#and that she was sick of coddling me and pitying me

[pinktinselmonstrosity]

goddddd day from hell. so glad to be getting out of here tomorrow jesus christ

[jiminomenon]

model! karina gets sick

pairing: model! karina x assistant! female reader

word count: 926

tag(s): karina being stubborn, y/n is tired she literally needs a break now gang-, sick! karina, princess aka their child makes an appearance, just a really soft moment between these two

from my series: the devil wears prada

if y/n had known jimin was going to be this insufferable when she was sick, she would have never let her step out in the rain yesterday. in fact, she should’ve just grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her under the umbrella instead of letting her prance around like she was immune to basic human conditions. but no, jimin had insisted she was invincible, brushing off y/n’s concerns with that same haughty confidence she wore like a designer coat.

“you’ll catch a cold,” y/n had warned, holding the umbrella over them as jimin strutted toward the car, completely unbothered.

“i don’t get sick,” jimin had scoffed, flipping her damp hair over her shoulder before tossing her equally soaked coat at y/n. “only weak people do.”

fast forward to today—jimin was curled up in bed, nose red, voice hoarse, and shivering beneath a mountain of blankets. weak people, huh?

y/n stood at the bedside with her arms crossed, staring down at the miserable lump that was once the almighty yu jimin. “i told you so.”

jimin peeked at her from beneath the covers, her glassy eyes narrowed into a glare. her voice was raspy, almost pitiful, but her bratty attitude remained intact. “shut up and make yourself useful.”

y/n exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of her nose. “so bossy even when you’re practically on your deathbed.” she set down a tray on the bedside table, pushing a bowl of steaming porridge toward jimin. “eat this.”

jimin wrinkled her nose, shifting further into her blankets like a petulant child. “no.”

y/n’s eye twitched. “yes.”

“don’t want to.”

“jimin, you’re literally sick.”

“so? i don’t like porridge.”

y/n clenched her jaw, inhaling slowly as if it would give her the patience not to smack the stubbornness out of this woman. after a moment of internal struggle, she scoffed and threw her hands up. “fine. starve, then.”

she spun on her heel, making her way toward the door. she wasn’t going to coddle someone who refused to help themselves—jimin could sit in her self-inflicted misery all she wanted. but just as y/n reached for the doorknob—

“wait.”

y/n paused, glancing over her shoulder. jimin wasn’t looking at her directly, her fingers fiddling weakly with the edge of the blanket. her voice was smaller this time, almost hesitant. “where’s princess?”

of course. leave it to jimin to refuse basic human nourishment but demand to see her cat. y/n sighed, but she left without protest, heading toward the living room. sure enough, princess was curled up on the couch, a tiny bundle of fur nestled into one of jimin’s designer pillows. the kitten barely stirred as y/n scooped her up, her soft little body warm against y/n’s palm.

when y/n returned to the bedroom, jimin was watching her expectantly, her expression softening the moment she saw princess in y/n’s arms.

“here,” y/n muttered, setting the kitten down gently on the bed.

princess blinked sleepily before stretching her tiny paws, letting out a delicate meow as she toddled over to jimin’s side. jimin immediately reached for her, stroking her fur with weak but affectionate fingers.

a small, satisfied smile graced jimin’s lips as princess nuzzled against her chin. “at least someone still loves me.”

y/n rolled her eyes, arms crossing over her chest. “you’re impossible.”

princess purred, rubbing her cheek against jimin before curling up into a tiny ball beside her. jimin let out a contented sigh, her body visibly relaxing as she snuggled into the blankets. but just when y/n thought she could finally leave—

“this is nice,” jimin murmured, peeking up at y/n. “all that’s missing is—”

she patted the empty space beside her, her meaning very clear.

y/n blinked. “oh, no. absolutely not.”

jimin pouted, her bottom lip sticking out in a way that would’ve been cute if y/n wasn’t so tired of her antics. “y/n, i’m cold.”

y/n deadpanned. “you have five blankets.”

“and yet, i’m still freezing.” jimin’s voice was thick with faux suffering, her lashes fluttering dramatically.

“what do you want me to do? magically turn into a human heater?”

jimin didn’t answer—just kept staring at her with those expectant, slightly fevered eyes.

y/n exhaled through her nose, already regretting what she knew was about to happen. “seriously?”

jimin didn’t blink.

there was a long moment of silence, a battle of wills that, to y/n’s dismay, ended in her eventual sigh of defeat. “fine.”

grumbling under her breath, she kicked off her slippers and crawled into bed, slipping beneath the covers with a reluctant sigh. the second she was within reach, jimin latched onto her like a heat-seeking missile, tangling their limbs together as she buried her face into y/n’s collarbone.

“you’re warm,” she hummed, sighing in satisfaction.

“if you get me sick, i swear—”

“shhh,” jimin hushed, her breath tickling y/n’s skin. “let me enjoy this.”

princess let out a tiny yawn, stretching out her paws before snuggling further between them, her warmth adding to the cocoon of coziness surrounding them.

jimin sighed again, a lazy smirk creeping onto her lips. “we should do this every night now.”

y/n scoffed, shifting slightly but making no real effort to pull away. “not happening.”

“we’ll see,” jimin murmured, already halfway to sleep.

y/n rolled her eyes, but as she felt jimin’s breathing even out and princess’s soft purring vibrating between them, she figured… maybe this wasn’t too bad.

[lavender-spice]

an honest man

Tyler Owens x Reader

Lily reveals the truth about Tyler's night, leading to confrontation

warnings: cussing, angst, but fluff at the end!

"Tyler Owens!" you shout , storming into your motel room. The rusty door slams with a rough shake and a deafening clang. The entire floor probably felt the shake of it but you could care less. You were going to skin Tyler alive. You beeline to the bathroom door, hearing the shower running. "Tyler you open this door right fucking now." you demand, jiggling the locked doorknob.

"Y/N? What is it doll what's the matter?" his voice is laced with concern as you hear him stumble out of the shower. He cracks the door open, hair dripping wet, shower still running. His eyes are wide, startled at your fuming expression.

"Do you care to explain why Lily says you were out 'till 2 am drinking with Kate?" he looks at you, flabbergasted. "You said you were out with Boone."

"Baby I was with Boone 'till like midnight, I was with both of them. Lily headed in with you and those two hung around. Kate was just the last to call it a night. We were up chatting real late." he replies nonchalantly. You roll your eyes.

Ever since this Kate girl rolled in Tyler's been smothering her like she's a baby in need of a blanket. He coddles her, taking attention from you. Every other word is Kate, Kate, Kate. It's like he's not even chasing for the storm, it feels like an excuse to be around her.

"I don't believe a word you say Tyler. You weren't in bed 'till 5 am, and I thought you were coming from Boone's room. Now I hear that Kate told Lily you were out 'till 2 with her, so what happened between 2 and 5, Tyler?" you demand, your voice growing angrier with each word. He sighs, stepping back.

"Can I at least finish my shower first?" he pleads. You scoff, letting go of the door. "You can go lick her boots Tyler. I'm sick of this." you storm off, leaving the room with a huff. You walk mindlessly until you reach the bar you were at last night.

You push the doors open and sit down at one of the rickety stools, ordering a Coors. And another, and another, until you're properly tipsy enough to not give a shit about where your fiancé may be. All you do is take down beer after beer, your empty stomach churning at the bubbly alcohol, your eyes getting wet each time they meet with the glistening stone on your left finger.

Tyler was a perfect man, a perfect partner. He understood you, he took care of you, and all of the sudden that's all tossed out the second some new city girl shows up. Even Lily noticed the shift in behavior. It was uncharacteristic, and no matter how mad you were, you just wanted Tyler back to being completely yours.

About two hours and a half pass by of you just wallowing in your own pity- even the bartender was shooting you looks every time you ordered another drink. By number 5, he tells you to cool down and has you close out. By then Tyler is also meandering towards you.

"Baby." he says. You don't look at him. "Y/N. Darlin' look at me."

You still refuse.

"I didn't sleep with Kate, or do whatever you think I did. I was talking to her about her accident. She had an accident years ago with an experiment gone wrong that killed her friends- we were unpacking it. We were getting to know each other. She was wanting to get to know you, too. I know it sounds bad, I know it looks even worse, but baby you have to believe me." he's begging at this point, shakily placing his hand over yours. "You're the only woman for me. The only person for me, the only one I could ever love. I can't look at nobody else the way I look at you. You mean everything to me. I'd let a tornado rip me away if it meant you could be happy forever. I never want to see you like this, especially if it's my fault. I just want to make this right honey."

Tears stream down your face. He sounds genuine, and you know he means it too. You finally turn your head, locking eyes. He's sorrowful, wiping your tears.

"Can you find it in you to forgive me?" you don't hesitate to nod. He leans over to kiss you, before outstretching his hand. "Let's get you to bed alright?" you let him lead you back to the room, feeling warm from the beer, and the affection he's showing you. This, this was your Tyler. The man you were going to marry. The caring soul you'd fallen for all those years ago.

He helps you change and tucks you into bed, kissing you earnestly. He murmurs sweet nothings into your hair as you breathe him in, drifting to sleep, secure in his arms.

[azzibuckets]

pazzi tennis fic when 🤔 jkjk I just love your writing 🤗

doubles [pazzi]

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

a/n: the us open fic all of u were begging me for….i didn’t rly know what to write about so i combined a bunch of ur requests

masterlist

��Dude, your story looks ass.”

Paige’s thumb immediately swiped back to the Instagram app. Clicking on her profile picture, she studied the photo with a frown. “It looks exactly like yours,” she said, baffled.

Azzi shoved her own phone in Paige’s face. “Definitely not,” she mused as she compared the two screens side by side. “You’re just not good at taking pictures.”

Paige scowled. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about bro, they look exactly the same.”

“It’s okay.” Azzi leaned in and pinched Paige’s cheek, a mocking smile on her lips. “Not everyone can be good at everything like me.”

“Man, shut up.” Paige laughed, flicking Azzi’s hands away from her face. Her attention fell back to Azzi’s knee where it was propped up against the seat in front of them. “How’s it feeling?”

Azzi looked down and grimaced. “It’s still flaring up.” Her thumbs creased over her knee, trying to massage away the throbbing ache, but to no avail. Paige’s heartstrings tugged a little as she watched Azzi stare at her knee. It had been hell when she’d tore her own ACL, both physically and mentally, and she hated the idea of her girlfriend having to go through it a second time.

“You shouldn’t have pushed yourself so hard in practice yesterday,” Paige reproached, gently pushing Azzi’s hands aside to replace them with her own. She gently kneaded the tissue with her fingers, eyes fixed on Azzi’s face for any signs of pain.

Azzi tipped her head back and slowly exhaled. She was tired from all of this shit, tired from having to watch from the sidelines as all the other girls participated in the intense drills. She missed that feeling of sweat running down her back, muscles aching and lungs pumping as she ran up and down the court. What was worse was the pitying looks all her teammates sent her way, all the pats on her back that were supposed to make her feel better but only made her feel like shit. It wasn’t their fault, and Azzi loved her teammates for trying, but she was so goddamn sick of it. “I already have Geno and CD and all the trainers breathing down my back, I don’t need you to coddle me too,” Azzi responded, her tone coming out harsher than she meant for it to.

Paige’s movements halted. “I’m just trying to look out for you,” she said. “The last thing I want is for you to tear your ACL again.”

Azzi rubbed her temple. “Yeah, I know, I know.”

Paige fell silent, continuing to work Azzi’s knee with her fingers, but she didn’t look at her, instead focusing instead on Coco as she flew across the court.

“I’m sorry,” Azzi said finally. “I didn’t mean to snap. I’m just tired of being treated like I’m fragile. It’s like everyone thinks I’m weak.”

Paige dipped her head against Azzi’s ear, lips gently brushing her earlobe. “No one thinks you’re weak.” She twisted her bracelet against her wrist, making sure Azzi could see the letters spelled out across the beads. “Resilient, remember? You’re the toughest person in the whole fucking world.”

Azzi dropped her head against Paige’s shoulder. “Thank you, Paige.”

Paige hummed, continuing to rub her thumb in soothing circles around Azzi’s knee. “You tired?”

Azzi stifled a yawn. “So tired.”

“If your knee’s still bothering you, we can go home,” Paige offered.

“No, I wanna meet Coco and I know you do too. It’s fine.”

Paige gently tapped Azzi’s leg. “Are you sure? There’s still a few hours.”

Azzi waved her off. “I’ll pop some painkillers. But I hope you know you’re paying for my ice cream after this.”

Paige shook her head. “You only reminded me about a few thousand times on the way here.”

Soon after, Azzi moved a seat over so that she could fully stretch out her leg. She looked around the stadium, taking in the buzzing atmosphere and lively crowds before turning her gaze back to Paige, who was frowning so hard that there were wrinkles between her brows. “Are you seriously pouting right now?” Azzi laughed.

“You didn’t have to move,” Paige insisted. “There’s already plenty of space.”

“Tell that to my fucked up knee.”

Paige got up to take the seat next to Azzi, but Azzi reached over and pushed her back down. “You seriously have attachment issues,” Azzi teased, but loving every second of it.

“I can’t even kiss you and shit and now you’re saying I can’t sit next to my own girlfriend?” Paige grumbled, shaking her head in annoyance.

Azzi grinned, knowing exactly what would tick Paige off even more. She loved seeing the blonde all riled up, especially for her. “It’s getting kinda hot,” she said casually, slowly taking off her sweater and balling it up.

Paige’s eyes immediately fell down, gaze tracing the slope of Azzi’s neck to the jut of her collarbone, and finally down to the dip in her tank top across her chest, where it stayed until Azzi threw her sweater at the blonde. “You’re such a whore,” Azzi smirked.

Paige blinked rapidly, trying to get ahold of herself. “And you’re such a fucking tease,” she complained, stuffing the sweater under her arms.

Azzi leaned over the seat between them. She wrapped one of Paige’s slut strands around her finger, biting her bottom lip as she looked up at the older girl through her lashes. “What were you saying?”

Paige’s mouth opened and closed in a stutter, suddenly finding herself unable to speak.

Azzi giggled and leaned back, snapping Paige out of her trance again. “So fucking whipped.”

Paige’s glare burned into the side of Azzi’s face. “You know what? You can go and pay for your own damn ice cream.”

Azzi was already scrolling on her phone, nails tapping against her screen. “Don’t even try and start. We both know you’re gonna end up paying anyways.”

“Fuck you.”

[mephist00o]

dude can you imagine caleb’s borderline yandere behavior paired with someone who has a “No Bullshit” attitude towards everyone?

like he starts his little, “im going to keep you with me for your own protection” only to be interrupted by his partner with, “who the fuck are you talking to like that????” to be people outside of the relationship it seems toxic, but his crazy ass needs to be with someone STRICT.

FIREE IDEAA :D

desc: headcannons of caleb with a mc who puts his ass in his PLACE 🫠

a/n: reader and Caleb are just RLLY funny 😋, also trying a new head cannon format !!

As we know, Caleb is not one to shy away from being assertive when it comes to mc's saftey (I think we've ALL seen those edits on our fyps). But anyway, I can see a reader with a "no bulshit attitude" lowkey scaring him a bit? (and maybeee perhaps turn him on too?😜).

Imagine you and Caleb are out at a resturant with a bar. You go on your own and get yourself a drink when some guy starts hitting on you. He does every trick in the book: rubbing your arm, giving you half-assed compliments, the usual.

Of course, Caleb's wasting no time walking over to where you two are.

He makes his way over and starts off real nice. He's calm and collected and acting like he was just passing through. Then, when Caleb asks the guy if he knows you are not his hand makes its way around your waist, and he starts sizing the guy up.

He's on his little rant when you cut him off.

"Sorry, shes-"

"Not interested. And," you rip his hand off your waist, glaring at him, "not to be coddled."

The guy looks like he's about to shit himself. He makes a run for it.

Meanwhile you and Caleb start having it out publicly. He ends up grabbing your wrist harshly and dragging you both back home.

The innocent bystanders look at you two with pity. How could two people seemingly be so hurtful to one another?

Little did they know as soon as you both exited the building Caleb's immediately on his knees begging for YOUR forgiveness.

Caleb's had jelously issues since you two we're little. You never blamed him, especially after everything you two went through. But it still caused you way too much stress.

You have always been headstrong, and known what you wanted. This has increased as you've gotten older as well. But Caleb can't seem to shake off the fact that you're not the scared innocent child you used to be.

This leads to what happened back at the resturant. And it leads to people questioning the true quality of your relationship.

But quite honestly, you guys couldn't be better. Plus, instances like that restaurant barely scratch the surface of other stuff that's happened.

One time, you and Caleb were out on a stroll and some guy just happened to compliment the dress you were wearing. You paid it no mind but as soon as you and Caleb got home, he went fully batshit crazy.

The only reason you found out was because you saw his various web charts and tabs open in his bedroom. Before you can even process it, Caleb's already standing right behind you, his gaze looking over you.

"Pipsqueak, you know I'm just looking out for you,-" Caleb's eyes scan you, almost looking through you rather than at you. "because you're mi-"

"Caleb! Jesus christ, take this down." You roll your eyes at him and give him a look.

Caleb looks like he's been snapped out of whatever daze he was in a second ago and looks at you confused. Still, you continue to pester him.

"You heard me! You know, I'm getting really sick of this yandere act you got going on."

Caleb looks at you like a toddler who just got scolded on by his parents.

This leads to a screaming match, (well, you're the only one really screaming at him) and by the end of it you two are cuddled up on the couch together, Caleb's head resting on your lap, as you two binge watch the newest episodes of love island (I feel like you and Caleb would LOVEEE to make fun of the couples on it together).

I also just see another instance of one of Caleb's stalker moments where he eventually finds the person and threatens them using his gravity evol.

You'd walk up behind him and start telling him off for using his evol to threaten someone.

"But pipsqueak, he was clearly trying to start something with you!"

The only thing that man asked you was directions to the nearest post office. 🤦🏾

But despite it all, you and Caleb's bond never wavered. The dynamic you guys built with one another actually works even if it is a bit unconventional.

...

Lmk if y'all want moree <3

[callsign-rogueone]

fractured - b.d.

Bodhi Durran x reader You break your arm, but Nolon isn't available to mend it. Bodhi takes care of you in the meantime. [request] words: 1.1k 🏷: no book spoilers. she/her reader in an established relationship with Bodhi. mentions of injury (broken arm) but no blood and no description of how it happened. just some fluff of Bo taking care of you.

Bodhi is out of his seat as soon as he sees you exit the exam room, looking a little worse for wear -- your arm is in a sling, the bridge of your nose split, and you’re walking slowly, like your legs are sore.

“There you are,” he breathes. “Xaden said you were here, but nobody would tell me anything. What happened?”

“I fractured my arm in two places,” you explain, “But Nolon is busy, so until he’s done with whatever else he has going on, I have to heal the old fashioned way.”

You leave out the details of how it happened, and hope that he won’t ask. He doesn’t -- he just takes your bag from your ‘good arm’, slinging it over his shoulder before you can protest and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

You give him a pained smile, letting him lead you back across the bridge to the rider’s quadrant, where everyone is sat down for dinner, in the middle of a spirited conversation. You slip into your normal seat, thankful that nobody seems to notice your condition or make a scene -- until they do.

“What’s with the sling?” Imogen asks, raising an eyebrow.

Every head at the table turns toward you. Great.

“Nolon was unavailable,” you answer in a tone that does not invite any more questions -- that seems to be good enough for them, but you still get a few worried glances and pitying looks from your friends in response.

You poke at your food, attempting to cut it with the side of your fork and failing -- it isn’t sharp enough. You set the utensil down, giving up; you aren’t that hungry, anyway, not after the painkiller the healers had given you, which isn’t doing anything except make you nauseous. You really hope that Nolon will be back tomorrow, because living like this is going to suck.

Bodhi notices your dilemma and slides your plate toward him, wordlessly taking your knife and fork and cutting everything into bite-sized pieces for you before he gives it back.

You thank him quietly, managing to eat half of it -- better than nothing, you suppose. Maybe you’ll feel better at breakfast.

He’s sitting on your right, your uninjured side, and he keeps you close to him all through dinner, tucked into his side.

When everyone is finished, he picks up your bag again, carrying it upstairs to your room, right across from his, following you inside and setting the bag on your desk chair. “Do you want help changing clothes? I promise I’m not just asking because I want to see you naked.”

You don’t laugh at the joke, kicking your boots off roughly, not caring where they land. 

“I’ll be fine,” you answer, turning your back on him. You’re sick of this, of feeling like a child, of being coddled and given those concerned looks all through dinner, like you can’t handle yourself -- like you haven’t had worse injuries, like you hadn’t run the gauntlet and bonded a dragon and literally everything else this terrible school asks of its students.

You try to tug your shirt off, hissing in pain at the movement of your arm. Hot tears start to flow down your cheeks as you continue to struggle, the fabric getting stuck on the thick wooden splint the healers had put around your forearm as a temporary fix.

“Hey,” Bodhi coaxes, “let me do it.”

You sigh, admitting defeat and taking a few steps toward him, allowing him to help get your good arm out of the other sleeve first, and gently untangle the shirt from the splint, tossing it into your laundry hamper with practiced ease.

He wipes away your tears with a gentle brush of his thumb, cradling your cheek in his hand. The familiar softness of his touch relaxes you near-instantly.

“I know this is frustrating for you, and I know you’re a badass independent woman dragon rider, who can take care of herself, and that’s one of the things I love most about you, but it would be easier -- and it would make me feel better -- if you let me help you. I love you, and I don’t want you to be in pain.”

“Thank you,” you say quietly. “Love you too.”

You stay like that for a moment, leaning into his hand and closing your eyes -- you’re exhausted.

“We’ll go by the healers before breakfast and see if Nolon is back,” he promises, pressing a kiss to your temple. “But until then, I’m gonna be here to help you, okay?”

You make a soft sound of acknowledgement, working up the courage. “Stay the night?” you ask softly. 

“Gladly,” he answers. “I’ll even bring extra pillows.”

There’s a moment of soft, comfortable silence that you want to linger in forever -- you really don’t feel like trying to shower with this thing on, or to lay down in bed; even with Bodhi by your side, it’s going to be uncomfortable, especially with how much you usually toss and turn during the night.

“I never asked you how this happened,” he realizes.

You stiffen, silent.

He looks at you with a seriousness you hardly ever see, deep concern with anger simmering underneath. “I need you to tell me who did this to you.”

You shake your head. “Nobody hurt me.”

He doesn’t look like he believes you -- you could very well be lying, because you don’t want him to go off and beat someone up just because they bested you in a challenge, but there weren’t any challenge fights today; they’re over for the rest of the school year. Had someone gone out of their way to injure you, to make an attempt on your life? 

“My love, I’m serious. If someone tried to-”

“I tripped over my own shoelace and fell down the flight of stairs by Kaori’s classroom,” you interrupt quietly. “Half a dozen first-years saw the whole thing.”

He knows you well enough to know that you’re telling the truth, that what he’s seeing is genuine embarrassment -- the shyness in your voice and the warmth of your cheeks give it away.

He laughs in relief, and at how deeply unserious this whole situation is. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t be laughing.”

“It’s okay,” you say, shaking your head with a slight smile. “It’s pretty funny.”

It’s hilarious. You’d completed your first year largely unscathed, sustaining no major injuries, but an untied shoelace had nearly done you in.

“That’s it,” he declares, “I’m tying your shoes for you every morning from now on.”

You laugh, wincing when the motion jostles your arm and sends a jolt of pain through you.

“Oh, honey,” he soothes. “C’mere.”

You settle into his arms, leaning against him as he embraces you, careful not to touch your splint.

“I love you,” he whispers, nudging his nose against yours.

“I love you too,” you reply. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

“Always, my love. Always.”

[risingphoenix24601]

Why (stage) Nessa is Ableist: An Essay

Disclaimer: I am disabled, but not a wheelchair user. I am chronically ill (EDS + all the bs that comes with it) and neurodivergent (ADHD, SPD, awaiting an Autism eval).

I will start with my personal perspective. My gripe with Nessa is that she is spoiled, her father favors her, and she expects everything to be done for her and soaks up everyone's pity. I'm not saying this never happens, but I feel like a lot of people just assume our parents coddle us and that our lives are easier, as if being disabled is some sort of advantage, and I've even seen us represented as going around looking for people entrap into helping us. When I was in high school, some kids found out I had a 504, became jealous (bruh, I'm jealous that you were born with high-speed internet brains) immediately assumed I was an arrogant prick who thought I deserved "special treatment," and took it upon themselves to make sure I felt like a burden. Believe me, being born into a world that doesn't know you exist is NOT an advantage.

Getting into more specific stuff: the movie did a great job correcting this, but since I'm talking about the stage version, I'm just going to list it: Elphaba's going to school just to care for Nessa, but I don't think she's in a position where she would need a full-time care-taker, so there's the trope of us entrapping people to do our bidding and that we're burdens on others (movie made clear that the dad is the asshole here and not Nessa). Second, many characters, some of whom don't know her at all, wheel Nessa around. You NEVER touch a person's mobility aids without their permission. Again, move fixed this. Third, Nessa says to Elphaba "I'm about the first happy night of my life!" Don't get me wrong, having a disability can really suck, but it doesn't mean our only emotion is misery. Plenty of disabled people live meaningful, fulfilling lives. My uncle has commented to me that he'd never guess I'm sick because "those people usually go around with a scowl." My uncle is Vietnam war vet. I'm sure if I knew half of the hell he went through, I would be shocked that he doesn't walk around with a scowl either-- but life goes on.

I'm going to address the controversy of the cure in Act II. Let me make this clear: plenty of disabled people want to be cured, and portraying someone who wants to be cured is not problematic. What is problematic, however, is that this is a very complicated topic and the show presents it in a way that is very simple. I'll use myself as an example: I would cure my EDS in a heartbeat, but neurodivergence, I honestly don't know. I am now at a point where I don't hate myself and actually like the way I am, but there are still days that I wish I was normal. I don't view my neurodivergence as a "gift" or another way of being, it is a disability and my life is harder because of it. And yet, I would be a completely different person without it. And I'm not sure if that's a person who I'd want to be.

We must remember that Nessa has been disabled since birth, this is her normal. And more than that, it's part of who she is. Suddenly being able to walk would be a massive change, and not necessarily a welcome one-- I think she would have the same fears that I have regarding fixing my neurodivergence. I also don't think Nessa is in a significant amount of pain or discomfort. So, ultimately, she is not disabled by her physical condition, she is disabled by the world around her.

This is, is my opinion, the biggest problem with the Wicked Witch of the East scene. Nessa's life is undeniably harder, but the lyrics incorrectly ascribe her suffering to her disability, when her suffering is actually caused by ableism. Also, wheelchairs are tools of accessibility. They are not bad or shameful things.

So yeah. I'm sorry that was long, but I've been seeing a lot of people asking about why it's ableist and there's no way to explain in one or two sentences, because this a complicated topic with complicated feelings. I hope I covered all the bases.

[traumxrei-archive]

【 iv. the taste of flowers 】

summary: yuu was sick. okay, so maybe they overworked themself a little while preparing for the debutante, but that didn’t mean they needed to be on bed arrest ! what’s the worst that could happen if they snuck into the kitchen for a snack anyway ?

word count: 1.4k

author’s note: every time i write ruggie i’m like “wow i love this guy sm” and it was the same this time. i hope you like my rendition of him, ruggie likers ^^

[ the perfect debutante series | or read on ao3 (coming soon) ]

Being sick was most definitely not on Yuu's list of things to do for the Debutante. But they were. Sick. It seemed that they had over-exhausted themself after shopping all day with Floyd.

They vaguely remembered Floyd's guilty expression as he brought tea to their bedside. They had told him not to worry, but he seemed to be in low spirits for the rest of the day, according to Azul's report.

And now, well...

Yuu was sneaking into the kitchen.

After being cooped up in the room for so long, they needed some alone time. Alone time that didn't entail Riddle watching their every move like a hawk, or Silver insisting on doing everything for them. Their maids were diligent to a fault really, and Yuu was starting to feel a bit suffocated.

What they weren't expecting was that there would be someone in the kitchen. They stood behind the door. There was a soft humming and the smell of something that had their mouth-watering. Yuu cracked the door open a little. Through the gap, they spotted a pair of fluffy ears.

Ah. So it was Ruggie in the kitchen. Yuu calmed down a bit. The chance that they would be severely scolded for escaping the room had decreased. Still, they knew that someone would check their room soon, and they would get caught, so...

"Master?"

Holy crap. Their soul felt like it almost left their body.

They looked up to see Ruggie tilting his head, "I thought I heard someone, but I didn't expect it to be you, Master."

They got up from their crouched position, "Hi, uh... What are you cooking?"

"A little something for myself," Ruggie suddenly smirked, folding his arms. "What are you doing out of your room, Master? Riddle and Azul are going to freak out if they figure out you're gone."

Yuu stared at Ruggie with what they hoped was a pitiful look, "Please, I need 30 minutes of peace before they coddle me to death again."

"It's because they're worried about you. We all are," Ruggie said, going back to stirring the pot. "But I'm no snitch, shishishi~ Have a seat." There was a stool a little away from the stove, and from this close, they could finally see what Ruggie was cooking. It was...soup. A hearty-looking, vegetable soup, that was currently appealing to them with its scent.

"Are you here for some tea? Or are you hungry?" Ruggie sprinkled some more spices into his soup. "I could make you some soup?"

"What about that soup?" They blurted out. Dammit, they were trying to resist, and yet...

"This soup? It isn't worthy of Master's palette," Ruggie said before putting a lid on the small pot. "Plus, are you sure you wanna eat that?"

"What is it then?" The soup had looked normal enough to them, though they couldn't be sure. Ruggie was famed for using unconventional ingredients in his cooking before. They had heard many stories from Jamil, who found his experimentation interesting enough to talk about. (The other maid rarely talked too extensively, so Yuu had noted it in their mind when he did.)

"Erm," Ruggie's ears twitched, and he looked...almost bashful. "I used dandelions. I saw a few in the gardens and they needed to be weeded out anyway."

"Dandelions?" They cracked a smile. "So you can even cook with flowers?"

"You're not...?" Ruggie shook his head, before leaning his head back into his hands. "It's something my Bi— my grandmother taught me. There are many uses for dandelions, and she used to cook it for us in a soup."

Yuu understood it now. It had been a while since Ruggie had taken a break to go home. He tended to bulldoze through leave days that they set up by taking up other jobs. They ended up having him be their designated maid when the others went on leave. Ruggie was pleased with the setup, especially after they doubled his pay.

Money wasn't a worry to them, given that they were the heir of the Dukedom. But it had once been, back before Duke Crowley had adopted them. So they understood Ruggie's determination, especially with how fiercely he loved his family.

"Why don't you eat some?" Yuu leaned their face into their palm. "You spent all that time cooking it after all."

Ruggie's expression turned complicated for a moment. He hesitantly grabbed a bowl, ladling in a spoonful. His ears drooped for a moment before straightening. Yuu couldn't help but find the subconscious action adorable. 

He finally sighed, sliding the bowl in front of them, "Here. Your puppy eyes really are unfair, Master."

"Puppy eyes?" They mumbled, but they couldn't focus on anything other than the soup that was in front of them. Ruggie pushed a spoon into their hands, and they couldn't help but immediately try it.

"Well?" Ruggie asked, ladling his own bowl. It was...amazing. The soup was salty, but rich, and all the vegetables were perfectly cooked— not too soft with a nice crunch.

And that was when Yuu abandoned two things: their etiquette training and their pride. It didn't matter that it was hot, they kept shoveling spoonfuls of soup into their mouth.

Ruggie laughed as he ate his own bowl, "Slow down there, Master. If the chefs see you they'll throw a tantrum because you're guzzling that down so fast."

"But," They sputtered, gesturing at their half finished bowl. "It's so good! I can't even tell which part the dandelion is!"

"The green leafy bits," Ruggie looked proud, if the way his grin kept growing was any indication. "I save the flowers to make tea with." The maid spun around, turning to a cupboard and grabbing what looked like a jar. In it were many dried dandelion buds. "Ah, I also have dandelion syrup," Ruggie gestured to another jar on the shelf. "Jamil taught me how to make them. They don't taste bad if I do say so myself, shishishi~"

Yuu couldn't help but laugh slightly. Ruggie's excitement about dandelion cuisine was very...adorable, if they wanted to put a word to it. "You seem very passionate about this," They said as they took the dandelion tea jar in their own hands. "Would it be okay if you put a few servings of this in my tea cabinet?"

"Huh?” Ruggie's ear flicked in surprise.

"Ah, I don't mean to take it away from you!" Yuu said, suddenly very aware that Ruggie was doing this because he was homesick. How stupid of them to ask for something so selfish. Did they forget everything after spending a few years in luxury? "I know that you're—"

"Forgive me for interrupting you, but it's not that," Grey eyes looked between the tea and their face. "It's... Thank you." There was something more behind the simple word of thanks. Yuu couldn't even begin to digest why Ruggie would say thank you at their selfish request, but seeing the smile on Ruggie's face reassured them that it wasn't anything negative.

That was when the door to the kitchen slid open, "Ruggie, would you happen to know where—"

Yuu looked up just in time to make eye contact with a surprised-looking Jade.

Oh. They were caught. Shit.

Jade smiled, ever the picture of politeness even as his aura turned more menacing, "How serendipitous. I was just looking for you, Master."  

"They were just about to leave, right Master?" Ruggie said with a devilish grin. Gone was the sweet expression that just graced his face seconds before, instead replaced by this mischievous look— because he was clearly ratting them out! Yuu just hung their head. They would be scolded less if they left with Jade right away.

Jade kept an iron grip on them with just his gaze as they gave Ruggie a long hard look, "You're going on vacation after the debutante is over. With everyone else. That is a promise."

"But Master—"

"No buts! I'll give you paid leave!" Yuu said as Jade opened the door. "Just make sure to tell your family how much you miss them!" They relished the surprised look on Ruggie's face for a moment before following Jade out into the hallway. Yuu wasn't about to give Ruggie time to retaliate this time.

"Now that you've had your fun, you should return to the room before Azul and Riddle return," Jade chuckled. "They aren't back yet, but I am not above telling them of your...mm, adventures, if it came to it. Even if it's you, Master."

Their previous excitement waned at the thought of being bound to the bed again, "Let's just go now." And that was how Yuu's adventures to the kitchen ended, with surprises, some new cuisine, and a promise.

thank you for reading ^^ if you’d like to read more, check out my masterlist ! like the art ? look at more of dumple's works on insta !

[ prev chapter | series post | next chapter ]

[ezralovrr]

STOP ATTACKING ME! - A short Helluva Boss OC Drabble

Yeah I’m not gonna lie.. I don’t really like Stolas, I’m sorry. His whiny attitude about how Blitzo doesn’t love him is honestly really annoying. So here’s my frustrations being put into a small story!

(Also this basically serves as an origin story to Raya’s rivalry with Stolas.)

Stolas likers, I’m sorry in advance. This one isn’t for you.

.

.

.

.

The Goetia palace was lavishing as ever this evening; the crystal chandeliers sparkled in the evening light, the constellations painted on the ceiling seemed to glow, and the polished marble floor reflected the silhouettes of the avian royalty of Hell.

While Stella flounced about on the ballroom floor and squawked to her peacock acquaintances about her stupid husband, the owl prince Stolas stood 10 feet away from her, meekly sipping on some rich wine. “Witch.” He hissed under his breath. He was dressed in his bathrobes, as he couldn’t bother to get into his more formal attire. It’s not like anyone would care, anyways. Pity, pity, pity…

Andrealphus gave his brother-in-law a snide glare as he strode over to his cackling sister, who was loudly singing about what foolish things her husband had said this week. She did like to torment him, so this was nothing new to the owl prince.

Stolas huffed and ruffled his feathers, a look of sadness creeping up on his beak. If only his “star-crossed” lower-class lover Blitzo could whisk him away from the “Still Not Divorced” party, leaving his teenage daughter Octavia to sit awkwardly with her mother…

His train of thought was interrupted when he heard someone yelling mildly as they struggled to climb over the balcony rail. Stolas’s ruby eyes lit up, and he dashed over to the balcony he was standing next to, grabbing the arm to pull his lover up to the pala-

It was a human.

“Oh.” Stolas sighed. Regardless, he helped her up and into the palace, as he didn’t wish to be rude. “My apologies. I thought you were someone else.” He briskly turned to an imp waiter, trying to offer the woman something to drink or nibble on. She refused politely, though by the look on her face, she wanted to discuss something with the prince.

“It’s alright. I actually wanted to ask you about something regarding your.. affair.” The words “affair” seemed to haunt Stolas. Affair was far from what could be described about his loving, totally sincere relationship with Blitzo. “…Right then. Please, pray tell, what do you wish to query me?” Stolas adjusted his bathrobe to appear decent.

“Why do you still chase after that imp?” She shot him a subtle yet icy cold glare. Stolas felt his heart quake. “…What- What is your name..?” He asked the human. She gasped lightly and adjusted her corn-colored hair. “Raya. Why do you wish to know?” She tilted her head up at the prince. “I- …With all due respect, miss Raya… I genuinely feel a strong, warm connection to that little imp.” Stolas stared off into space as a sick warmth spread to his beak.

Raya clenched her teeth, clearly annoyed he was trying to change the subject. As he started to ramble on and on, she felt slightly agitated and wanted to square the conversation back. “No- no, you’re not listening to me, your highness.” She spoke out, causing the owl to hoot slightly and shut his beak in mild shock.

“…Like I said, you’re chasing after someone who isn’t interested in you. You deliberately harass the poor man, exploiting him for your pleasure and to keep his business afloat, and even prioritizing him over your daughter not once, but twice. You flaunted your first affair to your wife. And I get that she’s awful, but it doesn’t give you an excuse to do so. You spend all your time wailing and waiting for your imp prince to rescue you from the wicked witch, but you’re just living a fantasy. A sick fantasy in which you leave your daughter alone as feared. And no amount of coddling could change that, which is why you need to take the first step and accept that Blitz. Doesn’t. Love you.” Raya went on a long-winded rant, essentially calling out the Goetia prince for his attitude and actions.

Stolas was horrified, his legs were shaking like a great earthquake, his heart heavily beating as sweat trickled down his beak. It was true, but he didn’t want to accept it. He hated confrontation, he hated owning up to his mistakes and recognizing his flaws. And then, right before she could deliver the verdict…

“STOP! STOP IT, PLEASE, I BEG OF YOU! PLEASE, STOP IT!” Like a child, the owl prince screeched and stumbled back, crocodile tears streaming down his face as he made a scene. “No- wait- I- I didn’t mean to. Your royal highness, I apologize. Please, just breathe and think rationally for a second…!” Raya lightly raised her hand to soothe the prince.

“WITCH! SHE’S RAISING HER HAND AGAINST ME! SOMEONE, PLEASE TAKE HER AWAY!” Stolas cried out, dark blue feathers slightly falling from his body.

The orchestra paused as the royal avians turned to the scene. Andrealphus raised an eyebrow, mildly confused at the behavior of his brother-in-law. Stella, however, had a wicked, almost proud grin on her face. Two hellhounds grabbed Raya by the forearms while she was distracted from attempting to ease the prince.

“Ma’am, it’s nothing personal. We’d like for you to leave the premises at once.” One of them barked at her. “No, wait-! I’m not done! Octavia! Princess! Please just know that my door’s open if you wish to have a safe space!!” Raya called to the Goetia princess as she was dragged out of the ballroom. Octavia, while mildly confused, as put at ease as she went to go comfort her tantrum-throwing father.

Raya was tossed outside of the Goetia palace, and she hit the pavement upon impact. “Respectfully, you are disallowed from entering this palace again.” The other hellhound affirmed her as they shut the doors. “Damn it all…” Raya sighed and picked herself up. She shivered slightly, mildly irritated that her confrontational approach didn’t work out in the end.

Just before she was about to leave, the door opened and closed quickly. Raya turned around, finding a prideful Stella exiting the palace. “Well done. Really, darling, well done!” She slowly applauded the human. “What?” Raya mouthed to no one in particular.

“You really took the words out of my mouth. Although I’m still mildly disgusted that the imp-sucking excuse of my husband is being coddled right now back upstairs… you really said some things I wanted to hear for a long time.” Stella smiled lightly, offering a hand for the human to shake. Raya stared down at her hand, then pulled her lavender cardigan sleeve a bit over her palm before accepting the handshake.

“I’m… honored, I guess.” She awkwardly brushed a piece of hair out of her eyes. “Well, I must head back to the Still Not Divorced soirée. Just keep in mind though… I admire your bravery.” Stella curtsied lightly before taking her leave and re-entering the palace.

Raya stood there, flabbergasted. Although her mission was unsuccessful, she at least felt satisfied voicing her thoughts on the prince.

.

.

.

.

And that’s the end! I’m gonna be honest, I’m not really keeping up with the show anymore, so I tried to write the characters to the best of my ability.

[lesbianp1lled]

girl idk about you but i just don’t have the same level of sympathy in my heart for FtMs/TiFs, that these deranged radfems do. these girls are weird, smelly, willingly unhealthy, deeply homophobic and fetishize gay men because of their male-male erotica brain rot and most definitely have some sort of ret*artation issues as a result of their chronic onlineless, deep hatred of others (partically successful and beautiful women) and homophobic straight women’s bastardized porn addicted retelling of gay men.

i’m a gs les just like you and i’m so fucking sick and tired of them, they are exactly the same as those incel homophobic straight men with stringy ugly hair and faces to match who call themselves lesbians.

no pity for either groups, they are hate groups brought by mentally ill mutilated straight people who hate us, and only homosexuals understand this, they aren’t all just “insecure girls who need help! 🥺” that radfems try to paint them as idek anymore. mask off.

trust me i grew up with these sorts of girls, they hurt other girls a lot idk if its because of the pain they feel or what but they are insane and a danger to other girls. or maybe just me because i’m a femme homosexual woman who never called myself a she/they like they wanted but lord are they creepy and weird just like their FtM/TiM counterparts. someone needs to make the internet have an age ban or something so this shit can stop.

Same I don’t have sympathy for homophobic tifs and radfems need to stop coddling them

[jomiddlemarch]

call understanding thy kinswoman

“Here,” Mary said, pushing a steaming mug in front of Rilla after hurrying through the ordinary polite exchanges required of a greeting, even among family. “Drink this first. You look green around the gills and I don’t fancy explaining to Jem why his baby sister ended up in a puddle on our sitting room floor.”

“We’re in the kitchen,” Rilla said, turning her face away from the table. Feeling the nausea rise in her throat, hardly daring to take a deep breath. “I can’t drink your coffee, it’s too strong—”

“It’s ginger tea, silly. And if you faint here, I’ll still tell your brother we were in the sitting room, not at the kitchen table. He’s been at me to get a girl to help and I don’t want one—”

“You’d lie about something like this,” Rilla asked. She reached forward and picked up the mug, inhaled the spicy scent of the ginger tea. She gestured with a little nod of her head at the scene, Mary across from her at the well-scrubbed table, all the pots and pans gleaming copper in the dull, cloudy light of a dull, cloudy afternoon that hadn’t made its mind up yet to rain.

“Of course. If the lie was what was needed. What James— what Jem needed,” Mary said. Rilla recalled Mary called Jem by his Christian name, the only one he’d allow to do so, though he’d given their mother a quelling near-glare when she’d remarked on it. Mary gave Rilla a familiar look, one that sized her up in a moment, though it was fonder than it used to be, an alteration Rilla attributed to Mary’s affection for Jem. “It’s Ken you want to talk about. Go on then.”

“How did you know?” Rilla said. She sipped at the tea, willing it to do something. Ginger was said to help. She’d learned though, that many things people said would help a difficult situation weren’t the least bit helpful and that people, with the possible exception of Una and Rosemary Meredith, had an endless supply of suggestions. Mary most often held her tongue around the Blythe family, but she wouldn’t hold back if you asked her opinion.

“You’d have gone to your mother if you were fussed about morning sickness or having the baby,” Mary said. “It would’ve been a gift, to give her something like that to occupy her. If you wanted some coddling. You’re here instead and it’s certainly not for my shortbread. Nan’s away and Jerry’s crippled because of his back, nothing else. She wouldn’t be much help and you don’t want her pity.”

“Mother’s useless,” Rilla said. Admitted. “And Nan’s a priss and always has been—”

“Finally,” Mary muttered under her breath.

“But it really is that Jerry’s wounds are all just physical. Sometimes I wish, I think, maybe if Ken had lost an arm or needed a cane, it would be better. Easier,” Rilla said.

“Maybe. Or maybe he’d be like he is now only with one arm of his jacket pinned up or walking around like an old man before he’s turned thirty. There aren’t any bargains to be made about this, Rilla. Nor wishes.”

“He came home and he said, he asked me, ‘Are you Rilla-my-Rilla?’ and I said yes,” Rilla said, looking down into the crockery mug. It was sturdy and practical, like her sister-in-law, and her own mother would have blanched to serve a cup of tea in it, let alone her sister. There were no tea leaves to read, so she looked back up and found Mary watching her, a little half-smile on her lips.

“Are you bothered by your answer or his question?” 

Rilla laughed in spite of herself.

“Dad says you’re wasted as a doctor’s wife, that you ought to be a barrister.”

Mary smiled and though there was no flush in her cheeks, her expression warmed, her fair hair suddenly seemed richer in tone, more like the narrow gold band on her fourth finger.

“Your father’s twice as fanciful as your mother is and I’ve heard her go on to Bruce Meredith about fairies and mayflowers more than I could ever believe,,” she said. “Being a doctor’s wife suits me fine. Jem will be home in a few hours, though, and I’ve his supper to see to, so if you do want to talk, you might be getting on with it.”

“He’s not himself. Ken. He’s not who he was when he went away. When he asked me to wait. He’s not mine, even if I’m his,” Rilla said, all in a rush. She felt queasy again, unsure why, neither explanation a comfort.

“Couldn’t be, could he? Especially since he came home and others didn’t. Walter,” Mary said. “I think he’d hate it, Walter, how he’s a saint now and Ken and the rest of them, they’ve got to be men all the time and tell us it’s all in the past, it was worth it. Cheerful, determined. I’ve never wondered Shirley won’t come back to the Glen, I’ll tell you that much.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Rilla said.

“There you go. That’s what you needed to get to,” Mary said. It was rare to be praised by her and Rilla was surprised how much she liked it. How much it was a balm. “Can he sleep?”

“Sometimes. Not well. He has dreams, he won’t talk about them,” Rilla said.

“I won’t say anything,” Mary replied. “To anyone. Certainly not your brother. He can’t sleep either. He cries sometimes, without ever waking up. You won’t say anything about that.”

“Oh,” Rilla said. “I didn’t know—”

“He doesn’t want anyone troubled. I’m the only one who won’t let him get away with that. Which is partly why he married me,” Mary said.

“I don’t know why Ken married me,” Rilla said softly.

Mary chuckled, but it had none of the wry mockery of her usual laughter.

“You poor pet. I forget, sometimes, how young you are.”

“I’m only six years younger than you, Mary, not a generation,” Rilla snapped.

“When I was six, my ma hung herself and my pa slit his wrists,” Mary said. “You were always precious. I wasn’t, not to anybody, not ‘til Jem anyway. Ken married you because you were the dream he had that kept him alive in that absolute hell in France. Because you wrote to him and you raised that baby and because you’re the happiness he always thought he wanted. You’re easy on the eyes too, but I’ll grant him that it’s easier to fall in love with a pretty girl than a plain one.”

“You can’t marry a dream,” Rilla said.

“No, you can’t. Nor live with one. They came home, however they did, and for a while, anyway, I suppose it’s up to us to figure out how to be more than that. It’s harder for you, because of your families and how you had that crush on him and he had that memory of you in a party dress in the moonlight to go by. Jem didn’t have any dreams of me to get in the way,” Mary said.

“Is this how you talk to Jem?”

“I’ll thank you to keep your nosy questions to yourself,” Mary retorted. 

“I only meant, is this how you help him through?”

“It doesn’t matter. You have to find out how to talk to Ken and I haven’t any advice about that man. Well, I’ve a little. I think he’s got to feel guilty as sin to have come home with just a few scars and everyone expects him to write some masterpiece and he won’t want to let anyone down. I bet it’s hard to have any ideas after the trenches and it’s hard to write when your hands tremble.”

“How did you know?”

“Jem’s do, sometimes. I’ve learned to look for it. Get Ken a typewriter, that’s my advice. Tell him about the baby before you tell your mother. Promise him you won’t call it Walter. Say you want some ordinary name that no one in your family’s gotten all tied up with sentiment and honor. John. Margaret. Maybe Alice, like Alice in Wonderland.”

“My grandfather’s name was John,” Rilla said. Grandfather Blythe, who’d died before she was born.

“Everyone’s grandfather was named John,” Mary said.

“I suppose that’s nearly true,” Rilla said and smiled. 

“Nearly true’s good enough more than you’d think,” Mary said. “You should come round for dinner here sometimes. We can let them go sit on the porch while we gossip about Faith Drew while we make some tea to go with the cake you bring. I heard she bobbed her hair and she smokes and Bertie don’t care. ‘Scuse me, she calls him Will, like we all don’t remember him being a holy terror and his ma hollering his name Bertie Shakespeare for him to come home.”

“You’ll serve my cake?” Rilla said. It was the biggest surprise, as Nan had already passed along the gossip about Faith’s hair and her modern ways. Fast, Susan said, frowning and Rilla, who had never thought it possible, had found herself nodding along. 

“Susan won’t give me her recipe for plum cake and it’s one of Jem’s favorites. He’ll have two slices, enormous ones, if we’re there for Sunday dinner and she puts it out,” Mary said. “He’s greedy for sweets now, though he hates to admit it.”

“Jem’s greedy?” Rilla said.

“Oh yes. He’s all sorts of vices. I’m sure Ken has his as well. You’d do well to find out which ones,” Mary said.

“To help him overcome them?” 

“To love him for them,” Mary said. 

[scrambleofwords]

The counsellor tells me that I’m still a child.

That children shouldn’t have to protect their parents, that I’m scrambling for the scraps of adulthood they never bothered to baby-proof.

My mother has always bragged that I was eighteen before I even crossed the bridge of the teenage ache. Mature beyond my years, she says, more of an adult than she ever was at my age. For a second, as they laughed and agreed, I almost felt proud. It’s a nice feeling, to be praised for a curse you’re not ripe enough to grasp yet. I was still a child, after all.

So when my counsellor reminds me of my adolescence, tempts me with the promise of submission under a guardians hands, the thought is almost a bitter one, a statement I must defend. I have never felt more young than to be pitied by an old head that didn’t need my shoulders to cry on. I have never felt more young than to be viewed as a child.

Therapy has always been uncomfortable. The room is hot, sticky with the summer air I walked through to get to the doctors surgery where my mother works. My palms were clammy in the waiting room and a man dragging his daughter around by the wrist kept staring at me from the chair opposite. But inside the white office, face to face with a stranger, even through she pointed the AC in my direction after I’d profusely protested I didn’t need it, the thickness of the heat almost felt unravelling.

She asked me if I was nervous, as I stumbled over smalltalk and drifted halfway through rambling, that I was surprising to see, knowing how mature and intelligent I was.

I had never met this woman before in my life, and the only thing she knew about me was the promise of my maturity. The humiliation of acting childish was one I’d forgotten was so brutal.

And she asked me questions, a lot of them, things about myself, about what I was going through, and the sympathy of her gaze made me feel nothing short of pathetic. A pathetic, whining kid, stripped bare, even though I could feel every inch of where my trousers touched my legs, where the sweat was forming on the back of my shirt. But I held myself straight, answered with semi honesty, fiddled with my wooden bracelets and apologised for the grinding of the beads when they got too loud.

And then she told me I was still a child, that it wasn’t healthy to carry an adults emotions in a body not fit, that to protect my parents from myself was to burden me with the restriction of having a hand to hold, and I cracked like one.

All I remember, since I was just a child, was wanting to be held like one. To never be coddled was to grow up praised for strength, but hoping, every time I’d hurt my knee, or feel sick before school, or be crying after an argument, that my mother would give me a hug, talk quietly like I was fragile, feel an adults sympathy, cry a little louder and pray to be noticed, cry a little quieter because nothing was better than being told you’re dramatic, be scolded for being childish. wrap the sheets around me to feel a little hotter and beg that he softly asks if I’m okay, drag myself up and don’t complain so my father won’t roll his eyes and raise his voice.

I wanted to tell her everything. I wanted her to feel the weight of my skin, I wanted her to soothe it all; the summer I survived by a thread at thirteen, the way my chest ached, trembling on the bedroom floor at fourteen, whispering to myself, running my nails along my arm the way my mother used to, the anger I felt for my father, the hole in my ribs as he brushed off my self destruction, the guilt that was bile inducing as my mother scolded me, violently scrubbing sudocreme into the red hot scratches along my wrist before my first day of high school, asking me if I wanted people to think she was an awful mother.

I needed her to play house, I craved to play pretend, to have someone understand, to see the worry cloud her features, for her to pity me in the way I hated, I needed something, anything, I needed to feel so completely, pathetically, vulnerable, childish, lost and incompetent and so blinded with idiocy I needed to be guided to shelter, I needed her to hold my hand.

Instead I stared blankly at the wall, at the floor, at the posters on the board by the door and the peeling paint on the metal radiator as she wrote something down quietly. She tells me she wants to speak with both my mother and I, and my voice is hoarse and quivering, telling her what not to bring up, setting up the barriers of damage control, how not to anger her and how to avoid the inevitable car journey home where she cries I have to reassure and blame anyone but the culprits, just be glad it was her instead of my dad. I prepare to play house, prepare to play pretend, prepare for the next day where we pretend it didn’t even happen at all.

[feralghxuls]

how do you think the ghousl would act/do when they’re sick

mountain is a huge baby. doesn't matter if he just has a little bit of the sniffles or he has like. ghoul pneumonia or something, he is equally pitiful and pathetic and wants the whole pack to take care of him and coddle him (and they do it too)

swiss is also a huge pitiful baby. he wants nothing more than to have his pack doting on him, but he doesnt feel like he's allowed to accept it so whenever anyone but rain tries to do things for him he always refuses and goes nono, its fine, i can make my own soup (and immediately almost falls over when he tries to get up). and then will accept help

aether is also a huge baby and is perfectly happy to be taken care of

dew is a huge baby but refuses to allow anyone to help him and refuses to admit he's sick at all. so he is pitiful but also really angry about it because he hates not being self sufficient. and ends up passing out in the kitchen multiple times trying to feed himself

rain just sleeps for like a week straight. doesn't even want to wake up to eat. swiss is very worried, and keeps dribbling honey and water on his lips. mountain is like "he'll be fine, i've gone like three years without eating anything." and swiss is like "yeah in the pit! we don't know if starvation works like that here! he could starve to death!" and mountain is like "yeah but he'll just come back, and he might not even be sick anymore." "not if he doesn't have nutrients and energy in his body! we'll have to summon him all over again"

cirrus is similar to dew, except she does eventually give in and let her mates take care of her. she only passes out in the kitchen once

cumulus is moderately pitiful. she still tries to keep herself occupied instead of wallowing around looking pathetic, and is more than happy to let her mates take care of her

stratus is likely to hole up somewhere you'll never find her and wait it out. usually this is fine, but has definitely led her to having to stumble half dead back to her pack like "help."

omega claims he simply doesnt get sick (he's a huge liar)(mist/rain/swiss has to force him into bed to REST GODDAMNIT). and then when he's recovered he gets to comb through his own largely indecipherable nonsensical notes bc he insisted on continuing to work.

ifrit is also big baby but insists (pitifully) that he's fine and doesnt want anyone to worry

chAir is grouchy as hell and extra barky when ifrit tries to coddle him. but he allows it. bc he loves fritters

mist is a superior being and genuinely doesn't get sick. except for the rare occasion she does, and she's like "i don't know what's wrong with me. i feel so weak, my face is leaking, my head aches-" and her mate is like "babe, you have a cold" and mist stares blankly and is like. "what. no i don't."

phantom is definitely big baby about it

aurora insists she's fine but also spends the entire time bundled up on the couch like the world's saddest burrito and every time someone comes in or gets up, she gives them puppy eyes and asks for soup or ice cream or more blankets

[archiebaldo1414]

Looking in the mirror earlier after my shower and thinking about how everyone always says I don’t look sick. I look good. All I can see is my pale unblemished skin that hasn’t seen the sun directly in years. I feel like some kind of fucking doll honestly.

I want to be an old man so badly it makes me feel sick sometimes, every time I feel my jaw (soft and smooth under my soft un calloused fingers) I’m desperate for the beard I won’t be able to grow. Not a single freckle on my skin. No signs I’ve actually lived in my body except for the acne scars littering my back that show nothing but stress eating at me and time passing.

I want my body to be littered in scars and sun spots and freckles and hair, my fingers calloused and my face wrinkly. I want to be able to smile for a photo without ruining it on purpose so I don’t have to see my empty eyes. I want crows feet in their corners and laugh lines on my forehead and seeing the dimples around my mouth to not be some kind of rarity.

I want the scar on my knee from when I slid down a hill on my roller blades and had to hobble home after joined by a dozen others. I want my skin to tan and fade and freckles to cycle in and out with the seasons and to have pruny fingers and toes from spending too long in the lake instead of drifting away in the shower nightly.

I’ve never understood why people hate their scars; I’m desperate for proof that I’ve lived well. I may have avoided the hill for years after falling, but I spent countless hours with my friend having fun before that. My hand might still show the tiniest hint of a burn from a fry pan on a chaotic morning (making eggs with too many people in the kitchen), that left me upset and my hand out of service for a week, but at least then I could spend time in the kitchen with my family without my senses overloading and tears in my eyes because of it. Now there is only muted conversations and flinches at forks scraping the ceramic I still don’t understand why we can’t just replace and pitying looks and a desperate need to get out before it overwhelms me.

Let me be an old man with a balding head covered in a dirty old hat to keep the sunburn I have from getting any worse (my wife slaps at my hand for always picking at it and I grin at her lecherously and tease her that she loves me anyways, and our children roll their eyes and our grandkids shriek and run around while I throw my head back and laugh. And she tries to keep a straight face and chastise me for being stupid but her eyes are bright and her face betrays her)

And under my many worn down layers that I can’t seem to part with despite the fraying sleeves, my arms are covered in beautiful sleeves depicting flowers and beautiful women and falling angels because my dramatic teenage self never truly left me. My chest is flat (even if my skin sags a bit in my old age) and my scars are still there. Faint but if you really look, they are there. My stomach hosting a few precise cuts from procedures that succeeded and gave me some of my freedom back, my hand hosting a new burn since I’m clumsy or maybe my wife is and something hot fell (but I got coddled and bandaged so can I really complain? Though of course I did profusely because god forbid I accept help easily). My chest sporting wiry gray hairs, my arms as well, my lower stomach snaking down to my old man pubes. My thighs finally growing hair, down to my calves.

My face sporting a long beard (I kept it stubble for years, then finally started growing it out in my forties, it was still short but soft and well kept. And now, finally let it go wild after losing my hair, it is long), and sometimes I braid it to annoy my son, who thinks it looks ridiculous. Or I let my grandkids mess with it, and they try to replicate the braid which ends up loose and tied off with a neon elastic and stays for the rest of the day.

My boots are long broken in from hiking and living. My jeans worn from hours kneeling in the garden, my knees a bit scratched where a few pairs have worn through.

I have to have faith I’ll get there one day but I can’t tell if that vision makes it harder or easier to get out of bed each day.

Let me be an old man with a loving family and a thriving garden and the evidence of so much life etched into every inch of my body. I’m sick of being pretty and porcelain and fragile and silent.

How long do I have to wait until I laugh and smile with such ease that it’s written over my whole face?

[plutoniumchemicals]

soooo these all suck but you gave me thoughts abt them . you wanted thoughts . this is what they are . again they suck ass

broker fullyu breaks into the labs n shit to hang out w/ subspace because broker has more free time than subspace and subspace is a workaholic so even if subspace COULD get out more he absolutely would not

despite the fact that broker is so incredibly down bad for subspace he is more loyal to the church than him

in thatsame vein despite knowing that scythe would FULLY disapprove of this (Medkit their token healer is here entirely becasuse of subspace) the first person he tells is scythe . they've both agreed not to tell medkit , and scythe isn't as much accepting as she tolerates them

i feel like broker has . smth w/ scythe . not romantic maybe platonic but i dont know wtf it is they just stare at eachother for hours on end for NO reason

it is for this reason that subspace and scythe both a) know eachother and b) interact from time to time

scythe gets really close to killing him every time

subspace wants scythes head on a pike bro

broker always has andalways will put the church first (which is why scythe still tolerates them . sickos)

subspace was like really really sick one time probably bcuz of the rot and broker begged and i mean BEGGED scythe for the day off . she relented and broker helped subspace w/ work n shit (FULLY aware making subspace stop working is like asking windforce to tell her son she hates him [it doesnt work and your gonna get yoiurself killed]) but if scythe said no enough times he fully wouldve just gone to work (and NOT felt guilty abt it !) so . yk

subspace does NOT like being coddled . thankfully broker does NOT coddle . hes here for like emotional support and to lighten the workload is all

i dont think broker can get sick or i would have headcannons for them theother way around

they're not as much romantic as much as they kiss and make drugs on the weekends but they cuddle and watch movies like once a year . as a treat

broker likes selling shit more thna he likes fucking around in a lab and making the shit h ehas to sell but he really really likes watching subspace do lab shit . lab shit is hot to him . "look at that freak go hes like mixing chemicals and is slowly rottin to death hes so good at it" <- broker probably

subspace would prefer to spend all day in the labs anyways so it works out !!

broker has shown genuine worry ONCE in this entire relationship and it was the first time subspace overworked himself to exauhstion and passed out in his lab .

hes better at masking the worry now but subspace knows deep down broker pities him . just a little bit . he fucking hates it .

they're both so fukcn bad for eachother oh my god /pos

subspace saves "good" (body) parts from failed experiments to give to broker

he saves horns to givbe to s cythe too but thats less of a gifting sorta thing and more of a "please dont murk me" peace treaty type thing

broker teases him abt this and it PISSES . HIM . OFF .

broker all like "ohhh you do have a soft spot for boss !!" and subspace is this close to never talking to broker again

i think hegets so pissed abt it one time that he feels the need to go back and apologize for it later . broker doesnt know why hes apologizing . subspace punches him for it , andacts like THATS what he was apologizing (like it was a joke/gag type o thing) for and broker finds it genuinely funny

this isbecause subspace gets SILENT when he gets pissed

you've never seen anything moreterrifying than the man that will not stop talking both suddenly stop talking and also death glare you

broker just dont gaf he didnt notice lol

i think broker and subspace use eachother as anrgy outlets . subspace gets to beat the shit out of broker (broker thinks this is some romantic activity or smth) because he cant feel pain and subspace gives broker people to experiment on and throw chemicals a t n shit

broker refuses t oharm subspace (despite rlly wanting to so he can feel like they're participating in this little "game" togetther) because neither of them can heal subspace/know jack shit abt anything medical

subspace also hates this little detail btw . he hates the pity broker gives him . i think broker relents one time and gives subspace chemical burns on his good arm andit lowkey fuels them both for at least two weeks . "hell YES game played . played my silly little game with me . this is awesome" type shit

the burns almost prevent subspace from working for like two weeks but he works anyways . broker is proud of him for this

he sees subspace's devotion to blackrock in a similar light tht brokerr sees his devotion to the church (but he knows it will never be the same)

this is also the closest broker has gotten to showing weakness in his life (the not harming subspace bit) and it terrifies him

hes terrified MORE of being a weakness to the church in this regard

subspace absolutely has like a mini-mental breakdown everytime broker leaves . hes all stoic and shit when hes being watched but hes so fucking clingy dude . bastard

ANYONE GOT ANY POISONDEALER HEADCANONS. AT ALL. @evil-alex PLEASE

[lucysstoryworld]

Lease of Life | Azriel x Reader Part 1

Summary: The youngest Archeron sister had been plagued by sickness her whole life. Her family just had to watch as she endured a slow, agonising death. However, the events of her sister’s transition into Prythian has the Archeron sisters having to endure the change of their very existence. It seems to be a new lease of life for (F/n), but her new life is not as sweet as she would like as she realises that she is slowly falling for the Shadowsinger, whom only has his sights set on her elder sister. 

Warnings: Death, violence, angst, dark thoughts.

Series Masterlist

Hey! This is my first Azriel fic after having so many ideas! I hope you enjoy and let me know if you have any feedback. I’d be willing to start a tag list for anyone who might be interested, but I will not accept anyone who is under the age of 18, so please either state your age in either the ask/message/comment or just have it in the bio of your blog!

Soft light peaked through curtains, bringing with it a gentle breeze from the cracked window. It would have been serene were it not for the pain that accompanied your existence in this world. Another day of being coddled like a child by the maids. Perhaps your sisters would grace you with their presence again today, letting you know that they had found yet another healer who claimed to have the ability to nurse you back to health. 

Health. Not a day in your twenty years had you ever paired yourself and the word healthy in one sentence. Sick from birth. Living from one ailment to the next, waiting for the day where you did not awake again. When your father had lost his wealth, you and your three sisters were forced to move into more “modest” living circumstances your father had called it. Not that you considered slowly starving to death modest. The gain that Feyre had hunted was barely enough to scrape by on, let alone having to spend any spare coin she had to provide you with medicines so you did not meet your maker within the following days. Guilt consumed you when you realised she would give you half her serving of food, see her forego a new cloak to get her hands on some sort of treatment for you. Often you had wished that your next bout of flu or fever would suck you into the darkness just so Feyre, Nesta, Elain and your father might have better quality of life. 

But then, Feyre had left. Gone with some distant, well off aunt. From living in a hovel, to being reintroduced to wealth you could just barely remember. Feyre took with her Nesta’s shame, your father’s sadness and Elain’s desperation. If only she had taken your sickness too. You had hoped that the sudden wealth would provide some cure. That would give you a new lease of life. However, healer after healer, remedy after remedy had dashed all hopes of you ever living a normal life. Though, Nesta and Elain seemed determined to scour to the ends of the earth for a healer that could give you your life back. 

It had frustrated you. Their sudden willingness to help when they watched Feyre give everything but the clothes off her back for you. They sat and judged her. Nesta’s pride was just as strong as her protection over Elain. Two women content with sitting around, waiting for a man to take their hand in marriage. Pathetic. You wanted to shake them out of their silly daze, tell them to go live the life you yearned for. Travel, go horseback riding, anything. Anything other than sitting around the house, gossiping with those who turned their noses up at you and your family when poverty had the Archerons in a chokehold. Those same people who now looked at you as a charity case. Spoke about you as if you were not in front of them. 

How terrible for such youth to be bed bound. 

So disappointing for a lady of your age to be unable to get married. 

Never to have children — such a shame. 

The maid entering the room tore you from your pitiful thoughts. “Good morning, (F/n). How are you feeling?” 

“The same as I have all my damn life, Dina,” You all but bit back. 

“Language, child. You won’t get better with that attitude.” Another optimist. Great. It took every modicum of self control not to tear into her. But you would not. Dina was about as kind as they got. She was the closest thing to a mother you had known, after losing your own before you were old enough to walk. 

“Sorry, Dina. What’s on the schedule for today?” You hoped there would be no visits from any of your sisters’ aristocrat friends. Not today, today you were tired and wished to at least pretend as though you were normal. 

As if the gods above had answered your prayers, Dina spoke “Nothing, for once, sweet one,” She replied softly as she helped you to sit. “You may do what you please today.” Her voice was like honey as she took a brush to your thin hair. Dina was the only handmaid who had treated you like a human. Although she was cautious, she allowed you some freedoms that often had your sisters reeling with concern. Nesta had tried to dismiss her the first time you walked around the manor with Dina by your side, claiming that a seizure could take you at any moment and that Dina was not fit to look after you. She had relented when she saw how genuinely happy you looked at the mere prospect of walking .

“Great! I would like to have breakfast in the dining hall with my sisters today.” With a ‘hmph’ of agreement from Dina, she prepared you for the day. She smoothed each article of clothing over you as if you were a living, breathing work of art. 

Once she was satisfied, her brows furrowed slightly as she held her hand to your forehead, “You have a slight fever, child. You better take it easy today.”

With a sigh from deep within your soul, you breathed a “I always do.” 

The walk from your bedroom to the dining hall was more taxing than what you were used to, a tell tale that you would likely be completely incapacitated in the following days. Though you did not let it show. If there was even so much a whisper of your health taking another turn, Nesta and Elain would have one of the butlers carry you back to your room. As you approached the doors to the dining room, you could’ve sworn you could hear Feyre. You knew it wasn’t true. She hadn’t visited once since she left for your aunt’s. However, the closer you got, the more voices you could hear. “I thought you said there were no plans today.” 

“There wasn’t.” Perhaps it was one of Elain’s wedding planners who had an appointment. Ugh. 

Nothing could prepare you for what you saw when you opened the door. Fae. There was no doubt about it when you beheld the wings, the pointed ears and the ethereal beauty each of them possessed. In spite of the fact that the creatures you were taught to fear were standing a mere few feet from you, what sent your mind into a haze was seeing Feyre with them. Standing among them with pointed ears, with a frame more elongated than what you remembered, with that same otherworldly presence than the others.

“What the fuck,” You breathed, not entirely sure if this was a dream your fevered brain had concocted. 

“(F/n) what are you doing out of bed?” Nesta barked, rushing over to you. Within an instant, she was shielding you from the guests. Her hands brushing over your cheeks and forehead. “You’ve got a fever, you shouldn’t be down here. Go back to your room.” Nesta’s voice did not leave much room for argument.

“(F/n),” Though Feyre looked different, her voice was just the same. The only difference, that she sounded more mature from when you last saw her in your dilapidated cottage. Pushing passed Nesta, you walked to just in front of your sister, who seemingly held her breath as you assessed her. Face filled out, strong body and she looked happy. Happy with her company and the beautiful man with violet eyes standing next to her. She opened her mouth, then closed it again. You had never seen her at a loss for words, not with you, not ever. The man by her side placed a hand on the small of her back as you continued to scan her silently. She did not break your gaze once, but visibly relaxed just at the touch of her partner, you had gathered by now. “(F/n), I’m sor-.” 

Before she could even finish, you flung your arms around her, holding onto her as though she had risen from the dead. And when Feyre returned the embrace, you buried your head into the crook of her neck to hide your tears from her company. “Don’t,” you sobbed, “Don’t you apologise to me. Not when you are the only reason we did not die in that cottage.” It was now Feyre’s turn to cry. Pulling away from her, you smoothed your hands over her hair. Eyes taking in every single detail and committing them to memory. You wiped her tears with your thumbs and placed a kiss on each of her cheeks. “Do you want to introduce us to your friends before this gets awkward?” You joked. 

Feyre stepped back into the arms of the man, while Nesta and Elain approached your side. Nesta looked as though she was ready to rip Feyre to shreds and Elain looked entirely bewildered by the situation. “Nesta, Elain, (F/n)... This is Rhysand. The High Lord of the Night Court in Prythian and my mate,” you looked to the man standing next to Feyre, his eyes piercing yet kind. Both Nesta and Elain stood stationary. Assessing him. Calculating whether or not he was a threat. Looking from them to Rhysand with a slight roll of your eyes, you approached him and offered your hand.

His hand was large and strong, you could’ve sworn you could feel the magic thrumming in his blood. With a gentle smile, you looked deep into his eyes. “Rhysand, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise, (F/n). Feyre has told me a great deal about you.” His voice was like spiced rum, filling you with warmth akin to the heat of a fire on a frigid snowy night. 

Your eyes shot to Feyre’s with a knowing smirk, her cheeks rosy as she beheld her... mate she called it. She gestured towards the blond woman next, who appeared to be very eager to meet you, “This is Morrigan. Rhys’s cousin. She oversees the court.” 

“Nice to meet you, Morrigan.” Shaking her hand, you laughed gently as she smiled at you excitedly.

“It’s great to meet you, (F/n).”

“Next is Amren, Rhys’s second in command.” You barely registered Feyre as you moved to look at Amren. Amren seemed different than the others, though you could not quite place your finger on it. Nonetheless, you shook her hand and introduced yourself. Feyre moved on to to the tall winged men next. “This is Cassian, the general of the Night Court’s armies.” 

Cassian had his eyes trained on Nesta, the two in a staring contest. Each of their expressions were about as sour as they got, daring one another to say or do something brash. You snorted slightly, drawing Nesta and Cassian’s attention to you, “I haven’t seen anyone that didn’t wither under Nesta’s glare,” You could feel her burning holes into the back of your head yet you remained fixed on the general, “It’s nice to meet you, general.” 

“It’s nice to meet the sister Feyre speaks nothing but fondly of,” He replied quietly, taking your hand in his and looking at you with so much emotion. You weren’t sure where it came from, but he was clearly troubled about being in the presence of Nesta. You were sure you’d find out soon whether you wanted to or not. 

Feyre ushered you along to the final member of the group, not without a pointed and warning glance at the general. “Last, but not least, (F/n) this is Azriel. The spymaster of the Night Court.” 

For once, you felt at a loss for words. The being in front of you was the most striking man you had ever seen. As if the gods themselves had forged him. His dark skin, golden eyes, short black hair and domineering wings jutting out each side of him. His gaze sucked the breath from your lungs. Azriel held his gloved hand out, and you absentmindedly lifted your own to meet it. The heat of his grasp jumpstarted your brain back to reality. With flushed cheeks and a smile you found your voice, “Pleasure to meet you, Azriel.”

Azriel nodded in acknowledgment as his eyes swept over you, “Pleasure is all mine.” Gods, his voice was unlike anything you had ever heard. It sent a wave of shivers gliding across your body. Although, you were aware of the way he was analysing you. Scoping out whether you were any sort of liability to his court. Figures. 

Letting go of his hand, you stepped back and addressed the group as a whole, “While it is lovely to meet you all, I’m sure you are not here to just reunite Feyre with her family.”

This seemed to bring Nesta to life as she stood in front of you, taking command of being host instead, “I agree. What do you want, Feyre?” Nesta’s demeanour sucked the joy out of the room within the second, Feyre’s face turning grim.

“We should sit down,” She replied quietly. Unease settled in your stomach. Grabbing her hand, you guided her to the table and sat yourself next to her. Rhysand placed himself on her right, and the rest of her… friends sat around you both. Your remaining sisters sat across from you, Nesta making sure she gave you a disapproving stare before she refocused on Feyre.

The talking went on for what felt like hours, Feyre explaining the war across the wall which seemed to have the end of the mortal worlds written in its destiny. The thought of it made you sick, the fighting that was approaching. Approaching fast. And you knew, that you would have to lie in your bed and wait. Sit idly by as your dearest sister fought a war that was not hers to start with yet she had embraced because of the people sitting around you both. A family. That’s what they were. Rhysand and his peers were a family. Part of your soul ached at the notion of Feyre leaving you and your dysfunctional family in order to find one that suited her better. That she had not visited once, to try and work on her relationships. But you quickly dashed all thoughts, understanding flooding your senses. When she was human, she gave up everything so everyone else would thrive around her. She hunted so you had food, she got money in whatever way she could so your family stayed clothed. Most of all, she had to fight tooth and nail in a losing battle to make sure you did not die. So she left.

And did not blame her for it.

In the brief moments you were stuck in your thoughts, Nesta and Cassian were nothing short of brawling.

“That’s enough,” Feyre all but boomed. Her sudden burst seemed to hit Nesta like ice cold water.

“You do not get to come into my home and order me around after you left!” Nesta spat in reply, “You do not get to come here and ask of us what you are asking!”

Feyre took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders, “I know that, Nesta, I know. I wouldn’t put you three in this position if I didn’t think it was-.”

“Don’t finish that. Don’t you dare. Because this is not the first time you’ve done this. Not when you showed up a year ago wailing about another fae you just had to save, leaving us in the dust again!” It was rare that you ever saw Nesta this riled up. Her anger was something you tried to avoid at all costs. You believed that if she had the ability, Nesta’s rage would burn the world down around her.

That was not what you were focused on in that moment. No, it was what she said about Feyre already having been there. A year ago. “What are you talking? When was Feyre here last?” Heat spread across your body, the fever catching up with you. Nesta’s eyes shot to you as she realised what she had just let out of the bag. “You’re saying Feyre was here a year ago and you didn’t let her see me. Is that what you’re saying?” Your body began to feel strange. A slight sweat was breaking out across your forehead as a thrumming began in your head.

“(F/n) you were very unwell when Feyre arrived last year, you were barely hanging on and we didn’t want to stress you out more than what was necessary.” The first time Elain had spoken this whole time. She spoke gently as though you would break at any moment.

“Oh please, spare me!” You snapped. “I’m so sick of you treating me like this! Would you all get a grip! I’m dying, and have been since the day I was born! Just accept it!” You shoved your chair back from the table with trembling hands. Standing brought with it a wave a dizziness that you did not allow anyone the time to observe before you continued your rant, “For once, I just want you to think about me and not yourselves. Just once! You would have let me die a year ago without the chance to see my sister one last time. Whether you like it or not, these are not your decisions to make. They’re mine.” You began walking towards Dina, whom you hadn’t realise has been tucked away in the back of the room this whole time.

It took one look at you for her to realise you were going downhill, and fast. She quickly approached you and placed her hand on your forehead once again, “You are burning up, child. Come, you need rest. This was too much for you,” She spoke quietly, sending a quick but not unnoticed glare at your sisters. Feyre included.

“Dina…,” You whispered, vision swimming. “Dina, I don’t feel good.” Your body began to hunch as the nausea took hold.

With speed you didn’t quite understand, Feyre was next to you with her new family in tow. She placed a hand on your back, looking at her mate with concern. Gods, she had never seen you so weak. When you entered the room, she felt as though she was looking at a living corpse. You looked so different from when she left the cottage and not in a good way. Cheeks sunken, dark bags, skin clammy and a body that was so thin that it looked like a breeze could’ve knocked you over. Her heart was like led as she realised that you were, in fact, close to the end. Your mortal body would not hold out much longer.

As if fate was playing a cruel trick on her, Feyre watched as your body crumpled on the floor, laboured breaths leaving your body as consciousness slipped away from you. Rhys was on his knees next you in an instant, about to take away any pain you were feeling when “Don’t you lay a hand on her,” Nesta barked.

“Nesta please! He can help,” Feyre pleaded, grabbing your hand in a panic.

“Now is not the time for bickering. Help me take her to her rooms and I will look after her,” Dina ordered. The group looked toward one another. No one missed the way you looked for your maid. They saw how much trust you put into her, so they did as she said. Azriel stood forward and carried you to your room, with everyone following close behind.

As he set you on the bed, he stood back and watched as the maid began placing damp washcloths onto your head. Every time he had been in the human lands, he had found it unsettling to see how illness could kill so easily. How fragile human life was. And seeing the way Feyre paced the bedroom made him realise just how much she had forgotten it as well.

“Dina,” Nesta finally spoke, though her eyes did not leave your struggling form for a second as though she was afraid you would die the moment she moved her gaze. “How long does she have?”

“It’s hard to say,” Grim, that was the only way to describe her tone, “She has a strong heart. And she has pulled through worse. But there’s only so much her body can take.” Dina began stroking your hair gently. “She knows this too. (F/n) told me recently that she can feel her time approaching. She is giving up. I have tried to keep her spirits up but she has lived her whole live like this. She only wants us all to give up too so she may die peacefully.” Elain began to cry softly, each and every being in the room coming to the realisation that they were witnessing your death. Witnessing your death before you had truly lived. “She isn’t likely to wake again before tomorrow and if she does, she won’t make much sense with her fever.” While Dina was not directly dismissing the group, they were all clever enough to read between the lines; leave and let (F/n) rest. 

* * *

Coolness draped across your forehead is what eventually pulled you back to consciousness. A wave of violent shivers had you trying to pull the cloth from your head, when a gentle hand kept it in place. Opening your eyes took more effort than you were willing to admit. Dina was standing over you, her slightly wrinkled face smiling gently down at you, “You know the drill, sweet girl. I can’t let you take the cloth off.”

Grumbling a sigh, you attempted to sit up. The pain that clamped down on your head rendered your attempt useless as you settled back into your pillow. “How long was I out?” 

“A few days, Feyre and her friends left the same day they arrived.” Dina spoke softly, taking your hand and massaging it gently.

“So it wasn’t a dream then, she was here,” Tears gathered along your eyes. Frustrated that you had only gotten to spend such little time with her. 

“I’m afraid so, child. But she will be back within a few weeks.” 

“You and I both know I don’t have a few weeks,” You whispered, afraid that if you spoke any louder, despair would rip you apart. For so long, you had accepted your fate. But now, things were changing. Your sister was fae and had come home to ask for help. It had been a long time since you felt this way. Felt like holding on, just to see this out. But it was too late, your body was giving up. 

“I know, (F/n), I know. Your sisters asked me to alert them when you awoke. I will go get them now.” You appreciated Dina not trying to convince you that this wasn't the end. 

“Don’t bother, it’s late and the conversation can wait until tomorrow. I don’t fancy listening to excuses about why they didn’t tell me that Feyre was here a year ago.” 

“Very well. I am going to bed, but as always, if you need anything just ring the bell and I will be straight up. Sleep well, sweet girl.” Dina leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on your clammy cheeky before fluffing up your pillow and securing the washcloth to your head before taking her leave. 

Staring up at the ceiling, thoughts rushed through your head. Feyre’s new existence, Elain and Nesta’s betrayal, your own fate. It was all so confusing. For the first time in your life, you wished you had the normal life of an aristocrat girl of your age. The only drama occurring in their lives was what member of nobility had found themselves in compromising situations, like a family member becoming pregnant before wedlock. A humourless chuckle left your lips, how mundane that life seemed yet so appealing in your current state.

It felt like hours before you were ripped from your thoughts by the sound of distant crashing somewhere in the manor. Despite the barking pain across your body, the noise had you sitting upright in an instant, heart thumping painfully in your chest. A second later, Dina was in your room, her face and body the epitome of panic, “Stay quiet,” She whispered. She made quick work and pushing some heavy furniture in front of the door. 

“Dina, what’s going on?” Panic was gripping you, the adrenaline making you stand with little effort. 

“I do not know, child. Stay back, you are still weak.” Ushering you to the furthest point from the door, she stood like a rock in front of you, as if she could protect you from whatever the world was throwing at you in that moment.

Not even a few breaths later, the door and all the furniture in front of it was ejected across the room, wood splintering and crashing to the floor in pieces. A scream rattled through both you and Dina, the latter curling herself around you to prevent the wood from impaling you. The sound of heavy footsteps had Dina turning her back on you once again. 

“Step aside, human.” It was fae who had invaded your home. From what you had gathered from Feyre’s visit, it was likely their enemies. Leverage. That’s what the intruders were seeking. 

“Leave, creature. I will not ask you twice,” Dina growled. Her courage was unmatched, such a strong woman that you wished you could be like. However, your trembling body represented quite the opposite of the bravery your handmaid was presenting. 

A cruel snicker escaped the fae’s mouth, and his smile sent every hair on your body standing on end, “Interesting. Brave humans are always the most fun.” 

Before Dina had a chance to open her mouth in retort, the beast was on her in an instant, grabbing her by the neck. You could not tear your eyes from her body being lifted from the ground, the noise of her choked sputters had you begging the intruder to let her live, “Please! I’ll do anything, just let her go!” 

The creature locked eyes with you, his gaze looking through rather than at you, “Good, that’s what I like to hear,” He started lowering Dina slightly. 

“..R-...Run!” She squealed, voice cracking under the grip of her attacker.

Gods you wanted to, but fear anchored your feet to the ground. Dina’s eyes pleaded with you, begged you to run for your life. As if the fae attacker knew what you were gearing up to do, he snapped the Dina’s neck and lunged for you instead. Your screams ripped through the manor as Dina’s lifeless eyes looked to the roof, unseeing. You barely registered Dina’s murderer grabbing you and hauling you towards the exit as your soul seemed to stay in your bedroom with Dina’s corpse. It just didn’t make any sense, just a few hours before she was kissing your cheek before bed. She was supposed to be sound asleep, resting for another day of looking after you in your sickly state. 

“(F/n)!” Nesta’s panicked shout shocked you into action, pulling and scratching at your attacker. 

“No!” You attempted to pull yourself away as Nesta and Elain’s own captors knocked them unconscious. Yet, before you met the same destiny as your sisters, the stress your body was under had black tunnelling your vision. Blood began to trickle from your nose, and the pulsing in your head rendered you limp in the arms of the stranger. 

Before your awareness evaded you, you faintly heard the group laughing with a taunting, “Bet you wish your one went down this easy.” 

Following that, the world went black. 

*** 

Any feedback would be greatly appreciated! Also if there are any mistakes, just let me know!