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fayythe · 1 year

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Divine Love: Chapter Two

Henry Cavill X OFC

Summary: Rhylan Daines property of the United States Government, the training she took on, the beating, and pain was all manipulating her to loose her body autonomy, they tell her to eat a certain way, talk, walk, act. Nothing is hers, how can she escape the torture her life has become? Now an semi-active black ops Navy Seal working for the CIA struggled to make peace with her past. She was always told that every life she took, every person she tortured, and every soul she crushed was for the greater good, but how is more violence supposed to help the world? How can acting help her stop being forced to kill? How can finding love help her find herself? Only time will tell...

Trigger warnings: Slight Alcoholism, Assault, Kidnapping, Blood, Skin Branding, Heavy Depression, Drugs, Undiagnosed eating disorder, Forced Eugenics, Talk of Genocide, talk of war, talk of gore, Hospitalizations for medical reasons, Mental Health issues, Hitman/murder unrecognized by law, Profanity, Military Brutality, torture, terrorism, violence, scars, seizures.

Rhylan's Tattoos

Rhylan's Body Scars Diagram

There is no life to be found in violence. Every act of violence brings us closer to death. Whether it's the mundane violence we do to our bodies by overeating toxic food or drink or the extreme violence of child abuse, domestic warfare, life-threatening poverty, addiction, or state terrorism. – Bell Hooks.

Chapter 2: Насилие

Насилие...Russian...violence

Few Days Later

"So, Rhylan, how did you get that scar on your chest? It's quite large" James asked.

I was sitting on 'The Late Late Night Show', in the somewhat comfortable interview chair on a stage captured by a large audience all around the stage. I was wearing my strawberry blonde hair its natural straight down to my waste, some slightly overpriced black skinny jeans, a vintage band t-shirt and my black combat boots the ones gifted by my general's wife.

Nelia talked me into this appearance, I truly didn't want to be around people let alone on stage in front of people I didn't know. "It will be good press!" She said, trying to talk me into it, the whole 'good press' idea is always her excuse to force me into new environments I wasn't familiar with.

When I walked on the unfamiliar stage, I found myself exanimating everything I could. Every exit, every person, each security guard all lacking a weapon to defend. My military instincts were on overdrive, the lights, the cameras, the crowd laughing, everything gave me the worst bombing headache.

But the questions, the questions about the military I wasn't mentally prepared to answer. But I had to, people were going to spend their time trying to figure out the answer to my questions their own way.

I looked at James again, my brain on overdrive.

"I got shot in the field, I was alone, I had to perform surgery on myself to get the bullet out." I nearly choked out my explanation, remembering the pain, remembering the metallic smell of my blood, the fight I had to keep staying alive.

"Wow... that's some story, can you share anymore?"

I looked off in dazed, trying my best not to quiver at the thought of that mission.

"It's probably best not to." I spoke.

James nodded, looking back at his notes.

"Let's talk about something a bit more fun, people don't really know much about you!" He clapped showing his excitement.

I chucked, "My favorite color is black, if you didn't already know"

"Ha! I can see that, when you first walked on stage, I thought you just walked out of a hot topic." James joked and the crowd laughed.

"What's hot topic?" I questioned.

I'm not joking, what it is it? Did he mean hot pocket? That's a food...man I'm hungry, I'd eat a hot pocket right now even though I absolutely hate them. Nasty things.

The crowd laughed again and so did James.

"Okay, where are you from?"

"Houston" I pushed back a piece of my hair that fell out from behind my ear.

"Oh wow! You don't sound like you're from Texas. Do you still live there?" James asked, I nodded, I'll probably live alone in my house with my dog for a longtime...or forever.

"What is someone from Texas supposed to sound like?"

"I don't know maybe a bit of country tinge"

I laugh, "People from Texas especially the main cities don't generally sound like billies', is that assumed by everyone from another state that isn't the south, or just British?" I asked which made the crowd laugh, James just shrugged with a joking smile on his face.

Alright, I can play that game too.

I looked at the crowd, putting my best hick country accent I can manage which wasn't as bad as I had hoped.

"Alrigh' y'all dis' is wha' Mr.Corden thinks I should soun' like"

Everyone breaks down laughing all over again.

The rest of the interview wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be, but I couldn't help myself from barely staying still towards the end of the interview. My flight home was so close, I could almost feel the horrible Texas humidity, and as much as I hated it, I missed it.

I was finally able to leave, my hatred for California was still at large from my previous experiences.

People didn't want to admit it, but California was corrupt, industries, politicians, even Hollywood, everything was twisted and coverups and bribes were at large in everything.

As much as I hate spending money, I chose to fly private, luckily though since I'm still considered an asset of the country the plain was US Government issued, untraceable, and completely off any commercial flight lists. Just what my mind needed, for the last few weeks my mind was a high alert. I found myself constantly looking for exists, vulnerabilities, weaknesses, and exploitations.

Nelia was the one to drop me off at the off-grid plane port in the middle of nowhere. Before she left, a guy in a slick black suit wraparound sunglass, secret service, told her to "forget the place existed or she will no longer exist."

I kind of laughed, threaten Nelia? Yeah, this guy has got to be dumber than a box of rocks to threaten her.

And I was right, before my next thought a hand reached outside from the driver's side window to grab the shirt collar of the man leaning down.

I didn't hear exactly what was said, but as soon as the man stood straight and Nelia drove off the man was glued to the same position, I could practically see his eyes burning through his glasses.

It took a few seconds for him to shake out of it, but then he was able to walk towards me and take the bags I was carrying.

"I think I'm in love with her." He spoke walking up the steps of the plane.

"Well that was one heck of a start to a relationship."

We got into the plane, I took my shoes off and sat one on the fancy leather chairs buckling up for takeoff, the man sat in front of me.

"I was under command to let her know. Doesn't mean I wanted to say it."

The man spoke funny, like weird...thinking about it and connecting the dots in my mind

Michigan, he was from Michigan.

I looked at him, he sucked at not showing emotions, which meant he was complete shit at his job. No wonder he isn't CIA, or maybe even FBI, it be somewhat a better option than secret service, lame.

But hey, at lease he's not homeland security. Don't get me started on those fuckers.

Sidenote, he was under command?

"Command of what? Who?" I asked pressuring the man I didn't know.

He just took of his sunglasses and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and pointer fingers, then folded his sunglasses neatly and putting them in his suit pocket.

"He told me you'd ask—" The man started,

"What 'He' as a male, son of a bitch" I slapped my thighs, that fucker.

"Then he said you'd be pissed off, and determine the details quickly"

"Yeah, Yeah, I get it. It was Dean. I know. Fucker. Next time you see him, I need you to do two things, first; lick your finger, get it nice and wet then stick it in his ear—or his ass, then I want you to kick him in the balls once he's off guard."

Who is Dean? Oh right that.

When I was first inducted into the Navy, my scores were off the charts. So much so they made me take ASVAB (Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery Test) three times before they would believe that I wasn't cheating.

I don't understand how I scored so high, but the test score was near perfect, and I was able pretend I didn't have a learning disability growing up. Luckily, they never found that out.

I probably wouldn't be where I am today. To be honest, I wonder what life would've been like.

I was seventeen when I first joined, my mom and stepdad weren't happy about the idea and refused to let me join at first. They felt like my choices on career path changed to much and signing a contract for a job I couldn't get out of when I got bored wasn't a smart choice.

Plus, I was a girl. In my stepdads eyes, girls couldn't be successful soldiers, they weren't meant for it, strong enough for it.

Let's just say, I proved him wrong.

But it wasn't his choice, and I honestly didn't care what either of them thought and ended up forging my mother's signature on the application documents as hers was the only one that mattered. I found out later that they called her to confirm they have her permission, and she didn't deny it and gave the permission to continue with medical and psych evaluations, dates for bootcamp, and training.

I had already graduated high school around that time early and spent my time before bootcamp training my ass off.

Dean was the only person there to tap me out.

I didn't know who he was and what he wanted, I was just a new sailor and I wanted to get in a ship and sail away from my problems.

It was then I was taken to a...illegal off grid operation ran by the CIA; you know right after they blind folded me and drugged me.

I could still remember feeling of the chains...

July 2004

Bright lights.

So bright...

I tried to lift my hands up to rub my eyes, but I couldn't.

Instead, the sound of clinking metal filled my ears... chains.

I tried to move my legs, again the sound of metal, heavy metal.

My eyes shot open; my corneas blinded I was still sluggish...I felt...high?

I pulled on the chains, I had to get out.

This man, he could be a serial killer or some shit.

The amount of emotion I was feeling, rage, anger, fear, it was all overwhelming.

I pulled on the chains until my wrists were bleeding and my left ankle was dislocated.

Fuck being double jointed.

Just then a tall man, maybe a little over six foot walked through the electronic sliding doors in a crisp expensive looking suit, something I could never afford. Interesting a classy serial killer, was he going to eat my body too?

At least he was going to a silver fork and knife, I thought, still pulling on the chains.

"Rhylan Daines" He spoke drawing my given name out unnecessarily, he threw a manila folder on the table and pulled out the chair sitting right in the front of me.

The way he sat, the way he looked, something was off. This man wasn't a serial killer, well he could be, but not the normal ones you see on shows and movies. This guy was professional, I sat observing him, his watch was expensive it was a gold Rolex with diamonds around the face, well over twenty thousand dollars.

His haircut made his head look like a pineapple, it was stupid as shit, he was a marine... or maybe at one point he was. But why keep the haircut?

Semper Fi bitch.

I found myself bucking the chains straining and centimeters from his face that I could smell his coffee-stained breath, gross.

I couldn't help myself, the rage and anger, the pain I felt in my wrists and now my ankle from it snapping back in place as I stood. I want to hurt him. Kidnapping, drugs, physical restraint this guy must've been stupid.

"Where the fuck am I?" I spat in his face.

He didn't even flinch, which made me angrier.

"I'll tell you, but you have to calm down first, and sit down." He was calm, like he knew I couldn't and wouldn't hurt him.

"Calm down! —You drugged and kidnapped me, you son of a bitch! And you want me to be calm." I smiled, the crazy drugged sleepy smile. "Your funny" my voice was low.

"I will kill you."

I wanted to wrap the chain around his neck and watch the life fade from his eyes. I've never felt that before, the feeling of being in fight or flight and now that I was experiencing it was overwhelming.

He just smiled back, leaning closer to my face.

"I'll give you a chance to channel that anger, rage. You just have to listen."

I spat in his face leaning back in the chair, the pain in my ankle still at large.

"I'll give you that one, but if you do it again—" he pulled out a napkin from his suit pocket wiping his face.

"Talk"

"Well let me introduce myself first I'm-"

"I don't give two shits who you are, I want to know where I am and what the hell you want."

He just smiled, "I'm Dean Sawyer, General Dean Sawyer."

I rolled my eyes biting through my lip letting the metallic taste flood my mouth.

"Okay Dick, what do you want."

He looked off in the distance towards the mirrored window I now knew someone was on the other side of, then he opened the thick folder sitting in front of him pulling out...pictures...

"We've been watching you, perfect military standard testing scores, top two percent in athletic evaluation, section leader in basic training, high language skills, adaptability, and so much more."

I just starred blankly, while my emotions were on the highest drive I've ever felt in a longtime, with parents that thought you not to show any emotions you become good at hiding everything and learn to feel in secret if not at all.

I looked back at Dick and shrugged my shoulders. So? What's so special about me? I'm a nobody, or at lease I try to be.

Dick placed the pictures in front of me, there was pictures of me everywhere, training for bootcamp, walking home, driving, jogging, all the way up to today when I took my speech pledging my life to my country.

My jaw clinched so hard I'm surprised I didn't break a tooth.

"You were stalking me?"

"Well, I like the word observing. But stalking seems like an appropriate word to use, but don't worry it wasn't me."

Mr. Dick here sucks at reassuring people.

I crossed my arms. I'm getting tired of this bullshit, he's stalling.

"I work for the CIA, the counterint-"

"I know what the CIA is."

What does the CIA want with me? I'm a seventeen-year-old from Texas, newly indoctrinated Navy Sailor running away from life. Maybe he's bluffing, I observed his face and mental checklist of signs of someone lying.

Sweating ×

Wondering eyes ×

Stuttering ×

Fidgeting ×

Vagueness √

Over sharing ×

Crossing off all the signs of lying in my mind except one vagueness, while it could say something it could be explained if he was actually CIA.

"Well. We have a job for you, a special job. To put your talents at good use." He continued.

Talents?

"I need more details than that." I said, shaking my head.

"Right." He started, pulling more pictures from the folder... oh great does he have pictures of me showering or taking a shit. Man, this guy is a creep.

"Now the images I'm about to show you are highly classified. If you don't accept the offer, you are to never speak of what you saw or what happened her. Ever."

I shrugged, it's not like I have anyone to tell I don't have any friends.

I'm not even joking.

I nodded finally leaning closer to the table as he flipped over the pictures. The first picture that caught my eye was of a child no more than ten... she seemed to be middle eastern her hair was long and beautiful, but she was frail, and her body was bruised. She was crucified.

My eyes stung, my cousin Allie coming to my mind, how could someone do this?

The next picture was of some type of wear house, children chained to beds...mostly females. It was a child brothel...

Disgusting.

I scanned over the other pictures. Dirty politicians, news articles, bank statements, trafficking rings. The states weren't the only dirty places in the world.

Everywhere was guilty of something.

I pushed them off the table, I didn't even say anything. I was too angry. While Dick did kidnap me...and drug me I was too in my mind to say anything. The pain those children suffered, the people, women, civilians.

"It's time the government acts, but it has to be done privately. I believe you'd be the perfect first candidate."

Privately? Action? First Candidate...I took in a breath.

"I'm the head of a private project only a handful people know about. The goal is to train you to be the best there is, while your previous life will be wiped from everything, you have a chance to change the world." He continued.

Change the world, every word repeating in my head. I was drowning.

Am I really thinking about doing this? This is crazy.

"What would this entail?" I asked.

I'm hesitant to hear, killing people could I even do this? Am I strong enough to push myself like this?

The man intertwined his fingers, "missions, all over the world."

"What type of missions."

"Assassinations, framing, undercover work. A little of everything."

"Isn't that illegal?"

Dick took in a large breath. "Everything we'd be doing would be illegal, which is why this is an off the books CIA operation. Project Death Star."

I paused my entire body freezing, they wanted me to be the first soldier in an illegal CIA operation, me a seventeen-year-old.

I started to sweat slightly, remembering how growing up I was told I would never get anywhere, especially in the Navy.

"I joined the Navy to be in the Navy, to be a soldier—" I started, trying to convince myself to not want to take the offer.

"And you will be, just think of it as team six...just on crack," Dick shrugged his shoulders.

Team six was the elitist navy seal group in the navy known by the public, while I always thought they were interesting it was never my mission to become a seal. Realistically, when I first joined my plan was to be a submarine technician though I didn't find out women weren't allowed on submarines until I was already at bootcamp.

To say I was angry was an understatement.

When my drill sergeant asked me what I wanted to do in the Navy because no ship was going to want a little girl on it, I told him it was submarines.

He laughed, actually laughed.

But you see, I've always had a bit of an anger issue problem. I was a shitty child and even a shitter teenager, constantly in fights and arguments with everyone, teachers, other students, and my parents.

I didn't start picking up the pieces of my life until a Navy recruiter showed up at my school to present and encourage everyone to at least talk to a recruiter to see if they were qualified. It was then I felt I found a reason to push myself to be better and even a reason to live, and an opportunity to leave my shitty home life.

So, when the drill sergeant laughed at the fact I wanted to work on submarines, it broke all control I built over the last few years of training myself to be the best I can.

Before he knew it, he was swept off the ground and I had his head between my legs screaming for him to tap out, four other male recruits had to tear me off of him. His nose was bloody, and he was laughing, the fact that he found it funny only made me angrier.

"You're gonna get somewhere with that Daines." He spoke.

After my 10-mile punishment, He pushed me, he became my mentor and taught me leadership, teamwork, everything he knew. I looked up to him, he became the true father I never had.

Drill Sergeant Cade Mitchel.

Wait—"You're gonna get somewhere with that Daines."

Going to get somewhere with that?

I smiled. "Cade. He was a plant, you sent someone to observe me." Proud of myself, I uncrossed my arms and sat back in the uncomfortable metal chair.

Damn my ass was numb.

"Wow, I'm impressed. Cade was a plant, but just because he was doesn't make him any less deserving of your trust. He was very impressed for your skills, not to mention being able to catch him off guard." Dick pulled out a document from the folder, a stapled packet of paper with chicken scratch covered in it and placed it in front of me.

The top had my name—

Rhylan Daines.

General information, my birthday, testing scores, highschool GPA, my attributes, and personal notes. There were words that stood out to me the most it made my eyes burn, I've never been called or referenced as any of these things in my life.

Determination, courage, great leadership, untrusting—

The list continued, there was a few that were questionable to be considered 'assets' but otherwise the notes of what I confided with him showed every thought if what went through his head when I told him things that I wanted to keep private.

Things that made me the way I am...

A part of me was angry about it, he was faking everything. Someone I trusted as a mentor, as an adoptive father, who put my pins on me in my inauguration just a few hours ago, wasn't there for me on his own will, but as a will for another.

It was all fake.

But when I really thought about it, I was comforted by the fact he didn't see the negative things I saw about myself. While he found my trust issues a great asset, I found them annoying and it was a daily struggle to speak to people, strangers, anyone that didn't give me a reason to offer them my trust. While he found my stubbornness and loyalty strikingly intriguing, I never knew I was considered stubborn. I never had anyone tell me.

Loyalty on the other hand was something I always wanted in a friend, therefore it only made since I was able to reciprocate.

I was interesting seeing another person's point a view of me, as I always figured I wasn't enough of what they call 'friend material' and it was hard enough to figure out why people didn't see me worthy enough of their friendship.

But don't even talk about romantic relationships with me. They're a joke.

"He thought very highly of you, he's gone for now, but you'll see him a few days."

"Can I—" I started, picking up the packet.

"You can have it; we have another copy."

I nodded glad I didn't have to ask to keep it or give him a reason to.

Looking back at him, I started to finally calm even though I was still chained to the desk I finally felt I was where I was supposed to be in life.

"What type of training?" I asked, folding the packet into a neat square, and slipping it in my back pocket.

"We'd be sending you to complete BUD's, which is normal for navy seals, the only difference is you won't be able to leave until you complete, and there will be an extra few lessons."

Okay. This is a...start. I wouldn't say a good one, but it's a start.

Dick continued, "It will also be an accelerated course. Normally BUD's is about a year long, for you it'd be six or so months. Depending on where you are in the course and how you're progressing."

"I have a buddy that's going to be training you privately, you'll be the only one there."

Wait, normally seals are teams, but then again this isn't a normal situation. None of it is.

"I'm the only one?"

He nodded, reaching in his pocket pulling out a key standing from his chair and walked over to me. At first, he offered me the key, but I just gave him my hands to uncuff, "You'll be the first for now, once you're ready we plan to let you choose the next recruits, though the full team will only be four more."

He offered me the key again to uncuff my ankles from the chair.

"Do you accept this offer?" He questioned, his eyes following me ask I stood.

I was about 5'9 which was short compared to his 6'3 frame, but I guess guys that are abnormally tall stand out in the crowd. Which made him, unable to blend in—or he's just too old, the man looks like he'd been sitting in a bath for two years straight all wrinkly like that, stress truly does age people.

I shrugged, "Do I really have much of a choice now. You practically told me everything." I looked over at the mirrored window, giving those behind the glass a playful salute.

"But I'm seventeen remember, not an adult yet." I walked up to the mirror, I looked like shit, and I was starving.

"Not legal remember." He joked.

That was a lame joke. This guy needs lessons.

Not that I could do any better.

"When do I leave?" Change the world remember, rather start now then later.

"In a week."

Well, this is going to be the longest next six months of my life.

December 2015 (Present Day)

"Hey, Rhylan time to get up." I felt someone nudge my shoulder and immediately all my instances were at full drive, and I found myself swiftly grabbing the unknown object; a hand, from touching me, soon I was standing with the man in the suit in my grasp his arm wrapped under and around his back and my knee in between his spine.

I blinked and let go suddenly. What is going on with the me... I shook my head again.

"Don't fucking do that." I yelled. This is why I don't like people touching me, ever, I don't care if the plane is on fire, or you were stroking out there was very few people in the world who could touch me and one of them wasn't this random man and his duped gold crested suit.

"Look I'm sorry, you fell asleep, and you looked like you needed it. Damn man that hurt." He rubbed his shoulder circling his arm socket. "Next time you do that again. I can't promise you'd still have your life." I spoke looking for my carry on.

The plain had landed in Houston in some small private plane hangar, it was December, yet it was still hot outside, and humid as always from what I could tell from the wet concrete outside. Growing up here, I hated it, I hated the heat the bipolar weather, the people, the crime, anything, and everything.

While I still do, this is where my family is. I don't have anywhere else to go, or anyone else to go to. For where my mind and mental state is now, I don't think I'd be able to take care of myself without my family a few minutes away from me.

I couldn't find my bag anywhere.

"I already but your stuff in the car. Let's go I'm supposed to take you home."

I shook my head, "No, I can find a ride, uber something." I said, I don't want to be trapped in a car with this man I didn't know for forty-five minutes on the way to my house—the only true place I feel safe.

"Yeah right, this a private plane hanger from the United States Government, yeah right. Uber." He laughed, as much as I wanted to insist, but he was right. It was dangerous for anyone to know about this place, though looking around the place looked familiar, but I couldn't place my finger on it.

Oh well. I just wanted to get home.

The car drive was long, to this day the highways of Houston still give me the worst new driver anxiety even though I had been driving for a good fourteen years give or take with the change in career the prospect of people driving me around everywhere still made me nervous. I had been gone so long filming mad max in South Africa and Australia the difference between their and my hometown often made me miss the pure humid heat Houston had to offer.

My hand tightened around my phone.

I should probably message my mother; I shook my head. Nothing good will come with that.

When the car finally rolled up to a stop in front of my house the filling of peace, I've been thriving for ages flooded through me.

Just before I open the door, the man in the stupid suit spoke, "Hey, wait"

"What?" The word sound harsher than I intended.

"Dean says you owe him one. He'll be contacting you soon."

Fuck.

I opened the door anyway, "Tell Dick to shove it."

When I took my leave, that's what it was a leave. While technically I am still active duty but because the operation wasn't on the books legally, I was able to bend the rules, take large gaps in absences from duty, do things my way.

I had to figure out a way to get away, and it was ironic I was able to get an acting call for that. They can't put me undercover if the entire world has seen my face. Can they?

I pressed my finger on my scanner disarming the security alarm for a moment to open the door. The sound of nails on the hard wood floor and huge blob of fur running to me. "Hey Lucky lue, hey buddy." I dropped my bags and got on my knees while I was smothered in dirty breath kisses.

Luther. I was stranded in the forest of Bulgaria for a little over a month, I couldn't leave the forest because people were going after me. But somehow, a tiny little black and white fur ball puppy came after me, chose me. I still don't understand how he was able to find me, but his loyalty and the fact he made me not alone.

After I was rescued, I insisted to bring the puppy with me back home to the states, which Dean wasn't very happy about. My entire training meant for me not to care or love anything, I think that's the moment he realized I was straying away from him, and the hell he put me through.

I put Luther through all sorts of military dog training, he was some type of German shepherd and Keeshond mix which made sense from the terrorist organization I was following from Germany to Bulgaria. Luther was loyal to me but found it hard to be loyal to anyone else, he loved running and working. Even if it was hunting bad guys.

After many months of training, Luther was certified in tracking, explosive detection, patrol, search and rescue, and attack. Some used more often than others, I still made sure he remembered what to do, so we did simulation rescue missions often he made sure to find his favorite duck toy every time.

I ran my hands though his soft fur whispering I love yous and I missed you. My home manager Sydney must've taken him to the groomers before I came home which made sense for his big blow out.

I walked up to the counter seeing a paper with a note on it, from Sydney.

"Dean messaged me to let me know you are on your way home. I made food for you for the week it's in the fridge, will be back on Sunday to make more food for the week. I slipped your mail under your office door."

-Sydney

I smiled, Sydney knew if she didn't make me food for the week, I'd only eat MRE's and Dairy Queen's chicken tender box. She has always been very good at her job, even consulting with a nutritionist so I could get the right amount of protein and vegetables to keep me going sense I work out so much.

I was lucky to find her, and I still agree I should give her a raise, but she won't let me and says I pay her too much as it is.

She's in her late forties, both of her children are in college, and she's divorced. I constantly tell her she can take some time off and go on a vacation, but she likes her comfort zone and prefers to spend her time reading my books. She's been like that for a while.

I made sure to give Lue a treat seeing he was a good boy while I was gone for so long, I think next time I'm going to take him with me even though I can't tell you how safe a trained military dog would be in a situation he wasn't familiar with.

I unloaded my bags putting the dirty clothes I had in the washer and putting the clean ones back in my closet. Opening my office door, the lights of the room immediately turned on and my triple monitor supercomputer powered set up woke,

"Good morning Mrs. Daines, its nice to see you again." The computer spoke.

I took off my leather jacket putting it on the coat rack next to the door, "Arthur, It's Rhylan, we've been over this."

Maybe coding him to always be polite was a bad idea.

"Yes ma'am. How was you flight home? I could not find you on any commercial airflights."

"Dean sent a private plane for me." I said, I slipped my shoes off lining them next to my other sets of black combat boots, I swear I have a problem with boots. "Ah General Dean Sawyer, would you like me to send him a passive aggressive thank you note, as always?"

I laughed, "No, It's okay. He will be contacting me soon. Though send Nelia a message, tell her I got home safely and thank you, while your are at it send her a delivery of her favorite flowers. I don't remember what they are, do you?" I sat in the chair in front of the computer.

Arthur took a moment to respond, "Nelia Wainright's favorite flower is Gardenia, an order has been placed, an a thank you message has been sent."

"That's good. Okay, give me a run down of all the things important since we last spoke." I said cracking my knuckles.

"It has been five months, twenty-six days, and twelve hours since our last update. Would you like the detailed version?"

I pulled at my desk drawer revealing my handgun case and cleaning kit, oh how I have missed you. The feeling of protection I have coded in my own program is sated when I carry, nowadays guns are too easy to come by not just in the states but in countries civilians believe it is impossible to obtain a weapon.

"Go for it' I said, taking apart the gun and begin cleaning. Gun's can never be too clean, and this one, this one went all around the world with me has taken the life of so many extremists all over the world I would probably cry if the inner barrel were to rust.

Arthur paused

"In the past five months one thousand two hundred eighty-nine dollars and ten cents has been taken out of your personal account to pay for subscriptions. Is this number, correct?"

Holy fuck, I need to stop pressing buttons.

"I'm sure it is Arthur keep going."

"Ms. Sydney has used her card to make purchases, the total was three hundred forty-six dollars and thirty-nine cents. Should I pay it off?"

I was surprised the costs were so little, I always tell her to use to for anything she would like.

"What were the purchase?"

Arthur commanded the computer to bring up the bank statement, he also opened a folder containing all the receipt Sydney scanned in, the rate the intelligence was flipping through the scans made me dizzy.

"It seems many of them are cleaning and pet care products. The most recent purchases conclude of steak, bell peppers, jalapeños, twelve-ounce chicken breast –"

"Yeah, I get it, it's food." I spoke, digging caked gun powder out of the crevasse of the handle, I must've been half asleep when I cleaned this originally.

I continued picking at the gun powder, I couldn't even tell you why it was there this gun didn't use much gunpowder. I looked up at the triple monitor screens, Arthurs program was running facial recognition on my outdoor cameras, every delivery man, every pet, neighbor, everything. I looked back down at the handgun in my hand putting the parts back together, I knew Arthur wouldn't find anything.

You may call me paranoid, and I might be. The problem is I have enemies in the world, enemies that would do anything and everything to hurt me and the people I love, not only do I need a safe space to feel at ease, but I need to know that the people close to me do too.

My house is a fortress and my future home build will be even more high tech.

Arthur is coded to scan constantly throughout the day and night, and alert me for any suspicious activity in my area or around the house in general, therefore I knew the results would turn up negative and there was nothing to worry about.

"There seems to be no suspicious activity as been recorded within the last five months."

I nodded; my ego swelled; I was right. I win at this coding came now don't I?

"Anything else?" I questioned, watching Arthur close his previous computer windows, and bring up the data from the bitcoin rig I set up a while back. Mostly because I was bored, but now it's been a steady source of income.

"Roughly thirteen point five seven bitcoin has been successfully mined since your last withdrawal. The total worth translated is two hundred twenty-five thousand one hundred seventy United State dollar."

I choked. That's a lot of money, I didn't expect it to be that much.

I did the math in my head, "Take eighteen percent and put it into my savings account—" More math, "Take the rest and donate it to my usual charities."

It's money I don't need, there's a point where money doesn't help and only becomes more of a burden with taxes. Not to mention, bad things happen to people with a lot of money all the time.

"Would you like to make the donations anonymous?" Arthur asked.

I thought about it, would I? Is it selfish to want to put my name on it, to get praise from people I didn't know? But my mind kept trying to make it seem like it wasn't a big deal, I wouldn't see the praise, It's not like I had social media of any kind.

"Make it anonymous."

I'm not going to change the way I do things because I made my name public, I don't want to change myself.

"The transaction has been complete. Do you need my assistance any further?"

"No, just monitor me while I'm in Texas. I want to know anything and everything."

The computer dinged signaling the program has accepted my order and the ceiling lights dimmed an array of colorful desk lights turned on displaying a plethora of colors from the rainbow. "What game are you interested in playing?"

I put my gun case and cleaning kit back in the drawer, "Surprise me"

I put my headset as I watch the logo for the game the coded system choose to appear, World of Warcraft.

Oh home have I missed you.

#henry cavill fic #henry cavill smut #dad! henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill x you #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill fluff

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grotto-esque · 10 months

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Article under the cut, including graphic images.

Khaled Joudeh, 9, mourning over the body of his baby sister, Misk, last month in Deir al Balah, Gaza. Credit...Samar Abu Elouf for The New York Times

Thousands of children have been killed in the enclave since the Israeli assault began, officials in Gaza say. The Israeli military says it takes “all feasible precautions” to avoid civilian deaths.

Barefoot and weeping, Khaled Joudeh, 9, hurried toward the dozens of bodies wrapped in white burial shrouds, blankets and rugs outside the overcrowded morgue.

“Where’s my mom?” he cried next to a photographer for The New York Times. “I want to see my mom.”

“Where is Khalil?” he continued, barely audible between sobs as he asked for his 12-year-old brother. A morgue worker opened a white shroud, so Khaled could kiss his brother one final time.

Then, he bid farewell to his 8-month-old sister. Another shroud was pulled back, revealing the blood-caked face of a baby, her strawberry-red hair matted down. Khaled broke into fresh sobs as he identified her to the hospital staff. Her name was Misk, Arabic for musk.

“Mama was so happy when she had you,” he whispered, gently touching her forehead, tears streaming down his face onto hers.

She was the joy of his family, relatives later said — after three boys, his parents were desperate for a girl. When she was born, they said, Khaled’s mother delighted in dressing Misk in frilly, colorful dresses, pinning her tiny curls in bright hair clips.

Misk Joudeh via Joudeh family

Through his tears, Khaled bid farewell to his mother, father, older brother and sister, their bodies lined up around him. Only Khaled and his younger brother, Tamer, 7, survived what relatives and local journalists said was an airstrike on Oct. 22 that toppled two buildings sheltering their extended family.

A total of 68 members of the Joudeh family were killed that day as they slept in their beds in Deir al Balah, in central Gaza, three of Khaled’s relatives recounted in separate interviews.

Several branches and generations of the Joudehs, a Palestinian family, had been huddling together before the strike, relatives said, including some who had fled northern Gaza, as Israel had ordered residents to do. The Israeli military said it could not address questions about a strike on the family.

In the end, members of the family were buried together, side by side in a long grave, relatives said, showing footage of the burial and sharing a picture of Misk before she was killed.

Gaza, the United Nations warns, has become “a graveyard for thousands of children.”

Determining the precise number of children killed in Gaza — in the midst of a fierce bombing campaign, with hospitals collapsing, children missing, bodies buried under rubble and neighborhoods in ruins — is a Sisyphean task. Health officials in Gaza say that 5,000 Palestinian children have been killed since the Israeli assault began, and possibly hundreds more. Many international officials and experts familiar with the way death tolls are compiled in the territory say the overall numbers are generally reliable.

If the figures are even close to accurate, far more children have been killed in Gaza in the past six weeks than the 2,985 children killed in the world’s major conflict zones combined — across two dozen countries — during all of last year, even with the war in Ukraine, according to U.N. tallies of verified deaths in armed conflict.

A wounded child arriving at Al-Nasr Hospital in Khan Younis, Gaza. Credit...Yousef Masoud for The New York Times

The body of a child pulled from rubble in Khan Younis. Credit...Yousef Masoud for The New York Times

The funeral of a child in Khan Younis on Oct. 26. Credit...Yousef Masoud for The New York Times

The Israeli military says that, unlike the “murderous assault against women, children, elderly and the disabled” by Hamas on Oct. 7, Israeli forces take “all feasible precautions” to “mitigate harm” to civilians.

Hamas, the military said, deliberately caused “the maximum amount of harm and brutality possible to civilians.” During the attack on Israel, parents and their children were gunned down inside their homes, witnesses and officials say, with children taken as hostages.

In response, the Israeli military says, it is waging a war “forcefully to dismantle Hamas military and administrative capabilities.” It notes that Israeli forces have told residents to flee to southern Gaza, and says that they issue warnings before airstrikes “when possible.”

But the furious pace of the strikes — more than 15,000 to date, according to the Israeli military, including in southern Gaza as well — makes the Israeli bombing campaign on the Palestinian territory one of the most intense of the 21st century. And it is happening in a dense urban enclave under siege with high concentrations of civilians, particularly children, setting off mounting global alarm, even from some of Israel’s closest allies.

After initially questioning the death toll reported by health officials in Gaza, the Biden administration now says that “far too many” Palestinians have been killed, conceding that the true figures for civilian casualties may be “even higher than are being cited.”

So many children are brought into the morgue at Al-Aqsa Hospital in Deir al Balah that the morgue director, Yassir Abu Amar, says he has to cut his burial shrouds into child-size fragments to handle the influx of corpses.

“The children’s bodies come to us broken and in pieces,” he said. “It’s chilling.”

“We’ve never seen this number of children killed,” he added. “We cry every day. Every day, we cry while we’re working to prepare the children.”

During previous wars, parents in Gaza, a crowded strip with more than two million people, sometimes put their children to bed in different rooms of their homes. If an airstrike damaged one part of the house, the other children might live.

Given the scale of the bombardment this time — which many Gazans describe as indiscriminate and without warning — some parents have put much greater distances between their children, splitting them up and sending them to relatives in different parts of the Gaza Strip to try to increase their odds of survival. Others have taken to scrawling names directly onto their children’s skin, in case they are lost, orphaned or killed and need to be identified.

In the emergency room of Al-Shifa Hospital in Gaza City, Dr. Ghassan Abu-Sittah said that many children had been brought in alone and in shock, with burns, shrapnel wounds or severe injuries from being crushed by rubble. In many cases, he said, no one knew who they were.

Waiting for treatment at Al-Shifa Hospital in Gaza City. Credit...Samar Abu Elouf for The New York Times

A wounded child was treated at Al-Aqsa Hospital in Deir al Balah. Credit...Samar Abu Elouf for The New York Times

Waiting for treatment at Al-Shifa Hospital in Gaza City. Credit...Samar Abu Elouf for The New York Times

“They are given a designation — ‘Unknown Trauma Child’ — until someone recognizes them,” he said. “The crippling thing is that some of them are the sole survivors of their family, so no one ever comes.”

“More and more, it seems like a war against children,” said Dr. Abu-Sittah.

Two weeks ago, the emergency room at Al-Shifa registered “Unknown Trauma Child 1,500,” Dr. Abu-Sittah said.

Then, in recent days, Israeli forces stormed the hospital, where thousands of Gazans had been sheltering, saying that the facility sat above an underground Hamas command center. United Nations officials warned that the raid put Gaza’s most vulnerable in even greater jeopardy.

International experts who have worked with health officials in Gaza during this and other wars say that hospitals and morgues in the enclave gather and report the names, ID numbers and other details of people who have been killed in the territory. While the experts urged caution around public statements about the specific number of people killed in a particular strike — especially in the immediate aftermath of a blast — they said the aggregate death tolls reported by health workers in Gaza have typically proven to be accurate.

The Israeli military says it “regrets any harm caused to civilians (especially children),” adding that it is examining “all its operations” to ensure that it follows its own rules and adheres to international law.

But a growing number of human rights groups and officials contend that Israel has already broken that law.

After condemning the “heinous, brutal and shocking” attacks by Hamas as war crimes, Volker Türk, the United Nations high commissioner for human rights, said this month, “The collective punishment by Israel of Palestinian civilians amounts also to a war crime, as does the unlawful forcible evacuation of civilians.”

“The massive bombardments by Israel have killed, maimed and injured in particular women and children,” he added. “All of this has an unbearable toll.”

Some international officials warn that children are in danger no matter where they go. “There is nowhere safe for Gaza’s one million children to turn,” said Catherine Russell, the director of UNICEF.

On Oct. 15, Dr. Mohammad Abu Moussa said that he was on a 24-hour shift at Al-Nasr Hospital in Khan Younis — south of the evacuation line drawn by Israel — when he heard a loud explosion nearby. He called his wife at home, but when she answered, he said, all he heard were screams.

Soon, he said, his wife, 12-year-old daughter and 9-year-old son were brought into the emergency room, bloodied, hysterical and covered in dust from rubble. He tried to comfort them, but panicked when he noticed that his youngest son, 7-year-old Yousef, was not with them.

“Where’s Yousef?” he recalled asking.

No one would answer.

When he pressed again about his son, he said a neighbor simply responded, “May God have mercy on his soul.”

Yousef Abu Moussa Credit...via Mohammad Abu Moussa

Dr. Abu Moussa didn’t want to believe it. Video from journalists at the hospital shows him frantically searching for Yousef. Dr. Abu Moussa recounted how he had asked other departments, including the intensive care unit, whether his son had been rushed there instead.

Then, he said, a journalist showed him pictures of their demolished home. Dr. Abu Moussa said he recognized the gray clothing Yousef had been wearing when he kissed him goodbye before leaving the house.

With dread, Dr. Abu Moussa walked from the emergency room to the hospital morgue. That’s where he said he finally found Yousef, a jokester with a cheeky smile who stuck out his tongue in photographs. Now, his lifeless body was lying on a gurney.

The shock was too much to bear. Dr. Abu Moussa recalled looking away before a colleague embraced him.

Multiple relatives said that airstrikes had hit their home without warning, and that Dr. Abu Moussa’s family had been pulled from the rubble. The Israeli military said it could not address questions about a strike on the family.

“Yousef was a very loved child,” said his mother, Rawan, a fitness instructor. “He was always smiling. He loved to laugh and make people laugh.”

At home, the boy had wanted to eat every meal next to his father, or in his lap, sometimes even sharing the same spoon.

“He would emulate me in everything I did,” Dr. Abu Moussa said, adding that his son had wanted to become a doctor as well.

Yousef was not the only one killed. Dr. Abu Moussa’s brother, Jasir Abu Moussa, lost both of his sons and his wife, family members said.

Dr. Abu Moussa’s nephew Hmaid, 18, had recently graduated from high school with high marks, the family said. He got his love of cars from his father and, from his mother, a love of poetry and art. He had hopes of studying mechanical engineering in Europe, relatives said, and had begun studying German even as he was studying for his high school exams.

His younger brother, Abdulrahman, 8, was even smarter, the family said. He was killed, too.

“He was a handful,” Jasir Abu Moussa said of his younger son. “But he was also very smart, and delightful.”

Death colors the living, as well.

Many children are showing clear signs of trauma, including night terrors, said Nida Zaeem, a mental health field officer with the International Committee of the Red Cross in Gaza.

Families in Khan Younis leaving their homes to seek shelter after an explosion. Credit...Yousef Masoud for The New York Times

Wounded children in Khan Younis. Credit...Samar Abu Elouf for The New York Times

Children inspecting their family’s home after a blast in Gaza City. Credit...Samar Abu Elouf for The New York Times

“They are waking up shouting, screaming,” Ms. Zaeem said from a Red Cross shelter in Rafah, in the south, where she is staying with her family, including four children. Each night, she added, children in the shelter yell, “We’re going to die, we’re going to die.”

“They are shouting, pleading, ‘Please protect me, please, please hide me. I don’t want to die,’” she added.

In an encampment sheltering thousands of people around a United Nations center, Hammoud Qadada, 4, tried to focus on a video game inside a tent as the thundering sound of strikes were close enough to shake the ground beneath him.

When the soccer players on the screen scored, everyone in the tent — his siblings, cousins and other children from the makeshift encampment — yelled “goooaaal” so loudly that people in nearby tents thought a cease-fire had been announced.

Their parents had hooked up a television to a solar panel and, when it seemed safe enough, people played real soccer outside between the tents — trying to distract the children.

It wasn’t enough.

The next morning, Hammoud’s grandmother said he woke up and said, “I’m going to die.”

“I told him no,” said his grandmother Hanaan Jaber, 53. “God willing, you will grow up and you will get married and tell your children what happened with us here, like a story.”

Hammoud’s vocabulary has already been shaped by the war. Soon after it started, he asked his parents what “martyrdom” meant. When asked what is happening around him, he answers without hesitation: “Airstrikes. Airstrikes and war.”

Gaza, a coastal strip where cabanas and food shacks line the Mediterranean, once had a lively beach culture. Yasser Abou Ishaq, 34, recalled how he used to teach his three young daughters how to swim.

“They were always asking me to go to the beach, to the amusement park, to the parks,” he said. “I loved watching them play.”

Amal, his oldest, 7, was named after his mother. At school, she was a good student with excellent penmanship, he recalled. At home, she became the teacher who made her younger sister Israa, a 4-year-old who loved chocolate and Kinder toys, play along as the student.

From left: Habiba Abou Ishaq, 1, and her sisters, Israa, 4, and Amal, 7. Credit...via Yasser Abou Isha

When his home was destroyed by what he said was an airstrike, he lost them both, he said. His wife was killed as well, he said.

In all, 25 members of his family, 15 of them children, have been killed, he said. Local journalists reported a strike and shared footage of bodies in burial shrouds — members of the Abou Ishaq family, they said — lined up on the ground as relatives cried over them. The Israeli military said it could not address questions about a strike on the family.

Mr. Abou Ishaq said that he and his 1-year-old daughter, Habiba, had been wounded and taken to the hospital. Most of his family, including his wife and Amal, were pulled from the rubble the same day and buried by relatives, he said, while he was still being treated. He never got the chance to say goodbye, he said.

The next day, Israa’s body was pulled from the rubble, he said. He was able to see her in the hospital’s morgue and hold her one last time.

“I hugged and kissed her. I said goodbye and I cried,” he said. “God only knows how much I cried.”

Mourning relatives outside the morgue of Al-Aqsa Hospital in Deir al Balah. Credit...Samar Abu Elouf for The New York Times

Reporting was contributed by Alan Yuhas, Samar Abu Elouf, Ameera Harouda and Abu Bakr Bashir

#palestine #gaza #israel

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rotxos-sweeetheart · 1 year

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Hiii sorry for not being so active recently, these few months have been hectic T^T’

I had a hospital visit in February and am now waiting for a surgery on my ear, and found out in march I may needy right ear doing aswell.

My hamster sadly passed away.

I finally found out why I get dizzy and collapse. It’s a mix of anxiety and just general fainting BUT! No more blood testss.

I learned a few other things as well. Honestly have a doctors who listens and helps is life changing man.

I had an interview! But no job T_T

I registered on a hrt list again, hopefully I’ll hear something soon!

I’m waiting to go to the doctors for my ancles and wrists again -_-

I finally got used to having no tonsils, only took a year＾∇＾

I had another interview and this time I got the jobbbb ＾ν＾

I actually got into therapy yeyyyy

Im growing strawberries!

And I launched my own business!!!!

So yeah so far this year has been great!

All this is to say I’m really sorry I’ve been so inactive and I aim to be more active from now on!

How has you been so far?

-Dusk💜

#nik’ets_world

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vivalasigh · 2 years

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Hey tumblr void. I had a really hard 2022- especially the second half. It's probably the hardest year I can remember since 2017 (when I had the worst depressive episode of my life, when I was closest to the veil).

Some notable challenges in 2022

- I got covid while finally taking the European vacation I had to cancel in 2020, coughed up blood, didn't get to go clubbing in Berlin or get my scheduled tattoo

- my childhood cats, Otis & Magick, died

- I gave the car my parents had gifted me back to my dad because I couldn't afford to keep it after the catalytic converter was stolen twice in six months & attempted stolen another 2 times (my insurance premiums went up to $115 a month)

- I had to find a new roommate after my former roommate broke the lease, it took 10+ interviews and 7 weeks to find a replacement roommate, left me with a lingering feeling of not being supported by my community

- my parents announced their divorce and separated in early Novemeber

- my brother was was hospitalized in December due to a intense manic episode with psychosis. We had not been getting along for pretty much the whole year, in part becuase his roommate made me feel unsafe and he did not care

- my job continues to be a site of stress and an impossible amount of work for a human being to do/perform (lol plus the fallout re: students coming to my apartment & also a student wanted to dress up as me for Halloween *sigh*)

- inflation especially fucked me as someone who probably can't really afford to live in the bay area anyway. My groceries are probably twice as expensive as they were this time last year.

Some highlights in 2022

- When I got to Granada, I had fully healed from covid, it was beautiful, I loved the teterias and the Alhambra, had a magical moment, sitting on a warm stone outside a church, listening to a street musician

- I saw a lot of great shows- notable highlights include Ethel Cain, Tamino (the free show in NYC), and the Alvaays show with a silly mosh pit. Saw Charli XCX twice, saw Mitski again.

- I traveled the most I have in one year ever- I went to Los Angeles, Madrid, Barcelona, Granada, Berlin, New York City & Vancouver

- taking the ferry to San Francisco, only did so twice, but really the WAY to travel

- Similarly, shout out the high-speed trains in Spain!

- I started the process of applying for poetry MFAs/following my DREAMS. I've applied to 4 programs so far & have 5 more applications to complete.

- My first poems were PUBLISHED, baby!

- I ended up getting a new tattoo at the very end of 2022 & I really adore it (strawberry w/ eyes)

- I made some new friends! 2 new poet friends & a DJ (who I have a crush on but I am too busy/overwhelemed to do anything about it)

I honestly can't remember much from January-May of 2022 I know I had just moved to the apartment I live in now, I cut off all my hair (again), I finally got over my ex, went to LA fro Spring Break, but I think it was slow, I went to work, I saw my friends. Not like the storm I've been in since June (when Otis died). I am proud of how I've handled all these challenges. I feel alone in a way I hadn't before, like there's no safety net to catch me. Still, hopeful, I believe my life will be better this year.

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emotionalhxc · 5 months

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PART 2: Strawberry Hospital Instagram Q&A Q: Also do you like Sky Eats Airplane? Some of your songs give me the same vibe

N: "lowkey in shock that this band was brought up to me because they were (partially) the reason I found out what a DAW was in the first place because I read some interview of theirs back then describing their method of creation or something formative memories of listening to this one on a school computer in 5th grade" Q: When making an EP, do you usually have a "concept" or "vibe" before making the songs? N: "mostly! it is typically reflective of whatever sonic fixations I had in the years preceding the release itself + a culmination of whatever emotions are stirred up by life circumstances once I have that intersection pinned down, it begins to take a form of its own"

Q: Is there a story behind the Phantasmaphilia album art? It's so mesmerizing *0* N: "indeed ! the dead insects themselves were found outside of where I was living during the completion of the album, around this time of year. myself and some old friends collected them and brought them inside to scan in for the sake of the cover artwork. as for the bathtub image source, I am actually not holding my own legs but another person (out of frame) but we were wearing swimming trunks haha I wanted to create a feeling of ghostly vulnerability and I appreciate said old friends for helping me realize my vision at the time" Q: your music heals me and makes life bearable, thank you from the bottom of my heart. ❤️‍🩹 N: "I am so so grateful... thank you for sharing with me, it keeps me pushing forward knowing that my music reached you in the same way that other music heals me too (hug)"

Q: Squall. I love that song so much. I would love to hear your reasons for that song. N: "oh yes Squall! I wrote that for an internet friend who lived somewhere that was basically a perpetual snowstorm, I would stay up late talking with them and it meant very much to me during that period of time to me, the flurry of splittercore kicks and icy trance lead melodies reminded me of a blizzard" Q: How did you get your name? N: "strawberry hospital? or neptune? I'll answer both! strawberry hospital was intended to follow the naming trend of many bands and artists I grew up with, but also represent the otherwise polarizing thematic elements (bittwersweetness) and stylings present within the music and lyrics my name Neptune is chosen but I have kept it for over a decade now, it reminds me of the ocean and a cold planet very far away from here"

Q: Ilysm I sry if this is a dumb q but are the songs on halfawake all vocaloid or ur voice N: "awe no questions are dumb! the original release is exclusively vocaloid as I was too anxious to include my own singing in my songs in 2016. but the live version of the song is special, because I sing the chorus with my own voice instead. other albums feature a combination of my own voice and vocaloid (with exceptions)" Q: what is your bowling ball size? N: "this question is so unrelated I love it... so I cannot bowl to save my life and maybe I'm missing a double meaning here but they say a bowling ball should be 10% of your own weight right? in that case, like 12? I am unfortunate epitome of gay people failing at sports stereotype"

Q: what's your personal favorite song you've ever release?? 🖤 N: "Halfawake, Memento, Phantoma, Azure, Rhythm 0" Q: so like whats next for uu? N: "I'd love to play a few more shows before the year ends... maybe an international one? we shall see... otherwise trying to explore new forms for the project to take, I never want to reiterate what has already been established to the point of monotony heh" Q: I really love Tacit ❤️ and would love to know what it's about N: "Tacit is an apology for not being able to fulfill the role of what somebody would like you to be for them. not exactly a hard rejection but an assuring one (if such a thing exists) ... sometimes you need to use your head over your heart? I struggled with this at times p.s. it was heavily influenced by the haibane renmei OST!"

Q: Would you ever go on a tour! Californian fan here and I love you and your music :D N: "it will happen someday I am certain, playing a show in California feels obligatory (in a good way) plus I have had a few invitations from fellow musician friends that I need to take them up on" CONTINUED INTO PART 3 ON MY NEXT POST

#strawberry hospital #neptune #small musician #emotionalhxc

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pinerdirectory · 2 years

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Carlsbad strawberry company

This can easily become an annual tradition, as one of the rites of spring, along with a visit to the nearby Flower Fields.Īnd if strawberry picking isn’t really your thing, there is also a sunflower maze, apple cannons where you can shoot apples at targets, a “Bounceland” with multiple jump houses and slides and an assortment of food and drink options. Known as a Carlsbad tradition for 20 years, the fields closest to Cannon are marked “U-Pick,” where guests may pick their own strawberries for $10 a bucket. The west coast Carlsbad climate is ideal for growing strawberries, that’s why California is the number one distributer of strawberries across the nation. The strawberry harvest comes and goes quite fast – usually takes place between January and July. It is one of the oldest in San Diego County––they have been growing strawberries here for over half a century. But we do look forward to the opportunity to discuss the details in court.If you are looking for a fun and popular springtime activity in Carlsbad, give strawberry picking a try! Located in coastal Carlsbad, the third generation Carlsbad Strawberry Company is a family-run “U-pick” farm. With respect to the lawsuit, we, unfortunately, cannot address the specific issues in the case because it is under litigation. While it is unclear how or where the contamination may have occurred along the supply chain, this is a terrible situation. "Our hearts go out to everyone who was affected by the May 2022 Hepatitis A contamination associated with fresh organic strawberries. They declined an interview but sent the following statement: KPBS reached out to FreshKampo and Meridian Fine Foods. Marler also said lawsuits aimed at holding companies accountable are the most effective way to prevent future outbreaks. Marler echoed the advice about knowing where your food comes from, and said there was something people could do to avoid getting sick: "The good thing is that (Hepatitis A is) the only food-borne illness that is vaccine-preventable." "It's really important that people should educate and know where their produce and fruit and vegetables come from and how they’re grown," she said. She also said having families come and pick berries themselves served two purposes: fun and education. "We adhere to really strict policies in how they’re grown and especially use clean, fresh water," Ukegawa said. She said her family farm has been growing strawberries for decades and takes pride in how they’re grown. Robyn Ukegawa is the manager of the Carlsbad Strawberry Company. KPBS also spoke with a local strawberry grower about food safety. Though many are hesitant to eat strawberries during this outbreak, Marler said it was only linked to the brands tied to the farm in Mexico. "The problem is that it’s contaminated with a human fecal virus, which isn't that pleasant to think about, that can cause extreme illness," he said. And even food that is cooked can spread the potentially deadly virus. Once food is contaminated, it’s difficult to kill the virus. Liver failure can cause death or, in the best scenario, may well cause you to have a liver transplant," he said, warning that it only takes a small amount of the virus on the food to make people sick. "Hospitalization means that they’re sick enough that they’re being monitored for liver failure. When KPBS talked to Marler, he said 20 people had been hospitalized after eating those two brands of strawberries, and he expected the case count to rise in the United States and Canada. Marler has filed a lawsuit on behalf of the Arthur family and others against the Mexican grower and the Fresno-based distributor, Meridian Fine Foods, which owns the brand. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and the Food and Drug Administration are investigating the multistate outbreak and have linked it to a grower in Mexico that sells the strawberries under the names FreshKampo and H-E-B Organics. "So even people who are out of the hospital and are home now aren’t completely out of the woods." He said there was also a risk of relapse. If somebody's hospitalized it may take them months to recover." said Marler, who specializes in food-related illnesses. in the best case scenario, it usually takes somebody about a month to recover. David Arthur is out of the hospital now, but is still suffering the effects of the illness.

#Carlsbad strawberry company

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justsomegalwhoshere · 3 years

Text

Daddy’s Small Hero

Note: I’m back with another dad Bakugou fic bitches 😎 this time it’s Baku with an absolute chonk of a baby. Again, this entire thing was inspired by @hanji-is-life and the people who sent the amazing asks there. I can’t stop, they’re so good 😩 also idk how fast a baby’s development is. My little sister was a baby but that’s was 11 years ago- Criticism is welcome as always.

Warnings: cursing cuz bakugou, but just fluff overall. Not prof read

‘Had to go to the hospital quickly for an appointment! Katsumi and Sakura are at school already. Take Katsuo with you to the agency please!

-Y/N <3’

Bakugou sighed as he put down the note and headed to the living room where his son was. He woke up and was surprised to see you weren’t there in bed with him, and was only even more surprised he saw his son was awake in his playpen doing his thing. After finding the note tacked on the fridge however, he understood the situation.

Bakugou looked into the playpen and smiled. His son Katsuo. He looked exactly like his dad, ash blonde hair, red eyes, and an absolute monster of a baby. It’s not that he cried a lot, in fact he hardly cried at all. He was just extremely chunky. He was in 6 month clothes at 3 months old. He was a chunky baby, a chubby tummy and rolls on his arms and legs. Hell, he even had rolls for knees! He was currently in toddler clothes at 10 months old and was trying to shove his fat fist in his mouth. He took notice of his dad and started making grabby hands up at him.

Bakugou chuckled. “Hey squirt, ready to start the day?” His son gurgled.

Bakugou lifted his son up with a soft grunt. “Jesus, did you grow overnight? You get heavier every day.” His baby slapped a drool covered hand on bakugou’s cheek. “..I deserved that.”

After strapping on the baby carrier and putting Katsuo in front of chest, he began making breakfast. Starting with Katsuo’s. Sure, it was time consuming making breakfast for his infant son, but he refused to let him eat that processed shit from the store. Bakugou placed a strawberry and a banana on the counter. He wasn’t sure why he did this, but he let his son choose what fruit he wanted in his breakfast. He read somewhere it was good for development. “K, choose one brat,” he said softly. Katsuo stared before grabbing at the strawberry. “Good choice,” Bakugou responded before dropping a few strawberries in the blender and starting his breakfast. The entire time, he stirred up conversation with Katsuo.

“So what did you dream about last night?”

“Da!”

“You fought Endeavour himself and won?”

“Ba-da-ba!”

“No shit, what did you do after?”

“Baaab.”

“Nice. I’ll make note of that the next time I train then.”

…

After a quick breakfast and a diaper change, Katsuki made his way to the agency, baby bag in hand. It should be ok to take Katsuo today. All he had was paperwork and an interview. Katsuki didn’t want just ANYONE working for him. He needed to make sure those who were hired were reliable people. Bakugou stopped in front of the building and addressed his son in the harness, “this is where daddy works. He runs his own agency. Isn’t that cool?” Katsuo blew a little raspberry.

Almost all eyes were on Bakugou as he entered the building. They went from neutral to confused seeing a drooly baby harnessed on the pro hero’s chest, and even more confused seeing a baby bag in hand.

Ignoring all the prying eyes, Bakugou approached Kirishima, who also was gawking at the baby in the harness.

“What? It’s not a fucking alien, get a hold of yourself.” Kirishima’s eyes snapped back up and looked at Bakugou. He put a hand behind his head sheepishly. “Sorry, I’m just not used to seeing you with your son that often.”

“Hah!? Are you calling me a terrible dad?” Bakugou questioned as his eyebrows furrowed more.

“No! Just drop it, look the candidate for receptionist is already with the interviewer. Just make it quick, ok? And don’t send them running away in tears!” Kirishima called out as Bakugou grunted and walked towards his office. Bakugou stopped in front of his office door and addressed his son once again,

“This is daddy’s office. You excited to step inside?”

“Aa!”

“Well, today I am too.” Bakugou opened the door and saw some interviewer extra behind his desk and a female sitting across from it.

“Ah, you’re here Mr. Bakugou! Please, take a seat!” The interviewer chirped. Bakugou sat down in a chair on the side of the desk and unclasped the harness. He set Katsuo on a sitting position on the desk and dumped some toys there for his son. Katsuo took a chunky plastic block and immediately began to chew on it.

The female blinked. “Umm… is the baby staying here the entire time?”

Bakugou growled lowly. “He has a fucking name. It’s Katsuo. And yes, he is. That a fucking problem?”

“N-no, im sorry sir,” she replied as Katsuo cooed.

“Let’s get this started. What’s your name?” Bakugou said, calming down.

The female cleared her throat. “Akane, sir.”

The interview went along fairly smoothly, Akane answered the questions well and seemed reliable enough to work here, Bakugou noted as he played a bit with Katsuo. Still, Bakugou needed more convincing. He didn’t need another receptionist crying into his coffee cup in the mornings. The more the interview progressed, the more impatient Bakugou became.

“Can we hurry this shit up? It’s almost tummy time for Katsuo!” Bakugou barked. Both Akane and the interviewer jumped at the sudden outburst.

“Sorry Dynamight sir, just one more question and we’ll be done here.”

Bakugou huffed and put Katsuo on his lap, who was trying to shove the block in Bakugou’s face. He chuckled. “Stop that shit, that’s fucking gross, wasn’t it in your mouth?” Katsuo gurgled in response, still shoving the drool covered block in his dad’s face. Akane was distracted at this display. Dynamight, the number 2 pro hero, softening for someone? She didn’t think it was possible. Bakugou looked back up, scowling as he realized no one was talking. “The fuck are you looking at?” He growled at Akane.

Akane yelped and cleared her throat. “N-nothing! Just- just looking around” she said hurriedly as she straightened herself.

Bakugou squinted his eyes and looked down at his son. “What do you think of her, Katsuo?”

Katsuo was currently transfixed on shoving two chubby fingers in his own mouth. Once he finally did babble again, he slapped his thighs while bouncing up and down, making “da” sounds over and over. Akane thought the display was cute before Bakugou spoke up again.

“My son says you’re a terrible liar and that you’re on thin fucking ice.”

Akane shivered a bit. She was going to be here a while longer, wasn’t she?

…

A few more exchanges like that back and forth (Katsuo cooing and bakugou interpreting as a a threat), the interview finally ended.

Akane slumped on the wall outside the door and slowly sat herself down. God, that went terribly! She kept getting distracted by the baby! There was no way she was getting this job! She blew it-

Her thoughts were interrupted by a high pitched laugh. Akane registered it was coming from the office. Silently, she got up and peered through the door, which was slightly ajar.

Bakugou was blowing raspberries on his baby’s stomach while Katsuo laughed hysterically. Akane stood there dumbfounded. She never thought Bakugou was the fatherly type. Bakugou kept doing this and laughed along with the baby until he put them down in a sitting position. “Alright brat, it’s tummy time,” he grumbled as he spread a blanket on the desk and laid his son down on the blanket, back facing the ceiling. His son thrashed his limbs around a bit before calming down. Bakugou chuckled and pulled a couple toys out of his bag and settled them around Katsuo. His son tried moving around to grab the toys, cooing all the while.

Akane left before she was noticed. She was confused by this secret side of Bakugou.

…

Despite her doubtful thoughts earlier, Akane managed to land the job as the receptionist at Bakugou’s agency. She liked talking to the people she met everyday, and even met his wife a couple times.

Akane was typing away and noticed someone approaching from the corner of her eye.

“Hello, Mrs. Bakugou! How are you?”

You looked at Akane and smiled, carrying your son. “I’m just fine, thank you! I’m just wondering where Katsuki is!”

“Right here,” a gruff voice responded. Both females turned around and saw the hero approaching both of them.

You gave your husband a kiss and handed him Katsuo and a box wrapped in cloth.

“You forgot your lunch again, I’m starting to believe you’re doing it on purpose” you scolded.

Bakugou laughed and pecked your cheek. “I might start doing it intentionally if I get to see my beautiful wife and son more often at work.”

Akane observed this exchange before Katsuo turned his head towards her, looking at her with wide red eyes and made grabby hands that Bakugou paid no kind to. Akane, however, shivered and turned back towards the computer, typing more feverishly. Those red eyes that looked exactly like his father’s creeped her out ever since that interview. Sure, Katsuo was adorable, but what came out of his mouth was scary.

#bakugou #mha x reader #dad bakugou #fluff #domestic dad bakugou #domestic bakugou #not really but still #chubby baby #mha #bakugou is a little shit #but we love him #idk how to tag help

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storiesofsvu · 2 years

Text

Off Limits Ch 4

Warnings: Language, talk of smut, talk of SVU stuff,

Two weeks passed since you’d last seen Casey, she’d picked up a new, and very intense case with SVU, and you were still working the night shifts at the hospital. You kept hoping you’d at least cross paths with her while you were working with victims, but her case was too big, you ended up seeing your sister every time instead. A smattering of text messages were exchanged (you’d taken care of changing her name in your phone, older sisters had a bad habit of snooping…) but that was it. You thanked God the last time was so intense you were perfectly fine living off memories for now.

The night shift honestly wasn’t that bad, and it was when most SVU related patients came in, so you worked it often. The team was great, and the quiet nights gave you time to catch up on pouring over textbooks to help you help your special victim patients better. Tonight was not one of those nights, one of the other nurses was with a patient that had just come in, and everyone was hiding in various corners of the hospital or sleeping in the on call room. You’d found yourself reading over the same sentence of text for the fifth time, and were simply just BORED.

Casey laughed quietly to herself when she entered the ER, seeing you behind the nurses station, legs pulled up crossed in one of the chairs, attention on your phone while you used your other hand pushing against the desk to spin the chair in circles, not paying any attention to your surroundings.

“Busy saving lives I see.” You jumped, nearly falling out of the chair as you tried to right yourself, grabbing onto the desk to stop the spinning chair.

“Jesus Christ!” Her laugh broke through the ER, you felt a hint of fluttering in your stomach, shaking out of it you clicked at the computer, “We haven’t had any SVU patients come in tonight, who’re you here for?” She smiled over the counter,

“You.” You smiled at that, “Brought you something, thought you might need it.” Casey placed the Starbucks down on the counter, watching your eyes light up as you eagerly brought it to your lips, “Figured the coffee here can’t be much better than the precinct.” You let out a moan of satisfaction, your brain realizing what she’d brought you.

“Is this pumpkin?!” She couldn’t help but laugh at your response, you were so happy over the latte it looked like you could cry, and it was fucking adorable.

“Alex was complaining about how you wouldn’t stop whining all through lunch that your store ran out before you could get your first one of the year.”

“It’s the FIRST DAY! How do you run out of pumpkin syrup on the first day of PSL season?!” You clearly took the matter very seriously, “It’s the most important! It’s pumpkin September to November, then Caramel Brûlée over Christmas, then Strawberry Refreshers or Iced latte’s the rest of the year.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You of all people should know how important good coffee is.”

“Oh believe me, I do.” She had brought you a Venti after all. Glancing down at the textbooks and notepads spread across the desk, she asked, “What’re you working on?”

“Rape crisis counselling.” You replied, “Thought it would come in handy, doubt I’ll actually do the degree though. Victims just…open up more to someone who’s there to chill, not someone who’s stiffly sitting across from them taking notes saying things like ‘I see’ and ‘How does that make you feel?’ They like a friendly face…” You trailed off, Casey felt her heart swell, she knew how much you cared about your patients, but you took a specific liking to the special victims cases, often attending interviews or trials to support them. You truly cared, you wanted them to come out on the other side stronger, reminding them that they survived, and life would get better.

“Heavy stuff.”

“Yeah…though to be completely honest I spent the last like, hour mindlessly scrolling though Tik Tok…” You both laughed at that,

“Lots of learning going on there.” It was then the two of you were interrupted by the other ER nurse,

“Hey Y/N, this guy’s IV does not want to go in, I don’t wanna poke around and hurt him anymore and you’re a wizard at that…”

“Yeah, course.” You took off, following your coworker before quickly spinning around to run back to Casey, giving her cheek a quick kiss, “Thanks for the coffee.” A smile spread across your face that she returned, watching you run off further into the ER.

****

Another few weeks passed, luckily you’d actually had some mutual time off as Casey and were able to spend a couple of evenings together at your apartment. It was brief, but it was very appreciated as you entangled in each others limbs, exploring each others bodies with practically every toy you had on top of lips and fingers. You were still working overnights, so sometimes you’d simply wake up to Casey in your kitchen, working over her current cross examination at the island, smirking at your adorable sleepy self before she fucked the sense out of you before you had to go into work.

Today however, Casey wasn’t the A.D.A. inside your apartment, Alex had stopped by to talk about one of the victims you’d treated. The poor girl was super hesitant to speak with anyone, scared of practically everything, worried that her attacker would be able to get to her despite the court case. You promised you’d come down to Hogan Place to talk to her, warming her up to Alex and the idea of testifying the following day, and would do your best to attend the trial. Alex was about to leave before she moved her way into the bathroom. You turned your attention back to your coffee and the case files in front of you when you heard your sister let out a shriek.

“What the fuck is this?” Your face paled as she moved back into your view, holding nothing other than the sex toy Casey had made you come with practically 8 times the previous day.

“I’d…really appreciate if you’d put that down Alex…” It was clean, which is why it was in the bathroom, but you’d completely forgotten it was in there.

“You can’t be serious…there’s a BASKET OF THEM!”

“Alex! I am an adult! Please remember that!” She scoffed, tossing the toy onto a nearby chair before re entering the bathroom, the yell not missing your ears.

“I can’t fucking believe you!”

There was a hint of shame running through you, hating that you’d forgotten the basket in there before Alex had come over, but at least she only knew about the toys and not who exactly was using them on you…

#casey novak #casey novak x reader #off limits #law and order svu #svu #law and order #law and order special victims unit

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writer-ish · 3 years

Text

Vanity Fair - Ethan x Brooke (Open Heart)

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x f!MC (Dr. Brooke Spiers) Word Count: 1540 words Rating: T Author's Notes: [at the end]

Premise: When one of the most prestigious magazines in the world offers you a professional cover spread and a few questions in exchange for national, worldwide attention for the amazing work you do, you simply do not say no. No matter how much one of you might really, really, really want to.

The blue velvet Everly Quinn sofa has a cheerful quilt thrown overtop. The white quartz countertops boast an assortment of appliances that speak to a connoisseur of sorts in the kitchen - or at the very least, a hobby baker. And the plethora of windows allow in a sea of natural light, washing over every surface in a bright glow.

Dr. BROOKE SPIERS-RAMSEY could herself be mistaken for a sea of natural light, her red hair luminscent against the backdrop of the windows as she greets this interviewer in with the warmth of familiarity of an old friend. Her husband, Chief of Medicine at Boston's presitgious Bloom Edembrook Hospital , Dr. ETHAN RAMSEY, appears more reticient to allow us in, though one cannot outright call him impolite.

The pair are a striking match, one golden strawberry fields of warmth, the other cool and icy blue, like a crisp winter day. Separately, they are intriguing. Together, they are formidable.

While fascinating, the two are notoriously private. Boston society goes abuzz with gossip every time they dare to step out together - at galas, fundraisers, even the local grocery store.

Luckily, they've agreed to speak exclusively to Vanity Fair, answering personal and intimate questions about who they are as people, not just doctors, to allow an entire nation in on its best-kept secret:

Who, exactly, ARE the Ramseys?

What's your favourite thing about yourself?

Ethan: Christ. You go first.

Brooke [laughs] You'd think he didn't like talking about himself. Come on, you enigmatic egomaniac. Tell them.

Ethan: Enigmatic egomaniac? How do you even manage to get these phrases out of your mouth?

Brooke: I have a very talented tongue.

[A loaded pause while the husband and wife duo appear to have an entire conversation in the searing gaze they share]

Ethan: [breaks eye contact and huffs out a laugh] You first, I said.

Brooke: [presses] Is it how smart you are? Or how intimidating? Is it something physical?

Ethan: My favourite thing about myself is that I had the presence of mind to marry you. Next.

Brooke: [blinks] I can't decide if that's the sweetest thing ever or the most manipulative.

Ethan: [cheshire grin] Both? Next question.

Brooke: Don't you want to know what I think my favourite thing about myself is?

Ethan: I already know.

Brooke: Oh?

Ethan: How smart you are. You love being the smartest person in the room. You revel in it. It's one hundred percent your favourite thing about yourself. [he leans in to kiss her arm, resting near him] And one of the most attractive things about you.

Brooke: [grumbles, begrudgingly pleased] Charmer. Ok, next question.

What is one thing no one knows about you?

Brooke: I'm double jointed.

Ethan: I knew that.

Brooke: Oh, yeah. Then there isn't anything no one knows about me.

Ethan: I know everything there is to know?

Brooke: [nods regretfully] Afraid so. The air of mystery is gone.

Ethan: [dryly] Well, I guess that's that.

Brooke: You answer now.

Ethan: [scoffs] I'm not telling a national magazine something no one else knows.

When was the last time you cried?

Ethan: [gesturing to his wife] For you it was yesterday.

Brooke: Those damn AirBnB commercials, I can't deal. [turns to her husband] Trying to think when the last time you cried was.

Ethan: [gives her a long look]

Brooke: [breath catches] Really?

Ethan: [nods curtly]

Are you two going to let us in on the secret?

Brooke: [glances sharply at Ethan] Uhhh...

Ethan: There was a time where Brooke's life was in grave danger. We weren't sure if she was going to—if she was going to make it. I found myself…quite emotional, at that time.

Of course you're referring to the maitotoxin incident, targeting Senator Ed Farrugia, in which Dr. Spiers-Ramsey found herself in the crosshairs of a violent and terroristic act?

Both doctors look uncomfortable. Dr. Spiers-Ramsey leans into her husband's arm, as though looking for assurance. Dr. Ramsey wraps his arm around his wife.

Ethan: [curtly] Next question.

Right, moving on. Is there anything you would change about yourself?

Ethan: No.

Brooke: [snorts]

Ethan: What?

Brooke: Uhh, where do I begin?

Ethan: You don't need to change anyting about yourself.

Brooke: No, I meant about you.

Ethan: Oh, charming.

Brooke: No, sweetheart, I wouldn't change your charm.

Ethan: [rolls his eyes]

Brooke: Personally, I would change my tendency to procrasinate. I'm really bad at putting off things I don't want to do.

Ethan: That's true. Also, the knuckle cracking. I can't stand the knuckle cracking.

Brooke: Oooh, now you made me want to do it.

Ethan: Don't.

Brooke: Ughhh I have to!

Ethan: Don—

Brooke: [cracks knuckles] Ahhh.

Ethan: Disgusting.

Which family member did you admire most when you were young?

Ethan: None.

Brooke: [elbows him] Not even your single dad? Who raised you to become the best diagnostician in the country?

Ethan: Yes, you're right, I had absolutely no hand in that whatsoever.

Brooke: Say something nice.

Ethan: [sighs heavily] My father did the best he could and I admire him for that.

Brooke: Thank you. For me, I had this bad ass aunt who never married and started her own embroidery business. Now she makes these samplers with curse words in them and her shop one of Etsy's top 100.

Ethan: Who, Bev?

Brooke: Heck yeah. We have one of her works.

Ethan: Is that the one that says—

Brooke: 'Dick is abundant and of low value'? [chortles] Heh, yeah. It followed me from my apartment. It's Ethan's favourite work of art we currently own.

Ethan: Ah, yes. My favourite.

What was your favourite family tradition growing up?

Brooke: Christmas morning with hot chocolate, pancakes, and presents was always a good one.

Ethan: I—actually had similar Christmas memories. And would tend to agree.

What is your happiest childhood memory?

Brooke: Summers in Florida with my grandparents, Disney World, watching my mom garden and drinking a lemonade in the cool shade of the patio rather than helping at all. [She looks wistful a moment] I haven't thought about any of those things in a long time.

Ethan: [watches his wife intently, before pressing a kiss to her temple]

Brooke: What about you?

Ethan: [considers the question] The times, I suppose, when it was just dad and I, without pretence or the elephant of my mother's absence hanging in the room. I remember a few good baseball games fondly.

Brooke: [pats his cheek affectionately]

What is your saddest childhood memory?

Brooke: [thoughtful] Probably when my grandparents passed away and my mom had to sell the Florida house. [laughs dryly] Again, not something I'd thought about in ages, so thank you for that.

Ethan: [clears his throat] I'd…rather not say.

Does it have to do with the absent mother you just mentioned?

Brooke: [sweetly, but with steel in her tone] So very sorry, but he'd rather not say.

Ethan: [smirks in "that's my wife"]

Who was your first crush and what were they like?

Brooke: Beckett Brown in the third grade. He had blue eyes and treated me with disdain. [does an exaggerated elbow nudge and wink] You can say I have a type.

Ethan: [exasperated] I don't treat you with—[rolls eyes] Forget it. And I don't have crushes.

No crushes?

Ethan: [deep sigh] The only crush I've ever had has been on my wife. Happy?

Brooke: [laughing] You're so lame. [leans forward and kisses him on the cheek] I love you.

What was your first sexual experience like?

Ethan: Short.

Brooke: Painful.

When was the first time you fell in love?

Brooke: Well—me in college, with—anyway, let's not mention him. And you in college as well, no? Or was it… [her voice gets a little tighter here] during your residency?

Ethan: [already shaking his head] No, no. The first time I fell in love was five years ago.

Brooke: [bewildered] Five—? But that's…

Ethan: [simply stares at his wife, a soft smile nudging at the corners of his lips]

Brooke: [laughs disbelievingly] Oh, come off it. You don't expect me to believe—

Ethan: It's true. If you had asked me six, seven years ago, maybe my answer would have been different. But whatever it had been before, it paled in comparison to what it was with you.

Brooke: [touched and speechless] Ethan…

Ethan: [waves dismissively] But yes, you go with predator what's-his-name at Grossman—

Brooke: [laughingly] Nooo, I take it back! [she throws her arms around her husband] It was you, baby, only you!

Ethan: [unable to help himself from laughing as well] Get off me.

Dr. Ramsey's words bely his actions as he gathers his wife in his arms and places soft kisses on her face, her nose, her cheeks. Dr. Spiers-Ramsey looks up at her husband in a way that can only be described as "adoringly" and this interviewer believes, suddenly, that she has become de trop.

We left the Ramsey residence that day with slightly more superficial knowledge than what we'd had before. At their core, however, they remained private and guarded, a fact unlikely to change anytime soon.

One thing that was revealed, however, intentionally or not, was the depth of feeling they had for each other. Doctors though they may be, there was nothing remotely clinical about their adoration, love, and respect for one another, palpable to all who were in the room to witness it.

And that, dear readers, is my official diagnosis.

My lovely friend Leah aka @lem-20 sent me an extremely creative question sheet for another Ethan x Brooke ask game, which I was more than happy to oblige. Mind you, this was literally 10000 years ago SO I'M VERY SORRY LEAH!!!!

She created it in the style of a magazine question page, and I kind of ran with the idea that a famous magazine would catch wind of the infamous doctor duo in Boston and perhaps run a cover story on them??? Anyway, suspend your disbelief and buckle up for the ride.

This is also a nod to @jamespotterthefirst's MC Monday XIII: Magazine Covers. Just a few weeks late for that one!!

tag list to follow ✨

#otp asks #open heart #ethan ramsey x mc #ethanbrooke facts #playchoices #open heart fanfic #this is essentially my open heart magnum opus #i honestly don't know how much more content i'll produce for this pairing aside from asks and small things #so please enjoy #from me to you 🥰

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shemarmooresfedora · 3 years

Text

Rebuilding Family

Summary: Y/N and Spencer were college sweethearts at Cal-Tech but once Spencer got accepted to the FBI Academy, he ended things deciding it was not fair to make Y/N wait for him. When they meet again years later, he discovers something unexpected.

Pairing: Spencer x Fem! Reader

Masterlist

Chapter 10

You were packing up your stuff as students filed out of the lecture hall, it was your last class of the day. As you were walking out towards the parking lot, your phone started to vibrate in your bag. It was the school.

“Hello?” you answered.

“Hi Y/N. It’s Mrs. Flynn. I was just calling to let you know that Jo is now waiting inside with me because she was getting cold outside,” she informed you.

“Spencer’s not there?” you questioned, looking at the time displayed on your phone.

Pickup time was fifteen minutes ago.

“I’m on my way. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Sorry for the inconvenience,” you opened your car door and set your bag down in the passenger seat, turning on the ignition.

“No worries, I have to reorganize the classroom library anyways so I was already planning on staying after.”

Once the call ended, you tried to call Spencer but it went straight to voicemail.

“Hey Spencer, I don’t know if you forgot but it was your day to pick up Jo. I’m getting her now,” you said as you reversed out of your parking spot.

Minutes later, your phone rang again. Expecting Spencer’s contact to show up on screen, your brow furrowed when the name read “JJ” instead.

“Hi JJ?” you said, more of a question than a greeting.

“Y/N, Spencer has been shot. I already told Will to go back to the school to pick up Jo. You should get here if you can. He’s in surgery now but there has been no update since he went in,” JJ explained.

“Oh my god. Okay, I’m turning around now. How did this happen? He didn’t mention he was on a case?” you pulled into a random parking lot to turn around.

“Well technically, we weren’t. We had a lead on a possible local case and we went to interview a potential witness who could give us some more information. We realized too late that he was the unsub. He thought we were on to him and shot Spencer in the leg while trying to escape.”

You had silent tears running down your face.

“I’m five minutes out” is all you could muster and then you hung up the phone.

You ran into the ER doors to find the rest of the team in the waiting room. You were glad you went to Rossi’s dinner party now or else this would have been a much more awkward first meeting.

“Any updates?” you asked frantically.

“No,” Derek sighed, “But no news is good news.”

You took the empty seat in between JJ and Penelope and put your face in your hands, not wanting everyone to see your tears.

Two hours of crappy coffee and vending machine snacks as your only source of sustenance later, a doctor emerged from behind the double doors.

She had a completely neutral expression that you couldn’t read but then again you weren’t a profiler.

“Dr. Spencer Reid?” she asked, glancing down at her clipboard.

All of you stood and desperately crowded around her.

“Dr. Reid is in stable condition and awake. The bullet went into his thigh but it wasn’t through and through. He will need to be on crutches for about a week or so but luckily the bullet wound is near the edge of his thigh rather than the middle, meaning recovery time will be shorter,” she explained.

There was a collective sigh of relief along with a few “thank god”s.

“Although he is awake, I don’t think it’s best if you all go in at once since he is very drowsy. He has been asking for a Y/N?” the doctor looked around at you all.

All eyes fell on you. You collected yourself, grabbing your purse and following the doctor down the hall.

“I’ll let you know how he is,” you told everyone before you disappeared past the double doors.

The doctor guided you into a room at the end of the hall. You thanked her quietly and she nodded in acknowledgement, leaving you two alone. Spencer had his eyes closed but his hospital bed was inclined so he was sitting up slightly. You briskly walked over and took the seat right beside him. You took his hand in yours and squeezed it lightly, combing his messy hair out with your fingers.

As you were softly massaging his scalp, you heard a light groan. You retracted your fingers immediately as Spencer began to open his eyes.

Once Spencer took in his surroundings, he quickly sat up completely in bed, letting out a yelp of pain.

“Jo...it was my turn to pick up,” he said frantically.

“Hey, look at me, Spence. It’s okay, she’s at JJ and Will’s. You were shot in the thigh though so you’re not going anywhere. Please lie back down,” you assured him.

He nodded his head, relaxing a bit and looking down at his hands in his lap. He seemed to be processing something in his head.

“You called me ‘Spence’,” he stated.

Shit. That was twice now. It keeps slipping.

“Sorry, I-,” you began to ramble some apology that you didn’t even know where you were going with it. Luckily, he stopped you before you could further embarrass yourself.

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing,” he spoke softly as he looked up at you, tears threatening to fall.

“I was so scared, Y/N,” he sobbed.

You swiftly pulled him into your embrace, tucking his head into your neck as you began to gently stroke his hair again.

“It’s okay, let it out. I can’t imagine what that was like. I’m so sorry you had to go through that but you're safe now, I promise,” you whispered to him.

“I was so afraid I was going to abandon you and Jo again. It hurt worse than the actual bullet,” he muttered into your neck.

You removed your hands from his hair and cupped his cheeks, forcing him to look up at you.

“Spencer Reid, you did not abandon Jo in the first place so there is no ‘again’. Second of all, you would have died a hero saving lives and I would have made sure Jo knew that and she never forgot her Daddy or how much he loved her,” you spoke earnestly, never breaking eye contact.

Spencer’s eyes softened. A second later, his lips were on yours again. This time, however, you didn’t pull away. Life was too short and this was already complicated as is, what’s the harm.

You basked in the familiarity of his lips locking with yours. Once he finally pulled away for air, he rested his forehead against yours.

“Go out with me. A real date. No more college dorm dates with takeout,” he smiled.

“You know you didn’t have to get shot to ask me out, right?” you teased.

“I thought I needed a grand gesture,” he beamed, chucking lightly.

“Yeah, Spence, I’ll go on a date with you.”

His lips found yours once again.

“Jo, are you ready?” you called out from the kitchen, packing snacks.

“Mommy, I’m already at the door!” she exclaimed.

Jo was eager to go see her Daddy at the hospital. You would spend the day there until he was discharged and then he would live with you guys for the week. You insisted on being there to take care of him while he was healing. You didn’t want him hobbling around all alone in his apartment.

When you walked out to the front entryway, there was a stack of various toys and books that hadn’t been there when you came down the stairs.

“What is this?” you gestured to the pile, amused.

“Daddy has big boo-boo so he needs stuff to cheer him up,” she stated.

“I don’t think we are going to be able to bring all this. Plus, remember Daddy is coming home with us later today. So here’s what we will do,” you handed Jo her dinosaur backpack, “You pack all the stuff you can fit in this bag that you think Daddy needs right away and the rest of the stuff can wait.”

Jo made quick work of sorting through her massive pile, trying to decide what would make her dad the most happy.

“Daddy!” Jo excitedly screamed, running towards the bed.

“Jo!” he returned with the same sentiment.

She was unable to get up on the bed herself so you had to lift her up.

“Remember what I said, careful with Daddy or he won’t get better,” you reminded her.

“You can sit her on my good leg,” Spencer patted his right thigh where you gently set Jo down.

“We brought you loads of stuff, Daddy,” Jo chirped, looking over at you.

You revealed a box of donuts from your bag and the coffee tray you had been holding. You handed him a chocolate frosted donut with sprinkles and Jo a strawberry frosted with sprinkles. The two ‘cheers’ed their donuts before biting into them.

“Jo also brought you some things to cheer you up,” you handed her her backpack.

First, she promptly pulled out a pink Disney princesses band-aid and stuck it on Spencer’s already bandaged thigh.

“You need that so it doesn’t get infected,” she repeated Spencer’s words from when she fell at Rossi’s dinner party.

“Thank you, princess. What would I do without you?” he kissed the top of her head as she rummaged around in her backpack some more.

She set up her five favorite dinosaur toys on his tray table in front of them, glancing up at him for approval.

“Perfect,” he smiled, nodding.

Next, she pulled out a piece of paper that had been colored on.

“Who’s this?” Spencer asked, looking at the three stick figures doodled on the paper.

“That’s you, that’s Mommy, and that’s me,” she pointed to each of the sketches.

“Aw, that one is definitely making the fridge,” you smiled.

Finally, Jo took out her Magic Tree House book that she was currently reading. She needed help with some of the words but either you or Spencer or the both of you would help her read it every night.

“You already finished the last one?” Spencer picked up the new book that was next in the series, examining it and smiling proudly.

“And I didn’t need help with a single word on the last chapter,” Jo beamed.

“You’re so smart,” Spencer kissed her head again, “let’s see how far we can get on this one before we can go home.”

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