#Oh to be the two married Doctors ratio | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs | Tumgik (2024)

This man is giving me terminal brain rot, istg.

There are so many blurbs and fics about Veritas being rude to an "inferior" significant other, but please think about him with a significant other who is just as smart in an opposite way.

Aka, I want to lovingly bicker with him about our respective areas of medicine and science SO BADLY

Veritas Ratio x GN reader married science bickering and fluff

"Veri, dearest...... Can you explain that theorem one more time? I'm still slightly confused," you sigh, tracing your fingers along the side of the spiral notebook you'd been using to take notes.

As always, your notebook is filled with page after page of scrawled formulas, stray doodles, and hastily added mnemonics. To almost anyone else, they'd be illegible, but to you, they were perfect.

Ratio sighed, resting his chin atop his hand in mild exasperation as he leaned over your shoulder and checked your work. "We should come back to this later if you don't understand it by now. As you well know, beating the information into your brain does not lead to true mastery of the subject."

Your husband certainly had a fearsome reputation as a pedagogue, with some of his students even going so far as to add his name to the word's adjective list in the Intelligentsia Guild Databank, but you knew better. Veritas Ratio could certainly be vitriolic at times, but his actions were always used to benefit as many people as possible. At first, his heart seemed cold and stoney, but there was actually gold hidden underneath the rough surface.

"I didn't say that to you the last time the tables were turned," You pointed out with a softly admonishing smile. "I seem to remember spending all night in the library to help a certain someone finally understand oxidation-reduction reactions."

Veritas scoffed derisively. "You're right, but I do feel the need to point out that you had fallen asleep at the table and were drooling onto my textbook when it finally clicked."

"So..... you're going to deny that my many patient explanations helped?" You looked at him with vague amusem*nt, remembering the way he'd launched a piece of chalk across the room after incorrectly identifying the electrophile in one of the practice problems.

"No, no. Just food for thought." His face softened, and a small, indulgent smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Although, I am afraid that I'll have to insist we at least get something to eat after this attempt. You, of all people, should know that your neurons need proper fuel to work at optimum levels."

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Epilogue

The end has arrived for the A Mansion House Murder!

Big thanks to all the writers of this quarantine round-robin: @jomiddlemarch, who had the idea to begin with and wrote so many good chapters, @broadwaybaggins and @sagiow who dragged us all across the finish line, and @mercurygray and @tortoisesshells for their wonderful chapters and effusive comments and @the-spaztic-fantastic for the faithful beta-ing. I think this story probably set a record on AO3 for the comments to kudos ratio. 300 comments and 20 kudos?! We are a chatty bunch. And I love it.

“Thank you, Belinda. For so much. Not just today,” Emma said from the doorway. Belinda hadn’t invited her in and Emma didn’t want to assume. She’d already assumed too much about Belinda’s desires, or discounted them completely. “I’m going to see Mother and explain about Jimmy. And Frank.”

Belinda looked to Emma’s arm looped through Henry’s, to the pale circle of white around her ring finger where a wedding ring had been. “Would you like me to go with you?”

“No, Belinda. I won’t ask that of you. I just wanted to tell you all of that myself before you hear it gossiped about.”

“Well,” said Belinda, a smile turning one corner of her mouth. “I think I’d like to see her take the news.”

“Even if she asks you for laudanum?” Emma asked, matching her smile. It was a sad thing to tell her mother that her brother was arrested, her husband dead, her sister currently in hysterics that Percival was trying to soothe with one arm while signing away the family hotel to Mrs. Morris with the other. It was sad. But the lightness and laughter kept rising in her chest and she couldn’t stop smiling over the freedom she felt and the relief that she would be leaving soon.

“I can tell her where to find it if she does,” said Belinda, reaching to the peg by the door for a shawl.

***

“It’s a fair price,” Anne said, though she knew it was a bargain. She also knew how desperate they were to sell and she knew what being desperate felt like, so she didn’t push further. Emma, at least, deserved the money and Anne was eager to send it to her. Anne had more money than she could spend and Charlotte’s idea for a school was the first thing to excite her about the future since Frederick’s death. They could scrub the blood out of the walls, purge the secrets from each closet. The Greens had done it once before. Anne was determined she and Leah and the Diggs would do it even better. Bridget too, if she could persuade her.

Percival nodded and might have shaken her hand, but his arms were currently around his wife who was crying. Anne couldn’t tell if Alice was genuinely grief-stricken and whether it was for the loss of property or the loss of life, and she didn’t much care to find out. She’d had her fill of mysteries.

***

They went to Boston before Williamstown and Mary took her shopping. In Boston, it was easy to find ready-to-wear, though Mary took her to a favorite tailor and dressmaker and insisted on some pieces made to Emma’s own measurements. They moved slowly through town, at Mary’s normal pace and Emma’s preferred one for seeing a new city. It wasn’t so different from Alexandria, not really, not until people spoke to her or their eyebrows shot up at her accent. The kid gloves were to guard against the cold more than the sun, and she’d never had nor needed a sealskin toque or fur muff. But the Yankees weren’t the fearsome lot her mother had promised they would be, practically drowning out the vows she and Henry made to one another in the Green family drawing room with a subdued Dr. Hale doing the honors.

After a wool cape and fur-trimmed pelisse that Emma bought with Henry’s money (our money he had said, pressing it into her hands that morning as he kissed her forehead), Mary bought her a silk Paisley shawl with fringe, calling it a wedding present.

“If I was really spoiling you it would be Kashmir. These are going out of fashion now what with everyone’s desperation to show off their bustles. But I find them the best way to keep warm at home, at least when Jed’s not there.” Mary pulled the shawl around Emma and fiddled with the fringe. “I hope you’ll be happy here. I know Henry wishes it too. But I know what it is to lose a husband.”

Emma put her hands in Mary’s and smiled at her friend. “I am happy. Or, I will be. I’m not sure what I am now, but it’s better than I was.”

***

He married her in Virginia but, all he had offered since then was a chaste kiss or an arm for hers to loop through as they navigated trains and carriages. Their overnight at the Foster’s home was a late night of reminiscences by the fire, mulled wine, and the steady interruptions of Johnny and Daniel and then even Elias coming to complain about the loud ruckus downstairs. When Mary finally shooed both the boys and the adults to bed with a meaningful “They’re newlyweds after all, Jed,” Emma and Henry had both hesitated when he shut the door behind them.

“You’re weary from the travel; I’ll let you - “

“Henry,” Emma said, her hands already reaching for the buttons of his waistcoat. “Don’t make me wait any longer. Don’t you think we’ve waited long enough?”

Henry closed his eyes and reached for her cheek, remembering his first touch there years ago. When he had wiped away a tear and wished he could kiss her.

“Is it that you don’t want me this way? That I’m - “

“No, Emma not that.” He opened his eyes and stepped back so he could see her clearly, reaching for her hands and squeezing. “I want you very much. So much I hardly know how to start.”

“Then let me show you, Henry,” Emma said, pushing on him gently until they were at the bed and he sat down heavily, off balance and out of breath. She nudged his knees open with her own and stood between them, her hands on his shoulders and his at her waist, leaning in to kiss him behind the ear and to whisper “I am my beloved’s and he is mine.”

***

Henry and Emma continued west to Williamstown, waving from the carriage that took them from the Foster home and promising to return soon for a visit and to write even sooner. One week later the Foster boys welcomed their much desired puppy, and one year later, a rather less desired sister. Jed’s apprehension turned to delight when Mary reached for her daughter with eager arms, bringing her to her breast and leaning back into the pillows with a laugh. “There’s two of us now. Three if you count the dog. We’ll be evenly matched soon, Mr. Foster.”

Jed washed his hands in the basin and looked at the brightness in her cheeks and the sweat on her brow, walking to her to check for fever. He kissed her forehead and then the baby’s. “Oh, I’m very happily outmatched already.”

***

Frank didn’t haunt her. But sometimes her own inaction did. Her complicity.

The cold of Williamstown was nothing to the bone-chilling terror of life in Franklin County, the shiver of fear she felt as she heard horses whinny in the dark and hooves pound the dirt as Frank and his most loyal congregants rode off to wreak whatever hateful havoc they could.

In Williamstown, Henry knew how to stoke the fire just so, and soon afterwards the Rumford fireplace in the house was replaced by a coal furnace, the intricate ironwork and decorative finials as fancy as any etched crystal her mother had been proud to show.

She did not long for her life in Virginia and it took a while before Henry’s encouragement to write letters to her mother and sister and Belinda yielded missives sent south. She hardly wrote to Mary because they visited so often - heading east for Boston meetings of the American Woman Suffrage Association with Mary and her friend Josephine Bhaer and then later to meet baby Penelope Foster.

Emma taught Sunday School and led sewing circles and an auxiliary chapter of the AWSA. She waved to Henry’s students as they walked by their house and he brought her flowers that Alice might have called weeds but Emma would not.

When Henry’s hands were on her, she never thought of Frank. The way he loosened her corset and spread his hands over her stomach and chest, pulling her to him before it was dark and he could see her best, it was uniquely Henry. He had started hesitant and unsure, but she showed him with her sighs and fingers spread across his shoulders and legs wrapped around his middle that she wanted this too, so much.

In the end, all of her new fitted dresses and smartly tailored coats that Mary helped her buy were useless by her second winter as it became clear the Reverend and Mrs. Hopkins would welcome a baby with the spring.

***

The first students at The Lou Morris School knew there were ghosts, and they knew Ms. Leah Gordon took care of them. They knew there had been a war and they knew about loss. In their beds, under clean cotton sheets, they whispered about the cries they heard in the night, the thuds and thumps and rhythmic banging. Laughter too, though only when patrons Doctor and Mrs. Hale came on their weekly tours and Mrs. Diggs walked them to an upstairs room. The children decided the ghosts liked ornate bustles and lacy flounces like Mrs. Hale wore and drew elaborate flourishes on the pictures they drew of the spirits they imagined.

But after a few years, no one spoke of ghosts, even though Ms. Gordon still sang at night to calm them and Jack and Harriet had been there the whole time and remembered. The children knew people came in different colors; the grown-ups said black and white, but to them, they were all brown and beige, with a few pink, with freckles all over their faces, like Miss Brannan. They also knew people had different skills; some spoke with words, others with their hands, and some, not at all. Some could run and jump over the fence they weren’t supposed to jump over, earning a scowl from Old Mrs. Green who seemed to always walk by when they were at play in the yard. Some could walk with some help, and others had special chairs with wheels that needed to be pushed - slowly! the teachers always said, Mrs. Morris most of all, her eyes all seeing, her tone sharp but never mean.

When the cries in the night and the thumps and thuds sounded, it wasn’t with fear that the children strained to listen. They stilled in their beds to listen for Ms. Gordon’s voice floating down the halls.

Nobody knows the trouble I've seen

Nobody knows but Jesus

Nobody knows the trouble I've seen

Glory, Hallelujah

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Can’t Go Back Part 9

A/N: *sneaks ontoyour dash with this chapter and runs away quickly* I’m sorry for the delay. Addy’s mum’s birthday dinner will be in the next next chapter. I felt this one was long enough. Feedback is appreciated. Much love as always- Em

During our wind down time in the evening, I decided to bring up the idea of my friends coming over for dinner. He was done working on an assignment, reading over some sports book on the sectional. I was curled up on the other end of the couch, typing a for fun idea I had. “Can you pass the almonds, please?” I asked him. He passed the bowl over to me without looking up and I took a handful. After he put the bowl down, I asked him, “hey so, how would you feel about my friends coming for dinner on Saturday?” He laughed, assuming it was a joke. When I didn’t laugh, he looked up and looked at me funny.

“Oh. You were serious.”

“Yes.”

“Why would we have people who don’t like me over for dinner?”

“Because they’re my friends? Scott and Charlie come over for dinner. So does Justin.” I set my laptop aside on the coffee table.

“Addison, the difference between them and your friends is that they like me. And are supportive of our relationship.”

“Well this morning you talked to Clay and you weren’t horrible to him and he wasn’t horrible to you.”

“Being nice in a coffee shop in public is very different than having them over to our home in our private space. For all I know, it will be ‘why you’re terrible for our friend’ to me or ‘why did you make such an awful choice’ to you. I’m not going to sit here and let them do that to you. I really couldn’t give a sh*t what they say about me.” He had gotten up for a drink about halfway through his response.

“I wouldn’t let them do that to you. In fact, I was planning to tell them if they said anything like that, they would be asked to leave. Also, you need to stop moving around so much. The doctor said to rest.”

“That’s fair. But still. I don’t think it’s a good idea. I am not bedridden Addy. I can get myself a bottle of water.”

“I would do it for you.”

“Babe. My friends like you. Hell, I think Bryce likes you.”

“Happy joy. Bryce Walker likes me.” I muttered under my breath. “If you give them a chance, they might like you.”

“If I give them a chance? Addy, I don’t think I’m the half of this equation who needs to give someone a chance.”

“Okay, you’re right. I just don’t want them think this was some spur of the moment, ‘let’s go to Vegas’ thing. And I don’t want to have to choose between my friends and my husband. Because we all know that I would choose you.”

“I get it. You don’t want to lose your friends.”

“Exactly. I feel like maybe if they saw us together outside of school, they might realize that you aren’t as bad as they think you are. That they might see that I made the right choice.”

“I don’t know Addy. I don’t like it. We don’t like each other. I don’t see it going well.”

“I would do it for you.” I gave him my very best puppy dog eyes.

“That’s not fair. This isn’t you trying to get me to go to the store for ice cream. This is dinner with your friends who don’t like me.”

“Would you do it if I said we can play hooky to have sex when you get cleared?”

He was quiet for a while, contemplating my offer. “Would the sex start when we get home from the doctor?”

“Depending what time it was, yes.”

“If they say anything out of line can I kick them out immediately?”

“Maybe give them a warning first. If they say anything else, then you can.” He was quiet again. I watched him take a sip of water, crossing my fingers for a yes. After many minutes, he sighed and reluctantly agreed, “fine. They can come over. They better behave.”

“I’ll tell them to be on good behaviour.”

“Good.” Monty checked the clock on the wall and yawned. “It’s getting late baby. We should probably head to bed soon.” He placed his hand on my ankle and rubbed it up and down.

I nodded and grabbed my laptop to save my work. I got up and smirked playfully, rubbing his hair. “Addy.” he exclaimed as he laughed. I smiled prettily at him. “No touchy.” I shook my head in response and headed to our room for the night, where he joined me a few moments later.

The next morning, I left Monty at the car and went in search of my friends.

“Nice shirt.” Jess laughed when I approached them. I couldn’t tell if she was serious or being a bitch.

“I was tired this morning. Ripped jeans and Monty’s baseball shirt were in easy reach.”

“Late night?” Justin asked.

“I f*cking wish.” I muttered quietly. I cleared my throat before answering normally, “not really. Just one of those mornings where the bed is so much more comfortable than it was when I was going to bed. I think going to bed at three thirty the other day messed with my internal clock. Anyway, I talked to Monty last night. He agreed to have you guys over on Saturday. You need to behave because it’s our house. It is our private space. We can and will ask you to leave if you don’t keep it together. No questions about his family. Not negotiable.”

“And if we don’t behave?” Zach asked.

I tried to keep from rolling my eyes. “You will be asked to leave.”

“That’s it?”

“It depends on what you say or do.”

“That sounds fair.” He replied. The first warning bell rang, and my friends left Justin and I to talk for a bit and walk to class.

“So, what did you have to promise him to agree to that? Or rather, how much did you have to promise him?”

“Hooky once he is medically cleared. And I might need to take the next day off too.”

“Damn. Sounds like a fun time.”

“It’s only been like four days and I already have an itch. That clearance can’t come fast enough Justin.”

“I believe it. Why do you think I hardly ever go to your place?”

“We aren’t that bad.” I rolled my eyes at him.

** **

Friday night was usually reserved for football and a movie or possibly Monty going to Bryce’s for a party. One nice thing about people not knowing about us, was that I wasn’t subjected to the parties. I was concerned that I would have to go with him now that people know about us, but he chose to stay home tonight. I was silently thankful for that as he had a tendency to… overindulge and come home late sometimes after spending time with Bryce. It wasn’t a very frequent thing, but it had been the cause of some discussions and arguments both before and after we got married.

I decided to stay home from the game since Monty wouldn’t be playing and my lack of sleep recently had begun catching up with me. For dinner, I had decided to make stuffed shell pasta. Half of them had spinach and the other half only had cheese. We watched Oliver & Company while we ate and cuddled on the couch. When that movie ended, we watched this week’s episode of FBI before calling it a night. I’m so tired. Climbing into bed in one of Monty’s t-shirts and a clean pair of underwear, I snuggled up under the blankets. He got in bed beside me and I cuddled closer. It was just passed two o’clock.

I was almost asleep when I heard him speak up. “Addy?”

“Hmmm?” I mumbled.

“I’m uh… I’m kind of horny.”

“That’s nice dear.” I mumbled patting his chest gently.

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

I could tell he was expecting a legitimate answer now, so I sat up some. “That’s unfortunate for you then.”

“Come on babe. Please?” He asked, gesturing to his growing hard on. You have no idea how much I want to say yes. But sleep. Sleep is good. I decided to have a little fun with this before going to sleep. I’ll pay for this when he gets cleared, but I’m not going to complain.

“I mean… there are other things we could do….” I said, seductively.

He smirked, playing innocent. “Like what?” I have him exactly where I want him.

“Like going the f*ck to sleep.” I told him, promptly rolling over as I laid back down. He made the cutest, most disappointed sound I had ever heard, and I had to fight to hold back an ‘awe’.

On Saturday mornings we usually had Scott and Charlie over for coffee and breakfast. This morning, Charlie had a little too late of a night, so it was just Scott. I was up early-too early for how late we went to bed-to get a start on making breakfast. I had decided to make coffee Belgian waffles and buttermilk biscuits since it was just the three of us this morning. I would go back to making my more traditional breakfast meals next week. Or if Monty’s friends really do like me, possibly scale the meals up a little in the future. I didn’t bother to throw any pants on, since it was so early.

Monty and I had a rule about him sleeping in on Saturdays unless there was an imminent event happening that he had to be awake for. We did not deem groceries or awkward dinners with my friends, imminent issues. I swayed around the kitchen, humming to myself while I cooked. “If I knew this would be my view as often as it is on Saturdays, I would never have made the sleeping in rule a thing.”

I jumped slightly, not expecting Monty to be up yet. I had a spoon in my mouth, tasting the espresso and buttermilk mixture to see if the ratio was right. “Morning.” I greeted. “Needs a little more espresso.” I muttered to myself, using a teaspoon to sprinkle more in.

“Need any help?” he offered, making his way over to me. The crutches were easy for him to use at this point. He grabbed his favourite mug and poured a cup of coffee.

“Sure. Can you grab me the ricotta from the fridge? And put the mixing bowl and whisk in the freezer?” He nodded and went about the tasks.

“Anything else?”

“Do you want fruit? I’m also making biscuits.”

“Fruit sounds good. What do we have?”

“There are some berries in the fridge that have to be eaten. If you use apples-.”

“Wait until closer to breakfast, I know.” I laughed at him.

“Anything else you want to add, go ahead.” He nodded and got to work at the table, mixing the salad.

While the waffle batter hydrated, I went to get changed and get ready. I settled on a purple long sleeve dress and a pair of leggings so I wouldn’t have to change when we went to the store. I curled my hair and pulled it into a ponytail and did some quick makeup, so I looked a little more presentable. By the time I was ready, Monty had started mixing the biscuits together at the table. I watched him for a few minutes, as he poured the buttermilk in the bowl and used the back of a wooden spoon to mix it together into a shaggy mass. “There’s something very attractive about a man who can cook.”

He chuckled, rolling the dough out. “Come help me cut them out? Round or square?”

“You choose.” I watched as he decided what to do. First, he grabbed the circle cutter and used the back side of it to see how much dough he would have to reshape after. Then he used the back of a knife to measure how many squares he could get out of the dough. He nodded to himself, focusing on his task.

“Square. Re-rolled biscuits are gross.” I walked over to the island and grabbed the spatula and a cookie sheet. After transferring them to the sheet, I set them in the oven he had preheated.

Ten minutes later, Scott knocked on the door. I answered it and Monty manned the waffle iron. “Hey Scott.” I greeted as he pulled me into a hug.

“Hey Addy. How are you?”

“I’m good, you? I heard you guys had a pretty late night last night.”

“Well you know how it is.” He replied, brushing it off as though it was no big deal.

“I know. Biscuits are about to come out of the oven and waffles are on.”

We walked into the kitchen, where Monty was cutting up an apple into chunks. “Hey Scott.” He greeted his friend, not looking up.

“Hey Monty.” He could immediately tell there was something off about him. “What’s up with him?”

“He’s cranky that we can’t have sex.” I half muttered back.

“I can hear you guys, you know.”

“I know. But I’m not wrong.”

“I’m not cranky.” He replied, petulantly.

“Mhmm. Sure thing sweetie.” I poured more batter in the waffle iron as the timer went off on the oven before setting to work on espresso whipped cream.

“I’ll get it.” Scott offered.

“Great.”

“Is the fruit supposed to make us feel better about the carbs?”

“Yes. Carbs are more to make you feel better about drinking last night.”

“How do you know I was drinking, hmmm Addison?” I gave him a come on look and he conceded. “Fine. Maybe I had a couple of beers.”

Our conversation flowed easily over breakfast. “Her friends are really coming over for dinner tonight? Here?”

“Yes.” I responded before Monty could.

“And this is something you agreed to?”

“Reluctantly, yes. I reserve the right to tell them to get the hell out of my house though.” Monty replied, motioning to the door.

“Whose bright idea was this exactly?”

“Justin’s. He thinks it would be ‘beneficial’ for her friends to get to know me outside of school.”

“Ohhh. Okay. Are we placing bets on how awfully this will go?”

“No.” I said, firmly.

“Addy, no offence but this is going to be a disaster.” Scott told me.

“Maybe. But if it is, do I really need to consider them my friends?”

“No, you don’t. I just don’t understand why you want to have them over for dinner.”

“Because I like to cook and if we did coffee, they wouldn’t stay long enough to listen.” Scott ruminated on that for a while and shrugged.

“These waffles are amazing by the way. What’s in them?”

“Coffee.”

“Because just coffee isn’t enough caffeine for you?”

“Not really, no.”

“What are you going to do when you get pregnant and can’t have caffeine?” My eyes widened and Monty choked on his food. We exchanged a panicked look with each other. “Oh sh*t. You’re not… are you?” Scott asked, thinking our exchange was something that it wasn’t.

“No!” I replied quickly. “No tiny humans. Not that we wouldn’t have them, but not for a long time.”

“Okay good. I would have needed to go talk to Zach about how to remove my foot from my mouth then.” Monty laughed at Scott’s comment and I couldn’t help but laugh a little along with him.

“Can I keep a tally of how many times he puts his foot in his mouth tonight? Please?”

“Yes. But only so you can tell Scott about it.”

“Can I get out of grocery shopping this week?” Monty asked.

“Why?”

“Because I’m injured. I’m supposed to rest Addy.”

“You just want to stay home and watch the game before my friends get here. But I suppose since you’re supposed to sit with it elevated, you can stay home. I’ll need help when I get home though.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t make a mess.” Mhmm.

Scott left shortly after breakfast and I got my things together to go to the store. “List, keys, wallet, dad’s cash for tomorrow’s dinner, phone, re-useable bags. What am I forgetting?” I mumbled to myself.

“Shoes?”

“No, I have sh-. That’s it. Shoes. Thanks love.” I threw on a pair of black Converse and kissed Monty goodbye. “I’ll be back in a while. Call if you need anything.”

“I will. I love you.”

“I love you too.” With that, I ran out the door on my way to Kroger.

The store wasn’t super busy for just after noon on a Saturday. I texted Justin while I checked my list. Hey, I was thinking chicken stuffed peppers tonight? I’m at the store now. “On to the list.” I muttered quietly. I made my way around to the deli and bakery section of the store to grab bread and prosciutto for the wellington tomorrow night. Justin’s ringtone interrupted my audiobook. I answered the FaceTime quickly. Thank God I’m wearing headphones. “Hey Justin. What’s up?”

“You know, the usual. How’s the store?” He was sitting on the counter in their room.

“It’s okay.”

“I asked Clay and he said stuffed peppers is fine.” He replied, popping a piece of popcorn in his mouth.

“Okay. I’ll grab some ground chicken while I’m here.” I grabbed some milk and puff pastry from the frozen section, because we didn’t have enough of the batch I made.

“Clay also asked if we should bring anything? I told him no.”

“No, but you can tell everyone to leave their attitudes at home.” He laughed.

“Don’t worry Addy. I did. Clay knows he doesn’t want to be in the doghouse with you.”

“What about Zach? What’s gotten into him by the way?”

“Well Zach might be a little harder to control. I think he’s upset he missed that you guys were together. I don’t know. He’s my friend but sometimes he’s hard to read.” I nodded, before directing my attention to the butcher counter.

“Excuse me?” I asked.

“Hello, how may I help you Miss?”

“I was wondering if I could get a one-kilogram beef fillet please?”

“Sure thing Miss.” I watched as he went through the case to find the right size one and get it prepared for me.

“Thank you.” I said as I took it. He nodded in acknowledgement.

“Mom wanted beef wellington for dinner tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Dad gave me the money for it.”

As I made my way through the aisles while we talked, I grabbed the few things we needed for day to day eating until I got to the produce. There, I grabbed cremini mushrooms and some other vegetables. “These peppers look okay?” I asked Justin, holding up a bag of assorted peppers.

“Yeah. That looks fine.” I was about to head to the till when I got another call.

“Hang on, Monty is calling me.” I placed my call on hold and answered my husband. “Hey honey. Everything okay?”

“It’s good here. You’re still at the store?”

“Yeah, why? Did we need something?”

“Can you grab me some more fruit snacks please?”

“Or and hear me out for a minute. I could get you some real fruit.”

I could practically hear the face he made. “No thanks. I was hungry but didn’t know what to have, so I finished the last pack.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you your precious sugar shapes.” I laughed and we hung up. “Sorry. We had a fruit snack emergency.”

“He ran out again?”

“Yup. I’m going to run and grab some before heading home. See you tonight. Love you.”

“See you with friends in tow. Love you too Addy.”

Thankfully, checkout was quick, and I was able to get home by one. Monty helped me carry the light bags in the house and I put the groceries away. From the corner of my eye, I saw him going to grab another bag of fruit snacks. “No. Put it back. We have real food, you know.” I heard him sigh and skulk over to the fridge, which he opened for two seconds before closing again.

“I see no real food here. And fruit snacks are real food.”

“I mean food that isn’t just sugar with the word fruit written on it, so people think they are being healthy. And yes, we do. I know because I was just at the store.”

“I don’t want that food.”

“Have a bowl of cereal then.” I heard him grab the container and turned around from getting the beef tenderloin wrapped, to watch him stick his hand in it and eat straight from the bin. “Monty.”

He gulped his bite down. “Addy.”

“Did all of our bowls go missing while I was out?”

“No. I just don’t feel like dirtying a dish.”

“But that is shared food.”

“It’s not like we haven’t shared anything worse.” He retorted, that sexy little smirk spreading across his features.

“That’s different. Also, don’t start you.” I pointed at him.

“You love me.”

“I know. Can you set the table please? And stop eating out of the box.”

“Why? It’s only like one thirty.”

“Because this way we don’t have to do it later.” I shrugged.

He sighed again and set to work. “The good tablecloth and dishes?”

“No, just the regular ones are fine. We will use the good stuff tomorrow for an actually special occasion.”

My friends arrived around four thirty. I was putting the peppers in the oven, so Monty answered the door. I held my breath waiting for someone to say something. Nothing was said. Not a word. He merely led them into the kitchen and looked to me, expectantly. I gave him my best say something look. Justin cleared his throat awkwardly. My friends, Monty, and I all just stared at each other as though we were waiting to see who would crack and speak first.

“I know you said not to bring anything, but Mom made me bring something because it’s polite or something like that. So, she sent me with a loaf of fresh bread.” Alex offered, awkwardly handing the loaf to Monty. He doesn’t bite. Or at least, he doesn’t bite people who aren’t me.

“Um, thanks Alex. That’s….” He looked at me, begging for help. I nodded at him encouragingly. “nice of you.” His smile was very obviously forced.

“Thank you, Alex. Tell Carolyn we appreciate it.”

“I will. It’s still weird you call her by her first name even when she isn’t around.” He laughed. I joined him and it seemed to break the tension.

“Need any help Addy?” Justin asked, not noticing Monty shaking his head frantically at him. Zach, who still hadn’t said anything, looked at him strangely. I don’t know if the fact that he hasn’t said anything is good or bad.

“No. In fact, out of the kitchen. You know the rules.”

“I know, I know. Just thought I would offer.” I didn’t miss the look he and Monty shared.

“Rules?” Clay asked.

“Yes. Cooking for people is generally my thing. If I need help, I’ll ask for it. If one of you had offered, I would have been more polite, but since Justin spends about as much time here as he does at home, he knows better.”

“Scott already helped this morning. I’m surprised she didn’t have an aneurysm or something.” Monty added.

“We were both busy and all he did was take stuff out of the oven. I have everything under control. Go play nice boys.”

I heard Zach mutter to Clay and Alex as Monty and Justin led them back to the living room, “notice Monty isn’t doing anything to help her.” The boys nodded.

I looked to see if Monty heard him. He didn’t appear to as he sat and elevated his leg. Good. No fights before dinner. Yet anyway. I cleared my throat, catching their attention. “Two things. One, he helped me all morning and is under doctor’s orders to rest. And two, keep your comments in check. I wasn’t kidding about you being asked to leave if you can’t be nice.”

“Sorry.” Zach muttered. Clay and Alex nodded and at least looked a little guilty.

I went about my business in the kitchen while the boys spent time in the living room. Jessica had a family thing tonight, or at least, she said she did, so she wasn’t joining us. Glancing over at the group of men in my living room, I noted the clear division between them. Monty and Justin were seated in the accent chairs, while Clay, Alex, and Zach were seated on the sectional. Their conversation seemed stilted, though that was unsurprising. They don’t really have a lot in common. And also, don’t really like each other all that much. At some point, Zach, Monty, and Justin must have started talking about football because Clay and Alex came wandering back into the kitchen. I chopped some romaine for salad as they pulled up the bar stools at the island.

“Drove you away already?” I asked, smirking.

“They’re talking sports.” Clay said.

“Ah yes. At least it’s a safe topic I guess.”

“That’s true. How’s he doing, by the way? I don’t know if it would be weird for me to ask him, since you know. We don’t like each other.” Alex asked.

“He’s doing okay. I think it’s starting to get to him a bit, especially since he has to go to practice and games, but the pain and swelling have decreased. I don’t think it would be weird. Awkward maybe.”

“Should I even bother asking you to explain what actually happened?”

“Something about falling and bending and extending. I’m not really sure to be honest. I spent most of that night and the next day in varying degrees of shock.”

“That really sucks. I’m sorry Addy.” Clay smiled, sadly.

“It’s okay Clay. It could have been a lot worse, so he got pretty lucky.” Raising my voice slightly, I asked the whole group. “Does anyone want anything to drink?”

I was met with a chorus of water, no thanks, and whatever is in the fridge from my friends. “Well Justin, there are multiple things in the fridge, so what would you like?”

“I don’t know. Is there any of that passionfruit something something juice left?”

I opened the fridge to check, even though I knew there was. Neither Monty nor I liked it very much. “Yes. Since you’re the only one who drinks it, do you want to take it home?” While he thought about it, I went about getting drinks together.

“Nah. You guys can keep it here.” He responded after a couple of minutes. I rolled my eyes.

Back in the kitchen, I muttered to Clay, “I’ll send it home with you.” He nodded. I took the peppers out of the oven and let them rest on the stove for a couple of minutes. “Hey Zach, can I borrow you for a minute?”

“Sure, why?” He replied, getting up and walking over to me.

“While I’m thinking about it and have you here, can you grab the food processor from the cupboard up there?” I asked, pointing to the corner cabinet. He nodded and placed it on the counter for me. “Thanks. I need it tomorrow morning and I don’t feel like waking Monty up because I fell off the counter.”

“Again.” I heard him say as he came up behind me and placed a soft kiss on my head. We could both feel my friend’s eyes on us.

“I did not fall off the counter.” I complained.

“You would have if I hadn’t caught you.”

“Well if you didn’t put everything up on the shelves I can’t reach, we wouldn’t have this problem.” I argued playfully.

“But then I wouldn’t get to enjoy watching you struggle.” He teased.

“Enjoy watching her struggle…?” Clay asked, quietly. Monty turned to my friends.

“She makes these little grunts and her face does this frowning, determined, narrowing thing. It’s funny.” My friends shared looks with each other. Justin laughed at them. They have no idea what to make of this. Monty is actually a normal human being? I slipped my hand under his elbow and noticed he wasn’t using his crutches.

“Babe.”

“What?”

“Your crutches are… where exactly?”

“Over there.” he replied, pointing to the living room, where they were propped up against the back of the chair.

“And they aren’t here, with you because?”

“I’m not in pain or anything Addy. It’s fine.” I gave him my best wife isn’t impressed look.

“Mhmm. Just don’t complain to me when you’re in pain later.” I patted his arm and kissed his cheek, once again leaning against the counter and his arm.

“They do this. Everything is fine.” Justin told our now highly perplexed friends.

“Are you in sh*t?” Clay asked Monty, skeptically. He chuckled.

“Nah. She says I can’t complain about it, but as soon as you guys leave, she will be ushering me to the couch and pestering me with pillows and ice.”

Clay nodded as though he understood, but he was obviously still confused. This might be a little too much humanization a little too quickly. I transferred the peppers onto a serving plate and set them on the table. “Dinner is ready.” I offered, cheerily. The awkward tension that had returned during our exchange was beginning to get to me. The boys all smiled at the mention of food. “Sit anywhere except there and there.” I told them, pointing out Justin and Monty’s usual seats. I knew the seat next to Monty would be left empty for me.

Zach had stayed fairly quiet before we sat down. Unfortunately, it wasn’t long before he started back on his new talking without thinking thing.

“Seems a little soon to be needing a two-bedroom house, don’t you think Addy?” I looked up from my salad at him, my eyes darting back and forth trying to make sense of him seemingly random comment.

“Um, no?” I asked. It was my turn to be confused.

“So there won’t be any… additions… to your little family any time soon?”

Once again today, I turned to Monty in shock. He was staring at Zach with wide eyes. “Uh. No. No tiny humans. Not for a very long time.” I turned my attention to Justin, “do I look pregnant or something?”“No. You look perfectly normal.”

“Thank you.” I looked at Zach again. He seemed to be itching to ask a follow up question. “Yes, Zach? Go ahead.” I clutched Monty’s hand under the table.

“I’m just going to assume I’m not the only one wondering how you guys afford to live here. I mean, you’re seniors in high school.”

I sighed, knowing this question would be coming sooner or later. “It’s my parent’s rental house. This was their wedding gift to us.”

“Okay?” He asked, gesturing for me to continue.

“They felt like since we will be going off to college next year, they would rather have us focus on school instead of how we were going to pay rent and stuff. That we should worry about that when we have to, and not when we live in town.”

“And they didn’t think living with the in-laws was a very good idea as newlyweds.” Monty added.

“So, as a gift to us, they let us live here rent and utilities free. Obviously, our personal expenses are our own to deal with, but as far as living expenses go, they are covered until we move to wherever we end up going next year.”

“Interesting.” Zach muttered.

“It’s not like they kicked their old tenants out. Their lease was up a few weeks before we got married and they were moving away. They just decided not to relist it.” Monty explained.

“Plus, both houses are paid for and it’s not like they need the money.”

Justin laughed. “You’re not wrong.”

“I know. Gran has started checking in now that I’m married. Wants to know if she needs to update the will.”

“Why?” Clay asked, seeming genuinely interested.

“Seems Zach isn’t the only one wondering if there will be any kids soon. She wants to know if she has to split my alleged trust fund.”

“She still ranting about how you guys didn’t ask her to come?”

Monty shot him a look. “Justin. It’s her grandmother. She’s old and rich. What do you think?”

“I don’t know, maybe she forgot?” he replied, shrugging.

“She’s cranky, not senile. How well do you think it would have gone if she was here?” I questioned.

He contemplated his answer for a moment. The colour and smile slowly slipped from his face. “No. That would have been bad.”

“Exactly.”

“Why would it have been bad?” Zach asked, but I assumed he could guess why. The guy drives a sixty-thousand-dollar car for Christ’s sake.

“Because he isn’t an obscenely rich white dude who wears suits to school every day. She would have probably stopped the whole thing and brought in some son of an Earl or something.”

“Kind of figured. Son of an Earl you say? Which one?”

“I don’t know. Maybe Sandwich? If not an Earl, some other rich British guy who would be boring as hell.”

“Are you saying I’m not boring?” Monty gasped.

“Well… you’re kind of broken right now so if I was your wife I would say yes.” Alex replied, quietly. I turned to Monty, trying to gauge his reaction. He looked… amused. And then he burst out laughing. Clay turned to me, with his brows raised high.

“I would argue it makes me more exciting.”

“How?”

“I get to come up with all new ways to annoy her.”

“Like what?”

“Making me pick up more fruit snacks at the store because he couldn’t eat the food we had here for some reason.” I interjected, smirking slightly.

“That isn’t food.” Clay said.

“See! I told you.”

“Yes honey.” Monty muttered, patting me on the head. I turned and pouted at him. He raised his brow challengingly and I could feel my pupils begin to dilate slightly. Justin cleared his throat quietly and when I turned back to the table, thankfully it didn’t seem as though anyone else noticed our exchange. How am I going to make it until he gets cleared for sex when he looks at me like that? Why was I so worried about him? I’m the one who is struggling.

“Oh and Zach?” I asked.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t act like you didn’t have the silver spoon shoved in your mouth as soon as you were born.”

“What’s that supposed to mean Addy?”

“It means you don’t get to comment on the fact that my parents let us live here for free. Your first car was a freaking brand new Audi.”

He shrugged, almost admitting I was right. There was a somewhat awkward silence while we ate, which I wasn’t sure was good or bad. On the one hand, no talking while eating mean’s the food is good. On the other hand, it’s dinner with my friends and my husband. Alex broke the silence, asking, “how did her parents react to her bringing you home? No offence but you’re… you. And she’s… her. Or more specifically, Mr. Hawthorne is him.”

“Better than I expected and definitely better than Addison expected. She sat in the car for close to fifteen minutes, just staring at the house.”

“He wasn’t a total dick to you?” Alex’s brow raised.

“Not really. Asked me a couple of questions and that was it. It struck me as kind of odd, but I wasn’t going to say anything. I thought he would be more interested since I was dating his daughter and like you said, I’m probably not what he expected.”

“You mean, you didn’t say anything yet.” Justin added, pointing his empty fork.

“Right. But that isn’t a talk for today. That will require more time and possibly popcorn.”

“Popcorn? Couldn’t have been that exciting.” Zach said.

“It was. Also, can it Dempsey. I didn’t suggest this so you could be an ass all night.” Justin told him. “I’ve had far more experience with her dad than any of you. He knows what he’s talking about.”

“Okay, sorry.” Zach raised his hands in surrender.

With that sorted for now, the rest of dinner was mostly quiet. It was still awkward and there was some stilted small talk, but I think I had begun the process of humanizing Monty to my people. Hopefully in the future, they could all become something akin to friends. Or maybe polite acquaintances. “Do you want us to stay and help clean up?” Clay asked, after a not so discreet elbow in the ribs from Justin.

“No, it’s okay. Thank you for the offer though.” I told him as we ushered my friends to the door. Monty stood behind me with his hand on the door, ready to close it the second they left.

“Dinner was good by the way.” Zach told me.

“Thank you, Zach.” I nodded. Everyone needs to leave. Get out. I want to be alone with my husband. I smiled politely and Justin seemed to realize what I was doing.

“This was fun. See you Monday guys. Tell Margot I said happy birthday tomorrow Addy.” He gave me a quick hug.

“It was and I will.” They left moments later and Monty closed the door firmly.

“Fun? He called that fun?”

“I guess so. I mean, it went better than I expected.” I shrugged, walking back to the kitchen to put the dishes in the dishwasher.

“I expected to kick them all out before we sat down. I would most definitely not call it fun though.”

“Go sit. I’ll have a bag of ice for you in a minute.” I ordered, pointing

towards the couch. He sighed and I heard him limp over and sit.

After the dishes were loaded and leftovers were put in the fridge, I went to

change into some fuzzy pj pants so I could be comfortable while I started

getting the beef ready for tomorrow. I grabbed the fillet out of the fridge and

got the plastic wrap out to wrap it tightly. Dinner prep was done for the

night moments later and I was able to go sit with Monty on the couch for a

while.

26 notes · View notes

Remoras Full Chapter XXVI: Coleslaw is Good, Actually

My eyes feel like sh*t.

...My head also feels like sh*t. How much sleep did I get? Two hours? Three, if I’m lucky. In a few minutes, I’ll get a call. It seems to happen every time I’m home, without fail. I might only get a couple hours. Three, at most. Then, bzzt! There it goes.

I turned to my left side, where my husband was fast asleep. No phone call. No pager duty. Thank goodness.

Maybe it’s just one of those lucky days where I can actually get some sleep, I thought. Still, it wasn’t very likely to happen. I checked my phone. It was almost 8 AM. My husband, Cole, tended to sleep in. We both worked long hours at our respective jobs; mine, a doctor. Him, an electrician. I didn’t understand a bit of what went into that, but he never really discussed his job with me.

It must have been lonely, though. Going into people’s homes, fixing up lines. Something like that. Meanwhile, I had plenty of people to interact with. Had to put on smiles for them all. Many of them were dying of one disease or another, or getting surgery. It was kind of a gloomy position, but I was far from alone. In a way, our jobs might have been the same. We both kind of helped people. Without electricity, certain things wouldn’t work, like lights. Without doctors, some people couldn’t get better and their health would take a toll. But even then, I couldn’t save everyone.

That kind of line of thinking is terrible, though. For every life that we can’t save, there are at least a few that are. Even if the ratio was reversed, the lives that are saved make a huge difference. Seeing their smiling faces, going back home, or on the road to recovery, it was the whole reason why I do what I do...but then, the bloody messes, the ailments that get worse until their lives are lost. The ones who don’t recover, the grief and images stay with you and can’t be scrubbed out. Yet I’m required to smile and try to cheer everyone up regardless.

“When was the last time I smiled for you?” I leaned over, my face hovered over his, and mumbled. He didn’t answer. Of course not. The man was a heavy sleeper. What a blessing that I didn’t have to worry about whether or not he was getting enough sleep. What a curse that the few precious moments I have to see him, he’s often already asleep.

I poked his tit. Yes, that was the medical term for it. Or maybe it wasn’t. My brain went to weird places when I didn’t get much sleep.

“Hey hun. We should do something if we ever get a day off together. Maybe a nice dinner. Or we could go see the northern lights together. Wouldn’t that be romantic? We could stay at home, curl up with some popcorn, marathon Danny DeVito movies.”

He smiled, then stirred awake.

“All of that sounds good,” he muttered, his voice a very sour groggy sound. Like he just got done eating a bag of gravel. It was sexy in a way, though. I did hope that he was drinking enough water. Even in a cold place like this, it was important to stay hydrated.

His face was plain. His arms were beefy. Hairy, even. He had no shirt on, but a pair of jeans. His titt*es just poked out without a care in the world. Yes, as a doctor, I was qualified to say all that.

Why did I fall in love with him again? I forgot. That wasn’t such a bad thought. It was just how all of my energy was spent at work, caring for people I didn’t know, that my memory of him has long since slipped.

I recalled a time when I first informed Ray that I was now married.

“Who’s the lucky person?” He asked me.

“His name is Cole Slaw,” I told him.

“How did he propose?” Ray then asked. That I had to think over.

“He was like ‘will you marry me?’ And I shrugged and said, ‘sure’.”

“That’s it?! You do like him, right?!” That left him flabbergasted. I wasn’t sure why. Thinking about it, flabbergasted itself was a funny word.

“Yeah, probably,” I also shrugged.

Still, I knew I liked Cole for something. I just couldn’t remember what.

I could have written it down somewhere, just in case, I thought, but I also thought better of it. For me, it was enough to know that I did, regardless of circ*mstances.

Now, he sat at the edge of the bed. Time must have passed while I was lost in those thoughts. I was laying down.

“Let’s just stay in bed. I don’t have work today,” I poked Cole’s bare back. His well defined shoulder blades, to be more precise.

He turned to me, while slipping on a shirt. What a bummer. Still, his smile made it just a little more worth it.

“Sure, why not? Neither do I.”

Then my phone rang.

I checked it, but it was from a number I didn’t recognize.

It must not be work, then. It’s also not Ray. Maybe it’s better if I don’t answer that.

“Aren’t you going to answer that, hun?” He asked with a yawn while he rubbed his eyes.

Careful. If you didn’t wash your hands, you could get bacteria in your eyes. If you rub too hard, your eyes can get all irritated, were things I thought to say, but didn’t. Instead, I looked over.

“It’s not the hospital. I’d rather spend time with you,” despite my pleas, I sounded disinterested. My voice always seemed to betray me. The tired, low energy that I exerted. To combat it, I flitted my eyelashes.

The phone continued to ring. Its vibrations shook the bed. I continued to ignore it and stared at him.

“You should really answer that,” he pointed.

I sighed. Yes, any responsible doctor would, I imagine.

I picked up the phone and held it against my ear. As I did, I was greeted by the distraught voice of a young woman, her pitch on the higher end of the vocal spectrum, but still a bit of a roughness thrown in.

“Hello?” She asked.

“Hi,” my groggy, tired voice replied. Rather similar inflection that Cole had, as well, but I felt like if I had just a little more energy, I could have given a better tonal greeting.

“You’re a doctor, right?” She sounded unsure, as if she might have had the wrong number.

“Mm. That’s what they call me.” Except Ray, damn him. He still referred to me by name, as if he had little regard for all the hard work and accomplishments I made.

Actually, I think that’s just because we’re friends. He’s even gotten better at calling me Dr. Cole-Slaw. I guess I should cut him some slack.

“Good. Look. I’ve got someone who could really use a doctor. She hasn’t been feeling well in a few days and I’ve been doing my best, but she hasn’t been getting any better. I feel like sh*t, because I know I don’t know sh*t about medical sh*t, but I hate to see her like this. Could you please come over?” Her voice was frantic. Rushed, even. On one hand, she said please, but on the other hand, did she have to say “sh*t” that many times.

I sighed. Or yawned. Shook my head, as well. Just my luck, wasn’t it?

“Are you at the hospital right now?” I asked. Now I was the one who sat up, against the edge of the bed as well. It must have been instinct that I was already ready to go.

“No, but that shouldn’t matter, right?! She’s sick and you’re a doctor!” Worry now. Just about yelled into her phone. Not a good look. It was a pity, then, that I had to be the bearer of bad news.

“I don’t do home visits. I’m sorry. If you can make it to the hospital, I can treat this person there, otherwise –”

“Ray told me you were dependable!” She cut me off. How rude. Not the cutting off part, I could imagine how stressed she was. But that Ray would tell this person such a poisonous thought. Oh well, if anything, that just made things more interesting. In fact, a smile crept along my face.

“Ray and I have a special relationship,” I explained, then held the phone away and covered the speakers with my hand and turned to Cole. “Hope you don’t mind me saying that, hun.”

“Not at all!” He also smiled and waved his hand away.

I then put the phone back against my ear.

“You know Ray, huh?” I egged her on.

“Yes,” she replied. “I’m at his diner right now! So you should know where to go! Just come over!” She sounded on the verge of tears.

I shrugged my shoulders and had to stifle back a laugh. Loathe as I was to admit, but I felt like a sad*st. Like I was the one holding all of the cards in this situation.

“I’m sorry, but even if I were to come over, I wouldn’t be able to treat this person without their consent. Doctors require the consent of the patient to treat them.”

“Ah, I understand,” her voice darkened. Almost drained of emotion, like how mine was. It was a little unnerving. Next, came the unexpected: she yelled.

“Hey Remora! Will you let this doctor take care of you?!”

“NO! NO DOCTORS!” In the background, a hoarse and wheezing voice yelled right back. It wasn’t all that loud, but it sounded like she used up a lot of energy just to muster it.

So that’s the sick one in question, huh? Could be laryngitis.

“Sorry, but she said no, so it’s out of my control,” I shook my head.

I then heard the phone be thrown onto the floor with a thud. No cracking sound. She must have had a durable phone, at the very least. Then came another slam, this time, it was her fist against the wall. Something I shouldn’t have been able to hear.

It probably got put on speaker by accident. I should probably hang up, but I feel it would be rude to do so without saying goodbye, even if I feel like this isn’t getting anywhere.

“Why...why is it always like this? I try to help, but I can’t help anyone. I’m so useless. I can’t cook, I stumble with my words, and I barely understand myself, let alone others. I want to help, but there’s nothing I can do!” She ranted on.

“By the way,” I pointed out. “You’re on speaker.”

No response. Maybe it really was useless. It wasn’t a total lie to say that I needed permission. As disappointed as she would probably be, I didn’t see any other way around it.

“Sorry, but I’m going to have to go now –”

“Just. Wait. Stay on the line,” she seethed. She was still a few feet away from her phone but I heard it well enough.

Her footsteps then. She must have been in the same room as the would-be patient.

“Why don’t you want to see a doctor?” She asked. As quiet and calm as her voice was, I doubt it really was. If I had to guess, she was just determined.

“I hate them. They scare me,” replied the weary voice.

I wonder if I should take offense. I don’t. I’ve heard such things before. People being afraid of dentists. Surgeons. Needles. Scalpels. Can’t say I blame her.

“Why do they scare you? You’re the toughest person I know. If anything, you should scare them.”

...The f*ck? I thought. What does being tough have to do with seeing a doctor? The nerve.

Still, props for one thing: whether fake or not (I couldn’t gauge one way or the other), her voice turned gentle, patient, even. There was still a roughness there, but her attempt at being calm was commendable.

“It’s because they give false hope. They say they can cure you if you just give them money, and then they don’t. Worst yet is that I’ve believed them. It’s fine if it helps others, but I want nothing to do with them.”

For someone with such a weak voice, all of that came out clear. Maybe I just had really clean ears. I think that was a good quality to have. Everyone should keep their ears clean.

“Is this related to your other condition?”

“Yes. It’s unbearable sometimes, and I’ve been desperate in the past to get rid of it. I know it’s not normal and most people don’t experience things that way, but despite everything, it persists.”

Huh. Interesting. Don’t know what kind of doctors told her such things, but that didn’t sound right.

“Well, I can’t promise that this doctor can help with that, either. But you’ve got another condition right now that could be treatable. And if she comes and promises you something she can’t keep, then I’ll beat her up for you. You can count on that.”

Who the hell does she think she is? Beating up a doctor?

There was a few seconds of pause. Time which could have been spent laying back down, if I had such a luxury.

“Okay. I’ll do it,” came the reply of the hoarse voice at last.

Footsteps again. Phone picked up. Muffled sounds of static, then:

“She consents,” returned the roughness.

“So I heard,” my smile remained. It was less mean-spirited now. More genuine. “Good job. You must really care about her.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you two friends?” I asked, ever so curious.

“No.”

“Lovers?”

“Nothing like that.”

Huh. It seemed like they were close in some way.

“Siblings or relatives?”

“Not at all.”

“Then what is your relation?”

“I don’t know. I just really care about her. That’s all.”

Such a simple reply. I suppose it was better than nothing. Things didn’t always need to be so well defined, anyway, did they?

“So? Will you come over?” She pressed the issue. Right. It seemed like everything was in the clear. Almost.

“I don’t know…” My voice trailed. That famous “unsure” phrase when you really wanted to say no, but weren’t confident about doing so. In my case, I felt a little playful about it, though. It probably didn’t come out playful. Probably came out more morose, if anything.

“Oh, come on, hun. Quit teasing them!” Cole scolded.

I covered the phone.

“But I wanted to spend time with you,” I whined. Again, probably didn’t sound like a whine. Probably sounded like I was bored.

By all accounts, everything was in the clear. Well, almost…

“Look,” I gave my reply at last. “I don’t work for free.”

“I get it. I’m willing to pay whatever it takes. Name your price.”

How bold. Just how rich was she?

“I don’t need your money,” I answered her.

“Then what? Like I said, I’m willing to do anything.”

Ray’s influence must have rubbed off on me. Maybe just a little. For I knew just what I wanted.

“A favor. I am doing you a favor by going there. So you will owe me a favor in return.”

“What’s the favor?” She asked, a noticeable gulp emitted from her.

“I will tell you when the time is right,” I gave my cryptic answer. In truth, I had no idea what I would ask of her, at all, but it felt exciting to know that somebody owed me something in the future.

I buttoned up my blouse. There was a spare pair of scrubs and a mask in the Hospital Mobile (my truck which holds many medical supplies and equipment).

“Sorry, hun, but I’m leaving you,” I joked to Cole in my (unfortunate) tired monotone. He didn’t give an answer. Not so much as a chuckle. “I’m going to be seeing someone else.”

Again, no answer. I looked behind me. He was once again fast asleep.

“I’ll be back later tonight,” I whispered to him as I got up. Hopefully that was a promise I could keep.

On the way there, I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all too familiar. That I’ve done such a thing before. That’s when I remembered that almost a couple years ago, I went over there to check up on some kid. Apparently this woman found her and got all panicky. Ray called me up, filled in the details, and I accepted. All because I owed him a favor. Now I’d be going to that place again, all because someone was going to owe me a favor.

And thus the cycle repeats.

What was that favor, though?

I thought hard about it. My memory was often too fuzzy to remember precious moments outside of work. It was a shame, but what could I do?

Then it hit me: the favor was work related. Of course it was.

It was a horrible experience. Blood bags had gone missing. The staff were having trouble doing transfusions and some of the patients had reported strange shadows in the middle of the night. Rumors started circulating about there being vampires. I didn’t buy into such things, but that didn’t matter when the serious reality was that medical supplies were being stolen.

Ray was an old friend of mine. Acquaintance, more like. We met...I don’t remember where or how. Maybe we both went to the same school at one point. Couldn’t tell which, though, if any. Maybe we just met at a bar. That wasn’t likely, but it was just as likely as the school thing, considering my poor memory. Whatever it was, he had told me a few years back about his side job as someone who investigates rumors. It was a stretch, but I was desperate.

Similar to that girl on the phone, I too was willing to pay whatever price he asked for. Those patients were much more important than any money or possession I may have had.

“You don’t need to pay me anything, Shirley. We’re friends, aren’t we?” Despite his warm and soft voice, he had that sly smile about him like he already knew what he wanted. “Just consider this a favor.”

“Oh, thank you,” I was relieved. I must have been in tears, and I was so wide-eyed, too.

“But, if this is a favor, then a favor is what you will owe. Favor for a favor,” he waved his finger. Of course. I should have known. His nature was already familiar with me, and he loved to strike up deals.

“Very well,” I told him. “Do you have anything in mind?”

“How about this? If I find out what’s been behind this and return those blood bags back to you, then the next time I need medical care, you will be there. No matter where I am. Can you do that?”

I couldn’t tell who was getting the better deal, but I agreed. As the days passed, the worries grew. Those who needed blood couldn’t receive them, as we were still short supply. But then, on the third day, he returned, with many bags in a box of ice.

“Hope these will still be good,” he motioned to the box. I was so relieved, but I couldn’t help but wonder what the truth behind the matter was.

“So, was it vampires?” I asked.

“Unfortunately, no,” he sounded disappointed as he shook his head. “It would have been fun if they were, then I could have been a vampire hunter. In the end, though, they were just some cult of weird guys who thought they were vampires, but weren’t really.”

“Despite the answer being mundane, there’s something still awful about that, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, but I was hoping for something more exciting.”

As detached as that sounded, and as much as I must have been appalled at that at the time, now I found the sentiment resonated with me. Sure, there were “exciting” things at the hospital, like heart attacks and sudden worsening conditions, but after a while, it was hard to even react. It just becomes sad. Even if it was something dramatic, or brought on by misfortune, I would rather experience something like out of an action-adventure movie. Maybe dinosaurs or bandits. Something where I could feel triumphant. Not that there weren’t triumphs. Lives that were saved, patients who got to go back home to their families. But...I wasn’t sure. Maybe I just wanted to feel something that wasn’t work related.

It didn’t take long for me to arrive. I got out into the brisk air. Something else I was used to, as well. Why did I ever choose to live in such a harsh and gloomy environment? If I searched for the answer, I might have come up with something like, “because despite how hard things can be, there is still beauty to be found here.”

Would that have been the truth? I wondered that as I got into the scrubs and reached into the back of the truck for my briefcase. In it were various medical supplies which I might not even need, but it still seemed useful to bring.

After all that was settled, I ventured in.

Inside wasn’t anything special. An empty that was too clean for its own good. It was a shame, considering I knew how passionate Ray could be about cooking. Not only that, but with the cleanliness, if others were to walk in they would be wowed by presentation alone. That was my opinion, as a doctor, anyway.

My first encounter with another living soul was a child who ran from the back door and up to me. She had orange and red streaked hair which resembled a red panda. Or a tiger. Though red pandas were easier to envision.

“Oh whoa! It’s you!” She remarked. As if she recognized me. Which meant that I might have seen her before. Then it clicked. Of course. That was the same child that the strange woman found. It turned out that although she would have died if left out longer in the snow, she still didn’t suffer any long term ailments. Still, I had the one who recovered her watch over her as she rested and to observe her condition. Later on, the child went in for a check up. Despite not knowing her legal name or anything like that, I still made sure she was in good health. Names weren’t really all that important, anyway. But I remembered it was something weird…

“Pandatiger?” I snapped my fingers. That was probably right. Probably.

“No! Tigershark!” She roared.

“Oh, forgive me, Tigershark,” I tried to work up a smile, but I just wasn’t in the right environment. “Have you been keeping healthy?”

She grinned. Teeth whiter than any kid had the right to have.

“Yup!”

“Good,” I worked up something like a smile. I don’t know what effect it had, if any. I then made my way to the back, where I was sure the real victim, er, patient was.

Once past the door, I was greeted by another: a frantic young woman, not much taller than the child, with wavy, green hair, and who paced about the hallway. As soon as she noticed me, she looked both relieved and even more worried than before.

“Oh thank goodness. You’re here. Hurry. I’ll show you to her room,” she carried with her a seriousness, a glum expression on her face.

Was it that bad?

I followed her to the first room on the left. Sunny and Ray were noticeably absent. Maybe in their room, or in the kitchen. Their whereabouts weren’t of any importance, I suppose, but I was hoping to at least see one of them.

When I opened the door, I saw her huddled with many blankets and sitting against the corner of the wall, working up a sweat and her face red. She coughed a low, but continual cough. Then, our eyes met. Although her voice sounded about gone, she still tried to screech.

“You! Out of all the doctors, that’s the scariest! How could you, Demetria?” She wailed, and some of the syllables were missing, so I had to fill in the blanks. Of course, all of that just amused me. I let out a chuckle.

“We meet again, don’t we? First, it was because you wanted to save the life of that Tiger girl, then it was because you brought Ray to my hospital. Now the roles are reversed.”

Back when I saw her those other two times, she had red hair. Now it was black. Which suited her, I just wasn’t used to it. Something told me she could pull off just about any color, though black was likely the most natural.

“Sorry, she’s afraid of doctors,” the green-haired girl apologized. That I already knew.

“She has a good reason to be. What with all of those foreign objects going inside people while they’re often asleep, hopped up on anesthesia.”

“I want a different doctor!”

I slapped on some gloves, then let out another chuckle.

“Looks like you’re completely at my mercy,” I couldn’t help myself. Yes, it was awful.

“Can you please not antagonize her? She’s already got it rough as it is,” Greenie (there had to be some kind of nickname) scolded me.

“Of course. How insensitive of me,” I replied, with my usual dull voice of apathy. I wish it expressed how truly sorry I was.

I walked over to the one shivering, possibly out of fear.

“I’m not going to do anything you don’t want me to do,” I tried to be more comforting.

“I want you to go to hell,” my unruly patient rasped. Then she stuck out her tongue.

I looked over at Greenie.

“What is she doing?” I asked.

“Trying to push you away,” Greenie answered.

“Is she usually like this?”

“It depends.”

I see. Well, couldn’t say I wasn’t used to it. Patients with bad attitudes. It didn’t really matter what their attitudes were. They still needed help and they were still patients.

“I’ve been naughty, doc,” that black haired woman looked up and smiled a sly smile while her eyebrows were raised. She bobbed her head, as if she were to pass out at any moment. Speaking of moments, I allowed one to pass before I continued. She continued to stare up with what she probably thought was a suggestive expression.

“Okay, so anyway, I’m going to have to ask you a few questions. First off, do you smoke?”

Her eyebrows lowered and she turned her head to one side, but before she was able to shake it to signify “no”, she clutched her head and went, “ow.”

“Headaches, huh? Fever, chills, short breath –”

“The chills are nothing new,” she corrected me.

“I wasn’t done. Also, you’ve been coughing and your voice sounds like it’s run dry. Tell me, is it hard to talk?”

“That’s not the only hard thing about me,” she moaned. It wasn’t seductive at all. For added measure, she once again went, “ow,” at the end.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Although you’re still trying to do so anyway, which...don’t do that.”

“Usually she’s a terse talker,” Greenie informed me.

“I see,” I nodded. “I think I’m starting to form an idea of what it could be, but I’ll have to do a few more things to confirm.”

First, I set my briefcase on the floor and pulled out a stethoscope from it. I was going to listen to her lungs in order to see if there were any abnormalities in their sounds. Before I could press the end up to her, though, she groaned. Then snapped.

“Don’t put that cold, metal thing on me. It’s bad enough everything else is cold.”

“It’s just for a few seconds. Can you handle that?”

She growled. But I took it as a yes anyway. I pressed the end against her chest, where her lungs were located, and listened in.

“Don’t get too co*cky and start feeling me up with that,” she groaned and swayed.

“My husband’s titt*es are better than yours,” I replied. That shut her right up.

Once I managed to focus, I heard it: little rumbling sounds. That seemed to confirm my suspicion, but it wasn’t enough. There were other things I had yet to know.

“We can either do a blood test next or an X-Ray. Which would you prefer?”

“No needles.”

“OK. X-Ray it is.”

“Does that mean no more Ray?” She asked, and I assumed she must have been trying to crack a joke.

“Reply hazy. Try again.”

Also from my briefcase was a pocket X-Ray. I pulled it out.

“By the way, can I get your name? If you’re having trouble talking, don’t worry about it,” I tried to make conversation.

“Rhea,” she stated, though in a wheeze.

“You don’t have to lie to her, Remora!” Greenie jumped in.

“I know. That’s why I’m not,” Rhea, or Remora replied.

“Are you by any chance related to Danny DeVito?” I asked, offhand, as I thought about how she shared the same name as Danny DeVito’s wife. I was kind of jealous, actually.

“What?” Greenie spat. Not literally, else I would be mad, but, y’know.

“Oh, you know. Just one of the greatest actors of all time. If not the greatest. Everyone always says that Matilda was the best part of Matilda, but Danny DeVito made that movie what it is. He makes everything he stars in good just by virtue of being in it.”

“Uhh…” Both of them uttered.

“Anyway,” I held the pocket X-Ray up to Rhea, or Remora’s chest. How a pocket X-Ray worked was beyond me. I was a doctor, not an engineer.

As I glanced down at those chest bones, I saw where her lungs were and noticed some substances built up. I nodded, then closed up the pocket X-Ray and put it back into the briefcase.

“Tell me, when did you first notice these symptoms?” I inquired.

“About a week ago. Couple days before Demetria’s birthday,” she answered. Good. So she could behave when she wanted to.

“Who’s Demetria?” I put my hand up to chin and shook my head. More questions arose than answers. Not good.

“It me!” Greenie, once again jumped in. Or Demetria, I guess.

“Oh. Here I’ve been calling you Greenie in my head this whole time,” I remarked.

“Why would you do that?”

“Because I can do whatever I want in my head,” I stated with conviction.

“Never mind that, what do you mean, a couple days before my birthday?!” Demetria (sigh, I really liked Greenie more) gasped.

“It was while I was out to earn money. I felt a little bit off. I ignored it and figured it would go away on its own,” Remora/Rhea explained.

“Tsk. Just like Ray with his infection. Why do you guys neglect your bodies?”

“What does it matter to you?” Remora/Rhea retorted.

“Because human lives are precious,” I replied without hesitation.

“Do you really believe that?”

“I have to. Otherwise this world would be far more bleak.”

“I wish I believed that as well.”

“What about the needle? The poison?” Demetria pressed the issue. That was also concerning. None of that got mentioned before.

“It only affected you,” Remora muttered.

“Even so, I think I should run some tests on you as well,” I turned to Demetria.

“That’s not necessary! It just made me pass out! Besides, it was just skin contact, it didn’t puncture me.”

“Still, if you were to pass it to her through contact, that could mean that she was affected by it as well.”

Demetria looked down, hands balled into fists.

“I didn’t consider that...I’m sorry…”

“Anyway, she’ll probably live. Probably,” I tried to reassure Demetria. Maybe Remora/Rhea too. Since I couldn’t guarantee anything.

“Probably?!” Demetria sounded about ready to snap.

“Yes. She has pneumonia. It can potentially be fatal, but in her case, it seems pretty mild. There’s some bacterial build up in her lungs, so I’ll prescribe some antibiotics. Make sure she gets plenty of rest and water. It may take up to a month before she recovers, and even then she might be a little out of it.”

It seemed like my work was done. Nothing more to say, then.

“Before you go, can you check one more thing for me?” Demetria asked.

“What?”

“She’s got this condition where she always feels like she’s cold,” Demetria began to explain.

“Huh. Has she thought about moving someplace warmer?”

“No. That’s not it. She’ll crank the heater way up and while everyone else is burning to death, she’ll still be cold. Even in warmer climates, she’ll still be shivering. It gets worse in social situations, but it’s there all the time. I was wondering if you could identify the cause of it, if nothing else.”

“Hmm…” I pondered. It didn’t take long, however, for me to come up with an answer. “It could be a number of things. However, it’s not something I could check out very well right now, as one of the side effects of pneumonia is that it gives people those shivery feelings. Maybe when she’s better, I could check for various things, if she let me.”

“Would you, Remora?” Demetria asked. Her...something (since I guess wasn’t a friend. While I said earlier that such titles weren’t important, I now found it hard what to use to describe their relationship) groaned but didn’t quite answer. Maybe it was getting to be even more painful to speak.

“It could also be psychological,” I pointed out. “If so, I know a pretty good therapist. I can give you his business card, if you’d like.”

“Am I some kind of joke to you?” Remora’s weary voice returned to retort. “I’m a paragon of mental health.”

“There’s no shame in seeking therapy,” I pointed out to her. Maybe she was of the belief that such things were beneath her. “I’ve seen one a few times.” I could probably use seeing one again.

“Yes, I agree. But I don’t need one. Watch this,” she stared at me, and I stared back, waiting for something to happen. Then she fell back to her side and went to sleep.

“Well then, I suppose that about covers it,” I left the room and Demetria followed behind. I was about halfway down the hall when she ran after me.

“What about the antibiotics?” She stopped and asked in a huff.

“I’m going to get some from my truck right now. Also, if you have any pain relieving medication, I would advise she take that for her headaches, as well. I would also suggest you be present in the room with her when she takes her pills. Something tells me she won’t take them otherwise.”

“I’ll try to remember all that.”

“Oh, and if her other condition is psychological, then there may not be a ‘cure’ and she will instead need to find a way to manage it. I wouldn’t want to give her false hope, either, so rest assured of that.”

“Thank you again,” her voice grew quiet.

I shrugged. “Just try to get her to the hospital next time.”

After that was all settled and I gave Demetria the pills, I headed home. It felt nice to help someone outside of the hospital, even if it still meant I had to leave home to take care of someone else. For a little bit, it even seemed like I felt something, though it seemed to come in dribs and drabs and I couldn’t pinpoint which moments those were. With any luck, I could still spend some time with Cole, if he didn’t leave for work, himself. Or if I wasn’t needed back at the hospital. Like I said, with any luck.

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Defining Memories, chapter 6

The memories continued, seemingly in no particular order. Some of the memories were relatively normal and tame. The group saw Shawn spending winter nights at home with his family in Ireland. They saw Jack getting bullied as a child. They saw Lacie leaving her abusive home as a teenager and moving in with her older sister, finally receiving the love and care that had been missing from her life. Lacie refused to say why or even if she was kicked out.

After that, though, the memories turned more violent. They saw Lacie getting a beating in prison, which she was... actually capable of laughing at now. The no one in the group was sure whether to respect or fear her for that, but Bertrum, Shawn and Grant were supportive, at least.

Shawn’s memory took place in what appeared to be a dive bar. He was with two other men, loudly and drunkenly telling a fish story, when their little group was approached by a fourth man. The man tapped Shawn on the shoulder, and, in a husky but more than slightly tipsy voice, said, “Hey. You wanna pay our tab tonight? You’ll be sorry if you don’t.” The man was fairly tall, very large, and had some tattoos on him. In spite of what was clearly prison ink, he was wearing the green jacket Shawn knew as the uniform of some grease cart whose name he didn’t bother to remember. Somewhere in his drunken haze, Shawn was thinking that this man must be some recently released criminal, unused to the real world and just spoiling for the familiarity of either bullying someone into submission or a fight.

Shawn burst out laughing. “Nope.”

“I don’t think you understand,” the man growled. Two other man appeared behind him.

“Oh, ah understand you alright. And I ain’t payin’ you a cent!”

The intimidating man grinned. “Oh, you’ll pay for that!”

“Shall we show him, laddies?” Shawn asked his drinking buddies, a huge, sad*stic smile adorning his face.

The tussle broke out. Shawn himself was on the short side, lean and wiry, and looked like the easiest target, so naturally, their leader slugged him first. A good deal of lesser men would have been taken out by that shot, but not Shawn. The bigger of Shawn’s friends threw himself on to Shawn’s assailant, allowing Shawn to land a wicked right cross on one of the leader’s friends. Shawn and the other man exchanged blows for a few seconds before Shawn grabbed his opponent’s shoulders and kneed him in the ribs, leaving him doubled over. He then picked up a bar stool and swung it over his head with intent to smash it over his opponent. In that moment, however, the jailbird hit him in the back with another barstool, causing him to accidentally lose his grip on it and throw it completely off trajectory. He fell to the ground yelled, “stop! I’ll pay!”

He’d said it out of panic, but surveying the damage, he could tell that he and his friends had lost. The jailbird has knocked his bigger friend unconscious. Shawn lifted himself from the ground, paid the man’s tab, and propped his friend up in the booth as he regained consciousness.

“Is he going to be okay?” Lacie asked.

“Yes,” Shawn said in a very serious voice.

Lacie didn’t get it. So Shawn lost a bar fight. The two of them together had done so a few times (not that their win-to-loss ratio was anything too shabby), and Shawn had never taken it too seriously. What made this his worst memory?

“Hey. You okay, buddy? Should I call a doctor?” Shawn said to his friend.

Shawn’s friend gripped his bleeding temple, groaned, then nodded. Shawn didn’t have to, however. Medical personnel arrived before he could even ask the bartender for use of the public phone. The medical personnel were not, however, focused on Shawn’s friend, but on a man in the corner who had been knocked cold. A painful dent could be seen on his skull, and right next to him lay a bloody barstool. Shawn was frozen in shock.

The scene shifted to that of a courtroom. Shawn, his two friends, and the trio they had fought, were there. All six of them looked shaken, and Shawn was shaking like a leaf. Banging his gavel, the judge said, “We have had many corroborating accounts that what took place was a consensual fight, and that the person, named George Rodriguez, injured was injured entirely accidentally and was not a part of the fight. The barstool that injured the victim was covered in fingerprints of many people, including two of the people involved in the consensual fight. There were no witness reports as to who threw the bar stool, and the reports of all accused are contradictory, with no way of knowing who is telling the truth. As a result, there is insufficient evidence to charge any of the accused with assault or criminal negligence. Case dismissed.” A massive amount of tension left Shawn’s body, but he was still shaking.

The scene changed. Shawn was in a hospital setting, talking to a receptionist. “Is there a George Rodriguez here?” he asked. The receptionist shook her head. The scene changed several times after that, with Shawn asking the same question to four different receptionists in four different hospitals. Finally, at the fourth one, he asked, “How many of hospitals are there in New York, anyhow?”

“Forty. But I read about George Rodriguez in the news. I could call some other hospitals if you want to try and find him. And who are you to want to see him?”

“Ah was standing trial fer hurtin’ him. Falsely, of course. Ah wanna if he’s okay.”

The receptionist slowly shook her head. “They’d never go for that. You could be there to threaten him or deliver a bribe for his silence.”Shawn’s eyes lit up suddenly. “He’s alive enough fer that?”

“I wouldn’t know. The news article said he was in pretty rough shape. Had a pretty big dent in his head.” Shawn’s face fell again. The scene changed to him arriving home and pounding down enough whiskey to help him forget that he'd lied in court and might have killed a man and had no way of finding out.

The group was silent awhile. “Wasn’t your fault, Shawn,” Lacie said finally, putting her arm around him. Grant and Wally also tried to comfort him.

After they were finished with that, Henry stepped in. “Did you check the obituaries in the newspapers?” he asked. “There’s a good chance that he’s completely fine now.”

“Nah, Ah’d rather leave it to mystery. There’s also a chance he’s dead.”

Henry decided that he’d grab Wally and get him to search for the name “George Rodriguez” in a phone book. If the man was well, it would probably be a huge weight off Shawn’s mind.

After two memories that included vicious assault, the group could have used a calming memory. And seeing the golden light appear by Jack’s shoulder, it seemed that that was what they were in for.

The scene changed into that of a cozy-looking house, which Sammy could recognize as Jack’s house. Jack himself looked somewhat younger, maybe by five or ten years, and was having dinner by candlelight with another man.

“Alright, Jack,” the other man said, "You said you had something to show me?”

“Well, Terry, I spent a long time thinking about how to make our anniversary special,” he began, “and since we’ve been living together a while now, I thought that maybe we could buy some rings.”

His husband co*cked an eyebrow. “So we can leave them at home?”

“Nope! Here’s the plan: we’ll get two rings from different places, in totally different styles. We can say they’re from our ‘wives’ if anyone asks. That’ll get your parents off your back about getting married, at least. But on the inside...”

“Song lyrics?”

“You know it!”

A sly smile spread across Terry’s face. “Your song lyrics?”

Jack smiled. “Well, I hadn’t decided yet. Wanted you to choose. It’s your anniversary present.”

“You know I’m going to choose your lyrics.”

The two met eyes. “You’re the sweetest person I’ve ever met,” Jack said. “I’ll put in the order tomorrow.”

The scene faded. Despite the memory being almost saccharine, Jack looked humiliated. He scanned the room. If there was any real outrage, they didn’t show it. Susie and Wally seemed to find it adorable.

Henry was averting his eyes, but that was the worst reaction he saw. Jack’s eyes landed on an unconcerned-looking Joey. Anyone else’s ire he could take, but...

“What?” Joey asked curtly.

“...Are you going to fire me?”

“Oh, no,” he said in a gentle tone. “I mean, I wouldn’t be taking Terry to any office parties- I wish none of my workers would be bad about it, but that’s very unlikely and I won’t be caught defending you- but beyond that, why would I care?” Joey then realized something, and scanned the room. “You’re all trustworthy, right?” His eyes landed on the oldest, most powerful, and most vindictive person in the room. “Bertrum?”

“Mr. Drew, when I bring you to your knees it’s going to be for something much more humbling than looking the other way on this.”

Joey grinned. With Bertrum usually being so passive-aggressive, this openness was a nice change of pace.

Lacie looked to Bertrum, who gave her a nod and an encouraging little push. “Hey, Jack. Why don’t my ‘wife’ and I be your fake ‘wives’ if anyone asks? It’ll seem more believable if we both have names to give.”

“That sounds like a great idea, uh, Lacie, was it?”

“Yep.”

“Wow. Not often I meet other gay people. And uh, I’m sorry your parents kicked you out.”

“Oh, that’s not what that was about. They were narcissistic heaps of trash in general, so I never took the risk of telling them. My sister knows, though.”

“Uh, guys?” Wally cut in. The group turned to see that he held the light now, glowing yellow in his hand. “My turn.”

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Unconditional

This was a prompt from the lovely @lettersofwrittencollective and I hope I’ve done it justice. This is my first time writing Stiles, so go easy on me...propmt in bold below.

Disclaimer: I dont own Stiles Stilinski (unfortunately) or TW

Tagging my Dylan squad (hope its okay, girls!): @mrs-mitch-rapp93 @mrscutiefandobhaz @mummybear @stiles-o-dylan24 @screamxqueenx94 @superapplepie @brien-odylan @emichelle

Permas: @leelee10898 @fullbeaumonty @ritachacha

Everything had to be perfect. It had to be. Stiles had been seeing Natalie for more than two years now and they had been easily the best years of his life.

Being with Natalie, so far away from Beacon Hills- so far away from the terrifying life he'd led through high school, left him feeling as if he were in a constant state of bliss. As if he were floating perpetually on a cloud through life. He loved her, and tonight was the night he was going to prove just how much.

He smoothed down his dress shirt for the millionth time, adjusting the place settings at his dining room table for the thousandth. Lost in his thoughts he began ticking off his to-do list mentally.

Lasagna's in the oven-check

Tunes are on the i-dock- check

I haven't lost the…

Stiles' eyes went wide as he patted his pockets.

"f*ck, Stilinski. Where did you put the-"

He scolded himself before his eyes caught sight of the ring box on the counter. He crossed the floor of his tiny apartment in two strides, securing the box and stuffing it into his pocket. Back to the list.

I haven't lost the ring-check

Dim the lights since I'm too poor for candles apparently-check check

He strode over to the dial on the wall, adjusting the lights. Now all that's missing is Nata-

A sharp knock rang through the apartment and Stiles couldn't help but smile. He rushed to the door, skidding to a stop to thrust it open.

"Hey, baby." He grinned bending to kiss her cheek before stepping aside to let her in.

He dutifully took her coat as she shrugged out of it, tucking a fallen strand of her brunette hair behind her ear.

"It's smells fabulous in here, Stiles. I'm impressed." she joked.

"It's lasagna, Nat, not rocket science."

"I had every faith that you could assemble a lasagna, Stilinski. I'm impressed that you managed to cook it without setting the kitchen ablaze." she chuckled making her way to the dining room.

A few moments later Stiles joined her, pan of lasagna in hand. He placed it gingerly on the table between them and served out two portions.

After dinner was finished and a couple glasses of wine, Stiles rooted around in the kitchen for a few moments returning with a single slice of blueberry pie with a generous scoop of vanilla ice cream on top.

Natalie scoffed, jaw dropping. "Where is mine?"

Her nose wrinkled slightly and her hands found her hips. It was something she did a lot and Stiles thought it was absolutely adorable.

A sly smirk spread across his face as he responded, "Well I'm trying to watch my girlish figure- ya know the bureau doesn't take kindly to soggy agents- so I figured we could share."

He produced two spoons from behind his back and Natalie grinned.

"Fair enough."

Stiles watched as she scooped up a bite, almost as if there were a special science behind the pie to ice cream ratio. He couldn't help the dreamy smile that bloomed across his face. Simply watching Natalie be Natalie was enchanting.

She twisted the spoon in her mouth pulling it down when she noticed her boyfriend staring.

"What?"

"Nat, I… there's something I've been meaning to talk to you about."

She dropped the spoon on the plate, an unceremonious clatter as the flatware hit.

"That is almost never a good thing, Stilinski."

"This time it is, I swear. I mean I think it is. I hope it is. I had actually never considered that you might not think it is until right now. Well now I'm not so sure about it-"

"Stiles! Slow down. I was joking." She giggled as Stiles let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"Okay listen. So there are things in my past, some I've never shared with you. Things that I'm not very proud of. Oh man I'm not even sure how to start."

Natalie watched patiently as Stiles raked his fingers through his hair, nervously glancing around the room as if something nearby would be able to help.

Finally she placed a soft hand on her boyfriend's knee. The small gesture immediately soothed him, his frantic demeanor melting away as he covered her hand with his own and smiled at her.

His honey colored eyes darted between her deep mocha ones as she broke the comfortable silence, "Stiles, you know you can tell me anything and I won't judge you. I love you. Unconditionally."

He nodded because he did know she wouldn't judge him, however that knowledge didn't assuage the fact that he would still judge himself.

"Just start at the beginning. I've got all night." Natalie squeezed his knee and Stiles took a deep breath before he began.

Natalie listened intently as Stiles explained all about werewolves, his true alpha best friend, and the supernatural. He told her all about the nemeton and the sacrifices he, Scott, and Allison had made.

He paused for a long time after that, and although he was sure she had questions, Natalie never said a word. She just silently soaked in the information, tracing gentle circles on Stiles' knee cap, her mocha eyes never leaving him.

When once again he found his confidence he continued on, telling her all about his possession by the evil nogitsune during junior year. The battle he'd waged within himself even after his friends had expelled the entity from him.

Stiles storied on about chimeras and wendigos. About the dread Doctors. Gulping back pain and regret he confessed to the love of his life about what happened in the school library the night he took Donovan's life.

All the while Natalie listened, sometimes the sympathy or empathy she felt for him flashed briefly across her flawless features, and when it happened, Stiles would squeeze her hand and pause a beat.

Eventually he told her about the Riders on the Storm and how he was terrified he'd never make it back to Beacon Hills, but that once he had, he'd made up his mind to leave that all behind him.

A silence filled the room for a long time, so thick it was almost palpable. When she was sure that Stiles had finished-evidenced only by the way he cast his gaze at his feet- Natalie finally spoke.

"I believe you. I am so sorry. I never knew….when you said your life in Beacon Hills was complicated I never thought…" her voice trailed off as she reached over to cup his cheek, Stiles peering up at her through long lashes, clearly ashamed of the things he'd just shared.

"Nat, there's no way you could have. I never told you before because...well it's a helluva burden to carry. The knowledge you can never share. I only told you now because-"

"Stiles, I'm glad I know. I'm glad you told me. You shouldn't have to shoulder all of that alone and now I can shoulder it with you. I love you so much, Stiles Stilinski. Nothing you have told me tonight could ever change that."

Her thumb grazed his temple and a soft, involuntary sigh escaped Stiles as he relished the touch. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the tiny box, dropping to his knees before the love of his life.

A hand flew to Natalie's mouth, the realization of what was happening coming to her instantly.

"Natalie, to me you are the sun and the moon. The earth and the stars, and I would move mountains to prove it to you. I've never felt more safe, more whole, more... accepted than I do when I'm in your arms.

Natalie...even after everything I just thrust upon you...you love me as if I deserve you, and even if it's selfish I just can't let that slip away. Will you marry me?"

Stiles opened the box to reveal a small square-cut diamond solitaire set in white gold. He held his breath anxiously as a single tear slid down her cheek, a smile tugging at the corners of her covered lips.

She couldn't move-hell she could hardly breathe- so she gathered every ounce of strength within her and vehemently nodded a response.

A wide grin threatened to split Stiles' face in two as he took her hand, removed the ring from it's velvet bed and slipped it onto her finger. It was a perfect fit.

Natalie pinched his face between both of her hands, crashing her lips against his with a ferocity he'd never seen before.

When finally she pulled away Stiles whispered, "I love you with all of my heart, Natalie."

"I love you too and I can't wait to become Mrs. Mieczyslaw Stilinski."

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Work Out: Prologue

AN: what up! I, Livvy, have finally written the prologue for my Florian fic and I hope you all enjoy it! I’m gonna try to have it reach to at least 15 chapters at best, if not shorter. As long as I can get it out, I think I’ll be good. Feedback is always appreciated as well; reblogs as etc. Let me know if you’d like to be apart of the Tag Squad!

Warnings: None...yet

Word Count: 1,635 [not bad]

Tag Squad: @themyscxiras || @sparklemichele || @designerwriterchic || @maddiestundentwritergaines

Most people on New Year’s Eve are out and about; with their families or choose to stay in the comfort of their own home. Yet for me, Genevieve or Geneva for short, I was the latter and was out partying with my friends into the wee hours of the night to ring in the new year. This year, 2018 to be exact, has been a rough one for me and I was in desperate need some of positive reinforcements. With starting my own personal training business; moving to New York City to be closer to my parents and going through a divorce, a huge change of scenery was just what the doctor ordered.

The neon club lights illuminated my rich mocha skin, as the music seemed to seep through my veins and control my moments. Moving to the beat and the rhythm with ease, without a care in the world. The vibe was alive in Marquee New York, and it was a great way to celebrate her move. I made sure to keep an eye out on my siblings; Donovan, Lucas and Leilani, all the while feeling free for the first time all year.

Most people weren’t close with their siblings like I am, seeing as though we were all close in age. Even though they were in the club either their friends, the ages were close. Nothing broke their bond and nothing ever will. That is until I got married and it shook the family to its very core on how it transpired in a year. Needless to say, it ended pretty rough but I got the last laugh.

“I’m so glad you came out tonight. We needed our girl out.” Cynthia encouraged as she handed me a glass of White Russian. Happily accepting the drink, I took a sip and went back to dancing as my 4C right coils moved in tandem.

She’s one of my best friends since college, and couldn’t get over the fact that I finally got out of her condo for once.

“We’ve never seen you this happy. It’s good to have our girl back.” Destiny nodded in agreement. It was a rarity to get these three together. Destiny and I, have also been best friend since the 4th grade.

“I know, I know. But listen it’s all good now, I’m here and I’m out. Plus my cousin said he wanted me to meet someone tonight. I just hope he listens to me though.”

“You even agreeing to meet a dude after filing for a divorce, is grand enough.”

“She’s right though. Hopefully Michael comes through for ya.”

They always had my best interest at heart, and I couldn’t have asked for better friends, who were like family to me to be there.

“Knowing Michael, whomever he knows, better be up to par. I just can’t see myself dating an actor, you know? You know how it all went with Jake, cheatin ass.”

I spoke as clearly as I could over the music, and just kept on dancing. Next thing I knew, Twerk by City Girls came on and all hell broke loose. Dragging my friends to the middle of the dance floor and did exactly what the song instructed.

Having a circle form around us was nothing new. At all the gatherings, before she got married, they were the life of the party wherever they went.

“Mind if we cut in? Can’t have you two dancing alone.” Jonathan said in a smooth voice, knowing it did something to Cynthia. She happily obliged and was whisked away. Ryan soon came up as well and made Destiny giddy as a school girl.

“How yall just gonna take my best friends? Rude.” Seeing how much love my friends were getting was enough for me to get by. The love Johnny showed towards Cyn, and Ryan with Destiny, showed volumes. It made my heart flutter at the bond they had.

“Sorry Gen. We love them too ya know.” Ryan places a gentle kiss on upon my head before heading back to his girl. Leaving myself to dance by alone, till she got a text from Michael saying he made it to the club. Upon sending a reply, Donovan texted her saying he took the twins home. Feeling a sense of relief wash over.

“He’s here y’all. I gotta meet him upstairs in VIP.” Without missing a beat, the other four hightailed it behind me, up the stairs to see who my cousin was setting me up with. Accepting the VIP hand stamp from the bouncer, walking towards the group in the main area.

“For your sake, I hope he listened to you.” Cynthia snickered gently, causing Destiny to lightly tap her arm.

“Well, well well. If it isn’t my favorite cousin Geneva. What’s going on girl?” Michael said enthusiastically, giving her a hug.

“Better not let Donny and the twins hear you say that Mr. Superstar.” I chuckled softly, returning the hug and introduced my friends to him.

Michael always kept in touch with family no matter how busy he got. Whether it was movie deals; commercials or interviews, he made sure to keep in contact.

“Gen, you never told me your cousin was Michael B. Jordan!” Ryan exclaimed in a hushed tone in my ear. I thought it was implied.

“It’s not something I brag about constantly. I don’t need people bombarding me with questions on like; ‘is he single?’ Or ‘does he want a baby mama?’ I’m good fam.”

The more I explained it, the more it made sense. Even Michael nodded in agreement, before smirking a bit. Glancing at the party below, my mind was elsewhere during all of this.

“Listen cuz, it’s almost the new year and I know you’ve been through a lot.” He began his speech, just as Florian stood next to him.

“Yeah huh. What are you getting at Bakari?” Upon taking a sip of the new drink, I turned my attention away from the coward downstairs, to her Michael and his friend.

This man was huge. Like body on point; smile on 100, presence alluring and intoxicating. Just everything about him exuded dominance and power. The way the grey long sleeve cotton shirt, hugged his biceps in all the right ways. He just looked like a tall delicious looking, white chocolate teddy bear. Where have I seen him before?

“Geneva, I’m sure you know-” Michael was cut off abruptly, by our eager attitudes.

“Genevieve Shaw.”

“Florian Munteanu. Oh we’ve met before.” I had a smirk plastered on my face. Everyone, excluding him and Michael, was confused. The memory was coming back to me now, from the beginning of Creed II promo shoot.

I was hired, along with Cynthia, to do the makeup and therapy for the movie. That was so long ago I had completely forgot about it, clearly Florian hadn’t.

“You didn’t tell me, she was your cousin.” Florian’s thick accent, and yet slight arrogant facial expression reminded me why I didn’t go for his advances at first. He made a bet with her best friend Leon, that he could get my number by the time the Creed II press was over.

It didn’t work out because I overheard and stopped all the bull before it went down.

“I thought you knew. She is the reason why you aren’t hurting anymore.” Michael pointed out.

“True. No need to pull a hamstring.” The joking tone from Florian did nothing but increase the annoyance. The roll of my amber brown eyes was a notice enough.

“I told you I don’t date actors, and athletes. But since you’re my cousin I’ll indulge.” A slight shrug and a nod was enough for Michael. Then an idea came to mind, two could play that game.

“How about this, Munteanu. Follow me real quick.” Signaling him to follow me out the floor to get ready for the countdown. Hearing my friends and Michael’s cheer behind us.

Seeing all the women, and a few men, glance at him as he bobbed and weaved through the crowd to follow me, made me feel powerful a bit.

“Since the new year will happen in approximately 2 min, I’m feeling generous. What do you say to a bet? Sound familiar?” Sipping my champagne from the flute, while moving from side to side to the music, it got his attention.

“A bet huh? It does ring a bell. What did you have in mind?” There’s that smirk again. Get it together Geneva.

“If you’re actually interested in me, no bullsh*t and show initiative, maybe I’ll go out with you. I don’t move to new York to play games Munteanu. You may be fine, but you sure as hell ain’t about to waste my time. Deal?” With an arch of my left brow, I meant business.

He was shocked at how forward I was, but slightly turned on at the same time. He seemed like he was always up for challenge.

“Deal.”

He clinked his glass with mine as the countdown began at 10 seconds. The look in his eyes seemed eager as he inches closer to me, closing the distance between us. The height ratio was actually pleasant; 6’4 to 5’8. Thank god for platform heels. Feeling his body heat on mine at the final 5 seconds, I came up with a tactic.

“Happy New Year!!”

Florian thought he was gonna kiss me, but I stopped him by placing my hand on his chiseled chest. Causing a sweet laugh go escape my full lips.

“Slow ya roll. The bet starts now, happy new year.” Sending a wink his way, I left him there speechless and engulfed in confetti, fo join my friends back in the VIP area. Earning a high five from Cynthia and Destiny.

The year was going to be a good one.

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Hi I’m Spider-Man

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Words: 2,662

Warning: mild swearing and cute moments

A/N: Night-Wing is your superhero name.

You and your father Steve Rogers or aka Captain America, didn’t want to sign the accords. Now you are a most wanted criminal. Uncle Bucky was being accused of blowing up the building killing the King of Wakanda. A man in a cat costume made of vibranium tried to kill you, your father, your uncle and Sam. Uncle Tony isn’t taking your side and wants you in jail. Now you are on your way to stop the German psycho guy who framed and brain washed Uncle Bucky in this little, battered, old car. Your dad parked by a grey van and you get out with the the help of your uncle. You see Uncle Clint aka Uncle Arrows.

“Cap.” Uncle Arrows said.

“You know I wouldn't have called If I had any other choice.” Your dad said.

“Hey man, you're doing me a favor. Besides, I owe a debt.”

“Thanks for having my back.” Steve thanked. Wanda walked around the van.

“It was time to get off my ass.” Wanda said looking at all of you.

“How about our other recruit?”

“He's rarin' to go. Had to put a little coffee in him, but… he should be good.” Arrows said as he opened the van door. Scott jumps up and gets out.

“What timezone is this?” Scott asked.

“Come on. Come on.” Scott shook your dads hand with an amazed look.

“Captain America.” he said with a wow tone. Still shaking his hands.

“Mr. Lang.” Your dad said a little uncomfortable.

“It's an honour. I'm shaking your hand too long. Wow! This is awesome! Captain America.” He looks over at Wanda. “I know you, too. You're great!” He looks over at you

“Wow your Night-Wing. Your really bad-ass and you can probably kill me with one blow.” He turns back and feels your dad's shoulders.

“Jeez. Ah, look, I wanna say, I know you know a lot of super people, so… Thanks for thinking of me.” He looks over to Sam. “Hey, man!”

“What's up, Tic Tac?”

“Uh, good to see you. Look, what happened last time when I…” Scott was interrupted by Sam.

“It was a great audition, but it'll… it'll never happen again.”

“They tell you what we're up against?” your dad asked.

“Something about some… psycho-assassins?”

“We're outside the law on this one. So, if you come with us, you're a wanted man.”

“Yeah, well, what else is new?”

“We should get moving.” you said.

“We got a chopper lined up.”

“Dies ist eine Notsituation. Alle Passagiere müssen den Flughafen sofort evakuieren.” Said a man on the PA. It says.This is an emergency. All passengers must evacuate the airport immediately.

“They're evacuating the airport.” Bucky said.

“Stark.” Sam said.

“Stark?” Scott questioned.

“Suit up.” Your dad said. You get in your uniform and you walkthrough an underpass with your dad, then you jog with Bucky and Sam.You watch your dad onto a private runway, heading for a grounded chopper. An electro disabler slams onto the chopper and you and your dad looks up to see Uncle Tony and Uncle Rhodey land.

“Wow, it's so weird how you run into people at the airport. Don't you think that's weird?” Tony said sarcastically.

“Definitely weird.” Rhodey joined.

“Hear me out, Tony. That doctor, the psychiatrist, he's behind all of this.” Your dad said. Then T’Challa jumps over a truck

“Captain.” T’Challa said.

“Your highness.”

“Anyway, Ross gave me 36 hours to bring you in. That was 24 hours ago. Can you help a brother out?” Tony said.

“Tony you're after the wrong guy.” your dad said.

“Your judgment is askew. Your old war buddy, killed innocent people yesterday.”

“And there are five more super soldiers just like him. I can't let the doctor find them first, Tony. I can't.” your dad pleaded as Natasha walks out.

“Steve… you know what's about to happen. Do you really wanna punch your way out of this one?” Natasha said.

“All right, I've run out of patience. Underoos!”Tony yelled. All of a sudden a boy with a red and blue suit shoots a web, stealing your dad's shield and binding your dad’s hands. “Nice job, kid.”

“Thanks. Well, I could've stuck the landing a little better. It's just the new suit… Well, it's nothing, Mr. Stark. It's-It's perfect. Thank you.”

“Yeah, we don't really need to start a conversation.”

“Okay. Cap… Captain. Big fan, I'm Spider-Man.”

“Yeah, we'll talk about it later. Just…” Tony said.

“Hey, everyone.” Spider-man said.

“… good job.” Tony said annoyed.

“You've been busy.” Dad said.

“And you've been a complete idiot. Dragging in Clint. Making your daughter, who by the way is the smartest person I have ever met and has a bright future ahead of her, be a criminal and running from the law. 'Rescuing' Wanda from a place she doesn't even want to leave, a safe place. I'm trying to keep… I'm trying to keep you from tearing the Avengers apart.”

“You did that when you signed.”

“Alright, We're done. You're gonna turn Barnes over, you're gonna come with us. NOW! Because it's us! Or a squad of J-SOC guys… with no compunction about being impolite. Come on.”

“We found it. Their Quinjet's in hanger five, north runway.” Sam said over the radio. Your dad lift his hands in the air and Clint cuts the webs off.

“Alright, Lang.” You dad said to Scott.

“Hey, guys, something…” Spider-man said before Scott grew and got a hold of your dad’s shield.

“Whoa. What-What the hell was that?” Rhodey half yelled. Scott gave your dad his shield back. Your uncle gave you the signal and you start running towards the Quinjet.

“I believe this is yours, Captain America.”

“Oh, great. Alright, there's two on the parking deck. One of them's Maximoff, I'm gonna grab her. Rhodey, you want to take Cap?” Tony said.

“Got three in the terminal, Wilson, Y/N and Barnes.” Rhodey said.

“Barnes is mine!” T’Challa said running.

“Hey, Mr. Stark, what should I do?” Spider-Man said.

“What we discussed. Keep your distance. Web 'em up.” Tony flies off.

“Okay, copy that!”

You run faster with your uncle and Sam. You hear a bang against to glass roof. You look up and you see a red thing pass by.

“What the hell is that?” Bucky said.

“Everyone's got a gimmick now.” Sam said. Spider-Manswings through the glass wall and kicks Sam backwards. Bucky throws a punch, Peter catches his fist.

“You have a metal arm? That is awesome, dude!” Spider-Man said. Sam grabs a hold of him.Bucky was so surpised, one he was able to catch the punch with his metal arm and two he was a kid.

“You have the right to remain silent!” Spider-Man said in mid air as he fends Sam off, then swings after him using his webs out. Spider-Manswings through the rafters in the terminal, chasing Sam who flies backwards firing shots at him. Spider-Man stops at on of the high beams. Bucky grabs a directory and at him.

“Oh god.” Spider-Man screamed. You and Bucky hid behind a pillar.

“Hey buddy, I think you lost this!” Spider-Man through it back; almost hitting you. Luckily your uncle sheltered you and covered your head with his metal arm. You push the button on the edge of your palm and fly up in the air.

“Watch it Spider-Boy” You yelled as you shot at him with your gun, then he webs barrel of your gun .

“It’s Spider-Man, Ms. Rogers” Spider-Man said before Sam kicks him off the beam and Spider-Man fires a web which sends Sam crashing to the floor. You chase after him. He webs Sam's wrist to a balcony railing. Peter webs you pulling you next to Sam, then did the same for you.

“Those wings carbon fiber?”

“Is this stuff coming out of you?” Sam asked.

“No, this fiber is chemically made. Its too thin and strong to be natural.” You said.

“That would explain the rigidity-flexibility ratio, which, gotta say, that's awesome, man.” Spider-Man said geeking out.

“I don't know if you've been a fight before but there's usually not this much talking.”

“Alright, sorry, my bad.” Spider-Man said as he swings down at you and Sam. But, Bucky jumps in the way to block your guys blow. You all fall down onto the next floor and Spider-Man webs you and the men.

“Guys, look. I'd love to keep this up but I've only got one job here today and I gotta impress Mr. Stark, so, l’m really sorry.” Sam gets Red-wing to drags Spider-Man through the ceiling.

“You couldn't have done that earlier?” Bucky said.

“I hate you.” Sam said.

“Can you to stop arguing like an old married couple and get me out of this.” You said annoyed. You finally get out of the webs and you run out next to your dad and Scott.

“Hey, Cap, heads up!” He said as he gives your dad a miniature truck. “Throw it at this.” He showed him a little dish with a blue dot in the middle. He throws it toward Rhodey. “Now!” The truck enlarges, tumbling towards him. Then the truck lands and explodes.

“Oh, man. I thought it was a water truck. Uh… sorry.” Scott apologized and you two run off with your dad.

“Come on!” Your dad said. Your team runs towards the Quinjet. A stream of energy slices across the runway and you all stop. Vision hovers in the air above you.

“Captain Rogers. I know you believe what you're doing is right. But for the collective good you must surrender now.” Vision said as Uncle Tony's team arrives.

“What do we do, Cap?” Sam asked.

“We fight.” Your dad said as you both start walking toward Tony’s team.

“This is gonna end well.” Natasha said as they start walikng towards you with determination on their faces.

“They're not stopping.” Spider-Man panicked.

“Neither are we.” Tony said. Everyone breaks into a sprint.Your dad blocks a punch as Tony lands. Uncle Arrows fires an arrow at Vision. Rhodey flies after Sam and Bucky trades blows with T'Challa. An explosive arrow then hits Tony. Spider-Man swings towards you and you cut them with your fan blades.

“Wow. Is that vibranium blades on those carbon fiber fans. Thats so cool!” He said as he pulls you in with a web.“ an... and your brilliant. That new strongest fiber you found and have been testing on in Russia are incredible.” You take out your knife by your side.

“Thanks kid, but do you always talk this much? ” You said as you cut yourself free and you spin kick him across run way. “Cause it seems like your a little distracted Spider-Boy.”He looks up surprised that you just kicked him. He jumps back up. He webs around your waist and shoulders.

“For one, it’s Spider-Man. For two, I only get distracted when I talk to a pretty girl like you. For three, i only talk this much when I want to impress someone that I like.” You chuckle a little and press a button on the edge of your palm and your wings pop out cutting the webs. You flew over and pin him him against a gangway.“Holy crap your strong, but I’m just as equally as strong.” He said as he kicks your knees. He tackles you to the ground and pins you underneath him.

“I don’t think you know who your dealing with Spider-Boy. My dad is frickin’ Captain America.” You said as your dad throws his shield at Spider-Man. Spider-Man swings past, but you cut the web with your blades and gave your dad his shield back.

“That thing does not obey the laws of physics at all.”

“Look kid. There's a lot going on here that you don't understand.”

“Mr. Stark said you'd say that.” Spider-Man fired webs which stick to your dad's shield and ankle. He pulls and your dad slides towards him. Spider-Man kicks him backwards, then rolls clear.You giggle. He turns toward you. You stop.

“You think that’s fun” your dad said sternly.

“Well you just got taken out by a 12 year old.” You bust out into laughter.

“I’m 15. Mr. Stark also said to go for your legs.” as your dad runs to get his shield, Spider-Man webs his hands and pulls. Your dad grits his teeth, spins and somersaults, propelling him through the air. Your dad catches a web and tugs Spider-Man towards him, knocking him down with the shield. He recovers and pulls himself up on top of a gangway.

“Stark tell you anything else?”

“That you're wrong. You both think you're right. That makes you both dangerous.” He swings down and you jump in front your dad and kick him backwards onto the gangway's leg.

“Guess he had a point.” Your dad said as he throws his shield at the leg and the gangway falls. Spider-Man held it up.

“Dad stop trying to kill every boy that I come in contact with. I think I can handle myself.” You said.

“Doll, I’m your dad that’s my job.” He turns to Spider-Man “You got heart, kid. Where're you from?”

“Queens.”

“Brooklyn.” Your dad leaves Spider-Man holding the gangway. You cross your arms.

“So what’s your name‘Spider-Man’?”

“Peter. Peter Parker.” He said as he was struggling.

“When this is all over I want to get together and see how you made the fibers for your webs. That webbing its extraordinary.”

“Well Mr. Stark made the suit. I’m guessing its your webbing.” Peter said.

“That makes since.” You said then you ran off to meet your dad and Bucky.

“We gotta go. That guy's probably in Siberia by now.” Bucky said.

“We gotta draw out the flyers. I'll take Vision. You get to the jet.”

“No, you get to the jet! All three of you!” Sam said as he is getting chased by Rhodey. “The rest of us aren't getting out of here.”

“As much as I hate to admit it, if we're gonna win this one, some of us might have to lose it.” Uncle Arrows said.

“This isn't the real fight, Steve.”

“Alright, Sam, what's the play?” Your dad said.

“We need a diversion, something big.”

“I got something kind of big, but I can't hold it very long. On my signal, run like hell. And if I tear myself in half… don't come back for me.” Scott said.

“He's gonna tear himself in half?” You and Bucky said in unison.

“You're sure about this, Scott?” You dad asked.

“I do it all the time. I mean once… in a lab. Then I passed out. I'm the boss. I'm the boss. I'm the boss. I'm the boss. I'm the BOSS!” Scott said before he grows into a towering Behemoth and grabs Rhodey's leg.

“Holy sh*t!” You hear Peter scream.

“I guess that's the signal.” You say.

“Way to go, Tic Tac!” Sam screamed happily.

Scott sends Rhodey flying and Peter catches him with a web. Scott then kicks a bus towards T'Challa; Vision decends and braces himself, splitting the bus in two and protecting T'Challa from harm. T'Challa spots you, your dad and Bucky sprinting past him. Peter clinging to a web stuck to Uncle Rhodey's back. He fires more webs and wraps them around Scott's outsized arms. Giant Ant-Man punches Rhodey in the air and swings a gangway towards him as he recovers. Rhodey opens fire and the gangway desintegrates. Scott tries to stamp on Rhodey who dives clear evading a lunge of Scott's hand. Wanda uses her powers; flinging vehicles into Rhodey’s path. Distracted by Peter, Scott doesn't spot Vision curling into a ball and ramming into him. Vision spots you, your dad and Bucky approaching the Quinjet. He simply floats through Scott's chest. Vision fires a shining beam of energy to the control tower.

“Dad watch out!” You screamed as the tower starts to collapse towards the entrance of the hangar.

Wanda struggles to slow its collapse. Then Rhodey descends behind her fires a sonic disruptor. Wanda holds her head and screams. The tower falls behind all three of you, but you barely make it into the hangar where Natasha is waiting for you.

“You're not gonna stop.” She said.

“You know I can't.” Your dad said.

“I'm gonna regret this.” She stuns T'Challa who's arrived behind them. “Go.” All three of you run for the Quinjet while she keeps T'Challa at bay.Your dad fires the guns blast debris from the entrance the you fly to Siberia.

After a couple of hours of silence your uncle spoke.

“So who is your new boyfriend?”

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Z Nation 5x02 because apparently I do episode reactions now

jesus f*cking christ why can't we just have consistent aspect ratios

warren and cooper are so goddamned cute but it's like watching a trainwreck because there's no way they're going to let warren be happy and peaceful. 'cause then plot couldn't happen.

at one point george goes "hey, doc!" and I definitely did not auto-fill "you're no good, doc! you'll never be sh*t! you're just. like. your fatha." because that would be mean

ok the sneak peek scene is old news but I just need to say how cool I think it is that they're actually potentially addressing some of the characters' somewhat fuzzy dead/alive status. also 10k has a heartrate of 6 bpm, babe what

eugh love triangle eugh no thanks

you're... allowed to specify that someone is black? if you're describing someone you're looking for? lmao jfc show. you're like one of those half-assed centrists who have some kind of inkling that they're supposed to be seen not to be racist but have no idea what makes something racist.

lol warren has absolutely no reason to have told cooper that murphy is blue when he hasn't been blue in literally years but I did laugh at that line

nooo why does cooper have to be toxic for warren to leave? this wasn't necessary. warren/cooper was so pure and now I am sad.

real talk kellita is just so. f*cking. gorgeous.

random break for unpopular opinion: I am of two minds about warren/murphy 'cause tbh I would be ALL. ABOUT. IT. ... if not for season 3. maybe it's easier for some to just wipe it off the table, as I often do with season 4, but season 3 was my favourite and I can't just forget what happened. arguably my no1 wishlist item for season 5 is to follow through on plot elements from season 3. so now I don't know what to do with my warren/murphy feelings. just like... he ordered a hit on her! they were at war! and if they had actually resolved that properly, maybe I could move on, but they DID NOT. they just swept it under the rug like it never happened. and I feel like it's too late to expect the writers to have them have an actual adult conversation about it, so even if warren/murphy ends up being amazing (and it would be -- despite my qualms, I started literally squealing when this episode finally brought them together), there would always be this niggling thing of "what the f*ck though, he ordered a HIT on her"

lol warren I love you but you did not "leave it up to darwin". if you leave someone locked in a trunk during the zombie apocalypse, you have killed them, end of.

holy sh*t 10k in a leather jacket and 11th doctor hair is working for me

why are we just assuming that a guy that handed red a baby is automatically her husband. I am handed babies all the time and have never been married.

omg the reunion was so f*cking cute, I can't. hugs! but sidenote do not betray me like this, show, 10k would not be EXCITED to see MURPHY

lmao I love murphy being so offended to be called "lucifer", and it makes my head go to crossover town. not to start sh*t but red murphy >>> lucifer morningstar, sorry not sorry

yaaay we have a surname for george, gonna go with "george sinclair" for my tag probably

oh sh*t, "puppies and kittens" origin story. but also like how is it beneficial to imagine zombies as puppies and kittens, you have to shoot them in the head. are you ok with shooting puppies and kittens in the head?

as annoying as Zona is as a plot element, do kind of like that Roman (was that plotnick's character's name?) is from Zona

SUN MY LOVE MY ONLY

oh man, show, you don't even know how much I do not give a sh*t about red/10k/sarge, please let's not do this

"because you're cuddly and everybody likes you" lmao I mean. true.

dunno how to feel about everybody just knowing 10k's name now; also what kind of weird relationship do 10k and sarge have that sarge would console him for his ex being with another dude

jfc will sarge/10k/red please go away PLEASE GOD PLEASE. GOD. PLEASE. SHUT UP.

ok I know what I just said but are 10k/sarge just fwb or an open relationship or what? maybe they just banged the once? I can't remember if that's been addressed. maybe this isn't an actual love triangle?? she said desperately.

I think? there might not be a love triangle? oh god please

I love that this episode showed some of george's vulnerabilities, I was briefly worried that we as the audience were going to be held at arm's length and she'd be more of a Symbol but nope she is secretly a useless ball of anxiety, yayy

I was spoiled for the explosion at the end (that sounds very passive... I spoiled myself because I was going nuts with impatience while waiting for the episode to be ready) so no real thoughts except that I would be a lot more worried if I wasn't so weak about looking at promo pictures. seems like all the named characters will be fine?

just remembered that I was under the impression addy would be back by now. oh well, she'll come back soon enough.

continuing to love the sh*t out of season 5! yesss I’m so happy we’ve moved on to greener pastures after season 4

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Lance Totally Brought His Cellphone to Space, so Here’s Him Showing His Space Family Photos of His Family Family (WIP, OC-heavy)

Lance gave a whoop of excitement, plopping onto the couch between the two Alteans and opening the picture gallery on his precious cell phone.

“Alright, get ready to meet the McClains!” first he pulled up a photo of himself and a cheerful older woman. She shared his skin color, with only slightly darker hair. He was taking a selfie with her and showing off his Garrison acceptance letter. Both of them had tears in their eyes and smiles on their faces.

“That’s my mom, Florina. Don’t let the fact that she’s tiny and seemingly delicate fool you – she’s stronger than an ox, and twice as tenacious! She was so proud of me for getting into the Garrison…” Lance trailed off, staring into the image of his mother’s face. Allura put a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sure that she’ll be just as proud when she finds out you’ve been defending the universe.” Lance smiled at her and switched to a photo of an older man with an impressive mustache relaxing on the water, held afloat by an oversized inner-tube in the shape of a pink flamingo. Coran gasped in delight.

“HIS MUSTACHE ALMOST LOOKS LIKE MINE!”

“I know, right?! That’s the first thing I thought when I met you! That’s my dad, Clyde. He used to be a boring, ordinary office worker, but then he found out he had heart failure and only had about four months to live and took a trip to Cuba, which is how he met my mom, and they fell in love! Oh, and uh then he got a new heart, so don’t worry. He’s all good now, and a stay at home dad and grandpa.”

The next photo he brought up was of a young man who looked almost the exact same as Lance, with slightly rounder facial features. He was wearing a doctor’s coat and had a stethoscope around his neck, and was standing with crossed arms and a barely concealed smile in front of a colorful building with a “GRAND OPENING” banner strung across it.

“That’s my oldest brother, Gerardo. We call him Jerry. He hates it. He’s a doctor, and that’s the community clinic he opened in the poorer section of town with some of his friends from med school. He’s the golden child of the family, which you’d think would make him a stuck-up brat.”

“…but?”

“But nothing, he’s got the longest freakin’ stick up his ass, and it’s hilarious. Whenever anyone gets sick he freaks out and goes into doctor mode. His husband Camilo is the only reason he hasn’t keeled over from stress yet.”

Swiping left, Lance brought up a selfie of a muscular woman who, again, looked like Lance but slightly different, flexing to show off her muscles. Shiro and Allura almost choked, while Matt enthusiastically yelled “I WOULD PAY THAT LADY TO KICK MY ASS!”

“Oh my god, no. That’s my oldest sister, Mónica. She’s in the construction business, and the family fix-it expert. When she and her girlfriend and datemate – she’s in a poly relationship, it’s really cute actually – anyways, when they couldn’t find a bed big enough for all three of them plus their two giant dogs, Mónica just built them one herself. I’m convinced he could bench-press Shiro.”

“That’s hot.”

“That’s my sister.”

“Still hot.”

Rolling his eyes at Matt, Lance pulled up a photo of yet another look-alike, but with longer hair and wearing flawless makeup. He was wearing a fancy blue suit and posing dramatically for the camera.

“This beautiful asshole is my brother Dimas. He started out as a makeup artist but eventually his boss begged him to become a model. He agreed, but on the condition that he could still do makeup. He taught me everything I know about beauty and cosmetics!”

“He’s hot.”

“You just said that about my sister! Also, he’s ace. I don’t know if he’s aro, but he’s ace.”

“…still hot.”

“OH MY GOD, MATT.”

The next picture showed a woman who yet again looked vaguely like Lance, but this one had long hair tied up in a bun, and glasses on her face. She was smiling with a little girl who looked somewhere around ten years old, give or take a year or two. The little girl liked strikingly like the woman, but enough like someone else to not look like Lance.

“That’s my sister Sarina and her daughter, Paloma, who is my youngest niece. She also has two sets of twin boys, and on top of that she’s a second grade teacher.”

“That’s…a lot of kids.”

“Well, she is the token straight of the family. Gerardo and his husband have a set of triplets they adopted, though, and Mónica is considering getting married to one of her partners so that they can cheese the system and legally adopt. Only problem is that she doesn’t want to make whoever isn’t part of the marriage feel left out.”

“My god, why are there so many kids?!”

“Pidge, we’re Catholic.”

“Ooooh, yeah.”

“I don’t get it.”

“It’s a stereotype, Keith. Don’t worry about it.”

Leaving Keith to remain confused (while Shiro tried not to die of laughter beside him), Lance pulled up a photo of another look-alike, but this one had vitiligo and bore an almost rose-shaped mark over their right eye, which was also a slightly different color. They were squatting and drinking a child-size juice box next to a large marble sign that read “CUBAN ACADAMY OF LAW” in English, with Spanish underneath that presumably said the same thing.

“This living meme is my enby sib, Indigo. I sometimes call them Indy or Inigo Montoya. Y’know, for pop culture references. Anyway, they’re in law school. They’re gonna be a super cool, badass lawyer and debate the sh*t out of some people.”

“Alright, this is the last one for now,” Lance pulled up the final photo and the room became silent in awe. The picture was of a slightly younger Lance, hair gelled and wearing a fancy (if a little old and very obviously a hand-me-down) tuxedo, standing beside a sister who might as well have been his clone. She had long, curled hair, and was wearing an elegant ball gown the same color as her and Lance’s eyes. They were in front of a podium, and she was holding a large trophy.

“That’s Linnette. She’s only older than me by a year and a couple days, so we’ve always been close. She’s a professional ballroom dancer, and her partner is her fiancé now. This picture was from before they were paired, when I would sometimes be her partner. Mom couldn’t afford to send me to pre-school and send Linnie to dance class at the same time, so I went to the studio with her. I’m not nearly as good as her or her partner, Valero, but I think I can still dance a pretty sick waltz.”

“You won a trophy together.”

“Forget that, you have six siblings?! You’re the youngest of SEVEN kids?! I can barely handle Pidge!” Matt gasped dramatically, earning him a swift (but light-hearted) bunch in the side from said sibling.

“Yeah, the joke is that I was born because my mom couldn’t stand having an uneven girl-to-boy ratio. To be fair, though, my mom is the middle child of thirteen. Big old farming family, so lots of kids.” Everyone gawked at Lance’s nonchalant response. Coran even spat out his Nunvil.

“THIRTEEN?!”

“Okay, it’s technically twelve. Uncle Lance died when she was a teenager.”

“So you’re named for him, I’m guessing?”

“Mm-hmm. Mom says he was the bravest person she had ever met. I always wondered why she saved the name for me instead of just giving it to her first son, or even second, but she said it just didn’t feel right for any of them.”

“Well it’s certainly a fitting name. Though…my goodness, your family is certainly quite large. Alteans rarely have more than one child at any time, so families are typically quite small.”

“Man, no wonder you’re so homesick.”

“Wow, Keith, don’t pull any punches.”

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The Sims 4: New Game Patch (July 18th, 2017)

There’s a new Sims 4 update available in Origin. If you have automatic updates enabled in the “Application Settings”, the game will auto-update once you open Origin. If you have auto-updates disabled, you will need to manually update by clicking the game in your library.

PLEASE:>>>> Remove all MODS and Custom Content before updating your game

UPDATE: 7/18/2017 – PC Version 1.32.1.1020 / Mac Version 1.32.1.1220

Hey Simmers,We spent some time working on some of the hot community issues out there. Each of these issues below were requested by folks in our community (except for one).Hopefully we touched upon something for you, or even better, you haven’t run into any of these. But if you have, or you’re just curious, then these issues are for you.

General Issues

Sims will no longer restart writing a book from the beginning, after you have saved and loaded the lot.

“Watch Current Channel” and “Watch TV Together” are BACK baby! You can once again choose to sit down with your family, friends, strangers, and watch the current channel or together as a group!

We fixed an issue that could cause female Sims to remain wearing a pink bra when taking a shower.

Lots downloaded to “My Library” from the Gallery should no longer find that various thumbnails have gone missing.

Sims with the Kleptomaniac trait should no longer place items they have stolen into the inventories of the Sim they stole the items from.

Sims will no longer autonomously donate money to charity.

Throwing a Birthday Party will help to fulfil the Throw 3 Parties aspiration goal of the Party Animal Aspiration.

Oh… if only. I’ve been on the same 3 pages of my novel for 15 years now.

Wait… I’m sorry. The issue is that the mosaic censor grid will no longer have hints of mosaic pink in it?

Ok. So, just for clarity, the censor grid pink, that was showing in the mosaic, will no longer be present?

I feel so conflicted with this note.

Yep.

Yep.

I feel as though the story of Robin was lost in translation.

But they still feel good about doing it.

Get To Work

“Interrogate Suspect” has been removed from the interrogation table during the tutorial APB event as it didn’t do anything.

Your Sim should no longer get the Unable to Propose dialog when attempting to propose to Sims who are not employed by the proposing Sim.

Medicine can now be set for sale in retail stores.

Now if they don’t want to marry you, they’ll just tell ya.

“Oooh, I would totally marry you, but my job… yea. It’s crunch time, we got a deadline. Oh, and my boss, real hard a-yea don’t get me started. And, I gotta work Saturdays too. Maybe next time.”

Sims without license selling medicine. This seems fine.[.list]

Sims who reach level 8 in the Doctor career should now find that pregnant Sims are actually coming to the hospital to complete the Deliver a Baby promotion task.

C’mon honey, your pregnant, and it’s time to go to the hospital.

Nope? But, you’re… pregnant… and… it’s time.

Off what?

But they fixed the issue.

If you chose to wear ymHair_EP01ShortSwept and set your head shape to ymCompleteHead_09, and you look deeply into the eyes of your creation… you could see the hair under the skin near the eyes. This is now fixed.

The Regulation Station now has a Reliability value displayed in its tooltip, and the winning number is…. SIX!

Nope

Nope. Rather have my pregnancy off lot.

Off lot, you know off camera, no pain, no animation. No baby… and then *pop* baby. So much nicer than labor.

They did WHAT?!

Come on down, it’s time for the Price Is… this by the way was “the one”.

Get Together

“Play Darts With…” more than one Sim should now work, and no longer leave the Sims standing around looking awkwardly at one another.

You gonna throw?

What?

So… you wanna play some b-ball?

The dance interaction can once again be performed on a Dance Floor when there is a stereo playing music nearby.

Lost a toe.

Yep, *schtick* toe gone.

Lost an eye.

City Living

Start Yard Sale and Stop Yard Sale now indicate they are instant actions in the pie menu with the circle in a circle icon.

When you learn the 27th of 27 recipes, we will no longer congratulate you for learning the 26th of the 27 recipes, but instead we will congratulate for learning all 27 of the 27 recipes.

Vegetarian Sims that received the message that says “WOAH! Your Sim has discovered a delicious alternative to meat products! Who knew that a meal could still have the familiar meat taste without the meat?” will no longer again receive the message each time they travel.

Sims with the active trait should no longer attempt “Close Shot” and “Dream Big” interactions on the basketball hoop every waking second of the day. This has been tuned down significantly.

In order to meet the needs of our Vegetarian Sims, The Corporate Fridge Raider Revenue Generating Cooler now offers a Faux BLT selection.

Sims should now sit when they play the console game if there is an available seat nearby.

I think the poor guy visiting me was really confused as I instantly started and stopped my yard sale 20 times in a row…

He kept looking at me with that “Is this wooden horse for sale or not!?” look in his eye. It’s a very specific look. You don’t run into it much.

But when you do…. wooh… you’ll never forget the “is this horse for sale” look.

Congratulations.

As the slogan says, “Faux B, if it’s fo-everyone, it’s Faux B.”

Obviously… have you ever tried to rocket jump standing up, the balance to weight ratio of the stick to foot differential completely messes with the timing.

Dine Out

Top-level restaurant chefs should no longer cook poor quality food.

Vampires

The Draught of Reconfiguration and Vampire Resistance co*cktail drinks will no longer have two drink options in the pie menu.

Sims should once again be able to Plan their Wedding Event with a Vampire Sim.

Vampires can now date.

Is marriage to a vampire considered a wedding or a funeral? One of you is dead after all.

Ok, ok… let’s not get into the dead vs undead debate.

Technically – as for your determination of their date-ability, well, that’s on you.

I wish you a happy twilight, and a merry nosferatu.

Happy Summer Simmers,-SimGuruGnome

[Posted on behalf of SimGuruGnome who is enjoying a nice game of ‘Don’t Wake the Llama’]

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My Love

Listen to this as you read: Turn Around- Camille,

Somewhere only we know- Lily Allen

My Love

Masterlist

Contains: Fluff, Spencer on the spectrum, gender neutral!Reader

[Revised as of 5/24/2021]

A/N: I relied on a speech someone made about autism, a video directed by a woman on the spectrum about her daily life on the spectrum, and a few different government websites to try and be as accurate as I could. I appreciate feedback regarding this topic as I want all of my works to be relatable to any reader!

At the very least Spencer, in this work, falls under the umbrella of autism spectrum disorder (ASD) but I defined his behaviors as Asperger Syndrome because canonically, in Criminal Minds, Spencer exhibits behaviors such as a “remarkable focus and persistence, an aptitude for recognizing patterns, and attention to detail” source. In this work specifically spencer is hypersensitive to loud noises and has difficulty with nonverbal communication.

I linked some sources at the bottom if you would like to understand my mindset while reading this.----

The early morning smell of coffee grinds filled your brain with the false hope that you wouldn't be drowsy for your first day on the job. You were lucky that a coffee shop nearby was able to accept your application so quickly after being fired from your previous one due to your manager being a sexist asshole. The fact that your wallet was denying your hearts wishes of marrying rich had nothing to do with it.

The coffee house was slightly packed when your manager put you on the counter, but the work was the same old thing after a while. You heard the doorbell ding as a few new customers came in, one particular man catching your attention when you looked up. He was groaning slightly, hands fiddling around. His brown doe eyes looked up from the short blonde woman next to him. You assumed she was his girlfriend, and you smiled softly.

She approached you and smiled, ordering their drinks. The man stood next to her, watching you very studiously. You were about to turn around to start preparing their order when, "Hi I'm Spencer." made you pause. After a moment, you decided to reply, not wanting to be rude. "I'm-"

"Y/n. I can read your nametag. Isn't it funny how most employees wear a nametag, but usually people only use it when they're complaining? In reality nametags are there so that people can feel more comfortable when talking to strangers, although how could anyone not be comfortable when greeted with such a charming smile?" You blushed, registering that he didn't seem like he was flirting with you. It didn't even look like he knew what he was saying.

"Thank you. How could one not smile when such flattery is bestowed?" You responded in the same manner and he responded with a child-like smile, causing his companion to look at him with a look of amusem*nt and slight caution. She told him to go sit down for a few minutes while she collected the coffee.

"I hope that wasn't offending you in anyway." You offered to the woman , who seemed puzzled. "You're his girlfriend right?" To that she laughed, and you pinked with embarrassment.

"Sorry, but no. He's single, lucky for you. He's a very special guy." She smiled, taking the drinks and straying to lead him out the door. Before he left, he turned around and waved a shy goodbye.

-(3rd person POV)

Being born with slight Asperger's Syndrome, Spencer's life had never been normal. When he was a child he seemed to offended a lot of people with his observations, which he didn't keep to himself. For the short period of time when he was in high school, he was viewed as a freak for taking senior classes as a freshman and not conforming to anything that was seemingly 'cool' at the time. Now in his adult stage of life, he was blessed enough to make a few friends at the job he had worked out for 13 years.

Something was missing.

Someone who he would be truly unique to in the world, and vice versa. JJ liked to tease him for not knowing much about romance but that's one of the few things she was wrong about. Spencer's eyes were drawn to every couple who held each other's hands, hugged, and kissed as he traveled to work every morning.

After a lifetime of rejection, whether it be from his father, girls who didn't understand him in school, or the slight pang of hurt he still felt from Gideon so many years ago had felt like another crack in his fragile glass heart. It seemed so difficult for him to even fathom a life with someone who truly loved him.

He liked your smile. That day at the coffee shop, your gaze held no pity, no cruelty, just kindness. Garcia had poked some fun at him, telling him that he should go back to try and get your number. That wasn't exactly his plan but she did have a point. Maybe he would try and go back...

-

"Don't come in." Spencer told Morgan as they stood outside the door to the coffee shop a few days later. His friend chuckled, thinking Spencer was joking until he saw how serious the young doctors face looked.

"I can't get coffee?" He asked, brows raising. Spencer hurriedly rolled his eyes. "No, youcan’t get coffee, I'll get it, just stay outside." Spencer looked over his shoulder to see you working the counter. Morgan noticed this and a smile started to grow on his face.

"Oh I see, you don't want me around to cramp your style. What's their name?" Morgan laughed under his breath noticing how nervous Spencer was. The aforementioned man ran a hand trough his hair and tried straightening his tie.

"Statistically men with muscles are more attractive to the average male-seeking person. A physical demonstration of strength makes them believe that males can protect them. Not to mention that you have an inexplainable talent to charm any anyone who dares lay their eyes on you...I'm afraid after they see you..." He trailed off leading Morgan to connect the dots. "Their name is y/n." He mumbled quietly.

"Well, Their name is about to be Y/n Reid because I know you, and if you like them then I know they’re perfect for you. Especially because you normally blush as soon as any of us mention you having a partner." Morgan teased with a gentle expression, lightly shoving Spencer to the door. "Flirt all you want but remember my coffee!' He called out before Spencer shut the door.

(Your POV)

"Hi!" An overenthusiastic voice startled you as you turned around to greet your next customer. You jumped but smiled once you realized it was Spencer. "Uh, hi!" You mumbled, hand over your heart as you tried to stop your cheeks from burning out of embarrassment. "It would be really great if I could get two black coffees." He asked and you nodded, beginning the order.

"You don't want anything in them?" You questioned and he shook his head. "Ah I get it, you don't trust me do you? I know I'm new and all but I can tell you, I'm a lot better with the cream to sugar ratio then some people who have been here for years." You smiled teasingly and his eyes widened.

"I'm sorry Y/n, if you think I don't trust you!" He began, his long, bony fingers shake slightly and fiddle with each other. as he spoke.

“No, no, I’m sorry. I was just teasing you but I think my tone came of sharper than intended.” You explained, mentally reprimanding yourself.

"Oh, I get it..." His eyes widened in understanding. "That was a joke, wasn't it? I have a hard time differentiating sarcasm sometimes." He swept a lock of his hair behind his ear and you observed the tips of his ears were pinked in embarrassment.

"Do you like chocolate?" You asked him, a smile hinting at the corner of your mouth. He paused as if he had to seriously think about the question before shyly nodding, goodness he was cute. You handed him one of the muffins that laid in the glass display case for purchasing, telling him that this one was on the house, blushing when a slight look of awe crossed his features.

(3d person POV)

Morgan looked up from his phone as he heard the bell ring from the door opening, standing up from the bench he had situated himself down upon. A deep chuckle escaped his throat when he saw the bewildered face of his friend.

"I'm guessing it went well?" He gestured to the muffin. "You usually don’t order muffins." He pointed out, remembering Spencer’s usual routine.

“No, I don’t. This one was for free, y/n said so.” Spencer handed Morgan his coffee, the aforementioned man about to take a sip when he noticed some writing on the side of his cup. "I think this one's for you, Dr. Love."

"Hope to see you soon! -Y/n"----(Your POV)

The next time you saw Spencer he was by himself, sitting at one of the tables set for two. You had decided to take advantage of your employee discount on your day off. When he saw you enter, his eyes lit up, waving you over. He opened his mouth to say something but the sound of the blender distracted him and he put his hands over his ears and started humming the 1963 Dr. Who theme.

You had looked up patterns of behavior that Spencer had expressed and came up with articles that suggested he may have be on the autistic spectrum, not that it mattered. You just wanted to make sure you understood how he perceived certain actions and phrases and in turn be able to communicate in the proper way. You believed at that moment he was stimming, trying to calm himself down.

"Dr. Who, right?" You asked softly, sitting down next him. He looked up and nodded, a slight grin on his face. "Are you here by yourself today?" You asked, sitting in the chair across from him. "You're usually not alone."

"I came to see you." He stated as if it was the most obvious thing. "I wanted to come by myself." He slowly reached for the cup of water he had, taking out a few pills. "They're for anxiety." He explained. You eyed him up and down as he swallowed the medication, eyes catching sight of the thick book resting at his side.

"Are you actually reading that?" You asked out of disbelief. He nodded, fiddling with the bindings of the book, making sure not to damage it in any way. "What’s it about?"

He opened his mouth to reply, when the continuing of loud machines startled him. You knew that he wasn't that comfortable with his surroundings and offered to take him somewhere else. He seemed hesitant to change locations until you explained that you weren’t working that day and would be leaving soon regardless.

"Yes please." He answered, tone sounding like he was being suffocated. "How about we take some hot drinks with us?" You suggested, getting up to order once he nodded. You knew he may be sensitive to new tastes so you stuck with his usual order of black coffee.

You had led him to a park, the hot drinks favorable for the gloomy autumn weather. The sidewalk was littered with leaves that survived falling off the trees, a muddy pod and an empty playground. It didn't look like much but Spencer thought it was beautiful...because you were there.

"So...I think I've deduced something about you." You broke the moment of silence, and Spencer perked, remaining quiet.You nodded, pausing to take a sip and sigh, steam visible when you exhaled. "You're a genius, aren’t you?"

He furrowed his eyebrows which you noticed were strangely groomed while his hair wasn't. "I don't believe intelligence can be accurately quantified but I do have an IQ of 187, an eidetic memory and can read 20,000 words per minute."

"So you're a genius." You smiled, eyebrows raising. "What was that like growing up?" You continued to sip your drink, clearing your throat every once and a while, listening to him talk about his advanced schooling, FBI profiling and his friends. When he finished, you were about to reply when you saw the perfect tree.

"Hold this, please." You placed the paper cup in his hand. He watched with a puzzled expression as you approached a tree with a million branches. You stood on your tiptoes to grab a branch, pulling yourself upon it, feet climbing vertically up the trunk until you laid your legs on a thick branch. From your knees down to your head you were upside down until you pulled yourself up into a sitting position. "Are you going to come join me?" You asked, starting to stand.

"In the United States, more than 5,600 children die annually from unintentional injuries. Each year in the U.S., 140 children die, and 3 million more are injured in falls. Falls are also the second leading cause of death from unintentional injury in the U.S. a-a-and Tree climbing is so unsafe, lumberjacks can’t even buy life insurance. Not to mention that 36% of all hunting accidents in Georgia are caused by falling out of trees." He looked uncomfortable watching you.

"So you've never climbed one then?" You asked, starting to make your way up the different branches. You recounted childhood memories, consisting of dirt, chalk, bruises, bicycles and tree climbing, you couldn't imagine it any other way.

"Played chess, read, I cleaned obsessively, learned all I could about anything I ever questioned." He stated obviously, secretly thankful that most of the leaves had fallen off the trees so he could watch you climb. You seemed to make it look easy, but he hoped you didn't fall or hurt yourself.

"Is there anyway I could try to convince you to join me?" He shook his head, nervously looking around.

"If you get down from that tree this instant then I'll think about it okay?" He pleaded, bouncing a leg frantically. He sighed heavily in relief when you started to make your way down.

"Sounds like a deal." You groaned at your feet hit the pavement, hoping you didn’t make him too uncomfortable. Though you had researched ASD it didn’t mean you were an expert in it and how those with ASD functioned. "I'll teach you and make sure you don't fall." You accepted the drink he held out to you, stifling a laugh as his wide eyes met yours.

There was something about you... he couldn’t quite identify it... perhaps it was the warm smile you gave him that made him want to know you more.-

From that day on Spencer came to your work every day that he could, trying to adjust his schedule. Change was hard for him but he knew if he wanted to see you he would have to make an effort.

After a while you realized you had a crush on the agent. You had gotten to know each other pretty well and started to understand more about his life, wishing that you could be a part of it. However, you couldn't really be sure if he felt the same, as relationships never came up in conversation.

You decided you would try to discuss your feelings the next time you met him. Even if he decided he didn’t want to pursue a relationship, you knew you wanted him to remain in your life and be your friend.

You had reached out to him and decided to meet up close to his apartment, started out with the usual conversations, just silly formalities until halfway throughout the conversation. You had tried to come up with a way to explain your feelings with no room for misinterpretation, deciding to be blunt.

"Spencer, I like you and would like to pursue a romantic relationship with you.” You gazed up at him nervously, trying to gauge his reaction. His lip twitched, repeating your phrase a few times before falling silent.

"Y/n. I hope you know as someone on the spectrum, I’m still a person. I want the same things you do. I want to know love, and I want respect. I have a job, but it's hard for people to take me seriously. You've been so sweet to me since the first day we met. I’m not stupid, I know people see me as a child in a man's body, but you were one of the first few people who didn't even hesitate to treat me like anyone else. Ever since I first saw you, I've preferred your company than that of my own mind.” He seemed to struggle in communicating his feelings.“Being in a relationship with me won’t be easy. We’ll both have to work harder than you would in a relationship with someone else. I may need downtime from you and I may not reciprocate touches or kisses even if I want to. You have to understand that or we can’t function.”

"I understand and I’m willing to work on the relationship if you’re willing to start one.”

“Yes.” He agreed, face flushing. It may not have been the grandest romantic proposal to ever go down, but you could tell it meant a lot to you both.

“Would you like to hold my hand?” You asked, barely getting the question out before his fingers tangled with yours. Your cheeks ached as you smiled, gently squeezing his palm. Your stole a glance at your partner, blush deepening as he squeezed back, a dopey grin mirroring your own.

He was no longer alone.

references: x xx

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Rami Malek x Reader: Blackstone’s Ratio

A/N: Hey motherf*ckers, the binch is back and better than ever. This is my contribution to vday, basically I think vday is a load of capitalist bullsh*t and I’m also a very unromantique person so I hope that sets the tone for what you’re about to read. Praise be to the most high (me).

Also I’m trying something new with the whole reader pov thing. Roast me if its bad.

Warnings: I hate warnings because it always gives half the f*ckin story away so basically don’t read this if you have any issues with unconventional pregnancies, one night stands etc.

Finding out I was pregnant was a lot of things, but it was also not a lot of things, if that makes any sense? For starters, it wasn’t a joyous moment where close friend and I jumped up and down with glee. There wasn’t any squeals of excitements and phone calls made to family members. There wasn’t any ridiculous announcement on Facebook.

There wasn’t any hugs or kisses shared between myself and the father of my child. There wasn’t a wedding, well, there wasn’t even an engagement. He wasn’t my boyfriend; he wasn’t a close friend. Neither of our friends or families knew about our relationship, if you could even call it that. Can you call a few f*cks in a hotel room a relationship?

We met in some bar, I was at a friend’s birthday party, well, the pre-drinks of said birthday party. We got to talking over our drinks, he drank gin and tonic and I drank vodka and co*ke. He told me he was an actor and was delighted that I didn’t really know who he was. I made him an empty promise to watch something he was in sometime.

It didn’t matter that we didn’t have much in common, we gravitated towards each other. I gravitated towards his hotel room and his dick gravitated towards my puss*. There wasn’t anything romantic about it. I left in the morning with his number and no intention to call it.

But a few weeks later, on a whim, I did. I was horny, in need of company, and so was he. We f*cked again after some drinks in a different hotel. We drunkenly complained about our lives and dissatisfactions, then came all over each other. That time, I managed to escape before he woke up.

There was a sick kind of humour in the fact that I thought that I’d left without any trace of him, when in fact I had his child inside me. He called me a few times, but since he wasn’t of any use to me unless I wanted sex, I didn’t pick up. We didn’t have any obligations towards each other, at least none we were aware of.

But when I stared down at that positive result, I began to ponder the real definition of an obligation. That evening I’d actually lain in bed and laughed hysterically at the term “positive result”. How the f*ck was this a positive result in any way, shape or form? I guess for some people it is, those people that have fiancés or married couples, people who have been trying for a long time.

Oh f*ck, I’m an ungrateful bitch. I thought back to a friend I’d known since high school, we’d met for coffee and she’d admitted that she and her girlfriend had found out that neither of them could conceive. I guess adoption is on the cards for most gay couples anyway, but it’s still a shame.

And here I was, vegetating at home and feeling oh so sorry for myself over something some people could only dream of. I’d feel guilty if I wasn’t so busy being resentful and pissed off at my own poor decisions that led to this situation in the first place.

But I had so many important decisions to make. Was I supposed to tell him? Probably. Was I supposed to ask someone for advice? Probably. Was I supposed to visit a doctor? Probably. Was I supposed to tell my parents? Probably. Was I supposed to keep it? Probably… Not.

Eventually I settled for calling him. I was a grown woman, even if just barely, and if I could pay my own bills and have unprotected sex, I could deal with the consequences. Possibly. I could just feel it was going to be the most awkward conversation of my life, but I wasn’t about to be one of those idiots on soaps who keep it totally to themselves until it’s far too late and something awful happens.

But as I laboured through the beeping on the other end of the call, I really struggled to see how it could get much more awful than this. When he finally answered, I mentally tripped and fell over my words.

“Hi, hello, Rami. I needed to call you, well obviously because I f*cking did that, anyway I need to talk to you.” I winced at my own painful awkwardness.

The second I heard the smooth chuckle of amusem*nt rumble through the phone, I was reminded of why I liked this guy. He was cool.

“It’s been a while, Y/N. I didn’t really expect to hear from you.” He didn’t sound mad, maybe a little disappointed but he masked it under his calm drawl. I sighed in response.

“Yeah. I’ll be honest, I didn’t really expect to be calling you but-“ I was interrupted by Rami laughing again.

“You’re too honest. Sorry, continue.” I actually find myself smiling a little, despite the situation, a wry one none the less.

“Um, I don’t really know whether you’re supposed to tell people these things over the phone, I feel like you’re not but… Yeah I’m just gonna cut to the chase, I’m pregnant.” I bite my lip as I wait in silence for his response. It doesn’t come for what feels like hours. “Rami?”

“This isn’t a prank, right?”

A spark of rage ignites inside me.

“I don’t know what makes you think we’re anywhere near friendly enough to be joking around about pregnancy.”

“We were friendly enough to sleep together multiple times.” He snaps.

“Twice. Don’t be so f*cking optimistic.”

“Optimistic, right, was it optimistic of me to put my-“ He halts abruptly and sighs. “You know what, this is really juvenile.” We’re quiet for a few moments before he speaks again, seemingly cooling off. “Get a cab to my place, this really isn’t something we can talk about properly over the phone.” I don’t know what to say to this. I was hoping a five minute conversation would cover it.

I half hoped he’d yell at me, tell me to get rid of it then hang up. I knew damned well Rami wasn’t going to do that, that just isn’t the type of person he is, and I could deduce that from two sexual encounters alone.

“Y/N?” I realise I’ve been sitting there, lost in my own head for several minutes.

“Is that really necessary?” I ask timidly.

“Y/N, I thought you were aware but you’re f*cking pregnant! Don’t you think a potential life growing inside you deserves a little more discussion than a damn phone call?” Well, when he puts it like that it makes me sound like an asshole. He does that grownup sigh again. “Go get ready or whatever, text me your address and I’ll call you a cab.”

*

About half an hour later, I’m sitting outside a pretty nice apartment building in the cab, Rami is waiting for me by the door to the foyer. His hair is all over the place and he looks tired, but I think part of that is just his look in general. He looked like that both times we met, just a little more put together.

I reach into my purse to pay for the ride, but he’s already leaning in through the window with a handful of bills. The driver takes them, and smiles gratefully when Rami tells him to keep the change. I’d roll my eyes if he didn’t sound so stressed out rather than suave. I get out and follow him towards the building. I feel extremely awkward as we get in the elevator, Rami waves at a passing neighbour.

I find myself wishing I made more of an effort with my appearance when I catch sight of myself in the mirrored walls of the lift. I remind myself that unfortunately, that’s not why I’m here so it doesn’t matter.

We reach his floor and he leads the way to his apartment. He left the door on latch, so we go straight in and I shuffle from one foot to another in the hallway. He’s already started walking to another room, but my mind is racing with questions. Am I supposed to take my shoes off? Do I take my coat off? If I do these things where do I leave them? God this is f*cking nerve wracking.

He turns to see me still dithering by the door.

“You can keep your shoes on if you want, I’ll take your coat in a sec.” What the f*ck? When did he become a mind reader? Am I just thinking irrelevant things to distract myself from the fact that I’m here to discuss my pregnancy? Highly likely.

We go into his kitchen and he offers me a drink, frowning when he retracts the offer of anything caffeinated.

“It’s still like, a ball of cells at this point.” I protest, desperately wanting coffee or something alcoholic.

“A ball of cells that will quickly become a baby depending on how this conversation goes. You’re not damaging it before we’ve made any decisions.” That shuts me up pretty fast.

“I guess I’ll just have a glass of water then.” I mutter, feeling like a scolded child.

“Good.” Thankfully, he doesn’t tease me by having coffee himself, he simply pours two glasses of water and indicates for me to sit down at his table for two with him.

“So, nice place.” I joke.“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Distract from the matter at hand. You know exactly what you’re doing, Y/N.” This irritates me greatly.

“Don’t act like you know me.”“Don’t act like a child.” He retaliates. “We need to talk about this.” He rests his hands on the table top, fingers intertwined. “First of all, the obvious question, do you want to keep it?” He’s looking at me so seriously it makes me want to laugh, but that is absolutely not appropriate.

“My immediate thought is no?” He co*cks an eyebrow. “I don’t know! It’s a f*cking baby, Rami! No single woman my age wants a baby! I live in a tiny apartment with a job that nicely covers everything I need. Note my use of the word I? As in there is no room in my budget for a child?!” I can feel myself quickly becoming hysterical. Now that I’m actually talking about it, it suddenly feels very real, like I’ve been yanked back down to earth.

“I know we’re not together or anything, we barely know each other in fact…-“

“Yes thank you for reminding me of that.”

“But just because we’re not in love or getting married or whatever doesn’t mean I don’t care about what decisions you make, I mean at the end of the day it’s not my body so it doesn’t really matter that much what I want but-“

“Rami, we’re both rambling like f*cking idiots.”

“You’re right.”

We sit in silence, staring at the table. We’re not making any progress, we haven’t even established whether or not we want to keep it. I don’t even really know his moral stance on abortion, I’m not really sure of my own to be quite honest. And then, a thought pops into my head.

“You know, it kinda makes me think of a murder trial.” Rami’s head shoots up, a look of shock on his face.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“You know, like Blackstone’s ratio.” His expression relaxes a little as he ponders the analogy.

“I think I see what you’re getting at.” He says, a small smile quirking at the corners of his lips. “Burden of proof.” I nod in agreement.

*

It’s funny how we always think we have so much time to do things, but the day of reckoning always comes around far faster than we anticipate. Hence why eight months later Rami is trying to assemble a f*cking IKEA crib in his bedroom that only really accommodates a double bed and a closet among other bedroom furniture.

“We’re idiots.”

“Idiots that’ll be getting dressed in the living room for the next few weeks at this rate.” I snort, handing him a screw.

“How did we remember to buy Babygro’s with puns written on them but forgot to get back to the estate agent.” He sighs.

“Priorities.” I grin at him, reclining a little on the bed.

“Half of them won’t even fit him for another six months.” He shakes his head.

“Did you just assume our child’s gender?” I gasp sarcastically.

“Make that joke ever again and I will never change a single diaper. At least not until he’s one.” The sight of Rami rolling his eyes makes me crack up.

We’d decided to piss my mom off by not finding out the sex so she couldn’t bombard us with pink or blue baby paraphernalia, because god forbid the little boy or girl have anything that was the ‘wrong’ colour for its gender. Rami however, is convinced that it’s going to be a boy.

“Have you thought of any names yet?” He asks absentmindedly, that’s another kinda crucial task that we put on the backburner.

“Hmm, I was thinking something really meaningful, like an ode to a prominent figure in history.” I explain, feigning pensiveness.

“Oh yeah? Such as?” Rami replies, eyes on the screwdriver he’s using to fasten one of the legs to the crib.

“Harambe. Or maybe Donald.” Rami bursts out laughing.

“Remind me why I’m letting you bring a child into the world?” “Okay fine maybe those were a bit extravagant. Bush?”

“What, and his middle name be ‘Jet-fuel-can’t-melt-steel-beams’?”

And in that moment, I knew that even though we didn’t have a real house, or a professionally assembled crib, or even a highchair- f*ck I meant to remind him to get that in IKEA the other day.

We’re so f*cked.

But it’s okay I guess, at least I have him.

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What Expecting to Die Young Taught Me About Living a Happy Life

“I’ve come to trust not that events will always unfold exactly as I want, but that I will be fine either way. The challenges we face in life are always lessons that serve our soul’s growth.” ~ Marianne Williamson

At the age of nine, I was sitting in a doctor’s office at Baylor University with both of my parents when we were all told I wouldn’t live to see twenty-three. The doctor casually told us my dad would probably never get to walk me down the aisle and I’d likely never make my mom a grandmother, but there was great chicken pot pie in the cafeteria on the first floor.

Enjoy the rest of your day.

Eight months later, on my tenth birthday, the possibility of my dad walking me down the aisle was permanently taken away when he died suddenly of an aortic and thoracic aneurysm. He had the same genetic abnormality I have, which caused the aneurysm, so by my logic, confirmed by the doctors, my demise was not far behind.

I had no idea the day I turned ten, the day I lost my dad, my misguided and broken heart gifted me a license to be entitled and reckless until the day I died.Which, according to the medical community, wasn’t that far away.

Let me back the medical drama bus up back to the day in Texas at the hospital just for a quick, minor detail to note.

That day my dad and I were simultaneously diagnosed with a genetic disorder called Marfan Syndrome.

In a very tiny nutshell, it’s a connective tissue disorder found on the fibrillin one gene. It essentially weakens all connective tissue in the body. The result is a body whose heart, lungs, eyes, and spine are severely impacted. A prominent and common feature with this condition is “abnormal” height. People affected are relatively tall (I’m 6’2”, my dad was 6’9”).

For precautionary purposes, we both stopped participating in any activities that raise the heartbeat, to decrease the risk of having an aneurysm or potentially causing damage to the face due to dislocation of the lens in the eye.

No contact sports, no exercising, no gym at school. I was basically told I could walk, bowl, or golf. I hated sports anyway, so I was excited to not have to dress for gym.

This consequently led to a lifetime of comments like “You don’t play basketball or volleyball?! That’s a shame!” or “Omg, you’re so tall!” As if I wasn’t already painfully aware, but I digress…

Point being, I was told from a very young age on a fairly regular basis, “You can’t.” So I learned to habitually answer, “I can’t” every time someone asked me to do pretty much anything.

What possible negative effects could this have?

I couldn’t see it at the time, but this led to a lifetime of constantly assessing every situation based on whether it was going to speed up my untimely death or not.

I didn’t learn how to question whether or not I liked things but whether or not it was something that was going to kill me sooner or later. In turn, I missed a million opportunities to get to know who I was as a young woman.

All I knew and all I was told were all the things I couldn’t do all the time.

This short-term life span turned my life into a short-term life plan.Soon enough the emotional pains of being a teenager and the new kid in high school, along with unresolved daddy issues, kicked into high gear, and I had no idea how to deal with any of it.

So, I drank. A lot.

The rest of high school and most of college was a blur. I got married at twenty-three because, well, time was running out for me. And then, when I was twenty-four, doctors told me my life expectancy had suddenly increased to forty.

(If there’s one emoji to express how I felt it would be the face with the wide eyes and red cheeks that looks like he would say “Oh sh*t!” if he could talk.)

I panicked and started trying to speed up the clock. Living wasn’t for me. I wasn’t raised to live; I was raised to die. Live all the places, have a baby, buy the stuff, laugh all the laughs, and then die.

This is where my excessive drinking turned into full-blown alcoholism and prescription drug addiction.

I was either going to OD or make my heart explode, but I wasn’t going to stick around. I must note that none of this was planned, intentional, or a suicide mission. In my mind at the time, I literally didn’t know what else to do, not even how to ask for help.

So, someone asked for help for me. Rehab is a whole other blog.

I’m thirty-nine now, well past my expiration date, and still learning how to live life today. In my drinking days, life revolved around morbid reflection. In early sobriety, life revolved around morbid projection. Today life revolves around just this day. This hour. This moment.

When one of my coaches asks me to journal about how I want my life to look in five years or where I want my business to be long term, I still don’t know how to answer that.

I don’t understand long term. And for the longest time, I always thought that to be a nightmarish curse. Until now.

My inability to see life long-term seems to be all the rage these days. There’s Eckhart Tolle, Wayne Dyer, and Deepak Chopra all preaching about being present, being here now, and being there with the spirit of love, and I’m over here wondering how long the two-week wait to hear if this gets published is going to feel or if I’ll be around to see it go live.

When you think about it, we’re all terminal. No one gets out of here alive. Yet we all run around like we’re going to cheat death—ironically, with this weird impending sense of doom.

We run out of joy staying married to jobs, people, and places we are no longer passionate about. We’ve forgotten how to be happy because we’ve made it so elusive.

It only feels elusive because we’ve spent our time wrong. We’ve spent our time focusing on how we can create a living for ourselves instead of how to create a life for our hearts, and the only way to do that is to get to know yourself first.

In designing my life by listening to my heart, I discovered a few things along the way.

I learned that we habitually state we are human beings, but we spend too much time doing. We get stuck in the how and what next instead of being right where our feet are in that moment. I learned to create space and presence for life to happen organically instead of allowing my mind to race with perceived fears.

Living in each moment used to mean living as recklessly as possible and constantly challenging the odds just to see if I would make it. Today, living in each moment means being driven by what my heart is calling me to do.

I’ve learned to take the time to figure out what the voice of my heart sounds like instead of the blazing of doubt in my mind. This finally allowed me to see what felt light and right in my life and allowed everything that feels heavy to fall to the way side.

Heart driven. Soul led.

This journey was started by a seed that was planted three decades ago. The seed called “I can’t” grew into a self-fulfilling prophecy filled with destruction, heartbreak, sorrow, and the urge to run from everything.

When I stopped running (drinking, using, blaming, complaining) and learned to be still with myself and all that had encompassed my life, an entirely new life was born.

In designing my life and healing my soul, I have found that happiness can be found in big moments like reuniting with my soulmate, winning a competition, or leaping into a new career. It can also be found in the smaller moments like watching my child choose a book instead of watching television, receiving flowers just because, or just being grateful for the sunshine.

But I have found I am the happiest and most content when I am meditating, creating a safe space for others, and playing. Playing like a child on a daily basis is where it’s at. Whether I’m writing, coaching, baking, or gluing rhinestones on anything I can get my hands on, that’s where I’m at complete peace.

And that (happiness) seems to be the individual goal of most people I meet, but it doesn’t seem to translate into the collective thinking. That’s where I’ve found the hiccup. The getting tied up in what we see everyone else doing, where everyone else is succeeding, and then wondering why we don’t have a that perfect slice of peace pie that everyone else seems to have.

The hardest thing I’ve learned is there is no special sauce, no magical happiness-to-sadness ratio, and no one-size-fits-all solution. We each have to define happiness for ourselves.

For me, this means doing the work. It looks like me getting brutally honest with my past, mending my mistakes, giving love to every person I meet, and telling those who are close to me what’s really going on every day.

This connects me to you and you to me, and this is ultimately the biggest lesson I learned.

We all want to be seen. We all want to be heard. We all want permission to be ourselves. I’ve experienced what that feels like, and now I’m living a life that I was told would never happen. I stopped believing other people’s opinions of me, my life, and where they think it should be when I realized those opinions and thoughts are about what’s missing from their life, not mine.

There is no slice of peace pie waiting for you or for me. We each have our own pie to flavor, bake, and share. I guess that would be called Purpose Pie. I sit in gratitude every day I have found my pie and am able to share with all who are hungry.

All of this because they told me I was going to die and the hospital chicken pot pie was nice.

About Lindsay Wilson

Lindsay is a life and mentor coach walking clients through emotional recovery and into self-discovery from significant emotional events including death of a parent, rape, addiction, medical challenges, infertility, and divorce. Lindsay is a single mother to an eight-year-old superhero in Nashville, TN and is on a mission to get rid of the phrase “good enough.” Visit her at lindsaywilsoncoaching.com.

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Ask D'Mine: No Insulin Needed?, Alternative Medicine's Bad Rap

New Post has been published on http://type2diabetestreatment.net/diabetes-mellitus/ask-dmine-no-insulin-needed-alternative-medicines-bad-rap/

Ask D'Mine: No Insulin Needed?, Alternative Medicine's Bad Rap

Need help navigating life with diabetes? Email us at [emailprotected]

Yup, you guessed it: it's another edition of our new diabetes advice column, Ask D'Mine, hosted by veteran type 1, diabetes author and community educator Wil Dubois.

Alex from Canada, type 1, writes: I was diagnosed roughly 9 months ago. Since then, my insulin requirements have increased every now and then. Last week, I needed 16u of basal insulin in the morning, and from that I work on a sliding scale of rapid on a 15:1 ratio. But in the past two days, I have had so many lows that I didn't take insulin with any meals. Now I've spent the last 48 hours without any basal or rapid insulin. My question is: why?

Wil@Ask D'Mine answers: As I read your email my head starting literally brimming with possibilities. I just love, love, love medical mysteries—this kind of stuff makes my job fun! The top three things that came to my mind were: Custer's Last Stand, prairie dogs, and lazy stock boys.

Bear with me.

Custer first. So, as you're somewhat new to the D-family, this could be a garden-variety case of honeymoon phase. We covered what that's all about in our October edition here; just scroll down to the picture of the syringe and start reading at that point for a refresher on what type 1 diabetes and Col. George Armstrong Custer have in common.

Second, prairie dogs. There's always a remote chance you were a glucose-toxic type 2 misdiagnosed as a type 1. We covered what that's all about in November here; just scroll down to the second question to learn what the pancreas, eagles, high blood sugar, and prairie dogs have in common.

As to the third possibility, it's time to break out a new analogy. Everyone, please meet the lazy stock boy. Lazy stock boy, meet everyone.

We all know what a stock boy is supposed to do, right? His job (or her job, I wasn't dissin' lazy stock girls) is to replenish the stock of goods for sale in retail stores. Done right, the job is much more than just putting boxes of Post-Toasties on the shelf at Safeway, because most grocery items have a limited shelf life. Milk goes sour. Bread gets moldy. Chips get stale. Even beer has a "best used by" date stamped on the can. Or so I'm told.

So a properly trained and motivated stock boy not only re-stocks the shelves, but rotates the stock—placing the newer stock in the back and pulling the older, but still sellable, stock to the front. Oh yes. And the stock boy is also supposed to pull stock off the shelf that's past its expiration date.

That's actually a pretty complicated job for one that pays minimum wage. At night. Which is why it's so easy to get home with your groceries and find you just bought sour milk, moldy bread, stale chips, and un-drinkable beer. Milk, bread, chips, and beer, of course, make up the now-retired My Food Square Nutrition System. (Wink).

And this has, what, exactly, to do with diabetes?

OK. Now all of you. Get up. Go to the bathroom. Look in the mirror. Be honest with yourselves. Are you lazy stock boys and girls?

That's right. All your diabetes meds and diabetes stuff are like milk, bread, chips, and beer. It's only good for so long, and you and you alone are responsible for rotating the stock.

Alex, I see that you take 16u of basal insulin per day. Well, more correctly, you said last week you needed 16 and you had been titrating up. That tells me that a few weeks ago you were probably using even less.

So I gotta ask, when did you start using your current vial of insulin? 'Cause at 16u a day, a vial would last you sixty-two and one-half days. The problem being, of course, that once you pop the top it's only good for thirty days. You might have been injecting sour milk for thirty-two and one-half days.

Now, of course, insulin's useful life can be stretched. It's really not like milk, good one day, vomit-worthy the next. But it can lose its potency pretty quickly. If you were titrating up insulin that was spooling down, and then popped open a fresh one, you might have effectively over-dosed yourself, leading to the chain of lows. Maybe I could be clearer: if you're increasing doses of insulin that is getting weaker every day, then you aren't really titrating to your body's needs; you are titrating to the reduced action of the aging insulin. When you open a fresh one, WHAM! You have a boat-load more insulin than you need, and, to make matters worse, it's a 24-hour-action insulin.

My advice to everyone who uses little enough insulin that a vial or pen won't be empty in thirty days: get a sharpie out and write your own expiration date on the bottle or cartridge.

Then no more lazy stocking!

Jay from Nevada, type 2, asks: Why are medical associations against "alternative" medicine? My current doctor seems to think it's all snake oil.

Wil@Ask D'Mine answers: Fish oil has been absolutely proven by Western Medicine to lower cholesterol. I'm sure it's only a matter of time before the benefits of snake oil will be scientifically demonstrated as well.

But seriously, there's an interesting history behind the attitude of many modern docs towards the universe of alternative medicine. And that history isn't very old because, frankly, modern medicine isn't very old either.

Here's the story: Many of the practitioners of modern medicine would have you believe that Western Medicine traces its roots directly back to Hippocrates in ancient Greece. Nothing could be further from the truth. Our current tradition of Western Medicine, commonly called scientific medicine on the inside, really only goes back about 200 years to the early 1800s. At that time, in fact, scientific medicine was just one of a large pack of competing medicine systems to choose from that also included homeopathy and chiropractic medicine. Hard to believe now, but back then, the medical system we all take for granted today was a barely respectable trade, not well-regarded by much of anyone, and frankly, as likely to kill you as help you.

Then, in 1846, a rag-tag medical rabble formed the forerunner of the American Medical Association. This organization became the enforcer of scientific medicine over the years, using both fair means and foul. Don't get me wrong, the AMA's done plenty of good, and continues to up to this day; but its early mission was to simply put everyone else out of the medicine businesses.

They came damn close to doing it, too.

To their credit, however, they also cleaned their own house while trying to evict everyone else from it. Don't forget that in the mid-1800s anyone could call himself a doctor; there was no accredited system of education or government licensure in place. Dentists had better training than doctors at the time. But by the end of the 1800s the AMA had successfully lead the charge to require a license to practice medicine in every state in the Union. In the early 1900s they took on initiatives that effectively overhauled medical schools, bringing them, literally, out of the dark ages.

But the AMA was also focused on the survival of the fittest, and went to great lengths to stamp out the competition: alternative medicine. Remember that at the time, alternative medicine included just about all the other guys in the field of medicine. You can read more details about the battles between the different "camps" of medicine in Jon Queijo's entertaining book Breakthrough.

To this day, there are many bone-headed died-in-the-wool white coats that're suspicious of everything that doesn't smell like science, a legacy of the AMA's work. In fact, most medical schools today teach the latest incarnation of Western Medicine, called Evidence-Based Medicine, that requires any therapy to be validated by clinical studies before being used in the health care trenches. That said, many modern docs are taking a longer view. A more open view. The sum total of what we do not know overwhelms the sum total of what we do know. A few medical schools are now teaching something called integrated medicine; and I've even seen doctor's referrals for acupuncture. So the times are changing. I don't think that would have happened in 1950. Or 1960. Or 1970. Probably not even in 1980, either.

Doctors, once banned from even associating with chiropractors by the AMA, now will send patients to them. Medical massage is widely recognized. Diet and exercise remains a valid therapy for type 2 diabetes—that's a pretty non-medicine approach, if you think about it.

Scientific medicine has a great many strengths, but it does tend to micro-manage illnesses. It tends to single out symptoms and attack them. It sometimes ignores the person in purist of the illness.

Alternative medicines, on the other hand, while ranging from blatant quackery to highly effective treatments, tends to be better about viewing the person as a whole. And I mean that in the widest possible way: not a whole collection of cells, and organs, and systems; but rather body, mind, and soul. And that's why alternative medicine is rapidly regaining popularity after two centuries out in the cold.

Personally, I don't think alternative medicine has all the answers, but I know that scientific medicine doesn't either. I believe that we can intelligently blend various approaches. But we can't be kooks about it either. If you want to drink cactus juice to lower your blood sugar, be my guest. Just don't stop taking your prescription medications in the meantime.

As to your doc, you're not married to him or her (well, you could be, but I'm assuming you're not); if you think your doctor is closed-minded, go shopping for a new one. Just be sure to check the expiration date to make sure his/her attitudes aren't sour, moldy, or stale. Those damn lazy sock boys are everywhere!

This is not a medical advice column. We are PWDs freely and openly sharing the wisdom of our collected experiences — our been-there-done-that knowledge from the trenches. But we are not MDs, RNs, NPs, PAs, CDEs, or partridges in pear trees. Bottom line: we are only a small part of your total prescription. You still need the professional advice, treatment, and care of a licensed medical professional.

Disclaimer: Content created by the Diabetes Mine team. For more details click here.

Disclaimer

This content is created for Diabetes Mine, a consumer health blog focused on the diabetes community. The content is not medically reviewed and doesn't adhere to Healthline's editorial guidelines. For more information about Healthline's partnership with Diabetes Mine, please click here.

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