster, baby huffs. You can handle anything because you made it through today and you have them.

[Ari's POV for this day]

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @late-to-the-party-81 @rogersbarber @yenzys-lucky-charm

[mrsarnasdelicious]

Animal Shelter!AU Sihtric NSFW Alphabet

A = After (what they’re like after sex)

Sihtric is a snuggler extra ordinaire. He will want to cuddle once you are both cleaned up. Yes, you will need cleaning up. Be it a bath, a shower of just a quick toweling down, sex with Sihtric means you're gona be needing a good ol' clean up.

After you've clean up, Sihtric will cuddle up to you, with his head on/beside your chest. His very favourite it when you 'nurse' him to sleep. Man loves to fall asleep with your nipple in his mouth.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He knows he has a big cock and he is quite proud of it. Though he is also very very proud of his heterochromatic eyes.

On you, hands down, your tits. He cannot get enough of your boobs.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Sihtric has hyperspermia. He produces loads you would not believe are suited for a human. You sometimes have no idea what to do with how much he pumps into you, be it your pussy, your mouth or your ass. Or anywhere else on your body, really.

And he gets painful balls, too when he does not cum on an at least one and a half day interval. He needs to releave that pressure and he prefers to do it inside you.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He once spied on Finan getting off and came in his pants just watching Finan jerk his own cock.

The first time he was at your place, he filched one of your panties from the hamper. He got off to it so many times before he casually returned it, washed and without you noticing.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He isn't exactly a virgin, but due to a latex allergy that remained undiscovered until he began seeing you, he's avoided sex for the main part. He has most of his kink experience with you.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Cowgirl. He likes to submit to you and he likes seeing your tits bound, easy peasy mac and cheesy.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Sihtric can be quite silly. He likes to playfight, tickle and joke, mainly during foreplay.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

This boy has no body hair. Like, zilch. He even has very thin, sparse leg hair. His armpit hair is peach fuzz at best!

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Sihtric craves intimacy. Sex with you is more than fucking, more than pleasure. He needs affection much more than he needs sex. He views affection/romance as integral part of sex with you.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Y E S. He jerks off soooo much. Because he is like, perpetually horny.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Lactation, Breeding, Praising, Edging, Exhibition, Voyeurism, Multiples, breast worship and dirty talk.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Anywhere he can get you, really. Tho he does prefer the bed, so he can get real close and real vulnerable.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

YOUR BOOBS. Your voice, compliments, Finan's cologne, your perfume, praise, a light breeze rushing through your hair. Everything, basically.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Bodily waste, ddlg and cnc

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Heck to the yes. Sihtric is enthousiastic about getting head, never lasting long when you suck his cock. And he loooooves eating you out, he can do it for hours on end.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He mixes it up, he can do either or and everything in between.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

YES. He gets to be inside you, what is not to like!!

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Sihtric is crazy enough to try everything, once, a few exceptions of course there.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Sihtric tends to be a quick shot the first round, but he can go for three round and round two or three usually last much longer. Though there are days he can go for five, all of them premature and desperate.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

YES ALL THE TOYS. Butt plugs, vibes, cockrings, fleshlights, all of the toys, on you and on him!!!

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Oh no honey, it is you who teases him. He has the best reactions!

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

L O U D. Guy has no filter, no stop, no nothing. He is loud, whining, whimpering, moaning, grunting and groaning. And most of all, MOST OF ALL, Begging. He begs loudly and prettily.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Boy is such a disaster bi. He has the hugest crush on Finan and he indulges Uhtred whenever he wants to snog. He's not a person for monogamy because he most certainly will jump in bed with Finan if invited.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He is a grower and he is biiig. His sack is worn close to the root of his cock and his balls are a little larger than average. He is uncut.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

13/10. Guy's resting mood is horny. He always wants to fuck. Boyo's got sex on the brain all day erry day. And when you are near him, he has zero self control.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He zonks off once he is well and comfortable. Especially when you let him nurse to sleep. He put so much energy in the session that it is high time for him to go to sleep.

[celiawrites14]

Meet The Grandparents

Warnings including but not limited to : family drama, anxiety, drama, angst, death, oc death (not main character), suicide, depression

** this is really bad, but I had this idea in my head and couldn't get rid of it **

Long AF but I don't know how to write any other way

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

I had a normal childhood. No psycho killer for a parent. Both still alive and loving. The only non normal part was when my mom died when I was seventeen and my 35 year old sister went missing in lieu of a case of three children going missing.

“Garcia, anything?” Hotch asked her. We were called in on the case late. There were already three victims.

“Sir, as much as I want to dazzle you with my awesomeness, I’m coming up blank.” She told them. “I’ve checked and double checked and cross checked everything I can think of and I still have zilch.”

“Have you tried checking the surrounding towns? Do everything within a 45 mile radius.” Hotch question and advised her.

“See this is why you’re the boss man and I’m just the techie that types.” She told us.

“Penelope, also double cross those names with the list of names you get with a list of teachers, nurses, and counselors.” I added in. My sister, Caroline, was a teacher. Maybe he went for the mothering type.

“Okay super. This is much more manageable and I might actually get a hit. Catch you both on the flip.”

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

With no leads, Hotch decided it was time to try a cognitive interview.

"Alyssa, sit down." I sat down across from Hotch. "Close your eyes."

I took another shuddering breath and closed my eyes. "What am I thinking about?"

"What's your first memory with your sister?" He started off.

I thought back to my first memory with her. "We - playing at the park near my house. She use to push me on the swings. I remember her giving me under dunks."

"Did you guys always play at that park?" He continued.

"Usually, because it was so close to our house. We could walk there without crossing the highway. Just side streets. And we would go there because that's where Caroline would meet up with her friends"

"Who were her friends?"

"Ah, Callie. That was her best friend. They always played together until..." I trailed off.

"Until what?" Hotch pressed.

"When I was ten, she would've been sixteen, Callie stopped coming around. I don't remember why. I was going back and forth between Mom and Grandpas."

"Why were you at your Grandpa's so much?"

"I don't remember." I opened my eyes and stared at him.

"You do remember, close your eyes. Think back to conversations you might have overheard." He urged me. I took a deep breath, not as shakily as before, and closed my eyes. "Think back. Think back to your Grandpa's house. What do you notice?"

"It always felt so big to me when I was little. At my mom's, Caroline and I use to share a room, until I was eight. Then we moved. But I always had my own room at Grandpa's. That's when things got more stressed. Mom got another job, I started going to Grandpa's more."

"When was the first time you heard somebody talk about it."

"At Grandpas. He was talking to my mom. It must have been on the phone."

"What was he saying?"

"He's talking to my mom about Caroline getting in trouble. I can't hear everything."

"What can you hear?"

"Grandpa is mad. He doesn't get mad often."

"What is he mad about?"

"He's mad because Mom won't punish Caroline."

"What did she do?"

"He's yelling -- he's yelling about it. About - about how Caroline had a meeting with her school counselor. I don't - I don't remember anything else." I opened my eyes and stared at Hotch.

"You did great." He told me, giving me his rare smile.

"I hardly remembered anything." I protested.

"You remembered more than you thought. You gave us a lot of details. Like your sister meeting with the school counselor. That let's us know it was probably because she was bullying. She got in trouble at school."

"Hotch." Rossi said from the door.

"What is it Rossi?"

"Penelope found something on Caroline's phone."

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

Penelope sat with me as the team found the location of Caroline. I knew when Spencer and the rest of the team came in that something bad had happened.

I opened my mouth to ask, but no words came out. Spencer looked at JJ.

JJ kneeled in front of me. I gripped Penelope's hand tight.

"When Penelope got onto Caroline's phone, she found a note." JJ said.

"What kind of note?"

"It was a suicide note. Your sister died from suicide. She was racked with guilt from the incident years ago with the boys and then the shooting. She died a few days ago." All of the words JJ was saying slowly became quieter and quieter. There was a ringing in my ears and everything turned dark.

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

We got to my grandpa's house, thankfully Rossi and JJ had let him know. I wouldn't have been able to tell them.

I walked into the house, dazed.

"Oh, sweetheart." Grandpa said, pulling me into a hug. I hugged him tightly. "Okay, we're going to be okay." I pulled back and moved back by Spencer. I gripped his hand tightly. "Who's this?"

"This is Spencer."

"Your boyfriend." He nodded to Spencer. Thankfully, I told my grandpa about Spencer's weird habits and he didn't try to make physical content with Spencer. "Well, I'm Henry."

"Spencer."

"I wish we were meeting under different circumstances."

"Me too, sir."

He waved his hand. "None of that. Sir makes me feel old, and I'm not that."

I smiled softly at my grandpa. He always could make me smile.

"Dad, who was at the door - oh Alyssa!" My grandma barreled into the room.

"Grandma." I hugged her tight.

"Oh, baby. It's been too long." She pressed her hand to my cheek for a moment before looking at Spencer. "You must be Spencer."

"I am, it's nice to meet you. Alyssa talks very highly of you." Spencer smiled at her.

"She is our baby." Grandma told him. "I made supper, you need to eat."

I tried to protest, but Spencer spoke up. "You haven't eaten since lunch yesterday."

I pursed my lips and looked at Grandma who was glaring at me.

"Kitchen."

"Yes, ma'am." I walked into the kitchen. "Grandpa! Grandma and Spencer are ganging up on me." I whined.

"Honey, leave the girl alone. She's been home for less than fifteen minutes."

"She needs to eat." Grandma said, coming into the kitchen, Spencer following.

"That's true." Grandpa said. "Good thing Grandma made your favorite."

"You made ravioli?" My eyes widened in surprise.

"Honey, you really didn't think I was going to make you come home after Caroline..." Grandma trailed off.

I bit my lip. "Well, I'm here now." I smiled softly at her.

"That's true." Grandpa agreed. "And we finally get to meet Spencer here."

I smiled at Spencer, who was looking at me with a smile. Even when the whole world was dark, he was always my sunshine.

"Caroline would have loved this." I said sitting at the table. "Family dinners were her favorite."

"We stopped doing them when your mom died. It became to painful." Grandma said.

"It was painful." I agreed with her.

"We can start doing it again more regularly." Grandpa decided. "We live close enough."

"We can come up if we aren't on a case." Spencer told them.

"That would be just lovely." Grandma smiled at the two of us.

"Welcome to the family, Spence." I whispered to him.

"Happy to be here." He leaned over and kissed my forehead.

End.

This is really bad but I had this thought and had to write it down. If you or anybody is in need of help, please call # 988.

[fandomtherapy44]

Klaus x reader

Summary: This story is from the perspective of Y/n Marshall the younger sister of Hayley Marshall. Side note I love Hayley one of my favorite characters. Basically Y/n will be pregnant instead of Hayley and I will be changing some things up but then that it should stay pretty close to the series. I hope you enjoy the story! Also, if you like I have a Castiel x reader.

Paring: Klaus x reader

Word count: 3,341

Warnings: Some language, Typical the Originals violence, Spoilers for season one of The Originals, Pregnancy,

I got the divder from

saradika

Chapter 1: Always and forever

POV: Y/n

New Orleans is the heart of Louisiana known for its live music, food, and apparently family history, well at least for my older sister and me. We came here to learn more about our parents but the few weeks we've been here nothing zilch but some tasty gumbo that lately I have had a strong hunger for. “Third time in here this week.” Jane-Anne said, placing down a steamy bowl of gumbo in front of me.“I'm obsessed with the gumbo, Jane-Anne.” I said to her grabbing my spoon and lifting a huge scoop into my mouth while my sister Haley was nursing a bourbon. 

“You know, ladies in the 9th ward say my sister, Sophie, bleeds a piece of her soul into every dish.” She said referring to her sister who was cooking in the kitchen. “We’ve asked around the Quarter about my family......” Haley started to say. “And?” Jane-Anne questioned. “Nothing. Zero. we can't find a single person who remembers them.” I finished throwing my spoon back into the bowl. “Because Hayley, Y/n people like you were run out of here years ago.” 

“What do you mean, people like us?” Jane-Anne walked around the bar to the other side to stand beside us. While Sophie watched us. Jane-Anne stetted a map on the bar. “In the bayou, they call the werewolves "Roux-Ga-Roux"”. She circled a point on the map. “You head out there, you'll find what you're looking for. Be careful. It's the last place you'd ever want to go.” Haley and I smile in hope that maybe we will finally find something. I order my gumbo to go, and we thank Jane-Anne and leave.

Haley and I are driving down the road and I'm giving directions while she drives. “Okay now take a left...” I said while looking down at the map not sounding very confident. “Y/n the map is upside down.” “Oh, he he I mean right.” She sighs as she hard turns right. “It’s like the mountains all over again.” “Hey, it was not my fault that the map was outdated.” “It was GPS N/n” “Well still the phone was-” As I started to talk, I suddenly started to feel sick. “Haley pull over now.” She pulled the car over and I jumped out puking out all my lunch. “Uhh what the Hell-” And there goes breakfast. “Maybe it’s all the gumbo that you ate when it’s been sitting in the car for two hours.” “Maybe it’s the gumbo y/n shut it, Haley. I was hungry… again.” 

We finally arrive at the bayou and look at the map to figure out where we are. “So, we are here and-” As I held the map the paper got hot, and it became on fire. “What the-” I threw it out the window. Haley and I looked at each other like what the fuck. We start to reverse the car, but the engine starts to smoke, and it stops. “Are you kidding me?” We get out and I take out my phone. “Hey, I'm looking for a tow service?” I didn't even get a response before a loud ringing came from the phone and I threw it down and Haley heard it too and she smashed it with her boot. I didn’t even notice people around us. Haley and I start to get back-to-back. My vision starts to become blurry, and I passed out.“Y/n!”

I wake up gasping. “Y/n N/n you're okay.” “Hayley, where the Hell are we?” I said looking around the room and the walls were made of stone and there were lots of candles around. “In a tomb.” “Why are we in a tomb?” “Because the witches kidnapped us.” “Why would they kidnap us!?” I'm getting angry and I stand up. Sophie devereaux walks in with a bottle of water and a bowl of gumbo and places it in front of me. “If you think I'm eating anything you give me, you witches are crazier than I give you credit for!” I said as I kicked the bowl back. 

“Please Y/n all this anger is not good for the baby.” “You are going to let my sister and I go or-” Hayley stopped. “Did you just say baby?” “Yes, I did, Y/n’s baby.” Wait what? “That’s impossible, I can't be pregnant.” “Well, congrats you are, with Klaus Mikaelson’s.” Fuck “So eat up your baby needs it.” With that she walked away. “Hey, you still haven't told us why we’re here!” Haley yelled at her behind the bars. She looked down at me, who was still in shock. “Klaus Mikealson what were you thinking N/n?” “I don’t know Hayley, I was drunk, and he looked really cute and we talked and one bottle of whiskey later I woke up in his bed.” “Now I'm pregnant and absolutely terrified.” I said as I started to cry. “Shh It’s okay It’s okay.” Hayley said while hugging and rocking me.

Sophie walks in. “Get up It’s time to meet your baby’s uncle.” Hayley and I look at each with confusion and follow her. We walk out to see a man standing there in a press suit and tie.” Who the hell are you?” I asked him. “Give us a moment, please.” The man asked Sophie. “Whoever you are, you aren't going to talk to my sister alone.” Hayley said with a fierceness that I hadn't seen since I was younger. “Hayley I'll be okay.” I said as the man, and I walked into the other room.

“So, have they been holding you here against your will?” Elijah asked me. “They lured my sister and I out to the bayou and grabbed me. And they did all these... weird witchy tests. Not that I understand how this could happen. I mean, vampires are dead. They can't have children!” He turns to me and holds his hands. “Perhaps if you knew my brother's story, it might explain how this is possible. Here, if I may.” “If you open your mind to me, I can show you.” I lean down my head and Elijah shows me.

“In the beginning, our family was human... A thousand years ago, now.” I started to see them as kids. “Although our mother dabbled in the dark arts, we were actually just a family trying to survive in a time when it was quite difficult to do so. And, for better or worse, we were happy.” “That is, however, until one night, our youngest brother was killed by our village's greatest threat.” I then saw Klaus carrying their youngest brother and he was dead. “Men that could transform themselves into wolves during the full moon. Our family was devastated, none more than Niklaus. Desperate to protect the rest of us, our father forced our mother to call upon her black magic in order to make us stronger.” I now see that their father was forcing them to drink the blood to turn them.

"Thus, the first vampires were born. But with this speed, this strength, this immortality, came a terrible hunger. No one felt this hunger more than Niklaus.” The scene was now Klaus killing a human for the first time and with that he was changing into a wolf. He didn’t know of his descent. His father chained him up as Elijah tried to help but he wouldn't allow it and kept on saying horrible things about Klaus. “He wasn't just a vampire.” “He was also a werewolf. That's how the werewolf curse works. It isn't activated until you take a life.” I concluded. “Niklaus was the result of an indiscretion our mother had hidden from us all. An affair with a werewolf like yourself.” I see another thing I did not want to, Klaus was being forced to bury his werewolf side. “Your dad was a massive dick.” I said and we kind of laughed about it. 

“I'm Y/n Marshall, by the way. You should probably know my name if you're gonna tell me your whole life story. I mean, I know yours. Your family is legendary. Your brother is a notorious psycho... who I slept with.” “I cannot excuse his behavior, but you must understand, when our father hunted him – hunted us – for centuries, every time we found a moment of happiness, we were forced to flee. Even here, in New Orleans, where we were happiest of all. Not long after Niklaus broke the spell which prevented him from becoming a hybrid, he defeated our father. I thought this would make him happy. He was angrier than ever. I wonder if perhaps this baby might be a way for my brother to find happiness. A way to save him from himself.” When he finished, I grabbed at my stomach for the first time knowing that I was pregnant.

“I'm glad you feel that way, because we need your help.” It was Sophie. “What, precisely, is it that you want and what does it have to do with this young woman?” Elijah questioned and I wanted to know too. “We want to run Marcel and his vampires out of town. Klaus is the key. Everything Marcel knows about being a vampire, he learned from Klaus. Marcel trusts him, looks up to him, and he won't see the betrayal coming.”

“Yes, well, as I'm sure you're aware, my brother Niklaus doesn't like to be told what to do.” “That's why I brought you here. Marcel drove the werewolves out of town decades ago. Do you really think he's going to welcome a hybrid baby to the neighborhood? Convince Klaus to help us, and no one has to know about the newest member of the Original family.” “That sounds remarkably like blackmail.” “Like I said, I'm desperate.” “Well, then, I have my work cut out for me, don't I?” “I will be back with my brother.” And with that he walks away. 

Hayley walked into the room a little worried. “Oh my gosh are you okay did he hurt you?” I smile at her. “I'm fine Hayley. I just feel a little bad.” “Do you need a bucket?” “No no I mean I just learned more about Klaus than I bargained for.”

  We get called back into the front of the tomb and there standing is Klaus and he looks handsome as the morning I left his bed. “No. It's impossible.” He said pointing at me and its funny cause I said the same thing. “I said the same thing myself.” Elijah said. “This is a lie. You are all lying. Vampires cannot procreate.” I kind of wish it was a lie. “But werewolves can. Magic made you a vampire, but you were born a werewolf. You're the Original hybrid, the first of your kind. And this pregnancy is one of nature's loopholes.” Sophie explained.

“You've been with someone else, admit it!” Klaus yelled at me. “Hey, guess what buddy it’s impossible on my side too since I was a teen, I've been told I can’t get pregnant, so it is a hundred percent yours also my sister and I have spent days held captive in a freaking alligator bayou because they think that I'm carrying some magical miracle baby. Don't you think I would've fessed up if it wasn't yours?” I said getting closer, almost getting in his face because if anything I was not going to stand here and be accused of being with other guys when I know my own body. We stare at each other for second before Hayley pulls me back. 

“My sister gave her life to perform the spell she needed to confirm this pregnancy. Because of Jane-Anne's sacrifice, the lives of this girl and her baby are now controlled by us. We can keep them safe. Or we can kill them. If you don't help us, take down Marcel, so help me, Y/n won't live long enough to see her first maternity dress.” “Excuse me what?” I said getting worried about what Sophie just said. “Enough of this. If you want Marcel dead, he's dead. I'll do it myself.” Elijah said, stepping up and I saw Hayley looking at him with a bit of admiration. “No. We can't, not yet. We have a clear plan that we need to follow, and there are rules.” Sophie said stopping Elijah. We looked at Klaus waiting for his response. 

“How dare you command me, threaten me, with what you wrongfully perceive to be my weaknesses. This is a pathetic deception. I won't hear any more lies.” I forgot how egoistic he was. I guess that night was just a side of him that was a one-time thing. “Niklaus!... Listen.” Elijah yells at him and Klaus looks at me and then my stomach listening to our baby’s heartbeat I wonder what it was like. “Kill her and the baby. What do I care?” Klaus walked away with that sentence, and I almost lunged at him. “OH, HELL NO get back here you son of a bitch!” I get held back by Elijah gently this time. “No one touches the girl. I'll fix this.” 

Sophie and this older witch, Agnes, are talking again about this Vampire Marcel and whoever he is, they don’t like him that much. “Marcel and his vampires are out of control. Something had to be done.” “And the solution is to bring in more vampires?” “What makes you think you can control the hybrid?” That’s a good question. It seems like to me Klaus won’t just sit down. “She can't. I'm not entirely certain that I can, either. But now that your coven has drawn his ire, I have a question: What prevents my brother from murdering you instead of cooperating?”

Elijah said, surprising as all. Then I'm surprised personally because Sophie takes out a needle and pricks herself, but I feel it too. “Ow! What the fu-” I said looking at my hand and it was bleeding in the same place that was bleeding on Sophie's hand. Hayley grabs my hand to look at it. “The spell my sister performed, the one that got her killed? It didn't just confirm the pregnancy. It linked me to Y/n. So, anything that happens to me, happens to her, which means her life is in my hands. Klaus may not care about his own child, but it's very clear what it already means to you. If I have to hurt Y/n – or worse – to ensure that I have your attention, I will.” What the hell so the witches are cool to kill people good to know. “You would dare threaten an Original?” “I have nothing to lose.” “Well, I do!” I said feeling like they were talking about me like I wasn't there. “You have until midnight to get Klaus to change his mind.” 

 “His time is up. What're you gonna do now, Sophie?” Agnes asked Sophie and I was very scared for her answer. “I'm gonna do what I said was gonna do” Shit “What, kill the girl? Kill yourself?” Sabine this other witch asked. “Klaus does not care about the child.” Agnes added in and it was making me pissed off that they were barning with our baby like this. “I do” It was Elijah, at least one brother of this crazy family cared. He came in carrying the body of Jane-Anne.  “And I bring proof of my intent to help you: the body of your fallen friend, which I procured from Marcel himself.” “Jane-Anne. “ 

“May she be granted peace. Klaus will agree to your terms. I just need a little more time.”  Elijah I could tell was a smart man and thank God for that. “You had your time. It's passed.” Agnes said to him, and I wanted to wolf out on her for that. “Shut up, Agnes.” Sabine added in which kind of surprised me I mean I wanted to say it, but I had a baby to look out for. “For now, accept the deal. The girl and the child and her sister remain unharmed, or Klaus will kill you all.” He went to go walk away again but turned back. “And I will help him.”

Elijah came back to collect us and brought us to a grand old white house that felt like it hadn't been inhabited in years, probably so. Hayley was exploring another part of the house while Elijah was showing me the nursery. I went to the crib and pulled off the sheet and about a hundred years of dust came off. Cough' cough. “Are you alright?” Elijah asked me. “Oh fine, there are a lot worse places to stay in then here.” “Yes, it should serve our purposes. It's a sanctuary from our business in the Quarter. Right now, you are the most important person in this family. You need a good home. So, I'm curious... in all this time, has anyone asked you how you feel? “Like usually about how I could have a one-night stand with someone who doesn't usually do that?”  “About being a mother.” 

“Hayley and I were abandoned when we were born and for the most part of our lives we were in different parts of the system and I-I when I activated my werewolf side I was kicked out and thought of as a monster. And I didn’t find Hayley until I was eighteen so I really don’t know how to feel about that because I never really had a mom to rely on.” I looked back at him and he looked like he had sympathy behind his eyes. “I will always protect you and your sister. You have my word on that.” 

“And noble Elijah always keeps his word.” It was Klaus. “Is it done?” "As a matter of fact, yes. Your underhanded deal worked quite well. Marcel was only too happy to accept my blood even as he accepted my heartfelt apologies. His man, Thierry, yet lives and I remain a welcome guest in the French Quarter. My only concern now is this coven of impudent witches. "Great that’s just great “I believe them to be honorable. They did release Hayley and Y/n to me. Although, they haven't been entirely forthcoming. Marcel obviously has something that they need. They don't want him dead. There must be a reason why” I leave the brothers and go to talk to Hayley.

“Hey, how was talking to Elijah?” She asked me. “It was actually not that bad, it seems like he actually cares about us.” “Really?” “Really, which is good because it seems like you were checking him out.” “Yeah, well look at us both looking at the vampire brothers, we must really be sisters.” She finished with a smile and we both laughed.

I walked back into the nursery and just stood over the crib staring at it when I felt a presence behind me. It was Klaus. “Oh hey.” “Hello” He responded back. The thing was I didn’t know how to go beyond hellos. “Look I know this is super weird you probably didn't think you would ever see me again or think about me after our… time together I just wanted to say that I will stay out of your way.” I finished awkwardly. He walked closer to me. “Is it really mine?” “One hundred percent” We stare at each other for a second. But he backs away. “Right well If you just stay out of my way there won’t be a problem.” “Right.” He goes to walk out. 

Hey Yall, I really hope you liked this new fanfiction I'm trying out. I love the Vampire Diaries universe, especially the Originals. And of course, Klaus, I can't wait to develop the relationship between Y/n and him. If you want to be tagged for this series, comment nicely and I'll put you down. And if you like supernatural, I have a Castiel x reader series too.

[trulybetty]

oct' 21 x acorns

Prompt: acorns Pairing: tim rockford x f!reader Word Count: 724 Warnings: T+ mentions of crimes & a touch of spice. Summary: pretty proud of this one and it's use of the prompt 😋 tim knows the way to your heart is discussing the latest research for your podcast.

x. masterlist

“Acorns? You moving into squirrel crimes now sweetheart?”

“Ha ha,” you responded dryly,  “ACORNS, the Australian Cybercrime Online Reporting Network.” He raised an eyebrow in interest, you weren’t sure if this was the result of learning what the acronym was for or if it had something to do with you starting the process of peeling off your t-shirt.

When you looked back at him, once the shirt was up and over your head, he was adjusting himself where he was sitting up against the headboard of the bed, his glasses now folded on top of the book he had been reading when you’d entered the room.

“So,” he began, a soft smile playing at his lips as he crossed his arms at his bare chest, “what’s caught your eye?” he asked.

You smiled back at him, a genuine one - he knew the way to your heart, true crime.

“So,” you started, turning to the dresser as you unhooked your bra, “so they were seeing an increase in reports on ACORNS, right? You've got your standard mix of fraud, identity theft, all the usual cybercrime stuff. Nothing to write home about right?”

“But?” Tim pressed, playing along.

“But what got me curious was a pattern of crimes that looked like random, disconnected incidents targeting average people. We're talking about everything from a cafe owner in Sydney to a retired nurse in Perth. And this has been going on for years.”

"Years?" Tim echoed, intrigued. "And they're just noticing this now?"

“Exactly!” you replied enthusiastically, tossing your bra into the laundry hamper and reaching into the dresser for one of Tim’s oversized shirts, what he wore when he actually had more than five minutes at home between cases. “The reports have only now been made public, and by the looks of it it’s taken them this long to even realize something might be off, and because it’s public knowledge, it’s caught the attention of the armchair detectives who are digging in, but no one can find a connection.”

Tim shifted in his seat again, tapping his fingers against his chest thoughtfully. “Not entirely strange though,” he said. “Cyber crimes are still relatively new. Many countries are sitting on data that they just don’t know what to do with besides selling it. Though, with any crime, patterns usually emerge sooner or later, someone slips up. Have they found anything that could point to a single culprit or group?”

“Nothing. Zilch. That's why it's so bizarre,” you said, shimming out of your jeans and kicking them off before walking over to sit beside him on the bed. “But here's where it gets interesting. When you compare these Australian cases to similar crimes reported in neighbouring countries like New Zealand or Indonesia, little patterns start to stand out.”

Tim raised an eyebrow, his attention fully piqued. “What kind of patterns are we talking about?”

You grinned, thrilled by his obvious interest. “Teeny tiny little anomalies,” you took his glasses and book and placed them on your bedside table, “Specific coding sequences, certain times of the day when the attacks occur, even certain types of targets that are more frequently hit in both regions. Individually, these little things don't really mean much. But when you start looking at them collectively and across borders, it’s like a constellation. You begin to see the outline of something much bigger.”

“Sounds like someone's running a long con,” Tim observed.

He uncrossed his arms as you swung your leg over to straddle his hips, your arms wrapping around his neck to rest on his broad shoulders.

“That's what I'm thinking too,” you said, your voice low as you leaned in to place a kiss on his lips.

Tim's hands slid up your sides, his fingers grazing the bare skin of your back under the t-shirt, “You really shouldn't have bothered.” he said, his voice low and husky.

You leaned in closer, your breath hot against his ear, “Bothered with what?” you whispered feigning cluelessness, trailing kisses down his neck.

“The shirt,” Tim replied, tilting his head back to grant you better access. “You're much better without it.”

You laughed softly, the sound sending shivers down his spine. “I needed something to wear.”

“Who said you needed to wear anything at all?” Tim countered, flipping you both over so he was on top of you.

[nerianasims]

Personal under the cut (not negative)

My husband and I went out to dinner with my father for the first time in years tonight. See, my father's been in a nursing home type situation for rehab from various ailments and injuries. So he wasn't drunk and hasn't been able to be drunk for a few months, and the place is not hugely far, so we decided sure why not.

We went to a family-owned Italian place (it was REALLY good and my husband and I will go again.) They are ridiculously generous. When they brought out my chicken we were all like -- uh, wow, it's huge! I've got leftovers for a week now. My father ordered a glass of wine, so I shrugged and figured I would too. I hadn't had any alcohol for well over a year. When the wine came out, I was shocked; I have never seen a restaurant serve that much wine in a glass. Each would have been at least two glasses anywhere else I've been. I took about half a dozen small sips and went woah that's enough for me.

Anyway, so my father's most pressing problem for which he is in the nursing home place is a stomach issue. He was complaining that they don't give him enough food, and my husband and I figured it was because he needed to eat less until he's healed. And at the restaurant, he ate a HUGE plate of manicotti, ordered two glasses of wine on his own, and then polished off my wine as well. While making fun of my husband for finishing the food on his own plate, which had less food on it than either my father's or mine, and far more vegetables.

The point of all this for me is 1) Great restaurant, my husband and I plan to go there to celebrate our anniversary. 2) I felt zero responsibility for my father whatsoever. None, nothing, zilch. He's an adult and still has his mental faculties. He can eat what he wants and drink what he wants and it's nothing to do with me. It's wonderful.

[doodle17]

I feel like asking this, but what about Bobby Zilch in that future AU? Anything going on with him?

YES I've been looking for an excuse to talk about Bobby lol

I don't know how to explain it, but he is with the Psychonauts, while also doing his own thing. He's an intern who really has his work cut out for him. He hardly shows up to any of his classes and God KNOWS how many papers he has just sitting on his desk somewhere.

Our Zilch boy spends most of his time lounging around the dorms or working on cars for a couple bucks. He also likes taking his banged up motorcycle out for a ride every once in awhile. But he also likes hanging out in Chloe's office because he is still smitten by her space girl charm to this day.

Another thing that may come as a surprise is that he has some medical knowledge! He's actually been training to be a nurse for a while, and you'll probably see him at the med in the Motherlobe. Y'know how my future version of Raz has two scars on his eyebrow? Well, after that incident, Bobby was the one who patched him up!

He's definitely mellowed out since he was a kid. His teeth straighter, but still a little jagged. His lisp is also completely gone, but it can be heard just a bit sometimes.

[tumblingxelian]

Just saw a lot of annoying shit on twitter and do not want to debate this with anyone but

Vegeta had one of the worst redemption arcs in literature history.

Sure, his transition from enemy to ally of convenience against Frieza made sense but that's also where the sense ended.

The moment everyone is back on earth and he's alive again, he is boasting and preening about slaughtering Nemekin villages & Bulma just invites the fucker to live with her & all the displaced Namekians & everyone just accepts this!

Then 1 time skip later in which we see zero, zilch, nada, suddenly Vegeta is having a BBQ with Yamcha, a guy he ordered fucking killed and the only one who finds this mildly offputting is Tenshinhan who is at most just like, "Ug don't like you." about it.

Then he's threatening to murder everyone if they don't lwet the genocide cyborgs arrive & when he returns, he fucks being able to catch Gero cos of his ego. Then he leaves Bulma & their kid to fucking die & even physically abuses his own son to try and enable the villains.

Then he kills a bunch of civilians while fighting 18, then we get another time skip & when he's out of the time chamber, he attacks his son again & actively aids the villain, endangering the entire planet cos of his fucking ego.

Then another time skip & when his son dies, a son he has shown zero care for & whom we have seen him spend functionally zero time on page with dies and suddenly he's upset & they have a bond I guess?

Then its another time skip and everyone is still just fine with him, & then he decides to start being more actively evil again, almsot killing his own fucking wife and slaughtering hundreds of civilians and aiding in the release of a villain whoo goes on to kill the entire fucking planet.

But then he ust kind of randomnly feels bad about it and blows himself up.

Oh & then he destroys the one artifact that could let them beat Buu cos of his ego, but he endangered himself a bit so they could win so he's good now?

EDIT:

You now what, fuck it, seeing as I'm here

The anime didn't fix things, it was just bad in different ways.

The invitation and murder boasting all still happened the same way, the fact Vegeta left for awhile alleviated it somewhat but the damage was already done as far as making no sense goes.

Then when he's back & living t Capsule Corp rent free again, Bulma gets turn from a women without a nurturing bone in her body into someone who will cradle a wound idiot for his self inflicted wounds and fall asleep at his bedside like a fucking nurse maid.

The time chambers did nothing but empathize how cold and abusive he was to his own son and everything else is basically the same, just with more scenes of him yucking it up with the gang. This is despite still being a destructive, hateful piece of shit who causes more problems than he's ever come close to fixing

Conclusion:

I fucking hate his 'arc' and his character on so many levels and the fact he's held up as some paragon of badass and good writing for redemption arcs makes me taste blood.

[tvguts]

🖥️🎃 HAPPY RECYCLEWEEN FROM LILY AND ZILCH! 🎃🖥️

y'all ever stop 2 think about the impact that everyday adjectives can have on your choice of costume? for example, Lily is going as a sexy nurse (way different than a regular nurse) and Zilch is going as an evil clown (way different than a regular clown)

[harrison-abbott]

wasp boys

Let’s head down to the park for the Saturday soccer game. Not professional; the kid’s game. The boys are skinny limbed and the wind and rain hard and toughed and the fathers have medicated their hangovers with paracetamol or not nursing them at all. They all get to the park. The pitch is uneven and lumpy and the other team where wasp colours on their shirts and they won the city tournament last year. And, thus, the game, when it comes, is total colosseum gore. Several goals up within the initial ten minutes. The fathers are glad that they’re not out there like their sons and there is a mix of hatred that their lads aren’t particularly good and a splash of wrath against the wasp boys, because they’re not as good as they think they are, right? There are mini fantasies in various heads about taking the wasp boys down to the river in a big lorry and cutting their throats and throwing the bodies downstream; or the more proximal imaginations of going over and attacking one of the other fathers (all of them, actually: let’s get all of them!) who have been annoyingly applauding and yelling all game. There is actually one moment of proper violence on the pitch. A rough tackle between either lad and then they square up with that stag-v-stag head thing that males like to do. But the referee intervenes with mock peacefulness (because she quietly dislikes the wasps as well) and breaks them up; but there are no yellow cards or reds, like we’d see in the big televised games the corporate games the famous games the games where the men are made heroes and household names and they have perhaps more direct influential power than many politicians because many people barely even care about politics or have given up with it or are only incensed with their own lives or they turn blank for a way to change society or they simply have zilch status themselves, and admiring a sports athlete is way easier to do than be an everyman – especially when he has won all the trophies, seems infallible, perfect, and not like them. Anyway. The wasps win 13 goals to 2. It’s quite the rout is it not, and then the wasps head home whilst the Dads from the home team take their kids home. Do you know what they do? Resort to humour. Make little jokes about trivial things that are nought to do with the sport; just chat about random stuff and get the boys laughing. Back to their houses. Where they get drunk, or cook up some hot food for the lads, or take them to the fast food restaurants for sugar and grease, or home for a shower to get the mud off the legs and then into town, to the pub, near the stadium, to then go and see the professional players, with a vague hope they might win. Sometimes they do, sometimes not. That’s what sport is for? To have a chance of success? Maybe.

[joie6000]

I think about everything I did with our kids that people would shame me for now.

Rockin’ Play sleeper: recalled for safety reasons after both of my babies were grown but I’m sad for moms that didn’t get to experience that amazing sleeper!

Pacifiers (aka Bops) minutes after both kids were brought home the hospital, those things were introduced. I didn’t want the nurses to know I used them so soon but pretty much day 3 we used them. FYI, nipple confusion did NOT occur like they guaranteed it would.

Held for every nap and most evening sleeps - I’m just gonna say that if you want your kid to sleep and holding them the whole time allows for that, then you do that. Abby was held in my arms for bedtime…looking back that wasn’t entirely safe but I was feeding her almost every hour so it’s not like I ever fell into a deep sleep. Ben was held for every nap until preschool….I’m not kidding. Our nanny held him throughout the week and Patrick and I did it on the weekends. Frankly we would fight over doing it because it was the most wonderful, peaceful break from a toddler and every household chore.

Formula: I was just plain grateful for it. I was an extremely low producer - the most I ever pumped was 5 ounces and that took almost 2 hours. And one side produced nothing. Honestly, zilch. So it was feed from the right side and then formula when I switched to the left. I ate the lactation cookies and made the tea with fenugreek and did all of the things but all that stuff is exhausting. You know what’s not exhausting? Formula! Half milk/half formula is still pretty darn good but I know the internet would have a field day with it now.

Winter coats with car seats: pretty sure I never took their winter coats off and I think that warning is a new phenomenon to scare parents.

Canned veggies - I don’t know if this is all that bad but most every green bean or green pea out kids ate before the age of 1 came from a can. When Abby was 5 months I remember making steamed green beans and broccoli at like 4 AM for her breakfast before she got up and quickly realized that I could sleep longer if I just gave her canned versions of many things. Also, I did a ton of steam -in-the-bag microwave veggies. And to my defense, there were times that they would eat the entire family-size can of green beans plus their actual meal so I know they liked them. People always thought it was so weird that I would do green beans or broccoli in their breakfast but newsflash, a 7 month old doesn’t know that those things are not supposed to be normally eaten that early in the day so why not? One thing I can say is that the kids still are incredible eaters and have never been picky at all so maybe I was onto something by feeding green veggies before 7 AM.

These are just a few things that probably would be frowned upon by the parenting gods and frankly I’m sure I do a ton of things now that are questionable. No one has all of the answers except for every single person on the internet waiting to say you are doing it completely wrong.

[cabinetofdrcaligosto]

Some random psychonauts sketches I never posted ^^;;