#((as do i hope the fatigue and brain fog go away soon too!))

[theheadlessgroom]

@beatingheart-bride

At this, Dorian and Beau couldn't help but exchange little glances, both touched and amused by the girlish glee that came over Emily at this question, her delight at recounting such an important moment in her and Randall's courtship, the moment where she made her feelings known, and the two officially became a (private) item.

(Just as well that Emily was so forward in that moment. Something told Beau that Randall-sweet, shy, humble Randall Pace, who in some ways seemed unable to believe his best friend was so unfathomably wealthy and sometimes worried about stepping out of line when spending time with him-would not be so bold, no matter how much he loved her, and Dorian was inclined to agree.)

"Well, I offer you both my deepest congratulations on your engagement," Beau nodded with an earnest smile, before turning a touch melancholy as he looked at the pair, asking, "And, on a more dour note...please, tell him I send my deepest condolences, in regards to the passing of his mother. She was...a lovely woman; hard-working, kind, a good friend...she was an admirable woman, who raised an admirable son."

Though Mrs. June Pace didn't work at Gracey Manor as long as she would've liked (having found the pay worth it if it meant getting to tend to such a beautiful, sprawling garden day in and day out, as well as see her one and only son finally have a friend beyond his teddy bear), she and Beauregard Ghast got along very well in the time she was in the Gracey's employ, her expressing gratitude at Beau looking after her son, treating him no different than Dorian, while he openly admired her resolve, her sense of humor in the face of adversity, and her skill with all things that grew. She was a lovely woman, and Beau would've liked to have gotten to know her better.

[reiderwriter]

Could you write a spencer CNC smut fic? I personally like the type of fics where spencer would be more of a soft dom and kinda talk you through it and say stuff like he couldnt help himself while the y/n begs it to stop. And maybe some after care and stuff. Anyways if youre not comfortable with that i ofc understand!! 💜

A/N: Okay, I sort of got carried away, but I hope you still like it! I took the "he couldn't help himself" thing to heart but Y/N turned into a bit of a brat half way through OOPS.

Summary: Spencer walks in on you showering and decides he has to have you.

Warnings: CNC, soft!Dom! Spencer, bratty reader, shower sex, creampie, PinV sex, a little bit of mirror sex, degradation, name-calling (pervert, bitch once but he's mostly pretty soft). 18+ MINORS DNI

WC: 1.3k

The pipes creaked a little as you turned on the shitty motel shower, sighing as you felt the water hit your skin. You were five days into a case somewhere in the rural midwest, and after a particularly embarrassing fall in the mud, you’d been sent back to your room in the middle of the day to clean yourself off. You’d stomped back to the motel, absolutely frustrated with the way the case was going, desperately craving the hour of peace you’d been granted. 

When you entered the shower cubicle, you were thankfully greeted by hot, almost scalding water. The steam rose and quickly fogged up all the mirrors in the bathroom as you started scrubbing down every inch of your skin, making sure to wash away not just the mud but the fatigue of the case, too. You were so self-involved that you didn’t hear your room door open, or the voice call out your name. 

“Y/N?” Spencer called to you, but you didn’t respond, not hearing him. Turning towards the sound of the shower, the man couldn’t help himself but gravitate towards you. Turning the handle to the bathroom door, he opened it and stared straight at you for a minute before you noticed his presence. 

“Shit, Spencer, you fucking perv, what are you doing?” you shrieked as you finally met his eyes, arms coming down to cover your private areas. 

“I-I’m sorry, Hotch sent me here because you forgot…” his eyes trailed up and down your body now, taking in every inch of you as you shrank under his stare, pushing further back into the wall of the shower stall in the hopes that he wouldn’t see as much. 

“Y/N, why are you covering yourself?” he asked, suddenly snapping his eyes up to yours. 

“Because I’m fucking naked Spencer, and you’re just standing there staring at me.” You hoped that he would get the idea after that, realising that he’d overstepped a boundary.  He didn’t, instead moving further into the small bathroom and closing the door behind him, locking it from the inside the way you should have earlier. 

“What are you doing?” you asked as he opened the shower stall and pushed himself into it, removing his shoes on the way, but not bothering to rid himself of his clothes. You had your answer soon enough as he grabbed the sides of your face and forced a kiss on your lips. 

You groaned into the kiss and attempted to push him off, but he’d worked one hand down to yours and pinned you back against the wall, his leg between the two of yours. The kiss had shocked you, and your brain was left in catch up mode when he trailed his other hand down to your breasts and started paying them some attention. 

“You were so pretty, Y/N, I couldn’t help it,” he kissed his way down your neck and you were frozen, unable to react. 

“Let me help you out baby, you’ve been looking so tense lately, you need this,” he whispered in your ear, and your eyes unconsciously twitched closed as he pinched your nipple between his finger and thumb. Your chest thrust into his hand and you could feel him smile into your neck as he kissed his way down to his hands, the water still pouring over both of you. 

“F-fucking pervert,” you said half-heartedly as he bought his lips finally to your nipples and began licking and sucking at them like a man starved. 

“That’s right, baby, I’m a pervert, and so are you.” His hand found your cunt then, and he roughly pushed two fingers into you before you could gasp out again, thrusting quickly and as deep as he could into you. You let out a long drawn out moan, the pain mixing with the pleasure to make you delirious. 

“What was that baby? You look so pretty when you’re all dumb like this.” 

“Fuck you,” you spat back at him, and he just smirked again in reply, his damp curls falling in his face so you could only just see his lips. 

“Do you feel better now, Y/N? Now that you’ve worked out some of that frustration? Or do you need more?” your eyes snapped open at the suggestion, but just as you opened your mouth to protest, he shoved the fingers from your pussy into your mouth, forcing you to taste yourself on him. You moaned slowly, unable to stop yourself from enjoying the moment. 

“You’re so pretty like this for me, sucking on my fingers like a horny bitch.” He released his hold on your arms, and you almost slumped to the shower floor, but he caught you in his large hands and pulled you up. He turned you around, roughly pushing your chest up against the wall of the stall, letting you face the bathroom mirror. As steamed up as it was, you could still just make out your naked form in it, his clothed self holding you in place behind it. 

“Thank you, Y/N, let’s act nice now while I make you feel better,” he kissed your hair gently, holding both of your arms folded behind your back now. You heard him unzip his pants and your protests died on your tongue as he pushed into you in the next second, sheathing himself inside you without any warning. 

His grip on your arms tightened as he began setting a ruthless pace, your chest pressed uncomfortably into the wall the entire time as you were forced to watch him use you in the distorted mirror. 

“Spencer- Spencer, no, fuck,” you moaned with each thrust, your nipples painfully hard against the cool glass. 

“You just looked so pretty, I couldn’t stop myself,” he moaned out behind you, the only other sound in the room that of the running water and the sounds of your arousal coating him with each messy thrust. You couldn’t even be sure anymore if the wetness running down your legs was coming from you or the shower. 

“You- Ahhh… You fucking pervert…” you mumbled out, your eyes rolling back in your head as you reached your climax with him buried deep inside you. He moaned sinfully as you tightened up around him, but kept pounding out against you. 

“Not a pervert…” he gasped out, refuting your insults. “Just trying to help you,” he moaned out, trying to convince himself that he was helping you. He got louder in his moans after that, not holding back from letting you hear his pleasure, until finally it was too much for him and he pushed his entire body weight on yours and came directly inside of you, filling you up with his cum. 

After a few minutes of him catching his breath, he removed himself from you and cleaned you up with a nearby wash cloth, turning the shower off and pulling you back into a more comfortable position. When you were finally facing him again, you planted a quick kiss to his lips, which he returned with vigour. 

“You know, when I said you should make up an excuse to join me, I wasn’t expecting you so soon.” 

“And I wasn’t expecting my own girlfriend to call me a pervert, but I guess this works for both of us, right?” he wrapped a towel around you and unlocked the door, guiding you back to the motel room you had been sharing for the last few days. 

“You’re lucky we’re roommates this time, I don’t think I could explain this if I met Hotch or Morgan out in the hall on the way back to my room to change clothes.” 

“I don’t see how your impatience is my problem, Doctor Reid.” You smirked up at him as he began unbuttoning his wet clothing. 

“Well, you see, Y/N, you just looked so pretty…” 

[mrs-snape5984]

“There is a light and it never goes out…”

“Take me out tonight. Oh, take me anywhere, I don't care, I don’t care, I don’t care…” (“There’s a light that never goes out” by The Smiths)

Overstimulation. Disorientation. Light sensitivity. Chronic pain. Fatigue. These are only a few of those symptoms, which are torturing me day in and day out for the past two years, already. Due to them, caused by a disease, that is called “Myalgic encephalomyelitis/chronic fatigue syndrome” (ME/CFS), I’m currently forced to live a life within the strict confines of my dark and silent room, mostly enduring my daily existence in solitude.

I miss being a part of this world….and fuck, I miss being a part of other people’s lives! Living like this makes me feel like an old piece of furniture, which has been stored away in a hidden chamber…not worthy enough to be used or seen by anyone, and yet still not bad enough to be discarded.

Some months ago, two wonderful people started taking me out to see their worlds by sending me pictures and videos of the places, they’re heading to. Thanks to them, I’m allowed to get a glimpse of places, I’ve always dreamed of being able to explore them on my own.

Furthermore, something else became apparent whenever one of these precious gems of human nature took me with them: I wasn’t just carried around in their phones, but they carried me in their hearts. This realisation blew my mind! It’s not only me, who’s clinging to them as if they’re my lifelines…no, this little German mess, that I am, became important to these people, too! Words can’t express how grateful I am for our connections…and that I was also lucky enough to find true love in this bond (I love you, R. 🖤).

One of those amazing people is my beloved sister in Christ @vulnus-sanare, who will soon come to visit me in my small world. Finally, I’ll be the one, who can show her the beauty of the tiniest things in my environment…always surrounded by the securing gloominess of the nights. Magda, my heart, I’m going to introduce you to the stars above my town, to the soothing sounds of the Moselle River right next to my house and I hope, we will manage to experience the mesmerising dance of the bats in the vineyards, if we take my wheelchair with us. I can’t wait to have you here and pull you into the tightest of all embraces, sweetie!

I’ve commissioned my dear friend @snake-queen7 to create this breathtaking piece of art of Severus and my undeniably self-inserted OC Jules on a nocturnal walk through the vineyards behind my house. Before I caught ME/CFS, I used to enjoy these nightly strolls in order to watch the bats with my children, so I sent her a photo of the exact spot, I want to share with Magda. Since it was Severus and Snapedom, which brought us together, it’s only fair to bring our beloved dungeon bat to this special place as well.

My friend, I’m more than happy with the outcome of your artwork and it’s a pleasure to share it with all those lovely people of our Snapedom. Please take my apologies for taking so long to write this post, but I wanted to honour your work the way, it deserves to be honoured. For this reason, I had to wait patiently for a moment, when my brain wouldn’t refuse me to do its job (brain fog is such a pain in the ass!). Thank you for everything, Natalia! 🥹

🖤Severus & Julia🖤

🖤Sevy & Jules🖤

[gregoftom]

Been going through it lately with fibromyalgia symptoms so obviously I’m gonna project onto Greg. He’s always hurting ESPECIALLY his back/shoulders/neck because being so tall has him hunching all the time, and the period of time he spent sleeping on benches and in shitty hostels did not help at all. He’s always a bit sleepy because the fatigue is real (Greg has such sleepy eyes, I can see the constant need for a nap in them lmao). His default state is anxiety, and sometimes the brain fog is extra bad so when he tries to talk to people he comes off as dumb and tends to ramble to get to what he’s trying to say. He smokes weed to cope with his symptoms because it’s not easy to get through the day when everything feels bad. When Greg first starts working with Tom, I think Tom would definitely be like “that’s not a real thing, you idiot” because he thinks Greg’s just trying to get out of things and make excuses for any incompetence. But then he gets to know Greg better and really care for him, he realizes that “oh, he wasn’t fucking with me” and he becomes unbearable. He is constantly checking in, offering more pto, saying he knows how to give a great shoulder massage (and sometimes just doing it), dropping hints that he has painkillers in his office if Greg needs them, panicking that Greg needs to go to the hospital when he has a flare up. And Greg’s overwhelmed but mostly touched by the fact that Tom wants to take care of him. He does however have to tell Tom to calm the fuck down because if things keep going this way Tom will probably die of a stress-induced heart attack or go broke trying to fund research for a fibromyalgia cure.

first of all i am so sorry that you've been suffering like that 🥺 i really hope things look up for you soon, and you feel better <3

second of all project away! i love to do that too. and. this is sssoooo fjlkdfdfg god i love tom being over protective and doting, because he would, he'd want to take care of greg so much, and would! the massages! little smile when greg relaxes under his touch and seem to feel a bit better. the one time greg forgets/runs out of painkillers and tom has them right there for him, gets him a glass of water to take them with. and yeah greg is like. eeeeeee at the attention and care but absolutely would eventually be like Relax i am begging you take care of yourself too or let me take care of you! fund research for a fibromyalgia cure ooommg 🥺 that just made me die a bit, wuhhh.

ty for the sweet ask and again, hope things improve for you asap <3

[sorryjustafangirl]

writing blurbs ☀️- 3 with quinn hughes?

thank you!! i hope you like this one as much as i do :)

prompt: "You look adorable in- wait is that my shirt?"

warnings: one swear, sickness but nothing graphic

This morning, you’d woken up with a little headache and a sore body but shook it off and headed to school anyway, figuring it would go away. You couldn’t have been more wrong. As the day went on, you felt worse and worse, your feet beginning to drag behind you and your brain felt like it was being hit with a wrecking ball.

As soon as you came home from school, you immediately changed into the first pair of sweatpants and t-shirt you saw and collapsed on the couch.

You were awoken from your nap by some excessive knocking on your door. You groaned and the person must’ve heard you because they called back to you.

“Hey, it’s me, wanna open the door? We’re going to Petey’s remember?” You groaned again, but got up off the couch to stumble to the front door to meet your best friend. You barely felt awake by the time you opened the door to Quinn but that didn’t stop him from making a sarcastic comment.

“Hi. You look adorable in- wait is that my shirt?” You looked down to see you were, in fact, in one of his UMich shirts he must’ve left here the last time you had a movie night. You pushed some of your hair away from your face and sighed.

“I guess so, yeah. Sorry, I just threw on the first thing I saw when I got home. Are you coming in?” Your question seemed to break him out of whatever trance he was in and he nodded, closing the door behind him as you walked back to the couch.

“I’m not going.”

“Um, uh, why not?” He could barely get the words out, trying to focus on anything other than you in his clothes. He knew you weren’t doing it on purpose – you didn’t know how he was harbouring a crush on you and he was planning to keep it that way – but man, did you in his university shirt make his stomach fill with butterflies.

“Q, I feel like garbage,” you mumbled. It was at your meek voice that he suddenly took in your appearance. You had bags under your eyes, you had lost some of the colour in your face, and you just looked tired.

“Yeah, you kinda look like shit too.”

“Gee, thanks, that’s what everyone wants to hear.” He sighed, and came over the couch. He told you to lie down and brought the blanket back over you.

“What hurts?”

“Like everything? My head is pounding, and I may or may not be running a fever, I can’t really tell.” He pressed the back of his hand to your forehead, and you momentarily closed your eyes at the feeling of his skin against yours.

“I think you’ve got a fever. I’ll get some medicine and then we can watch Aladdin, okay?” You nodded and he quickly headed to your bathroom and searched for some flu medication. Even with brain fog, you could hear him drop a few bottles and a few choice words but when he came back with the medicine in hand.

“Okay, sit up.” You scrunched your nose at his request, especially when you saw the cup full of purple grape syrup. “C’mon, it’s going to help.”

Knowing he was right, you took the cup from his hands and took a gulp of it, him watching to make sure you drank it all. He chuckled at the face you made afterwards, and took the cup back. He started to walk towards the kitchen to wash it but you grabbed his wrist.

“I’ll be right back, okay? Put on the movie.” You nodded slowly, letting his hand drop and reaching for the remote. By the time he came back, you were already cuddled under the blanket and the opening credits of the show were playing. He sat next to you, letting your head drop to his shoulder. It was halfway through the movie when you spoke up, your voice laced with fatigue.

“You could’ve gone to Petey’s. I know you were looking forward to it,” You mumbled, and he brushed some of your stray hairs away. You looked up to him and saw his adorable side smile. He ran his hand lightly down the side of your face.

“It’s fine. I’d rather be here, anyways. Someone’s got to take care of you, yeah?”

“You must love me more than you love Petey then,” you mumbled with your eyes closed. His heart started beating faster at your words and he had to remind himself that you weren’t feeling well. You didn’t know what you were saying.

“Yeah.” He mumbled, knowing you were already too much out of it to remember but saying it for himself. As practice for when he’d tell you for real. “I do.”

taglist (join here): @heatherawoowoo @4ambagelbites @tysonjost-taylorsversion @2manytabsopen @stars-canucks @lorrmorr @fallinallincurls @plds2000 @barzysandhughesbaby @yummygoldenfood @drei-mrssvechii @bananarantanen

[archies-litterbox]

Whumptober No. 2: Talking is Overrated

Garotte | choking | gagged

Summary: Zoe wakes up in rather inhospitable custody, as well as in magic-nullifying shackles. She wants nothing more than to make her escape as soon as possible without relying on anyone to find her, but the fatigue and headaches brought on by a certain nullifier cast in the metal of her chains makes that rather difficult. And to make matters worse (or better?), she’s not alone.

Words: 7k

A/N: Welcome to Day 2! This one is a much longer piece than Day 1, but I was actually working on this for like a week before I realized it fit one of the Day 2 prompts, so I figured it worked! (“Garotte” is italicized because although this is written for the theme “gagged”, garottes are mentioned coincidentally). The next piece is gonna be for another fandom, and I won’t get back to ToA until likely Day 4, but for now, I hope you enjoy! Also this may be from Zoe's POV, but be fooled not - Douxie's the one getting whumped the most here. I mean... you know me.

[CW: Kidnapping/Capture, Muzzle, Chains, Swearing, Creepy Whumper (Antagonist acts creepy to Zoe but never lays a hand on her)]

--

It had been, by most conventional standards, not a particularly pleasant afternoon.

It started out fine for Zoe, going about her typical herb-collecting in the woods, but getting a sharp pain in her neck and waking up with cuffs on her wrists pretty much threw a wrench in things. The shackles were generously - as generous as shackles could get, anyway - tethered by a long chain to a stake in the ground, giving her enough length to lay back against a tree. Such was an opportunity she took without hesitation, for something - whether the sedative or some magic nullifier in her shackles - left her feeling drained. 

Drained, but not alone.

No, she woke up with another person in her predicament - another magic user, most likely, judging by the way that shackles were clamped on his wrists the same as hers, linked by a long chain to that same blasted stake in the ground.

But unlike her, he was unconscious. Whatever sedative they used must have been doing more of a number on the boy than it did to her. At least, that’s what she figured while the gangly kid laid knocked out on his side.

She decided not to wake him, instead resolving to try to think of a way out of this. Sure, hedge-witches were well-networked, and one of them was bound to track her down to this literal neck of the woods, if there was one thing Zoe Ashildr loathed, it was being at anyone’s mercy. The sooner she got herself out of here without waiting on anyone, the better.

As they sat around a campfire some meters away, the gang that must have been her and this guy’s captors didn’t even notice she was awake, and she hoped to keep it that way. The longer she wasn’t noticed, the longer she’d be left alone to think.

Well… to try to think, anyway, but it was hard to get any clever escape schemes going with the horrendous pounding behind her eyes.

Besides, her attempts to think through what almost might have been the start of a plan were interrupted by a groan beside her.

“Ooooh, Fuzzbuckets.”

...What was a fuzzbucket?

She’d been looking right at the ground at her feet before, but she shifted her gaze to the stirring boy next to her. Zoe couldn’t help but roll her eyes. Great, now she’d have to keep this kid calm, as if fighting through her brain fog wasn’t difficult enough on it’s own.

He lifted his head and sat up, still too dazed to realize his circumstances yet. But when he did, his big hazel eyes widened at the sight of the shackles on his wrists.

His eyebrows upturned, and he opened his mouth like he was going to scream, but Zoe reached out, almost lunging over to do so, and put a hand over his mouth before he could.

“Mh!” he squeaked behind her palm. His eyes were still widened for another second, but then they glanced down to her hands that were shackled just like his, and when he seemed to realize she was a fellow captive and not his captor, his eyebrows furrowed as if he were confused, if not a little affronted.

“The longer they go,” she whispered, nodding to the still-unawares gang that sat grumbling around their fire, “Without knowing you’re awake, the better. Don’t be loud.”

The boy nodded apprehensively and moved his head back to get away from her hand.

“What are we doing here?” he asked, fortunately lowering his voice.

“Right now…” she crossed her heels over each other, sitting back against the tree, “...sitting. And messing with these stupid shackles.”

He rubbed the side of his head, “How long have I…”

Zoe shrugged, “Beats me. Half an hour, at least - that’s how long it’s been since I woke up, anyway… what were you doing before?”

She wasn’t sure why she asked. His squeaking, even when he spoke quietly, was already worsening her headache.

Well, whatever - the question was out there.

The boy looked down to recollect what happened.

“Well… I was picking herbs. My master sent me out to do it. He’s probably in his study going,” he changed his voice to mimic what sounded like a surly old man, “Hisirdoux, what’s taking so long? They’re easy to spot, even for you!”

Zoe tilted her head, “Hisirdoux, huh?”

He nodded, as if remembering he hadn’t thought to introduce himself yet, “Hisirdoux Casperan! Apprentice to Merlin. But I like going by Douxie. It’s shorter, and people usually don’t sound like they’re scolding me.”

Ugh, great. 

Not only was she chained here, but she was stuck with an apprentice for a wizard synonymous with snuck-up snobbery.

“I was doing the same thing. Looks like that’s how they got the drop on both of us.”

Douxie - it was better, she admitted, and much less pretentious-sounding than Hisirdoux - tilted his head, “Don’t you have a name?”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t matter.” she said.

“Come on, I told you my name.”

“Not like I asked for it.”

Douxie scrunched up his face in an adora-

NO.

Douxie scrunched up his face in a definitely-not-adorable pout.

“Fine, be all secret-y.” He curled his legs up and hugged them close to his chest with his shackled arms.

And that’s what she wanted to do. She didn’t want to say anything beyond what she had to say to Douxie. Not only was she apprehensive - for all she knew, he was some sniveling kid that knew just as much of the struggle of surviving as a magic user outside the sheltered walls of the castle as that privileged Arthurian toolbag did, which couldn’t have been much - but names were risky. If someone knew your name, they knew how to ask around for you. And she tried avoiding that as much as she could. If Douxie wanted to introduce himself, that was him, not her.

There was more she had to worry about besides introductions. Thinking of a plan… getting these cuffs off… not freezing…

She tried to tuck her hands under her underarms as best she could. These shackles drained her energy, and in addition to her magic’s obsoletion and the awful headache, it made her get cold easily in these woods, under the shade.

“...Are you cold?”

She turned her head to Douxie, who looked genuinely concerned. As skeptical as she was, she nodded.

“Not like I can whip up a fire… neither can you, so don’t try it.” she quickly added, holding up a pointer finger, “Draining Dust in the shackles. It’d just hurt.”

His eyebrows upturned, and he took a shaky breath. Merlin must have told him how poisonous it could be if it gets in the system.

“It’s toxic…” he mumbled, “It… it’s poison.”

“It’s not too bad just in the cuffs.” she said, almost to reassure him, “It shouldn’t actually poison you unless it gets in your system. Maybe if they rub against a cut, or something. Don’t worry about it - there’s enough to be scared of right now.”

Douxie nodded, swallowing, looking at her arms before glancing down at his hands.

“If your hands are cold… I could…”

He blushed, hesitation choking him up as he shook his head, leaning back against a tree of his own, next to the one Zoe was using for support.

“Agh, never mind.”

He tapped the back of his head against the bark, squishing his… manbun when he did.

“What do they even want?”

Zoe shrugged.

“Your guess is as good as mine.” she said, “For all I know, we could be going off to the highest-paying witchfinder… I just hope they don’t want our magic.”

“Well, they obviously don’t want it right now.” Douxie grumbled, shaking his cuffs. Assuming him to be truly clueless, rather than purposefully obtuse, she shook her head.

“I mean to do their dirty work. Keep the cuffs on until they need a spell or something, make us do it. We end up like vessels.”

Douxie looked down.

“Oh…”

Zoe stared down at her cuffed hands in her lap.

“I don’t think there’d be anything worse.” she huffed, “That’s the thing about everyone who hates magic. They say they want it eradicated, pushed out of their sight, crushed underfoot… until it helps them get what they want. Then they rip it from whoever they want, autonomy be forsaken.”

“And what if that’s…” Douxie asked, obviously worried now that he considered the prospect of being forced to use his magic against his will.

“...I'd rather they just get rid of me.” Zoe said, “Maybe taunt them until they do. No way they're getting my magic… especially not with these on.”

She lifted her shackled hands.

Douxie lolled his head back against his tree again.

“Urgh, it feels like they’re making me sick…” he whined, “I’ve got an awful headache.”

“Me too.” Zoe groaned, “Thought it was just from hearing you all along.”

Something panged her heart when she saw the way the boy’s eyebrows upturned. It wasn’t from the shackles, but something else… remorse.

“Ugh... sorry.” She lolled her head back against the tree for what felt like the fiftieth time this afternoon. “Uncalled for.” The apology felt foreign coming from her throat.

But Douxie only shrugged, “‘Salright. I’m notorious for causing headaches. And spills. And spikes in blood pressure. Merlin says so…”

His eyes widened with hope - faith, even, an odd thing - shining in his eyes.

“Merlin! He’ll find us! He’ll know I’m missing.”

Zoe rolled her eyes. Did he really have that much faith in that Arthurian toolbag?

“Sure.” She huffed. Douxie's eyebrows upturned.

“Come on… don’t you have anyone who'll miss you?”

Zoe lifted her head.

“A lot of people, actually. Hedge witches are pretty well-networked.” she said, immediately wanting to bite her tongue for mentioning what she was.

Douxie looked like he had stars in his eyes, which was… not the reaction she expected. She thought Merlin would have led him to think hedge witches were lesser in comparison to pristine magicians who managed to slither their way into King Arthur’s begrudging tolerance, but Douxie seemed… impressed? In awe?

“A hedge witch?” he asked in admiration, careful to keep his voice down. It caused a flutter in her heart that she wanted to beat down with a stick, but she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction that could’ve come with her being flustered, so she nodded.

“One goes missing, the rest pick up on it. Just a matter of tracking down from there…”

Douxie’s mouth formed an “O” and his eyes widened, like he had an idea (which must have been something of a rarity, if this afternoon was anything to go off of).

“Oooh, like a game!” he said, “It’s just like waiting to see who gets here first! Guess we’d both win though, ‘cause we’d… y’know…” he lifted his hands, “Not have these on anymore…”

...Wow, he was an idiot.

“Yeah, sure. A game.” she said, sardonic, “Whoever’s people show up to save our sorry butts first wins.”

It was quiet for a little while after that. Zoe still kept trying to think up an escape plan, despite the headache that messed with her head, and Douxie had either gotten the hint that she wasn’t too giddy for conversation, or he’d grown too worried of his predicament for words.

Judging by the way he sat curled up, hugging his knees against his chest as he stared down at the grass, it might have been the latter.

Douxie’s head snapped up at a noise - one that made Zoe’s heart spike as she whipped her head forward; the sound of one of their captors heading over to them.

He was one of four of them, the other four still sitting around their fire and blathering on with cantines abound in their hands, and he was quite the nasty specimen. Big, burly, greasy-looking, but pretty typical, as far as most people who would kidnap two teenagers out on errands tended to look. He glowered down at Zoe, not paying the curled up moppet next to her much attention.

“You’re awake.” he said to her.

She leaned back against the tree, unimpressed.

“Took you and your drinking buddies long enough to notice.” she said, “It’s bad enough you chained us here, but seriously, you’re going to keep us waiting?”

Douxie, still curled up and now shaking, glanced between her and the… bandit, she wanted to presume? These kinds of guys were always bandits, or something.

The man scoffed, “Rather confident for a hedge witch.”

Zoe tilted her head, “Mm… nah, we’re all pretty much this cocky. What do you want? I was in the middle of something back there.”

“And I was too! Something very important!” Douxie squawked. Zoe grit her teeth.

This isn’t the time to try to be included!

“What you’re in the middle of now,” the supposed bandit said, “is a trip to a rather high-paying witchfinder.”

Wow, she thought, I hit the nail on the head. Great. Can I hit this guy on the head too, while I’m at it?

(But she couldn’t.)

Zoe huffed, “If he’s sending you around, then he’s not much of a witchfinder, is he? I mean, he didn’t even find me, a witch - you did.”

“So, er…” Douxie started, “He’s more of a… send-weird-bad-guys-to-find-witches...er.”

Zoe looked at him for a beat, confused by how much of an idiot he was. Really, he kept surprising her in this respect.

The bandit turned his head to Douxie, too.

“Actually, me and my boys-”

“My boys and I.” Zoe corrected, earning a growl.

“-weren’t sent out to find a witch.”

Zoe didn’t understand, and by the looks of it, neither did Douxie.

“Nah, the guy said he’d pay a rather high price for the apprentice to, say, Merlin Ambrosius…”

Douxie’s eyebrows upturned as he shrunk into himself. Wait, he’d been demanded? Then… what about Zoe?

The man turned to her, as if to answer her question.

“But when we saw a pretty little hedge witch going about nearby…”

Zoe’s stomach turned. Her magic, however suppressed, instinctively thrummed at her fingertips in an attempt at defense. She didn’t let it show how much it burned.

“...Why not get more out of the deal?”

So… she was the one that was just in the wrong place at the wrong time? Zoe almost felt a little insulted, but it was drowned out by anger and, as much as she didn’t want to admit it, fear.

“If the “more” that you want is a bunch of hedge-witches after the sorry, ugly mugs of you and your “boys”, then go for it.” she said, keeping her voice cool despite clasping her hands to suppress the magic that would only hurt her, as long as those cuffs were on.

The hunter huffed, “I’d take the chance, I think. Worth the money.”

He knelt down. If Zoe could’ve backed against the tree any further, she would have. She gripped the chains on her shackles, wondering how good of a garotte the chain between them would make.

“I mean, I don’t see why anyone would turn that down…” his voice was lower now, and Zoe hated that. She really, really hated that.

“Maybe because they don’t have deathwishes.” she said, much more shaky than her liking as the man leered at her. “Do you?”

He brought up a hand.

“...Maybe I d-”

“DON’T TOUCH HER!”

It all happened so fast.

The screech next to her that sounded so unlike the quivering moppet from the past hour.

The slinking of chains moving fast against the ground.

The thumping of feet getting up on the grass.

The blur of brown, blue, and black that moved to her right.

The yowl from the hunter.

The last thing to finally catch up to her senses was a shocking sight, even more so than her own electric magic.

It was the fury in those hazel eyes as Douxie’s jaws clamped down hard on the hunter’s hand.

Zoe dove away from the scene, but mostly the hunter, as much as the chains allowed. Getting out of the space between those two and the tree, she got right to her feet. She wanted to shout something, do something, but she was too shocked by the scene for words. Here he was, some boy who she thought was a pretentious whiny little moppet who couldn’t do anything without Merlin’s approval, huffing and almost growling with his teeth locked onto the man’s hand like a dog’s on a piece of meat.

But as daring (and stupid, and possibly a tad feral) Douxie had been, he was light and gangly, and the hunter swinging his arm hard was enough to slam Douxie’s head against the tree, stunning him so his jaw opened so the hunter could pull his hand away.

Zoe hated that sound of skull meeting wood, and it made her wince, but it wasn’t as bad as the cry from Douxie. It seemed that ferocity was dormant now, smacked out of him as he lay slumped against the tree, somehow still conscious.

“What the hell…” she panted, still standing still as the weight of her shackles pulled her arms down, “What did you do?”

But, for once, Douxie didn’t say anything back.

“So, the little stray Merlin took in has a bite, now does he?” He said, kicking Douxie in the side on the emphasized word. The boy whimpered, grimacing with blood on his teeth, and with every ounce of the self-preservation that had been ingrained in her, Zoe fought tooth and nail against the urge to protect him. He was a stranger, just a kid caught up in the same messed-up predicament she was. It didn’t matter if he got himself in more danger than he was already in for her sake; she had no loyalty to him, and even if she did, her loyalty to herself was greater.

“...Well, I have something for that.”

But her stomach still dropped when she heard that.

The other three of the captors had already been running over, and when they got to their leader, he held out his hand. Without a word, one of the lackeys rummaged around in a bag for something that, whatever it was, Zoe desperately - no, why desperately? Why was she desperate for Douxie’s sake? - hoped he wouldn’t find.

“What are you talking about?” she asked, panting, her feet still planted to the ground.

The leader of the hunters, who still towered over Douxie, grabbed a fistfull of hair on the back of his head and yanked his bun loose.

“What you always use for dogs who can’t help but bite.”

The realization hit Zoe like a smack to the face. She started shaking her head, however minute the action was.

A second later, the realization apparently hit Douxie too, judging by the way his eyes widened and his breath quickened.

Both of them darted their eyes to the lackey with the bag, both knowing what he was looking for and hoping to anything they could that he wouldn’t find it.

But a damning ���Aha!” from him all-but-confirmed their fear only a second before he pulled it out.

Zoe saw the straps. She saw the metal clasps. She saw -

Oh, no no no-

She saw the piece of metal that all the straps connected to; that was big enough and shaped just right that it could - no, it would cover the lower half of Douxie’s face and curve just under the chin to keep his jaw clamped shut.

A muzzle.

“NO!”

The scream/plea from Zoe sounded foreign to her, but she didn’t care. Laying eyes on that thing made her own, and she tried lunging forward, just like Douxie did for her, but two of the lackeys stopped her before she could take as much as three steps. They held onto her arms, both stopping her from moving forward and making her cuffed hands dig into her abdomen the more she thrashed against their hold, but she didn’t care. Not as her heels dug against the ground, not as the fabric of her dress sleeves chaffed against her sleeves with how tight the hold on her was, and not as magic thrummed under her skin despite the cuffs.

Douxie curled up and shook his head, clamping his hands over his mouth as if to block the muzzle from being put on. But once the leader had the muzzle in one hand, he used the other to yank on the chain for Douxie’s shackles to pull both the boy closer and to and pull his hands away from his face, stomping on the chain to keep it pinned. Douxie’s hands were forced down now, a mere inch or two off the ground, but even though he was practically stuck on his knees, he kept trying, trying, trying to tug himself away.

“No, no, no! Don’t! Please don’t!” Douxie pleaded.

“LEAVE HIM ALONE!” Zoe screamed, louder than him. It probably wasn’t a good idea to scream at the man holding a muzzle, but she didn’t care. Not while she thrashed and tried pushing forward and yanking her way out of the grip of the men on either side of her.

Until a blade to Douxie’s throat made both him and Zoe go still.

Douxie froze, save for the sharp rise and fall of his chest, and Zoe stopped her thrashing in an instant. The one who’d rummaged around and found the muzzle in the first place was the one holding it, and the angered look in the leader’s eyes made the demand clear:

“Stay still and shut up, both of you, or he gets his throat slit.”

Zoe shook with anger, but stayed still on her feet, glowering at the man so she didn’t have to look right at Douxie.

But she could still see him.

Douxie was just as frozen as her, shaking more with fear than Zoe’s fury, until he tried to shy away from the blade on his neck (and inadvertently pressed his head closer to the man with that damn contraption in his hands), minutely shaking his head.

But when the one holding the blade put it closer to his throat, pressing it against the skin with enough force that so much as a mere twitch would cut him, he went limp (as much as his trembling allowed), squeezed his eyes shut, and nodded minutely - a silent resignation, a nonverbal “I won’t move, just don’t hurt me.”

Zoe closed her eyes, too. The sting of tears was overpowering, and she couldn’t… she couldn’t bear to watch.

“He’ll kill you.” she heard Douxie hiss, “Merlin will kill you, he’ll kill-”

A sharp intake of breath and a muffled whimper made Zoe’s stomach twist, especially when no more sound followed but those of tightening straps and the “chk” of a lock.

Zoe never thought a sound could hurt so much to hear.

Fortunately, oh so fortunately, the leader went back to his fire, and the others followed suit.

When the men on either side of her let her go, the first thing she did was fall to the ground. The way she unconsciously tried using her magic despite the nullifier winded her, so she ended up kneeling on the grass, further staining the skirt of her dress as she stared at the unfocused green mess underneath her.

She wanted to think that was the reason, anyway. Definitely not because of what she knew she’d see once she lifted her head.

But when she heard Douxie’s shaky breathing through his nose - the only way he could breathe, she knew - she straightened up and looked at him. How could she not?

For the first time today, Zoe realized that all she wanted to do was cry.

His mouth and some of his cheeks were covered by dark, dark grey metal that spread ear to ear, reaching just up to his nose. It was likely cast with Draining Dust, just like the cuffs on both their wrists that shared it’s hue. Two little straps on either side of his nose met at it’s bridge, with a ring that had another strap coming from it, too - one that stretched all the way down the middle of the top of his head (hence why the leader tugged his bun loose). Two straps, one on either side of Douxie’s jaw, met the end of that strap at the back of Douxie’s head, Zoe reasonably guessed. Just as well, she assumed that locking noise she heard was the lock being put on back there.

But guessing was all she could do about that, because she wasn’t looking there. No, all she could look at was his face - at the eyes of the muzzled boy that stared at her like he didn’t know what to say, even if he could speak.

In those heavy-lidded hazel pockets of quiet desperation, nearly hidden by messy strands of black hair, Zoe saw what she could only describe as the poor man’s despondence - so close to being checked out of all this, but not quite there, not quite lucky enough to lose awareness of the situation.

She got closer, so she sat on her knees right in front of him while he stared at the ground. She felt more at a loss for what to say than Douxie, even though she was the only one out of the two of them that could say anything.

“He… you…” she started, but none of the words felt right.

Douxie’s eyes drew up to hers, as if he just realized she was in front of her.

And his breathing picked up, and his eyes widened, as if, although he knew there was a muzzle on his face, the realization sunk in, like fangs into skin, that there was a fucking muzzle on his face.

Desperately, he brought his hands to his head, yanking at the straps in desperation only made quiet by the very thing making him desperate. After a second or two, he forwent pulling at the leather bindings in favor of pulling at the metal on his face, almost digging his fingers underneath it and starting to scratch his face in the process as he clawed near-hysterically at it, making high-pitched whining noises behind the muzzle. His eyes weren’t heavy-lidded anymore. No, they were like a wild animal’s (a resemblance only furthered by the muzzle), wide with the fact that he needed, needed, needed to get it off.

But he couldn’t. Not like this.

“Wait! Stop!” she grabbed his hands, and pulled them down. “You might cut your face! You’d only make it worse!”

The image popped into her mind of somehow, some-bloody-how, traces of that nullifying powder ending up in his blood, and if he got poisoned on top of all of this…

No, she couldn’t bear to think of it.

Douxie tried pulling his hands back, but however gentle Zoe was, she was firm in keeping them away from his face.

It took a few moments, but eventually, his attempts in vain subsided and his arms relaxed… only to start trembling with the rest of his body.

The whimpers and whines from before were nothing compared to the keening wail he let out as the futility of his struggling let in, made all the more awful by how muffled it was; as his torso lurched forward and his head hung low.

(Now, Zoe got a good look at the lock binding all the straps together, but she didn’t pay it much mind.)

Douxie let go of her hands in favor of balling his own into fists, but she still felt his tears fall on her arms as he started to sniffle.

No, no, not good. If started crying any harder, and his nose stuffed up, he wouldn’t be able to breathe through his nose due to the congestion and… well, obviously he wouldn’t be able to breathe any other way. And the last thing she wanted to count on - even less so than that armored, bearded, weird-metal-head-plated embodiment of pretentiousness caring enough to send help for his errand boy - was these guys being merciful and trading the muzzle for something more breathable, let alone just leaving him ungagged.

No, it was too much of a risk.

“No, no, no, no. Don’t cry. Please.” It only made Douxie sob behind the metal again, the thought of something else being taken, but she explained, “If you cry, you might plug up your nose. You’ll suffocate.”

But that only scared him more, she realized as his eyes widened, his eyebrows upturning as he shook his head again, whining behind the metal that made the sound near-inaudible. She put her hands to either side of Douxie’s face, despite herself, despite the coldness she carried with her like a switchblade.

Douxie put his hands over hers. She tried to ignore the flutter in her heart - anything to help him get grounded.

“I need you to breathe. I need you to take deep breaths for me, and I need you not to cry. Just - just keep that nose of yours cleared up, okay?” She rubbed her thumbs over the little bit of his cheeks still uncovered by cruel, horrendous metal. “Can you do that for me, Douxie?”

Douxie’s eyebrows raised, and he seemed to relax a little with a certain realization - one that made Zoe fight back heat in her cheeks…

That was the first time today she’d called him Douxie.

And it was enough to help calm him down; to help his breathing slow, and to help the tension leave his body, even if it was just a little bit.

His eyes became heavy-lidded again, and however strange it sounds, Zoe thought it was a relief. It meant that he’d calmed down; that he was less of that frenzied, near-wild person from moments before and more of that moppety boy he’d been all this time.

Really, it was hard to believe they were even the same person, and if Zoe hadn’t seen it for herself, she wouldn’t have.

And even now, she still couldn’t wrap her head around the way he clamped down on that man’s hand, biting like a wild animal. It wasn’t his being daringly stupid - or stupidly daring? - that unnerved her, but the way he’d been as such…

How was she supposed to expect that from anyone? Especially Merlin Ambrosius’ sniveling errand boy?

“Why…” she huffed, “Why did you do that?”

Douxie couldn’t rightly answer, but he gestured to their captors again, bringing up a shaky hand to do it. Looks like Zoe would have to fill in the blanks.

“You…”

She sighed.

“You just didn’t want him to hurt me, did you?”

Douxie nodded, his head lolling with each motion because of the weight from the metal across half his face.

“...You know,” she started, “If he got close enough, I would’ve just tried using these chains as a garrote.”

Douxie tilted his head, mumbling something unintelligible in confusion.

“Something you wrap around someone’s neck to choke them out.” she explained and shrugged, “...Probably wouldn’t have worked, anyway.”

Douxie shrugged, noncommittal.

“I didn’t expect that from you, but I guess that goes without saying, huh?”

The look Douxie gave her was almost deadpan - enough to let her know that was the wrong choice of words. Oops.

“Heh, sorry…”

When she realized her hands were still on his face, a realization that made a pink tint come to her own cheeks (the same hue she’d eventually dye her hair, which was still brown now), she started taking them off…

...But Douxie put his hands on hers with a muffled whine.

“M’kay…” she gently rubbed under his eyes again, “Alright…”

She humored him, kept her hands on his cheeks. Not because she pitied him, or felt like she owed him for that stupid way he leaped and bit for her sake, but… he was scared, and if she let it show - if she brought forth even a sliver of the fear she felt today, he wouldn’t hesitate to comfort her, just like he didn’t hesitate when that bandit brought his hand up...

And she couldn’t turn down that sad look of helplessly quiet desperation in his eyes, no matter how much she wanted to.

Zoe sighed.

She wasn’t much for reassurance, but for his sake…

“...We’ll be okay.”

Douxie cast his gaze down, clearly not believing the statement as much as she did (even though earlier, the inverse was true). No, no no no - he couldn’t get discouraged; Zoe couldn’t let him.

“I mean it.” she insisted,  “You’re Merlin’s errand boy, right?”

Douxie mumbled something - a correction, a muffled “apprentice” - behind the metal clamped cruelly over his mouth.

“Then he’ll know you’re missing, and he’ll come for you. And the hedge-witches will come for me. Like a game, remember? Like you said?”

Douxie nodded, a little of the light returning to his eyes, as if he were happy that Zoe remembered what he said so naively earlier.

But despite that light… Zoe could tell that Douxie was exhausted.

“...It makes you more tired, doesn’t it?” she said, and it was obvious what “it” was. Douxie nodded, moving her hands with the motion. Of course it did - again, it didn’t take much to reasonably assume that it was cast with Draining Dust, just like the shackles, and now that more of it was on him, it just made him more miserable… 

Douxie moved his head out of her hands and started to lay down on the ground, but he still looked miserable, curling his arms around himself and curling his legs. And Zoe couldn’t take it. If she had any way of making him more comfortable…

...Well, at the very least, she had an idea.

“Sit up, Douxie,” she said to the boy that lay curled up next to her. Obviously a little confused, he sat up so he sat up and put his heels underneath him.

Zoe stretched her legs out and gauged, just by looking, how well her arms could fit around him. Even with his vest, he was rather skinny, and her arms were long, so she figured it would work. 

“I have an idea. I can try to make it a bit more comfortable.” she held her hands up, “Can I…”

Douxie didn’t look like he knew what she’d try to do, but he nodded all the same.

Her back had been laying up against the tree before, but she sat up a bit to get closer to Douxie - close enough to raise her shackled arms and put them over his head and down so they lay somewhat loose around his torso, like she was hugging him from behind. 

He looked a little confused, but didn’t recoil, so she laid back against the tree and gently pulled Douxie with her, so the back of his head laid against her shoulder, and he could rest it there, against the softness of the cloth that made up her dress.

And that’s what she did. As much as he still didn’t seem to get this (and to be fair, Zoe didn’t get why she was doing this, whatever this was, either) and his arms were somewhat pinned to his sides by the embrace, he still seemed relaxed.

“How’s this?” she asked, “If you don’t like it, I can-”

Douxie brought up his own shackled hands, his arms still sort of pinned to his sides by Zoe's embrace, to hold hers, only nestling further against her.

It was a clear enough answer - one that made Zoe feel relieved that she wouldn’t have to let go of him. She hated that relief, as good as it felt. It meant that if she did have to let him go, if something took him from her arms, it would hurt. And that knowledge - the looming threat of that pain - was dangerous.

But she found that right now, for once today, there was little she could bring herself to hate.

“Oh… ‘kay.” she rubbed one of his fingers with her thumb, “Okay…”

Despite the way one of the straps of Douxie’s muzzle - which she wanted nothing more than to blast right off - dug against her collarbone, the slow, steady breathing against her helped calm her as much as her hold calmed Douxie.

Zoe laid her head back against the tree, feeling fatigue weigh on her own eyelids once again.

“...It’s Zoe, y’know.”

Douxie lifted his head a little and looked up at her, “Mmh?”

Zoe brought her gaze, which lay aimlessly at the sky above the forest, down to the boy in her arms.

“You asked my name before.” she said, “It’s Zoe.”

When he seemed to finally understand what she was referring to, he hummed in contentment and squinted his eyes a little - the closest thing he could convey to a smile.

Zoe tried to ignore the way her heart fluttered, trying to at least keep any traces of it off her face.

Douxie closed his eyes and nestled his head against her again.

...She was just tired. That’s all this was. It was the cuffs, the stress, the circumstances. They were the only reasons she felt her heart warm when he saw that he looked content, despite the shackles on his wrists and godawful contraption clamped on his face; the only causes for her relief that his tears were drying under his closed eyes, his pretty lashes. Certainly, it wasn’t because he’d managed to make himself someone who meant something to her, to bumble his way through her barriers. And most definitely, it was not because she loved-

DAMN IT.

Zoe sighed, as if in defeat, and rested her head atop Douxie’s.

“Let’s just… sleep.”

“Mhm…”

And that’s what they did.

--

Zoe woke up some twenty minutes later, she guessed. It got chillier, and apparently, she’d been asleep long enough for thick clouds to form overhead. She hoped it wouldn’t rain - it was the last thing she needed.

She looked down at Douxie, and of course, he was still asleep. Her arms ached a little - something that would have driven her up a wall before - but she didn’t mind much now. Not while she listened to his slow, quiet breaths as his chest rose and fell in her hold.

Zoe huffed, grateful that the boy's breathing was still clear; she didn't calm him down earlier just for his nose to stuff up now.

She could hear footsteps - hulking, stomping steps - come her way. As her stomach dropped, her gaze picked up. She steeled it when she saw the leader of those damn hunters standing over her, glowering. He was pissed, and over what? Over the fact that she tried to comfort Douxie when he made the child miserable?

Gritting her teeth, she held Douxie a little tighter. Not enough to make him stir. Instinctively, she could feel her hands burn as her magic tried to surge to her fingertips, an unconscious attempt brought forth not of desperation, but of resolve.

Just like Douxie protected her, Zoe would protect him, even if she had to shatter these shackles and set this whole forest alight with a lightning strike to do it.

And when that bastard reached down to Douxie, she feared it would come to that.

...but it didn’t.

With a blast of a green magic poofing out around him like an aura, the man froze. That same green hue of magic surged down both her and Douxie’s chains, and when it reached their cuffs, they snapped right open.

With a sigh she felt like she’d been holding in since she first woke up here, Zoe’s hands relaxed and fell to her side, free of that godawful metal.

Naturally, they also dropped Douxie, who, without that little support, flopped on her lap. Thankfully, his head landed on his side, rather than directly on that lock on the muzzle, which hadn’t been affected by that blast of magic and still remained clamped on his face. The last thing anyone needed was the lock getting damaged to where unlocking it would be impossible.

“Mh!” His eyes snapped open, and his eyes darted around in confusion. Zoe couldn’t blame him. Once he seemed to realize his cuffs were off, he rubbed at his aggravated wrists. Zoe couldn’t blame him for that either.

She looked up at the still… still man in front of her.

“He’s frozen.” she said and leaned to the side to see that the same quick work of immobilization had been done to the rest of the hunters, “They all are.”

Douxie lifted his head, as trying a task it was, and he squinted when he saw the green aura around the hunter and the bright green cracks surging through their old chains like glowing veins, as if inspecting - trying to figure out if this was real. If he could really hope.

But Zoe knew he could.

“Looks like he found you first, didn’t he?” she asked.

And seconds later, she heard new footsteps getting closer this time - armored, urgent footsteps - and she knew that she was right.

“Hisirdoux!” Zoe heard a grouchy old man’s voice call out. Of course, he sounded just like that silly impersonation Douxie did of him earlier.

Speaking of Douxie (which he still couldn’t do at all yet), the boy sat up as fast as he could. Swaying with the extra weight on his head, he got up so he was sitting on his knees, and he whined in an odd mix of desperation and relief behind the metal over his mouth, as if - after the horrible, awful afternoon this had been - Merlin Ambrosius could not get over to him fast enough.

“Heh…” Zoe huffed to herself, rubbing her own wrists. Really, she thought her fellow hedge-witches would track her down in these woods way faster than anyone from that ever-pristine castle, but that didn’t matter. A rescue was a rescue.

“Looks like you won.”

[doc-pickles]

all's well that ends well to end up with you

After a weekend conference Jo finds herself in an unfamiliar and unexpected situation with an all too familiar face from her past.

“How was the conference?”

As Link approaches Jo she can’t help but jump in surprise, he’d snuck up on her as she stood outside of one of her patients' rooms editing their chart. She had been gone for the weekend at a medical conference in New York and hadn’t seen Link since coming home.

“It was good,” Jo doesn’t look away from the computer in front of her, typing as she speaks to Link. “Robbins is pretty amazing, I’m kinda bummed I never got to work under her as an OB. But I learned a lot and I had fun.”

Her phone dings next to her and before she can grab it Link is reading the screen with interest, “Who’s Michael and why does he want to know how your morning is going?”

Jo snatches her phone up, putting it into her pocket as she closes out of the computer. She turns and begins to walk away from Link, “I met him at the conference.”

“Does he live nearby?”

“No.”

“Did you sleep with him?”

“Atticus Lincoln!”

Whipping her head around Jo isn’t shocked to see the smug grin on Link’s face. He shrugs, walking past her towards the elevators as he continues his thoughts, “I’m just saying, you’re a single mom of a three-year-old who had a whole entire weekend to herself. I assume you went to a bar, got wasted, and slept with the first eligible doctor you laid eyes on.” “Wow you really do not know me at all,” Jo follows Link into the elevator, pressing the level one button. “He’s a doctor that I happened to connect with in New York. We’ve been texting, not that it’s any of your business.”

“I’m your best friend and you’re not gonna tell me about the first man you’ve slept with since…”

“Don’t try to calculate, it’ll hurt your brain.”

While she’s always more than happy that she has her college friend back in her life Jo often finds herself annoyed at his antics, the same way she assumes siblings get tired of each other. She assumes that Link does these things to get a rise out of her but she always has the suspicion that his love for life and childlike excitement has something to do with it as well.

“Well I’m glad you had a good weekend,” the doors of the elevator slide open, and Jo and Link step out. “Still on for dinner tomorrow?”

Jo nods as she begins to walk down the hallway away from Link, “Yes and I promise I won’t burn it this week.” Link’s laugh echoes down the hallway as Jo turns the corner towards the hospital daycare. She’d flown in early in the morning and gone straight to work meaning she hadn’t seen Luna for three days. She was more than ready to scoop her daughter up and go home to watch movies on the couch.

“Mama!”

The excited voice of her daughter snaps Jo out of her thoughts, a grin overtaking her face as she runs towards her. She opens her arms just quick enough to catch Luna as she barrels forward into her chest. Even though she was just gone for the weekend Jo couldn’t help but savor the feeling of her daughter's arms wrapped around her.

“Oh my little star, I missed you so much,” Jo pulls back and presses a kiss to Luna’s forehead. “Did you have fun with Auntie Mer?”

“Yes she did, she was a perfect angel,” Jo turns her attention to Meredith who’s standing in front of her with Ellis hoisted on her hip. “I came to check on this one, she’s got a bit of a cough so sorry if Luna catches it.”

Jo shakes her head, squeezing her daughter tighter, “It’s okay, Luna is a warrior. Thank you so much again for watching her.”

“Jo you’ve watched my kids more times than I can count, don’t worry about it,” Meredith brushes off Jo’s thanks with a grin. “So did you have fun? Adult fun?”

“What is with you and Link? I go to an MFM conference and you guys think my whole weekend was a sexscapade,” Jo rolls her eyes, grabbing Luna’s backpack and hoisting the three-year-old onto her hip. “Not that it matters but I did have fun.”

Meredith shouts her goodbyes as Jo and Luna walk out of the daycare. While she’d be hesitant to admit it out loud Jo did enjoy having a weekend to herself. She’d caught up with Arizona and Callie and even had a chance to sleep in for once. The handsome man that she’d connected with was a nice bonus as well.

As if on queue Jo’s phone dings as she climbs into the driver’s seat of her Audi, a smile lighting up her face as she reads the text.

Hope you girls are having a good night, can’t stop thinking about you.

A blush spreads across her cheeks and Jo can’t help the swarm of butterflies that well up in her stomach. While one weekend wasn’t enough to judge a whole future she was excited to see where things took her.

+

True to Meredith’s word both Luna and Jo caught the cough and cold that Ellis had. While Luna had recovered quickly Jo couldn’t seem to shake the brain fog and fatigue plaguing her. She trudged through her work weeks, adopting the same bedtime as Luna and pushing off everyone’s questioning and concerned gazes until she couldn’t anymore. After three days straight of waking up exhausted, fatigued, and throwing up Jo surrendered and called Meredith to come and get Luna. If she could barely manage to get herself out of bed how was she supposed to take care of a rambunctious toddler as well? While she waited for Meredith to arrive Jo laid in bed, phone pressed to her ear.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself. What’s up?”

“I don’t think Luna and I will be able to make it this weekend.”

“Are you guys okay? You sound terrible.”

“Gee how romantic of you, you really know how to woo a girl.”

“Jo…”

“I’m fine just… pregnant.”

There’s a long pause, an unavoidable silence encompassing both ends of the phone. Jo knows this is the last thing he was expecting, it was the last thing she was expecting, but it’s where they found themselves.

“What’d you say?” “I’m pregnant. I took a test yesterday. Well, I took seven but still.”

Jo can hear him suck in a breath on the other side and she can’t help but wish she was telling him in person, standing across from him as he launches forward and wraps his arms around her in that pleasant rush of shock and excitement.

“From New York? It’s…” “Definitely yours. There’s not really any other contenders.”

“Holy sh-”

“I know, not exactly the kind of news you were expecting,” Jo pauses, toying with a loose thread on her comforter. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, we’ll work it out. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“I want to stay on and talk but I have surgery. I’ll talk to you later?”

“Of course. Talk to you soon.”

Jo hangs the phone up, falling back onto her pillows with a sigh. She had never pictured herself in this situation but here she was; a single mom to a toddler pregnant by a guy she had seen over one weekend who lived states away. The thought alone hurt her, but she knew that she could get through it.

“Was that mystery man from the conference?”

Jo nearly jumps at the sight of Meredith standing in the doorway of her bedroom. She looks down to Luna who’s sleeping soundly beside her before answering, “Yeah that was him.”

“You didn’t seem very happy to talk to him,” Meredith seats herself at the end of Jo’s bed, raising her eyebrows with a questioning look. “Trouble in paradise?”

“More like trouble in everyday life,” Jo rolls her eyes, looking up at Meredith. “Thanks for taking Luna, I appreciate it.”

“Of course,” Meredith pauses, eyeing Jo warily for a moment. “Are you sure you’re not contagious?”

“I told you I have food poisoning,” Jo groans as she slips further under the covers. She wasn’t in the mood for Meredith‘s questioning today. “I’ll call if I’m not okay.”

The answer placates Meredith for now and Jo wakes Luna and sends her with her friend. She stays in bed for a few more minutes before the urge to throw up overwhelms her. After she spends half an hour hunched over the toilet she finally feels good enough to crawl back into bed, falling asleep before thoughts about her unexpected pregnancy overwhelm her brain.

Despite falling asleep quickly Jo finds that she’s restless. When her stomach finally feels settled she drags herself to the kitchen, eating plain toast before jumping in the shower. By midday, Jo feels better, save for her lingering exhaustion. Meredith texts to inform her that Ellis and Luna have suckered her into a sleepover and that she’ll bring Luna home the next afternoon. With not much else to do Jo settles on the couch with a movie.

She doesn’t realize she’s fallen asleep until there’s a banging on her front door. The bright light shining through the windows alerts Jo to the fact that she slept through the night and Meredith is bringing Luna home. She jogs to the door, her apology to Meredith failing on her lips as she realizes it’s not her friend in front of her.

“Hey.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Well you called and sounded terrible and we were supposed to meet up this weekend anyway so…”

“So you hopped on the first plane to Seattle?”

“I hope that’s okay.”

”Of course! You know I missed you, I'm just shocked.”

The rest of Jo's statement is cut short as Luna barrels down the hallway and crashes into her legs. It only takes a few seconds for Jo to realize just how screwed she is before Meredith‘s voice echoes down the hallway.

“Alex?”

The blonde doesn’t wait for a response, instead wrapping her arms around the man standing in Jo's doorway. As she pulls away from Alex Meredith looks between him and Jo before letting out a gasp.

“Oh my go-“

Jo doesn’t hear the rest of Meredith's sentence as she shakes Luna off of her leg and bolts down the hall. She barely makes it to the bathroom, the little bit of popcorn and toast she managed to eat yesterday reappearing in the toilet bowl before her. She can hear Luna calling down the hall for her, Meredith distracting her quickly. As her body heaves forward again, Jo feels a warm hand on her back and another pulling her hair back.

“I’ve only been in town for an hour and I’m having a blast,” Alex chuckles as Jo swats at him blindly. “Sorry about the throwing up.”

“I blame you for this.”

“And I blame Arizona.”

When she’s done throwing up, Jo sits back and takes a long look at Alex. Although she had seen him only a few weeks earlier she can’t help but take him in all over again. The crooked smile she’s become so accustomed to still graces his face and his presence calms her nerves more than she thought it would.

“I can’t believe you flew all the way out here.”

“You were going to fly out to Kansas with Luna, I figured the least I could do right now was help you out for the weekend,” Alex brushes the hair back from Jo’s forehead and she can’t help but lean into him. “How are you doing? I mean throwing up aside obviously?”

“Tired. And I can’t remember anything,” Jo doesn’t have a better answer for Alex, her train of thought being interrupted by Luna babbling outside the door anyways. “I should get her.”

“I can get her if you want,” Alex stands quickly, extending his hand to Jo. “I mean if it's okay with you that is. I’m just trying to help out, I can take her for a bit and you can nap.”

Jo nods in thanks, bypassing Meredith in the hallway and immediately curling up in bed. She can hear Alex and Meredith whispering but can’t quite make out their words. Luna is babbling and she can tell that Alex is responding to whatever the toddler is saying to him. As Jo drifts off to sleep once again she can’t help but feel like the future might not be as dim as she had first thought.

When she wakes up a few hours later Jo is greeted by the sight of Alex coming into her room. She pats the spot next to her on the bed and curls into Alex’s side as he settles in, his arms wrapping around her shoulder. The warmth that spreads through her as he presses a kiss to her forehead is warm and comforting, something she’d craved for far too long.

“Thank you for helping with Luna, I really appreciate it.”

“It’s no problem,” there’s a momentary pause before Alex speaks again and despite not being able to see his face Jo knows he’s grinning. “We’re having a baby. Can you believe that?”

“I would say no but the constant nausea and throwing up make it hard to forget,” Jo threads her fingers through Alex’s as she rests his hand on her still flat abdomen. “We’re having a baby.”

The moment is bittersweet, the excitement of the tiny new life overshadowing the reminder that they could have already had this had Alex not left. Jo chooses to overlook that as she lets herself finally feel the excitement that’s been bubbling under the surface since she had seen the positive test two days before, “The first time I sleep with you in three years and you knock me up. I think you just missed me.”

“I did. I have every day since we said goodbye outside the airport.”

Alex’s candor makes Jo’s breath hitch. As she turns to meet his eyes she knows he’s telling the truth, but she still finds herself craving the reminder that this is real and not a dream.

“I want us to be a family, that’s what I’ve always wanted with you, Jo. I know we didn’t count on Eli and Alexis or Luna. And we definitely didn’t count on this little one,” a smile spreads across Alex’s face as he squeezes their intertwined hands still resting on her stomach. Jo can’t help the tears that well in her eyes at the small gesture. “But I can’t picture a future without all of them. Or you, I definitely don’t want a future without you, Jo. I told you in New York that leaving was my biggest mistake and I meant that. I don’t want to be a dad without you by my side, I don’t want anything if you’re not by my side. I can do it, I can live my life, but I don’t want to unless you’re there too. I love you, Jo.”

Jo can’t stop the tears that are tracking down her face. She knows she’s worrying Alex with her emotional display but her raging hormones make the task of stopping the tears near impossible. Instead, she reaches up and kisses him squarely, letting her lips linger a bit longer than she normally would. When she pulls away Alex’s eyes are still closed and he’s wearing a blissed-out expression.

“I love you too,” Jo savors the words as they fall off of her lips, not having said them in this context since the last voicemail she had left for Alex before she had read his letter. “I love you and our family so much.”

There’s nothing else for them to say, the couple enjoying the silence that surrounds them as Jo leans up to kiss Alex again and they get lost in each other. It’s an easy feat, their emotions and feelings towards each other guiding their actions as they once again fall into bed with each other. Jo knows that they have more to discuss but for now she’s content to get lost in Alex all over again.

[cloudshapedpatch]

sing me a lullaby (don’t tell your boss what to do)

a super indulgent, tooth-rotting fluffy Julie and the Phantoms one shot.

julie can’t sleep so she goes to her boys for comfort. no plot. just sugar.

or! read on ao3 here

* * * *

Some nights, Julie could sleep like a rock. The band had found she was a surprisingly heavy sleeper, and could fall into a deep REM cycle within minutes. She was notorious for being able to fall asleep anywhere if she was tired enough. 

Tonight was not one of those nights. 

After many hours of tossing and turning, 3 relaxing YouTube videos and maybe a few too many melatonin gummies, Julie gave up on sleep. 

Her go-to solution to any problem nowadays was to see her boys, so without much thought, she slipped into her favorite funky monster slippers and made her way out the front door. 

The cold night air slapped her cheeks with a little alertness, and a little sense. If she went out to the studio, she was sure to stay up all night. Alas, it was still 2 in the morning, and her better judgement had set with the sun. She didn’t have anything really important to do tomorrow, right? 

She opened one of the studio doors and squinted against the lights, too bright in contrast to the darkness of the house.

“Jules! What are you doing up?” Reggie was the first to notice her arrival, standing up to guide her to the couch (giving up his own seat and opting to sit on the floor in front of her; she failed to notice in her fatigued state). 

“Couldn’t sleep,” Julie mumbled, rubbing her eyes. 

“Jeez, you’re shivering,” Luke was always quick to worry about her, “Why didn’t you grab a coat?” 

Alex had already taken off his pink sweatshirt and laid it in her lap before she could answer. As she slipped it on, she noted that while it was not warm like a living teen boy’s sweater should be, it was still warmer than she was expecting, and she was glad to have a little bit of extra heat. 

After having taken a couple of moments to recover from being outside (she’d admit, it was colder than she was expecting), she went to answer the boys’ questions, but giggled at the sight of them. Alex and Reggie had sat themselves down right at her feet and Luke was seated on the armchair next to her, all looking like curious puppies waiting for a treat. 

“Well??” They said at the same time, only filling Julie with more mirth. 

“Nothing, I just knew coming in here would make me feel better.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, she knew she should have changed her wording. Luke stood up and was demanding she tell him who hurt her feelings, Reggie had attached himself to her legs, resting his cheek on her bare knees comfortingly, and Alex was halfway out the door, saying he’d figure out how to make a cup of tea. 

A fit of giggles later, Julie explained she just couldn’t sleep and was doing fine emotionally. It was only after the boys had sat back down that Julie asked what they had been doing before. 

“Just a little bit of lyric writing. Can’t play with the melody until everyone leaves for the day tomorrow, but it works for us.” Luke shrugged, looking toward his abandoned notebook on the piano. 

“Ooh, let me help!” 

“Uhh…” Reg and Alex said together, in their usual harmonised way, looking anywhere but at her.

“Look, Julie,” Luke started, and she already knew what he was gonna say, “You got school in the morning. You shouldn’t be writing.”

“No no no, it’s fine! Writing will tire my brain out, you know?” They didn’t look convinced, so she continued, “My thoughts are running a mile a minute, let me get ‘em out on paper. Please?”

All three boys looked away from her then, mumbling about how difficult it was to say no when she pouted. Finally they gave in, and they led her to the piano to pore over the notebook. 

Of course, they only got a few lines down before Reggie was throwing wads of paper at Alex, and Julie played Never Gonna Give You Up as softly as she could while simultaneously keeping her laughter down (the boys were fascinated that she knew the song since it had come out when they were young, which prompted a short lesson on memes and Rick Rolling. Reggie was especially enthralled by this). 

Luke gave up writing and went to the dart board, where Julie had hopped off the piano bench and challenged him. Not being one to back down, he and Julie played while Reg and Alex cheered them on. Alex humored her while Reggie was convinced no one could beat Luke at darts. He was right, but Julie didn’t mind so much, especially after Julie got to over-exaggerate her pity party and receive a nice long hug from her opponent, sharing an amused look with Alex while Luke rocked them back and forth. 

“I could go for some nachos right now.”

“You always want nachos, Reg.”

“Again, Reginald?”

It took Julie a moment to think through his statement (hey, it was past 3am, she had brain fog to wade through). Ever since the night they opened at the Orpheum, the boys found they could do other small things besides touch Julie, like eat, and much to Reggie's delight, take showers. 

She just giggled and grabbed Reggie by the hand, starting the short trek to the house, knowing the other two would follow. For a moment, she had forgotten what she was wearing, but stepping back into the cold night reminded her. She had walked out of the house wearing her pajama shorts and a short-sleeved crop top, and she was drowning in Alex’s hoodie. Her face heated at the thought of all the boys seeing her in nearly nothing but the large pink sweatshirt, playing off the color in her cheeks as windchill.

But she should have known the boys wouldn't have behaved.

Because while nothing the boys said would be able to be heard by her father or brother, the results of their actions were definitely audible. Alex was trying to heat the queso, but he spent too much effort trying not to drop the jar that he forgot about the spoon, which clattered loudly to the ground. All four froze in terror until Luke burst into laughter because some cheese had splattered into Julie’s hair, and she replied by smudging some cheese onto his nose. And after the ensuing cheese-throwing war, the kitchen was not a pretty sight. The mere thought of her dad coming down to see his daughter covered in cheese, alone, in the middle of the night, in their equally messy kitchen brought shivers. She’d surely be back to seeing Dr. Turner three days a week. 

The boys did their best to clean, but mostly entertained Julie while she wiped up the mess and carried the plate of nachos back to the studio (how long does it take a band of three dead teen boys to make a plate of nachos? apparently, 38 minutes) before they flopped on the ground in a big pile. Julie laid with her head on Luke’s chest, who had his head on Alex’s lap. Reggie laid on Julie’s legs and she ran her hands through his surprisingly soft hair as they slowly worked through the plate. 

“Hey Julie? Will you sing me a lullaby?”

“Are you serious?” Julie turned her head slightly to see him more clearly. She almost laughed, but then saw the look in his eyes, and couldn’t tell if he was serious or about to tease her. “Luke, you guys don’t even sleep.”

“Aw, c’mon Jules,” Reg begged, “You have such a nice voice.”

“The voice of an angel.” Luke added. Julie pushed all thoughts of the song she never let herself write down, yet constantly played in her dreams, and hoped that they couldn’t see the flush creeping down her neck.

“Fine. But only because I love y’all.”

Alex wiggled excitedly from under her as she cleared her throat and started to sing A Thousand Years (Julie was sort of glad they had died 25 years ago. She would virtually never run out of new material to impress them with, and Christina Perri was a classic). At some point Alex had laid down too, and Reggie had closed his eyes as Julie kept scratching his scalp as she sang. Luke ran his fingers over her shoulder as if he were strumming his guitar. And everything was alright.

A large yawn took over Julie’s voice just as she finished the song.

“Alright, time for bed, little miss.” Alex joked, poking her tongue as her mouth opened in another yawn. 

She swatted his hand away yet made no effort to get up, instead choosing to nestle further into Luke’s neck. “Sorry, can’t, Reggie fell asleep on me.”

Reggie cracked one eye open. “Nice try. We don’t sleep, remember?” Reggie climbed off her and grabbed her hands, pulling her to a stand. 

The blood rushed from her head down to her toes, causing her vision to turn dark and her balance swayed. Before she could catch herself, Luke had scooped her up into his arms. 

“Come on boys. We got a girl to tuck in.”

“Yes sir.”

“At your service.”

Julie played off her wheeze as a snort of amusement, burying her face into her hands. A few moments passed and they didn’t move, so she peeked out from between her fingers, only to see all three boys looking over her like she was exactly what they asked for for their birthday.

She yelped in surprise which only caused the boys to laugh. Julie huffed and crossed her arms, pursing her lips to keep from smiling.

“Oh, lighten up, boss. We’re going now.”

And then he was smiling that smile that he usually reserved for when they were alone or on stage. She snorted (for real this time, but still in an effort to keep her composure) and poked his cheek. 

For the fourth time that night, the cold night air whipped at her legs and face as Luke and the boys carried her to her bedroom. Reggie made an offhand comment on how absurd it would look if Ray woke up and saw his daughter floating around the house, and Julie had to slap her hand to her mouth to keep from laughing aloud; the boys all laughing loudly without restraint didn’t help.

And finally, once they were in the safety of her bedroom, they did exactly what they said they would. Alex tucked the pink hood inside the sweater so she could lay on it more comfortably (“You look all cozy, you can sleep in it for tonight.”), Reggie pulled back the covers and fluffed the pillows. 

Julie felt like a princess, being pampered by these boys who had crashed into her life and nestled their way into her heart. Luke even laid her down, hand supporting her neck, and all three of them literally tucked her in. 

“Hey guys? Will you sing me a lullaby?”

They groaned, mumbling together about karma, payback, and song recommendations. Eventually they settled themselves on her bed and sang her a song she didn’t recognize, one that must have been vaguely popular in the 90’s. It was soothing, and she felt the tugs of sleep start to take her under.

She must have dozed off, because she awoke to some shuffling, opening her eyes to see the boys tip-toeing out of her room.

“Luke,” 

She hadn’t meant to say it out loud. She had been thinking of him (and the fuzzy lingerings of a dream lined the edges of her mind, one with Luke and a magical dance and that sweet smile of his). But all three boys stopped, before Alex pushed Reggie through the door with a wink.

“You okay? Need anything?”

Her words failed her, heart full and eyes nearly brimming with tears. She scooted over and pulled back the covers, patting the sheets next to her and avoiding his eyes.

Just like she knew he would, he made no comment but slid into the bed and let Julie resume her earlier position on his chest. With a flick of his wrist, he pulled the covers back over them both and wrapped his arms around her back, keeping her close. 

Idly, she noted how much she liked laying on the boys (and especially him) because they were the perfect cuddling temperature. Not too hot, but not cold. Plus, she reasoned with herself, if he was nervous, at least he wouldn’t overheat the bed. 

Wait. Nervousness. She was sure Luke could feel her pounding heart, beating like thunder against his too-quiet chest. He didn’t say anything, just rolled her curls between his fingers as they laid in comfortable silence. 

Her thoughts began to wander, instead of relishing in the moment like she longed to do, but thoughts of all the boys had done for her, not just tonight, but in all the months she had known them. 

And then his thumbs were running over her cheeks, whispering soothing words and lifting her face, locking their eyes. Her cheeks were wet. She must have started crying.

“Happy tears, don’t worry about it.” 

He looked back at her quizzically.

“I was just thinking about how grateful I am that you guys are in my life.” She bit back the ‘especially you’ that fought to escape.

“We’ll always be here, Julie. You’re okay. Just go to sleep. I’ll wake you around 6? You’ll need to take a shower.” Luke took his hands out of her hair to show her a bit of cheese he picked out. 

Julie covered a laugh again, resting her head back on his chest, relishing in his company and willingness to do whatever she asked. And she fell asleep, for real this time, with his fingers in her hair and soft hums pulling her into the best sleep she’d had in a while. 

And never had she felt happier than that morning, Luke softly singing her into consciousness while Reggie brought her a cup of hot coffee and Alex picking her outfit for the day. 

Bonus:

Julie came home from school later that day exhausted but overjoyed. Flynn had teased her endlessly, but she was too happy to care.

Like she did every day, she said hello to her family before going into the studio to do her homework.

But her brain short circuited as she opened the door and found all three boys jumping up from their seats to greet her, Luke wearing Alex’s pink hoodie. It was a little small for him around the arms, not leaving much to be imagined. Julie felt her eyes grow wide, her brows climbing higher, but unable to fix her face or look away.

Alex, never one to miss a cue, nodded his chin towards Luke. “He insisted on wearing it today cause it smelled like you.”

Luke sidestepped to him and whacked him with the back of his hand, but the message had been received. She’d think about that later. For now, she had math homework and a cuddle pile with her ghosts to continue. 

[whenisitenoughtrees]

the point in just drowning another day

“You’re too hard on yourself,” Janus murmurs, voice entirely too knowing, entirely too understanding, and Patton doesn't know that he can handle the depth of this empathy. “You deserve to have the support that you’ve been trying so hard to provide.”

Patton is struggling far more than he wants to admit, both with his loneliness and the crushing weight of the mistakes he's made, and it's sending him spiraling. It doesn't help that apparently, his amphibian traits are here to stay.

Content Warnings: depression, mild body horror

Word Count: 6,900

Pairing: Moceit

(masterpost w/ ao3 links)

It is a grey day today.

He hasn’t had one in a while, but he’s sensed it approaching for the past few days, so he supposes it’s his own fault that it hits this bad; he willfully ignored all the warning signs, pushed aside his fatigue and his slowly souring mood, telling himself that he was alright, that he was being silly, that the feelings would pass. And now, the world is grey, the colors leeched from it like a black-and-white film, and a weight sits heavily on his chest, making every breath a struggle.

He needs to get up. He knows this. Knows he should have been up hours ago, that he should be making breakfast, eggs and sausage and pancakes, should be smiling and happy and ready to greet the world. The others are probably waiting for him, wondering where he is, why he’s not there.

Only, they’re not. And he knows that too. For the past month, family breakfasts have dwindled to a rarity; Roman spends all his time in the Imagination, Virgil almost never leaves his room for anything, and whenever Logan makes an appearance, it’s only to grab food and leave, heading back to his work and his planning with barely a backwards glance. Too often, he prepares meals alone and eats them alone, at an empty dining table, the room silent except for the fridge humming in the background. The house is empty and still, and he sits alone with his thoughts and the knowledge that he has failed all of them. That he has no one to blame for this but himself.

If he had been less strict, could this have been avoided? If he had been more open to others’ opinions, open to change? If he had been better at understanding Virgil, less eager to shut out Logan, more perceptive of the issues that Roman tried so hard to hide?

He’s losing his family, has already lost them, inch by creeping inch. And it’s all his fault, and the morning dawns grey and cold, and no matter what he tells himself, he cannot persuade his body to leave his bed.

It’s not that he’s comfortable. He’s not. His mattress feels too lumpy, his blankets too hot, too stifling, and his pillow too soft and yielding. His skin itches, too, itches like it is trying to crawl off his bones, but he can barely make himself move at all, cannot stir from his curled up position. One hand lays near his head, in his line of sight, and one by one, he twitches his fingers, raising them off the mattress before letting them drop again. He tracks the motion, almost fascinated by the way his muscles shift, as much as he is capable of being fascinated by anything right now.

Something about the hand looks odd. It feels odd, too, large and clumsy, almost disconnected from the rest of him. He thinks he should probably be alarmed by this, but he can’t work up the energy.

He needs to get up. He knows this. The hours are slipping away. Soon, it will be too late for breakfast at all.

He lies there and thinks instead. Thinks of all the harm he’s done lately, to Thomas and to the rest of them. Thinks about how Virgil has pulled away from him, how he skipped over Logan’s contributions, somehow convincing him that he doesn’t care about him. How he’s been fighting so hard against the idea that Deceit and Remus could help Thomas at all, how he labelled them as the things that make Thomas bad, only to find out that Janus, at least, has been advocating for Thomas the whole time, and if that is the case, perhaps Remus, too, is not nearly as terrible as he’s always believed.

He thinks about the bitterness on Roman’s face as he sunk out. The disbelief in his voice, the betrayal, the pain. He thinks about the fact that he hasn’t seen Roman since, that Roman has locked the door and refuses to answer, no matter how much he pleads and apologizes.

He lies there, carried by the grey day haze, and thinks that apologies don’t really amount to much, in the end, because apologies don’t fix anything. They don’t reverse time, don’t repair shattered trust or heal deep wounds. At best, they are a bandage, helpful when the injury is small but utterly ineffective otherwise, and these wounds are like vast chasms rending them all apart.

Patton thinks that he might be the bad one. Bad for Thomas. Bad for his family.

So maybe, he should just stay here. Should stay in bed, away from everyone, at least until he figures out what to do, how not to hurt them anymore, but really, wouldn’t they be better off without him as a whole? Without him there to impose his rules, his black-and-white mentality that has done so much damage? He has tried so hard, these past few weeks, to adjust his worldview, to make room for change, but how much does it really matter when he has already broken so much?

Not that he has much of a choice right now. He can’t get up.

So he lies there. Minutes blend into hours blend into seconds, and he has no idea how much time passes. Surely it is afternoon by now. He hopes everyone found something to eat.

His skin itches.

He’ll be fine, eventually. He is well aware of this, well aware that grey days pass, like melting snow revealing blooming spring flowers. Except, not like that, not exactly, because these days, the melting snow seems to reveal nothing but cold, hard ground, frozen through. But it is easier to walk on ground than through snow, easier to smile and laugh and pretend that everything is alright, to tell yourself that everything is alright, when you don’t have to fight just to walk, to keep your balance.

It’s repression. He is well aware of that, well aware of the consequences, of the toll this takes on him. He does listen when he is told about these things, even if it might take longer for the message to sink in, for the rest of him to catch up to what his brain already knows. But he can’t deal with his own problems right now, not until everyone else is alright again, and really, most of the time he thinks he’s got a lot of nerve to have problems at all. He’s the one who hurt them, so what right does he have to be acting this way, like he’s the one with a broken heart?

The grey thickens. Tears blur his vision. He feels like he’s inhaling thick fog, like every breath comes in hard and labored.

He could stop breathing, if he wanted. He’s not human. He doesn’t need to breathe to exist.

It’s tempting. Tempting to just… stop. To discorporate his human form, to spend a few days as an automatic function, to spend a few days without remembering, without worrying, without the guilt that is a constant weight on his shoulders. But it would be a reprieve he’s done nothing to deserve.

His skin itches.

He doesn’t expect the knock at the door. Under any other circumstance, he might jerk in surprise, but his body is held fast as if by molasses. So he lies there, looking at the door through half-lidded eyes, and wonders if he’s supposed to answer. He doesn’t think he can, doesn’t think his mouth will cooperate long enough to form words, and his tongue lies thick and unwieldy behind his teeth. If he doesn’t say anything, will they leave? Assume he’s sleeping, perhaps? Or will they come in and see him like this, miserable and drowning and unable to do something so simple as sit up in bed?

He doesn’t know which option he likes less.

It doesn’t matter, though, because the door cracks open, bright light spilling in from the hallway, and he has to squint at the figure silhouetted there.

“Patton?” someone asks. Janus’ voice.

He doesn’t reply. Can’t. Maybe if he says nothing, he’ll leave it be. He’s not up for a debate, or for wading his way through another moral quandary. Janus seems to like both of those things, and lately, Patton has been more than happy to engage with him, to draw out sharp words and sharper smiles and occasionally, genuine laughs that do something to his stomach. Janus has been the only one willing to spend any time with him at all, these days, and he cherishes those moments, gathering them up like fallen leaves and clutching them to his chest as a reminder that he still has a purpose, that he can still make this right.

But not today. He can’t do this today.

Janus steps into the room, closing the door behind him, and the vague hope he’d mustered deflates, like a sad, punctured balloon. That’s what he feels like right now. A sad, punctured balloon. A sad, itchy, punctured balloon. And Janus is going to see that he feels like a sad, itchy, punctured balloon, and he doesn’t know why, but the idea sends an ache radiating through his chest.

“I could sense you lying to yourself,” Janus says, but his voice is far softer than his words would imply. “Are you alright?”

He blinks, slowly. He supposes that it’s fairly obvious how he feels, fairly obvious that he’s not alright. And even if it weren’t, Janus sniffs out lies like a bloodhound on a trail.

“Feel not great,” he manages. It takes a monumental effort to force the words through his lips, and they hang heavily in the air, thick and distorted. “Sorry.”

Janus crosses the room and kneels on the floor next to the bed, holding steady eye contact. His eyes are mesmerizing, one brown and one gold, both staring with an intensity that Patton wishes he could find it in himself to return. His expression is cool and blank, but a small divot presses between his eyebrows, and if Patton had the willpower, he might try to smooth it away.

He doesn’t, though, so it’s a moot point.

“You don’t need to apologize for the way you feel,” Janus says. “It’s alright to be sad.”

He understands that. He does. They did a whole video about it, once, back when things were so much simpler, the stakes so much lower. Back when he still felt secure in his ability to guide Thomas well, to help him be the good person that he knows he is.

But how can he explain that he doesn’t feel sad? That he feels nothing but grey and empty, disconnected from himself and his body and his emotions, left with nothing but constant ruminations on the past and all the ways he’s messed up. Even his guilt feels distant, like it’s surrounding him but unable to touch, kept at bay by the grey cloud swarming his thoughts and dulling his vision. He wishes he felt sad, wishes he felt guilt, that steady companion, wishes he could feel anything at all. But he is an empty container, filled by nothing but swirling grey smoke, no substance there at all.

And he can’t get up.

Janus lets out a slow breath, brow furrowing even further when he doesn’t respond. He reaches forward and takes his hand where it is lying on the mattress, rubbing his thumb across his knuckles in a soothing, repetitive pattern. It would feel nicer if he took off his gloves, if he allowed skin to skin contact, but Patton won’t push for that, wouldn’t even if he had the strength to make the words leave his mouth.

He’s not sure what he did to deserve any comfort at all. Especially not from Janus, who perhaps has the most right out of anybody to hate him, after all the years he spent pushing him to the side and calling him evil, who he still hasn’t properly apologized to, not really.

Perhaps he’s here to see if he can get him out of bed. Breakfast has long since passed, but perhaps there’s still time for a late lunch, if he could muster up the motivation to prepare it. And Janus does represent Thomas’ self-preservation, so it would make sense for him to want to make sure that all of the sides are doing their jobs.

But for a long time, Janus says nothing at all. Just holds his hand, lightly traces patterns into his skin.

“Is there anything that I could do to help?” he asks eventually, voice low and earnest. It is almost enough to banish the grey, if only for a moment, because it has been so long since any of the others trusted him enough for this question, trusted him enough to help him or to ask him for help, and he wants to say yes, wants to ask him to spend time with him, to watch a movie, maybe, or cat videos on the internet, because nobody’s done that with him in weeks, and he’s so, so lonely.

But then he remembers why he’s lonely, why they’re avoiding him, and the grey filters back in. Because it’s his fault, and if he cannot face the consequences of his actions, then what good is he as Morality?

So he makes a noise, one that comes out halfway between a grunt and a whine, and hopes that’s good enough to appease Janus’ question, to make him feel that he’s done his duty.

Janus frowns at him, and his hand stills. Patton expects him to pull away, but instead, his grip tightens slightly, and he tugs Patton’s hand toward him, inspecting it. Patton watches, vaguely confused, as his frown deepens, and he pushes back the sleeve of his pajama shirt to look at his forearm.

“Patton,” he starts slowly, “are you aware of…” He trails off, gesturing, and Patton stares at him, trying to read his meaning in the lines of his face. It’s something he’s concerned about, clearly, which makes Patton think he should be concerned too; maybe even alarmed, seeing as the point of contention seems to have something to do with his arm. He can’t work up anything more than a mild curiosity, but that is enough to get him to angle his head to look at what Janus is referring to.

At first, he doesn’t notice anything wrong. He feels an odd dissociation from the entire limb, as if what he’s seeing isn’t attached to his body, much less something that should concern him. And the more he stares, the more unreal it appears. But eventually, his gaze drifts to what Janus likely believes to be the issue: his skin is covered in mottled patches of green, each blemish appearing stretched and dry and flaky. They itch, too, itch just like his entire body has been itching, and if these blotches are the cause, his entire body must be covered in them. As if in response to his consideration, the itching, scratching sensation increases, almost enough to motivate him into movement.

His body is so heavy, though, and his mind so sluggish. This seems like something he should care about, something that should scare him, and the fear is there, he thinks. But it’s lurking beyond the grey fog, and it can’t touch him.

“What is it?” he murmurs, or at least tries. It comes out sounding more like, “Whazzit?” but it’s intelligible, at least.

Janus runs a finger down his arm, a feather-light touch that sends shivers down his spine.

“Are you sure you want to know?” he asks.

Patton stares. What is he supposed to say to that? He doesn’t much care to know about anything right now; all he wants in this moment is to bury himself in the covers until this horrible emptiness goes away.

Maybe it will be gone by dinner. Maybe he could make dinner. Make dinner for people who aren’t going to eat it. Stick it in tupperware in the fridge and let it go bad because nobody but him is eating it.

“Itches,” he says, his eyes slipping closed. “Don’t feel good.”

As he says it, the grey slides away a bit, as if it were waiting for such an admission, and the overwhelming influx of sensation catches him off guard. It’s more than just an itchiness; it’s a tightness, too, like his skin is a bit too small for him, and he is struck by a need to squirm and scratch. Something is wrong, he realizes, and the fear that is creeping into the corners of his mind is worse than the grey emptiness, because even though his brain has begun to process the world again, his limbs still feel too heavy to move, his chest too constricted to bring in enough air.

He whimpers. Janus sucks in a breath, and he opens his eyes again to see that he’s changed position, has shifted to sitting on the edge of the bed rather than kneeling on the floor, and is leaning over him, arms hovering above his body but not touching.

“I’m going to help you sit up,” Janus says, “unless you have any objections.”

Patton does not, in fact, have any objections. The grey is receding far faster than it came on, leaving him at the mercy of all the fear and sadness and guilt that he’s been contemplating, and with each passing second, his panic grows, because his body is not cooperating with him in the slightest and something is wrong.

Janus gently pulls him upright, and he slumps forward, all of his weight crashing onto Janus’ chest. Janus appears to take this in stride, wrapping his arms around him in a hug that Patton would very much enjoy if he could return it, but his arms refuse to listen to him, hanging by his sides like limp, bloated noodles.

“You don’t currently feel like you have an outlet for your emotional distress,” Janus says starkly, bluntly. “You’ve been repressing it in an effort to focus on fixing your relationships with the others, but the fact that that is going nowhere only worsens your state of mind.” He pauses. “The last time you experienced an instance of  severe emotional distress, you turned into a giant frog. It is… possible that after that display, Thomas now associates you with… amphibian-like traits, shall we say, to a degree, just as he associates me with snakes.”

His breath catches, and the memory comes flooding back in full force. The terror, the awful sensation as his body transformed, as his mind worked at a fever-pitch, desperate and confused until he didn’t even know what he was saying anymore, until he resorted to such terrible tactics to try to work everything out, until he lashed out in anger and pain and hurt Thomas--

He can’t hurt Thomas. He can’t. He can’t do this again. He won’t let himself do this again.

The itching increases, like millions of tiny needles being jammed into his skin over and over again. He needs to calm down, he knows, because if he’s going to stop this he has to be calm, but the grey has abandoned him to his emotional turmoil, and he tries desperately to press it all down, because he knows that repression is bad but it has to be better than this, better than turning into a monster again--

“I think some healthy, open-ended discussion would do you some good,” Janus continues. “So, not that I care at all, but if you wanted, we could-- Patton? Patton, you need to calm down.”

He’s trying. He’s trying, but he can’t, and it’s too late, because he can already feel it happening, can feel his body begin to twist and warp and change no matter how hard he tries to stop it, no matter how hard he tries to ground himself, to keep himself human. And Janus is saying something, something loud and urgent, but his voice rings and echoes and Patton can’t understand a word of it.

So he closes his eyes and stops fighting it. There is a single, gut-wrenching lurch, and his hands hit the bedspread as he fumbles for balance, and then everything is silent. He should open his eyes, should face the music, but he doesn’t want to see Janus’ expression, whether it be anger or fear or disgust or scorn. And he doesn’t want to see the mess he’s surely made of his room, the destruction, like last time, doesn’t want to open his eyes and find that he’s looming over everything else, that he’s cracked his ceiling and crushed his bed.

“Oh,” Janus says. His voice is still oddly echoey, and Patton can’t interpret his tone at all. “Oh. Well. Ah, I totally expected this. Definitely. Um. Oh, gosh.”

Is he flustered? Surely, that can’t be right. He’s pretty sure that Janus doesn’t do flustered. But he has to know, now, has to look, so he opens his eyes.

He expects to be looking down. Instead, he finds himself looking up. It is Janus that towers over him, rather than the other way around, Janus that towers over him with unmitigated shock written on his face. Patton blinks, just to be sure that he isn’t seeing things, and as he does, his brain helpfully provides him with a million other things that are wrong with this picture; the ceiling, for instance, is miles above him, and his bed is as vast as an ocean.

He tries to speak, tries to ask what’s going on, but all that emerges from his mouth is a shrill squeak. He attempts to stand, then, or at least sit up, but every effort sends him sprawling on all fours, his limbs clunky and uncoordinated and unfamiliar. His panic mounts as he finds himself unable to do much of anything at all, and he flails, trying to attain some amount of control.

“Oh gosh, okay,” Janus says, and leans down. “I know this is scary, but you’re fine, I swear. Actually, honestly swear. You’re going to be absolutely fine.”

Everything clicks then, and Patton goes still, staring at his own limb stretched out in front of him, long and thin and green and four-toed. He’s a frog, he realizes. A tiny frog. His whole body feels so odd, so different, out of place and completely foreign, and it’s because he’s a frog. Not a weird, giant, humanoid frog monster, but an actual frog.

He focuses back on Janus and squeaks again. For some reason, Janus’ right cheek reddens.

“Fuck,” he mutters, glancing away, and Patton would chide his use of language, but he’s pretty sure by now that he can’t talk. “Okay, um, you’re not cute at all, so don’t even ask. But this is definitely not normal, and it will definitely last for a very long time. Accidental transformations always do.” He frowns, tilting his head slightly before shaking it. “You know what I mean. Which is to say that I myself am occasionally a snake, so I know what I’m talking about.”

He blinks. He didn’t know that Janus could actually transform into a snake, though now that he reflects on it, he supposes that there’s no reason why not. It makes him wonder just how much more he doesn’t know about him. How much he never bothered to learn.

Okay, so. He’s a frog now. A small, squeaky frog. So, this is a lot better than he thought it would be. And Janus is implying that this will wear off eventually, so he can just… stay here, right? Stay in bed, not bother anybody else with this? Wait until he changes back? Bit by bit, the fear drains out of him, leaving him exhausted. And with the fear gone, the adrenaline dissipating, the grey creeps back in. Not as bad as it was before. But enough so that remaining in bed for at least the next few hours sounds very, very appealing.

He looks up at Janus, his eyelids drooping, and tries to convey that he can leave now, that he’ll be fine with just… sitting here for a bit, on his covers, until everything goes back to normal. However long that takes. However that’s supposed to happen. He should probably be more worried about how to reverse this, but now that the terror of the moment is over, he finds himself willing enough to allow things to happen as they happen. He’s not sure he could marshal the energy to force himself to change back even if he knew exactly how.

“Wait here a moment,” Janus says suddenly. “I’ll be right back.” He stands and sinks out directly, and Patton watches him go, vague disappointment filtering though his mind. Sure, he didn’t want Janus to think that he is obligated to stay with him, to deal with the mess that he is, but some part of him had hoped that he would stick around anyway. The grey seems to lift, a little bit, with someone else by his side, seems to shy away from the warm presence of another person’s voice.

Minutes pass. Or perhaps it’s hours. He has long since given up keeping track of time, and in the middle of a bed that is far, far too large, in a body that is entirely familiar to him, Patton feels himself begin to drift.

But then, Janus comes back, rising up in the middle of his room, a laptop tucked under his arm, several blankets thrown over it. Patton rouses himself with some effort, staring as Janus approaches, gently placing the laptop and blankets on the bed.

“I thought we could watch a movie, if that’s alright,” Janus says, and pulls a DVD case apparently out of nowhere, holding it up for inspection. It’s The Aristocats, the title written in swirling golden letters, and Patton can’t help but let out a croak in surprise. Janus shrugs, glancing away.

“I figured you would like this one,” he says. “I mean. Disney and cats. So.”

The right side of his face once again flushes a bright, cherry red, and even like this, even in this fugue-like state, Patton is absolutely touched. Not only that Janus cares enough to remember what he likes, but also that he wants to spend time with him? That he would drop any other plan he might have had to watch a movie with him, presumably to help him feel better?

He didn’t know that frogs could cry. But tears well up in his eyes, and he blinks them away.

“Just an idea,” Janus says, his eyes going wide. “We don’t have to. We could pick another movie! It would be such a problem to pick something else!”

No!

Patton wants to scream, wants to shout, because he’s misinterpreting his tears, because in this moment, Patton barely has the strength to want anything at all, and yet there is nothing more that he wants than to watch this movie with Janus. But he can’t speak, can’t make his vocal cords produce anything more than squeaks and croaks, so he pushes past the grey to do the only thing he can think might work.

These limbs are unfamiliar to him. But he knows a few things about frogs, knows how far they can jump. So jump he does, surprising himself with the power in his own back legs, and launches himself at Janus, who flinches, stumbling back, but too late to prevent Patton from sticking his landing, right on his cheek.

“Oh,” he says, stammering. Patton is certain that he has heard Janus stutter more today than in all the years he’s known him. “Um. What?”

Patton takes a moment to breathe, and to comprehend the fact that his feet are literally sticking to Janus’ skin. He adjusts himself, settles in more firmly, and then lets out a loud, intentional croak.

It’s all he can do. He just has to hope that Janus understands, understands that he doesn’t want him to leave, that he doesn’t want him to change a single thing.

“Oh,” Janus says again. He takes great care not to move his mouth much, takes great care not to dislodge Patton, and it would be enough to coax a smile out of him, if frogs could smile. “Are you… is this alright, then?”

He croaks again, and the muscles in Janus’ cheek twitch as he resists a smile.

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll get it set up, then, shall I?”

And he does, popping the movie into the laptop’s disc tray and wrapping himself in soft blankets as he settles against the headboard. He arranges the blanket in an odd way, creating a series of folds on his shoulder, and it is not until he gestures at it that Patton realizes that it is meant for him, that Janus purposefully made a place for him to sit. He jumps down, almost falling before he steadies himself, barely preventing his limbs from tangling with each other, and snuggles into the soft fabric, reveling in the way it brushes against his skin.

The grey is still present, still pervasive, filling him with an emptiness, with a void. But the void itself has filled a bit, filled with warmth, with the knowledge that Janus is doing this for him, even if he doesn’t quite understand why.

The movie begins to play. He turns his attention to the screen, and even though his mind wanders, slips away at some points, he does feel a little bit better, a little more present, a little less like he wants to stagnate in his room forever.

Janus is quiet throughout the first stretch of the movie, though Patton can sense him shooting him glances every now and again. But as Duchess meets O’Malley for the first time, he speaks up, face forward, eyes fixed on the screen.

“The first time I transformed was confusing,” he murmurs, as if to himself, though surely, he hasn’t forgotten that Patton is there, that Patton can hear him. “Thomas was so young, and I didn’t know what was happening. The scales had been appearing for a while, but I never thought that I could change so completely. It was a moment of emotion, frustration at not being heard, when Thomas got in trouble that a white lie easily could have prevented. One minute I was having a meltdown in my room, and the next I was a snake.” He chuckles a bit, as though the memory is fond, though it doesn’t sound that way.

How much distress was he in, Patton wonders? How confused was he, how scared, his body warping and changing and no one at all there to help him?

“This is all to say that I’ve since learned to control it. I’d demonstrate, but I hardly think that turning into a snake while you are a very small frog would put your mind at ease.” Janus sighs, fiddling with the bottom of his capelet. “But you can learn to control it, too, provided that these traits stick.”

Patton wishes he could say something, anything at all. But his voice is gone, twisted so that small sounds are the only thing he can produce, so he stays quiet, listening to Janus talk. In a way, it’s a blessing, the inability to respond. None of the impetus of the conversation is put on him, so he feels no pressure to muster up replies that would surely be lackluster, given his emotional state, or lack thereof.

“But that’s not really the point right now, is it?” Janus says softly. “The more pressing concern is why you transformed this time. You must have been on the verge of it for hours, subconsciously holding yourself back from it.”

He shifts. He’d woken up itchy and uncomfortable, his mind buried in the grey and unable to do anything about it, unable to move at all, much less rouse himself into action. He hopes that this won’t happen every time he has a grey day. He can’t afford to lose time like this. There’s too much to do, and though grey days are bad enough on their own, he can force himself to work through them, sometimes, when the haze isn’t too strong. He can’t do that if he’s always turning into a frog when he gets overwhelmed.

“I do hope you know that your feelings are just as valid as anyone else’s,” Janus says, and Patton stiffens. “To be sure, you messed up, and the others have every right to be upset, but I challenge you to find any one of us that hasn’t accidentally screwed everyone else over at some point.” He pauses. “Or even on purpose. Which you are assuredly not guilty of.”

The words buzz in his head, vibrating in the fog, and Patton’s not entirely sure that he understands what Janus is saying, not entirely sure that he has the energy to try. What do intentions matter? Messing up is messing up, and even if he didn’t mean to, he’s hurt everyone in the mindscape. If it wasn’t anything to be upset about, he wouldn’t be upset, would he?

“And of course, it’s not like they’re to blame for this at all,” Janus continues. “It’s not like they’re being immature, hiding away in their rooms and refusing to confront their problems.” He shakes his head. “Patton, you have to understand that it is not your job to ensure their emotional competence. All you can do is try your best, and if they refuse to meet you halfway, that’s on them, not you. You shouldn’t blame yourself when you’re obviously doing everything you can to own up to and fix your mistakes.”

Patton croaks, the denial ripped from his throat. He’s never seen it that way, didn’t think that he could see it that way, but Janus’ voice is streaking the grey through with yellow and gold, forcing him to confront the root of the problem in a way that he never has before.

“There is no such thing as a perfect person,” Janus says. “You’ve learned that by now, learned that Thomas himself is nowhere near flawless. But that applies to you as well. You’re allowed to make mistakes, to learn and grow from them. No one should expect you to be right one hundred percent of the time, and that includes both yourself and them.”

Once again, his eyes well up with tears, and this time, they drip down, splattering onto the blankets.

“You’re too hard on yourself,” Janus murmurs, voice entirely too knowing, entirely too understanding, and Patton doesn't know that he can handle the depth of this empathy. “You deserve to have the support that you’ve been trying so hard to provide.”

He falls silent, then, the movie still playing but long since forgotten, and Patton has to take a moment to absorb what has just been said.

He’s not too hard on himself. He can’t be. Everything he’s said and thought these past few weeks has been true, completely and utterly; it was his mistakes that drove the others away from him, and it is his responsibility to correct those mistakes. And if the others don’t want to see him, don’t want to talk to him, then that’s fine. It’s their right, and he doesn’t blame them at all, can’t possibly blame them when most of him believes that they’re right to do so, right to avoid him, because after everything, he can’t possibly deserve--

Oh.

But Janus says he does deserve it. That he deserves help, that he deserves support. Who, then, is right?

“Think about it this way,” Janus says, as if sensing his struggle. “If your positions were reversed, if, say, Virgil had messed up and everyone was avoiding him, would you think that’s what he deserved?”

Well, of course not. Everyone deserves love and support, even when they make mistakes, because--

Oh.

The realization comes crashing down with the force of the loudest thunderclap, and something deep within him twists, wrenches at his heart and at his stomach, and all the breath is knocked out of him as he suddenly finds himself falling forward, landing hard on Janus’ lap, arms and legs achy and all too human. Janus yanks his arms out from under the blankets to catch him, his lips parted in surprise.

“But I hurt them,” Patton says, the words ripped from him as if by force, desperate, like the world might just crumble into pieces if he doesn’t get an answer. “I hurt all of them, so much.”

“And their hurt is valid,” Janus says. “Each one of them is entitled to their anger and their pain. But Patton, so are you.”

He bursts into tears at that, the dam breaking at last, and he lurches forward, flinging his arms around Janus’ neck and burying his face into his shoulder where the blankets have slipped away. Janus makes a startled noise, and then brings his arms up to embrace him, holding him tight and close as he runs the gamut of all the emotions he has been pushing back.

“You’re loved,” Janus says. “They all love you, even though it may seem otherwise right now. They love you, and they’ll be ready to show it again, in time.” He pauses, and his next sentence carries a strange weight, a slightly different tone, a reticence and a rushed eagerness all at once. “And I love you, Patton. Please don’t forget that.”

He sniffles. “Even though I’m getting snot all over you?” he asks into his shirt, and Janus laughs, startled.

“Even so,” he answers. “It’s snot an issue.”

Patton gasps, thrilled despite himself. He still can’t bring himself to display the reaction he would normally have, but he manages a weak smile. “Pun,” he says, voice still muffled by fabric.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Janus says. “I would never in my life crack a pun. Lies and slander.”

Patton pulls back a bit, enough to see his face, and is shocked to find that he is crying too, though he looks much more dignified than Patton is certain he does. For a moment, his heart fills with an overflowing, overpowering love, and before he can think better of it, he leans forward and kisses him on the cheek. Janus’ breath hitches, but Patton doesn’t back down, staring him straight in the eyes.

“I love you too,” he says, and in the moment, doesn’t know exactly how he means it. Just that it’s true, and right now, that is enough. “Thank you.”

He pours all of the sincerity, all of the emotion that he is capable of right now into the words. He needs Janus to understand how much it means that he is here, with him, willing to help him and to hold him.

Janus stares at him with something like affection and something like awe.

“You don’t need to thank me,” he says. “Not for this. Never for this.”

And Patton sighs, shifting position until he is leaning against Janus’ chest, tucking his head under his chin and turning his head so that he can see the movie. It’s almost over by now, Edgar receiving his just desserts.

“I still don’t feel great,” he murmurs, because he doesn’t. Better, now that he’s let his emotions out, now that he is human, now that he has someone with him, holding him, caring about him, loving him, but the grey still hovers around him, still lands heavily on his chest and in his head. If human contact were enough to solve it all completely, that would be a wonderful thing, but the greyness isn’t so simple, isn’t so easily banished. He doubts he’ll be able to gather the energy to make dinner tonight. He may not even feel better by tomorrow morning.

But Janus is with him, supporting without judgement, and that makes all the difference.

“That’s alright,” Janus says, kissing the top of his head. “You don’t need to be. Would you like to watch another movie? And by that I mean actually watch, not leave it on in the background as we discuss deep, abiding emotional issues.”

He manages a shaky laugh at that. “I’d like that,” he whispers. His voice emerges hoarse and thick, and it takes too much effort to get the words out. “Could we do Tangled?”

“A terrible choice,” Janus says, and summons the DVD with a wave of his hand, reaching around Patton to place the disc in the laptop. The title screen begins to play, and he adjusts the blankets so that they are both fully covered, and Patton curls into his side as the narration starts.

He still feels bad, and he knows he has so much more to work through. But the deep, aching loneliness has abated somewhat, and he knows that the greyness will fade away too, eventually. Until then, he has Janus here, with him, wrapped up in soft blankets, a comfort movie playing for both of them, and confessions dancing in the air between them, spoken but not quite elaborated on, not yet. And that’s alright, because there’s time, because the sun always shines brightest after the rain has passed.

He sighs, snuggles in closer, and allows himself to simply be.

Writing Taglist: @just-perhaps @the-real-comically-insane @jerrysicle-tree @glitchybina @psodtqueer

[butterflyinthewell]

So I’m working on a fanfic about Hannibal being diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer’s and Will struggling to come to terms with that.

I’m realizing it’s really a commentary on how society treats people whose brains work different.

There is no point where Will loves Hannibal any less and he never sees him as less than human, but doctors and other people do.

Most of the story is from Will’s POV, (I start each chapter in Hannibal’s memory palace as it’s crumbling) but I have Hannibal’s perspective running in my own mind too when we watch him through Will. So when Alzheimer’s causes Hannibal to act weird, I know exactly what he thinks he’s doing or where he thinks he is in place / time, and his behavior makes perfect sense according to where / when he thinks he is. Will and the readers won’t have that side of it, so to them it seems Hannibal doesn’t know how to behave. He has his lucid moments where he’s acutely aware that “I have Alzheimer’s and my brain is failing me”, though they diminish as his brain deteriorates. But he really doesn’t know what he’s doing when he’s not lucid, though sometimes he can remember it later and tell Will what happened. Those moments are heartbreaking.

So as an example of visible behavior vs what I know and don’t tell you: Will sees Hannibal smashing a rolling pin against the kitchen counter, but Hannibal thinks he’s cleaning up to prepare for a dinner party the next night and he’s frantic because there’s a lot to do and not much time, and he can’t get the counter clean. Once Will figures out Hannibal is trying to clean, he trades the pin for a sponge and helps him “clean”. Hannibal forgets why he was so frantic once they’re done, so now he can go to bed and sleep instead of keeping Will up by banging on the counter for hours.

You can’t reason with a confused person with Alzheimer’s once they’re past a certain point. It’s easier to just step into their reality and guide them gently in the direction you hope they’ll go. (Will is very hit and miss at doing this initially, but will get good at it later!)

Most people would suggest take the rolling pin away, but that would get in the way of the need Hannibal is trying to meet and lead to a fight. From his side it looks like Will is preventing him from getting ready for esteemed guests. Will trading the pin for a sponge is meeting Hannibal where he is, calming the anxiety he’s feeling and gently nudging him where he actually should go (to bed). Hannibal is happy with that because his need was met.

There’s another scene in a grocery store where Will doesn’t pay attention to Hannibal’s signals that this isn’t working, and it leads to Hannibal causing a bit of a ruckus. The store is restocking and there’s boxes and chaos everywhere. Hannibal can’t handle that, so he starts taking things out of the cart and putting them on the shelf like he’s at the checkout counter because that’s what you do when you’re about to leave the store. But Will misses that signal and puts things back into the cart, and suddenly a very angry Hannibal flips the cart over and hollers that “this isn’t correct” because he can’t access the language to explain he’s afraid.

Will has to talk him down from a panic attack and help him out of the store. Later, Hannibal is able to explain to Will that disarray frightens him because it looks like his memory palace, and when that happens he can’t tell his inner world from the outer world and doesn’t know which one he’s “speaking” to. But small bits of disarray become something Will can use to calm Hannibal down by giving him messy things to organize. (Hannibal is obsessive about organizing stuff, it’s soothing for him.)

Their love language evolves too. From speaking in metaphors to just speaking, then they progress to actions and finally end on touch.

Will needs to realize it’s less about what Hannibal is losing and more about what’s still there.

Hannibal is going to lose who Will is, but he never loses the fact that he loves him. Some days, he will look at Will and fall in love with him over and over like the first time he saw him in Crawford’s office, because in those moments every time is the first.

And that is what Will needs to realize. Their love hasn’t been lost.

Btw, Hannibal doesn’t stop being dangerous till the final stages of Alzheimer’s. He’s about midway through it when he almost mauls the staff at a hospital because they’re being nasty to him when he’s confused! (They chemically restrain him with Haldol and are super shitty liars about it). That experience is actually what gets Will to see that people are going to treat Hannibal like he’s not really a person anymore. Let’s just say the doctor who ordered the Haldol isn’t gonna survive. It’s Hannibal...that means people get eaten! 😌

Also, the fanfic starts after they’ve been married for 10 years, so the year is 2030 at the start of the fic. I’m writing this pretending the story of Hannibal began sometime in late 2010, Will pulled them off the cliff in 2015, they got some aliases to disappear and moved around America dodging the FBI for another five years.

The pre-story post-fall timeline goes like this:

December 2019: Will and Hannibal have been on the run for a long while, but they stop in Hawaii to have a nice, tropical Christmas. Hannibal can’t remember the volcano’s name is Kilauea.

January 1: 2020: They get married on the beach. It’s sort of spur of the moment, but they took the time to buy tuxedos and rings. Their tuxes are white with silver accents. Hannibal has a silver vest and bow tie. Will has a silver bow tie and cummerbund. They say their vows at sunset by the water.

Late February 2020: Will and Hannibal leave Hawaii for Cuba just as Covid-19 is hitting. They’ve already bought a house, so they move in. Both test positive for covid. Will stays asymptotic and never gets even a tickle in his throat. Hannibal gets the whole deal without getting sick enough to end up in the hospital, but recovers. He has some long covid issues, like shortness of breath and fatigue.

2022: Hannibal survives the widow maker heart attack and it’s discovered he had the heart attack because covid damaged his heart. He gets quadruple bypass surgery and spends a lot of time in ICU recovering. As he gets better he realizes his memory isn’t what it should be. Doctors tell him his heart stopping from the heart attack and the bypass surgery can sometimes cause some memory loss. Hannibal starts relying on his phone and GPS more and more. Will begins to suspect something is wrong, but the doctors reassure him that it’s temporary, so he lets it go.

(Fanfic begins here.)

2030: Hannibal is making mistakes in cooking, cleanup, paying bills and just everyday stuff, but he doesn’t think it’s weird. He blames “kids” when questioned about why he put dishes away dirty or burned dinner. Will is noticing things aren’t right, so he begs Hannibal to see a doctor. Will thinks it’s something solvable, like encephalitis or some other organ. But no, Hannibal gets looked over from head to toe, inside and outside, sent to a neurologist and finishes with his diagnosis of early onset Alzheimer’s. (He’s 58 at the time of diagnosis, but the disease process started when he was 48 and it was missed for so long because of the heart attack.)

As soon as he’s diagnosed, Hannibal starts making plans for Will to be his medical power of attorney, in control of their bank account, in charge of his advanced directives, etc.. He sort of drops it all onto poor Will, who barely gets time to absorb the news before he’s signing stuff. Will is in a tailspin of emotions.

It’ll take Alzheimer’s 20 years to chew through Hannibal’s brain. It’s not always gonna be pretty or easy to watch. At the end it becomes clear Hannibal is waiting for something, and he passes as soon as those final needs are met. Hannibal always has to have control of something, right? Right!

I’m gonna throw all your feelings into a washing machine and spin them. It’s what I’m good at with fics like this.

Anyway...

I have very specific images of how Will and Hannibal look at the start of the fic. Will is still pretty af, but a lot less friendly looking, and Hannibal looks like a scruffy Norse dad.

The most beautiful part about writing this (for me, anyway) is watching how Will learns to understand Hannibal’s communications as his language abilities deteriorate. He will continue to see and hear him even when most other people won’t try to watch or listen. He learns to be less “stop that, it’s annoying” and more “what need isn’t being met and how can I meet it? How can I step into his world to be with him where he is?”

Finally, their wedding song is important to the story. This was their first dance song. It’s their song. Will sings it to Hannibal a few times in the fic, and if he plays it on his phone it can break through the Alzheimer’s fog and take Hannibal back to the bank safe in his memory palace where he keeps their wedding day. Yup, he keeps that memory in a safe and it’s the last thing to go. ❤️

[athingthatwantsvirginia]

This Ernest Hemingway Thing

PART FORTY OF THE DO YOU SEE HER FACE? SERIES

Pairing: Jess Mariano x Original Character (Ella Stevens)

Warnings: major discussions of parent death/death in general, plentiful pop culture references

Word Count: 5.4K

Summary: Ella struggles in the wake of her father's death.

“If you don’t shut up about this bar...” Jess warned, shooting daggers at Chris over the top of his book.

It was a slow day, and the three of them sat in the common area of Truncheon. Jess read his Sylvia Plath novel as he sat atop the welcome table in the front of the store. Chris was on a rant about why they should buy up the vacant space down the road and open a bar, while Matthew rolled his eyes. Snow fell in thick blankets, the coldest of the winter so far. Jess had opted to drive to work, rather than trudge through the crunchy, icy layer caking the sidewalks. The storm had blown in the night before as a bit of a surprise, leaving the city little time to salt the roads. The lack of customers at the book press was no shock. The large, ornate clock ticked slowly over the door. Only a few more minutes, and it would be time to close up for the day. Jess was glad; he’d be home to Ella soon enough. No matter how much she insisted she was fine, he couldn’t help feeling antsy when he’d left her home alone in the morning. His bottom lip was beginning to feel chapped from how much he had been gnawing on it.

Chris sighed heavily, throwing his hands up in exasperation. He was wearing a maroon cardigan over a pullover sweater, and Jess wondered how he wasn’t suffocating underneath all the wool. Chris took another sip of his disgusting chai latte before he continued.

“But it wouldn’t be just any bar! It would be Cedar Bar Redux!” he exclaimed.

Matthew rolled his eyes, not bothering to look up from the inventory sheet he was reviewing. “Just saying the name over and over isn’t gonna convince us.”

“Listen, we’ve already got this Ernest Hemingway thing going here,” Chris said emphatically, gesturing to the room around them. “Now, we can have a Charlie Parker thing down the road. We’ll play only jazz music there, and only serve drinks with whiskey. It’ll be super classy. Super hip.”

“Please don’t ever say ‘hip’ again,” Jess deadpanned, his eyes back on his reading.

Chris grinned confidently. “One day you’ll stop and think, ‘Wow, Chris has been a genius all along. Why did I ever doubt him?’”

Jess scoffed doubtfully.

“Sure, man,” Matthew said with a mocking nod.

“Hey, you’ll see, guys. Just you wait,” Chris said, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting at their dismissal of his idea. “If Ella was here, she’d agree with me.”

Shaking his head a bit, Jess snorted a laugh. “No, she wouldn’t.”

“I think she’s just pretentious enough to get behind it,” Chris argued, shrugging flippantly.

“Actually, I think she’s just pretentious enough to call you out for being a poser,” Matthew countered, his voice dejected as ever as he continued scouring the inventory sheets for any mistakes he might have made on them earlier in the day.

Chris narrowed his eyes at Matthew, getting ready to rebut. However, Jess spoke up first. He rose from his seat, stuffing the Plath book in the back pocket of his jeans and going to grab his coat and scarf.

“Speaking of Eleanor,” he said, “I’m going home. It’s closing time, boys. Have fun with the marketing pitch, Matthew.”

“Thanks, Jess,” Matthew replied sarcastically, still not looking up. On inventory day, he was basically a robot, glued to his paperwork. Not like Jess could blame Matthew, though, considering Jess would have run the business into the ground during the first week had Matthew not been there to deal with the numbers.

“What do you mean ‘speaking of Ella’?” Chris asked, his interest piqued.

She hadn’t been around much recently, and he missed her, despite their occasional bickering. It had been over a month since her father died, and she had hardly let them know how she was doing once she got back. He could count on one hand the number of times they’d seen her. It wasn’t as though he didn’t understand; she could take as much time as he needed. But Jess wasn’t exactly helping to ease his (and Matthew’s) concern, offering little more than an assurance that she was fine and just needed time for herself. It was hard for Chris to imagine Ella coping by isolation, but he had never known her in tragedy.

Jess shrugged on his coat, and began tying his scarf around his neck. “She stayed home sick today. I wanna make sure she at least eats dinner,” he explained shortly. They were all familiar with Ella’s bad habit of skipping, or forgetting, meals when she was stressed or upset.

“She okay?” Chris asked.

Finally, Matthew looked up from his sheet, patiently awaiting an answer. Chis wasn’t the only one who had noticed Ella’s recent absence. She had quite a presence, after all. He and Mabel were beginning to worry. Leo, too.

Jess shrugged, evasive. “Yeah. She’s fine. Just a winter bug or something.”

Chris nodded skeptically. “Okay.”

“Tell her we hope she feels better,” Matthew cut in diplomatically, hoping Chris got the hint that he should let sleeping dogs lie.

“Just call me a carrier pigeon,” Jess quipped, smiling thinly, before he excited the shop into the frigid evening air.

.   .   .

Eyelids heavy, Ella focused on her breathing. The falling snow twinkled in the soft light of the cloudy evening, and she watched it. Flakes floated down haphazardly, sometimes tossed along the wind. Watching it made her feel mindless, but almost in a good way, as she laid on her side. The pain in her head had numbed, though an ache still throbbed dully in her skull. She was just too tired. The kind of fatigue which comes with a fever, though she knew she didn’t have one. She just needed to sleep. Sleep and sleep, she told herself, until the pain went away. After a good rest, she hoped, she would awake renewed and inspired. Her sketchbook sat closed on her nightstand, not used since the night before her father died, the night of Jess’s publishing party.

In her worst moments, that night came back to her in flashes. Not because it was bad, but because she had been just so happy. Tipsy and in love and hopeful. The naivety almost made her want to laugh out loud. How could she possibly have thought she would have the chance to patch things up with her father? Life didn’t work that way. It never did. She didn’t know when she had lost sight of her realist views, but she was reminded why they were important. Always planning for the worst meant no disappointments and no ugly surprises. She drifted in and out of vague dreams, almost unsure of when and if she was awake. She felt sweaty and stale beneath the blue quilt, but she still snuggled into it deeper. It made her feel safe in some innocent, childish way she wished she could hold onto. She knew when she got up again, she would feel cold. And she would have to continue on as normal with a new, unwelcome tightness in her chest.

At the sound of the doorknob to the bedroom turning, she shut her eyes completely. She pretended to be asleep, breathing deeply and making her expression go slack, as Jess came in. Better to have him believe she was actually resting, rather than staring off into the middle distance feeling sorry for herself. Ella didn’t know quite what time it was, but she thought he was early, judging by the light outside. She knew he was worried about her; she could see it, even if he never said it out loud. But she was just so tired. She simply lacked the energy to reassure him, or to reassure herself. She could hear him quietly take off his shoes, his watch.

Then, he exited the room again. She heard him put on an album by The Cure at a low volume. It made her want to smile, almost. The apartment felt better when he was in it. She felt less claustrophobic. Maybe since he was finally there, she would actually get some sleep. But sleep never came, and she knew why. She’d been lying in bed all day, in a zombie-like state. In the two weeks since returning to work, she’d come home every day exhausted. And, worse yet, angry. Not in a yelling and punching the walls kind of way, though. Instead, she would cry hot, frustrated tears at the smallest mistake in her work. She would feel the urge to go smoke or drink, though she hadn’t given in. She felt like she was crawling out of her skin, but she couldn’t do anything about it. She could only sit back and watch as she struggled tiredly through her lectures and bit her nails ragged.

But the worst part was not the anger. The worst part was the inability to truly feel it. She knew she was angry, and she knew why, but she couldn’t get it to sink it. She couldn’t work through it or make it better, she could only feel it in the moment. When it passed, she would go back to her sleepy, sluggish state. And the storm of emotion would sit dormant in her belly. She tried to think about her father, and tried to cry for him. She couldn’t. She could only wait for the random bursts of emotion at meaningless moments. When she thought of her father’s death, or even her mother’s, it was like she could feel the key turning in the lock on her heart, and the switch flipping off. Not since the night Jess had held her on the Gilmore porch had she been able to shed a tear about any of it.

Staying home had been both a necessity because of the migraine she’d woken up with, and an attempt to wake herself up. Maybe if she could sleep off the constant fatigue she had been feeling, she could sleep off the hazy fog in her brain as well. But, as the day began to come to a close, she could only lie in her bed feeling defeated. In a way which was familiar, but still so new. When her mother had died, it had been such a shock. It had been more cut and dry. She had loved her mother, and her mother died. But her father was a different story. And he had been her only parent left.

After a few minutes, the bedroom door creaked open again, and she heard Jess’s soft footfalls on the carpet. The other side of the bed dipped down as he sat, and placed a gentle hand on her back, beginning to rub circles there.

“Elle?” he asked. “Hey, honey, wake up.”

Ella took a deep breath in, feigning slight surprise as she opened her eyes and rolled over, away from the window to face Jess. He had a small smirk on his face, but it didn’t reach his eyes as he looked down at her. With a light touch, he brushed the stray strands of hair away from her forehead.

“Hey,” she said, her voice slightly hoarse and groggy.

“Hi,” he replied.

She was pale and exhausted. It was as though her face had drained of all color the moment her father had died, and it had yet to come back. He couldn’t make her blush like he used to. Some sort of elemental lightness had left her, one which he hadn’t noticed she had until it was gone. And he was more or less at a loss about what to do. She was going about her day, going through the motions, but she was still somewhere far off in her mind. Unable to deal with anything that didn’t lack all emotion. He was beginning to wonder if she was ever going to snap out of it, or if a part of her was missing that could never be replaced. But, he was trying for her. He was taking care of her in a way he had never gotten a chance to before. Not from sickness, but from sadness. She had always been the one to patch him up emotionally, when things fell through with his father or he had a panic attack or he couldn’t get the dark clouds to lift from above his head. She was not exactly a ray of sunshine, but she wasn’t one to wallow either. She was an expert at getting through, attacking life the way it attacked her, picking herself back up. This time, he thought, maybe she just needed a hand.

“How’s your head?” he asked quietly, his thumb caressing her skin.

In the morning, she’d barely been able to open her eyes, her migraine was so bad. He wasn’t surprised though. She hadn’t taken a day off since going back to work. Everything was bound to catch up with her eventually. She was trying to hold it all back again, but he didn’t know why. Maybe because she’d had a bit of time; she wasn’t in shock anymore. She had more control over her emotions, maybe too much.

She shrugged. “A little better.”

“Good,” he said, leaning down and pressing a long kiss on her forehead.

When he pulled away, Ella took in a deep breath through her nose. She let her muscles release tension she didn’t know they’d been holding. She was glad he was home, even if she was embarrassed at his seeing her lying around.

“I made some green tea. You wanna watch a Stephen King movie with dinner? Or do your eyes still hurt?” he asked.

She felt her stomach do a flip. She didn’t deserve him. And his tenderness made her feel squirmy, like at some point he would realize how lazy she was being, how pathetic. Even one day off of work was making her feel so useless. She cleared her throat, averting her eyes from him.

“I’m actually not that hungry,” she said sheepishly. She hadn’t eaten all day, but she just couldn’t bring herself to want anything.

Jess sighed. “Elle-”

“No, I know,” she cut him off. “I promise I’ll eat later, really. Just not right now.”

Biting at his lip, Jess seemed lost in thought for a moment before he finally nodded. “Okay.”

Still, she couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eye. “Did you finish that Sylvia Plath?”

“Not yet,” he said.

“You wanna come lay down and read me what you have left, James Dean?” she asked, tone lighter than it had been.

He let a smile ghost over his lips. “Always, Daria.”

Swallowing thickly, Ella muttered a thanks to him as he left the room again. She rolled over and stared at the ceiling, so blank and dull white. Like a canvas she wanted to paint. But just thinking of the empty pages in her sketchbook made dread rise up in her throat. She shook the thought away as Jess came back into the room with two mugs of tea and a book under his arm. As they drank their tea, he told her about his day, about Chris and Matthew, how slow it had been. She laughed at the right moments, nodded at the right moments, smiled when she should have. But her heart wasn’t in it. She didn’t add anything, she barely even looked at him. He wanted to ask her what was wrong, and he almost did. But she looked so tired. He decided to wait until at least the morning. She needed rest more than she needed an interrogation, he figured. When they were done, cups on nightstands, he laid down next to her, warm under the covers as the snow kept falling in sheets outside, the light of the streetlamps making the flakes sparkle. The approaching darkness was almost gloomy, though, and he wasn’t particularly sure why. She laid her head on his chest, as she often did when he read to her. She liked to hear the vibrations of his words against her ear.

As he began at the page where he stopped, she felt warmer. His voice and the feeling of his body against her made it easier to breathe, easier to get her mind to shut up for a moment. But it lasted not for long, as a quiet thought whispered in the back of her mind. Then, it was louder and louder, until it became a shout, a scream. Someday, she would end up like her father, like Fiona. Losing the person you loved most in the world destroyed you. Ella didn’t know why, but all of a sudden she felt certain she would lose Jess. He would die, and he would die suddenly. As soon as she let her guard down again, she would lose him. She would lose the person she belonged to, the person who belonged to her.

The love she felt for Jess was unlike what she had felt for anyone else before, and some part of her knew she would never feel that love for anyone else again. And she felt like she understood her father better than she ever had before. He’d lost her mother in the middle of the night; the person he belonged to. Ella had been able to move on, but she thought that maybe her father’s life had been over the moment her mother died. And it would happen to her, unless she did something about it. The thought was so jarring and terrifying, for a moment, she felt like her throat was closing up. But she tried to handle the pit in her stomach as it formed and sat coldly in her core.

Jess was so sweet to her, always had been. Even when he was an angry tenager who was lost and acted like he didn’t need anybody. When she’d thought she couldn’t love anyone. He was smart and thoughtful and he knew her better than anyone else ever had. She could smell his familiar scent of pine and must, which had never worn off even long after he moved out of Luke’s. She listened to his voice lilt over the words of a book she owned, which she’d given him in high school. He was rereading the copy which contained their notes to each other, back when they were still falling in love without knowing it. A glance up at his face, and tears stung her eyes. Jess with his kind brown eyes and the dark shadow on his jaw. Jess with the faded scar on his left palm, which she’d watched get stitched up. Jess with the strong arms that held her in the ocean in California. The person she’d been in love with since she was sixteen. He was beautiful, in every sense of the word. A deep, awful regret filled her. She’d let herself fall so completely in love with him. She never should have. What was she going to do when he was gone?

Before she could stop herself, she began to cry silently. Jess furrowed his brows, feeling her tears wet his t-shirt. It was Plath, after all. A pretty sad novel, but he’d never known her to cry at a book. Or at much of anything, for that matter. He stopped reading immediately, lowering the book and bringing one hand to touch her freckled arm gingerly.

“What’s wrong?”

She sniffed and cleared her throat, wiping beneath her eyes. “Nothing, Jess. Just keep reading.”

“Eleanor-”

“Jess, please just keep reading,” she said, voice shaking and broken.

His breath caught in his throat, the words dying before he spoke them. She sounded helpless. He couldn't ignore her pleas, no matter how much he wanted to. Not when she sounded like that. He kept reading.

.   .   .

Gnawing on her nails, Ella sat alone in the cold morning light. The world outside was sparkling with snow in the sunlight. But soon, the grime city would corrupt it. The soft mountains of white would grow dull and gray, caked on the side of the road. She could only think about the melty gray slush as she looked outside, at the beauty the storm the day before had left in its wake. Her hands were slightly shaky, her elbows on her knees. She couldn’t remember the last time she had woken up so early, unable to fight wakefulness anymore as she packed a bag in the early darkness. The day had since brightened, from a deep blue to a warm orange and then finally, a bright yellow. But Ella still couldn’t bring herself to wake Jess up.

Instead, she waited. And she didn’t have to wait as long as she thought she would have. Jess emerged from the bedroom in his pajamas, rubbing tiredly at his eyes, at around half past six. His brows were furrowed at her empty spot in bed before he even saw her in the living room, sitting on the couch fully dressed with a packed suitcase on the floor next to her.

“What’s going on? Are you okay?” he asked, stopping in his tracks in surprise.

Ella ran an anxious hand through her hair before she looked up to meet his eyes. “I think...I think we should take a break for a little while.”

“What?” he said incredulously.

She sighed through her nose, looking down into her lap. “Jess, I just don’t think it’s a good idea for us to be together right now.”

“Eleanor, what are you talking about?” he continued, as though he simply couldn’t get her words to make sense in his head.

Again, she sighed in frustration. Without thinking about it, she rose and began to pace. Jess watched her with a worried gaze. She wasn’t behaving like herself at all, and just looking at her suitcase packed and ready to go made him feel sick to his stomach.

“Look, Jess, I just...I think we need to take a step back from each other for a while. Get to know ourselves when we’re not with each other, you know?” she said, her excuse flimsy and her voice uncertain. But she told herself this would be the hard part. Rip the bandaid off and leave, to get rid of the constant dread inside her. Without Jess, without anyone, it would simply be safer. More practical. And hadn’t being practical always worked out for her in the end?

Jess shook his head slowly, trying to get a handle on his thoughts. “That’s bullshit. We’ve already been apart from each other, and you and I both know that doesn’t work. What’s this actually about?”

“I just need a break, okay? I’ll call in sick again today. Fiona said last time I called that she needs me to clean out my room before she puts the house on the market. I’ll get back to town on Sunday,” Ella said, speaking quickly, flatly, wanting to get the words out and get them over with.

“And on Sunday?” Jess asked, eyebrows raised askance.

After a moment of tense silence, Ella could only shrug. “I don’t know. On Sunday...we regroup. Think about things.”

Jess ran a hand over his mouth. “You can’t be serious, Eleanor.”

“I am,” she replied simply.

“You honestly wanna break up? After everything?” he asked, sounding as though he still hadn’t quite been able to process what was going on. He’d known something was wrong, of course. Especially after she’d wept her way through his reading of Sylvia Plath, eventually falling asleep with her face still pressed against his t-shirt, her cheeks damp.

“Not break up!” Ella said immediately, raising her voice. “Not...forever.”

Again, Jess shook his head, voice matching her volume when he spoke again. “This isn’t like you, Eleanor. You don’t just run away like this. That’s my move, and it’s a fucking bad one. What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing. I told you, Jess, I just-”

“Need a break?” Jess interrupted finishing for her, with hints of both anger and fear in his tone.

For a moment, she couldn’t speak. He looked so crestfallen, so quickly. She wanted to throw her arms around him, cry into his shoulder, let out the tears she hadn’t been able to release. To tell him what she’d been feeling, the constant pain rivaled only by the strange, unexplainable numbness. But she bit at the inside of her cheek, hard, to snap herself out of it. She had made her choice. And she had to stick to it.

“Yes.”

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, taking a deep breath, choosing his words carefully. “Please. Just tell me what’s going on. Whatever it is, we can figure it out.”

“Nothing’s going on,” she repeated, finding it hard to keep her voice from cracking.

“Is this about your dad?” he asked. They’d been dancing around the conversation for weeks, as he watched her retreat within herself. Finally, he couldn’t ignore it, couldn’t tell himself she needed space, couldn’t just tell himself she was grieving the way she needed to. The truth was, she wasn’t grieving. Not really.

She heaved a sigh. “Jesus, Jess. It’s not about my dad, okay? Can’t I just need a break from us? From all this?” she asked as she gestured around them to the apartment, to the life they had started to build together. She sounded angry. But anger was better than nothing. Jess kept going.

“No, not when you started crying last night and wouldn’t tell me why, not when you keep forgetting to eat, not when you’re tired all day, even after like twelve hours of sleep, not when you don’t even want to draw anymore,” he said, in vehement disagreement. “I can talk to my therapist and see if she knows someone who’s covered by the University insurance. I bet she knows a lot of grief counselors.”

“Jess, stop,” she said, refusing to make eye contact with him as she crossed her arms over her chest.

“Trust me, Eleanor,” he continued, almost pleading. “You’ll feel so much better if you talk to someone about all this. About your dad, your mom, your brothers, Fiona. I’m sure you could think of a few choice words to say about me too.”

She shook her head at his attempt to joke. She wasn’t having it. More tears stung her eyes, and they only made her angrier. She was so sick of needing to cry and not being able to, of dealing with her family’s bullshit, of everything. Of being afraid of everything.

“Van Gogh must have had hundreds of hours of therapy in his life, and you’ve seen his paintings. I really think it’s all gonna be okay if-”

“Stop it, Jess!” she shouted, reaching for a necklace she hadn’t worn in years. An old tic Jess hadn’t seen since high school. Seeing her fingers go instinctively to grab at a small key pendant made his heart ache in such a deep way, so fundamentally, he almost wanted to cry. “Stop being so fucking nice to me! Stop trying to take care of me! Every time I tell you that, you never fucking listen!”

“Elle, what-” he began, eyes widening at her outburst. But she was on a roll, and hardly noticed when he spoke.

“I mean, it’s like you can’t even hear me sometimes,” she continued, pacing furiously and gesturing around again with her hands. For a moment, she was worried the neighbors would complain about her yelling at such an early hour. But she forgot about them as the emotions bubbled up in her throat, words spilling from her mouth. “You just keep doing whatever the fuck you want! Reminding me to eat, and reading to me, and kissing me, telling me you love me, and I just can’t fucking do it anymore, Jess! Not when you’re just gonna be gone someday!”

“Eleanor, I’m not-”

“Yes, you are!” she interrupted, finally facing him again. A fire burned in her eyes, cold and green and devastated. “Whether you like it or not, you’re gonna have a heart attack or crash your shitty fucking car or get struck by lightning! And I can’t keep doing this when one day it’s all just gonna be gone! It hurts bad enough calling it quits right now!”

Taken aback, Jess sighed. His face softened. He wanted to take a step forward, to go to her, but he fought the urge. Instead, he spoke in a calm, soothing voice. “Honey-”

She let out an infuriated scoff at the affectionate nickname.

“I know you’re scared,” he began, but she cut him off again.

“No, you don’t!” she countered, voice more venomous by the second. “You don’t know! Jess, I know your parents aren’t exactly perfect, but guess what? They’re alive. You didn’t wake up one day and figure out they were fucking dead! You can still talk to them whenever you want. You didn’t have to watch-”

She paused as her voice broke, clearing her throat before she went on. “You didn’t have to watch your dad fucking destroy himself because he missed your mom so much. And you don’t have to watch your stepmom go through the same thing!”

“Eleanor-”

“Don’t ‘Eleanor’ me, Jess! Please don’t. I...I love you. But I just...I just wish I didn’t.”

She was crying now, big, childish tears rolling down her skin as she spoke. Jess felt his heart drop into his stomach. Of course, he’d known she was in pain. Her father had died, after all. But he didn’t know she was scared. He didn’t know she was absolutely terrified. Not when she’d always seemed fearless. Before he could stop himself, he went over and embraced her. His hug was tight and warm, one arm encircling around her waist and one hand in her hair, cradling her head. And for a second, she relaxed into him. She let his touch soothe her and heal her. But then she snapped out of it again. Back to reality. She remembered how badly it hurt when she lost good things. She disentangled herself from his hold.

“No,” she said. “Please...don’t touch me right now.”

Her words sounded so defeated and final that for the first time it occurred to Jess she might actually be serious about leaving, about breaking up. The thought was so heartbreaking, a lump instantly formed in his throat.

“Just wait a second, Elle. Can we...can we talk about this more? Please?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper. His own eyes began to grow shiny.

She shook her head, grabbing her suitcase and making for the coat rack. “I have to go, Jess.”

“But you don’t! You can stay and we can figure this out!” Jess said, following her to the doorway.

Her face was stoic and guarded again as she donned her coat, hat, and scarf. “I need...I just need to be alone. I’ll be back on Sunday.”

He ran a hand over his mouth again. “Do you promise you’ll be back on Sunday?”

“Yes,” she said after a moment, opening the door. She stood there awkwardly for a moment, unsure whether to say goodbye, if it was a goodbye at all.

Jess sighed heavily, relenting to her leaving, as begrudgingly as possible. “Just…please be safe driving up there.”

“I will.”

“I love you,” he said, not being able to help himself.

A tiny, sad smile passed over her lips. “Right back at ya.”

On any other morning, he would have laughed at her response, a joke at the expense of his own shyness. But instead he stood motionless as she went out the door and shut it softly behind her. He was unsure if she would ever truly come back, if she was already gone, if she had been for weeks. Jess was crying before she made it out the front door of the building.

[llamagoddessofficial]

Oneshot of MC being put into Copper's ribcage for the first time?! Maybe like in the underground and she's cold or when Copper wants to sleep with her but doesn't want to cuddle?! God I can already taste the fluff! So MuCh fLUFF!! LORD MAMA PLZ I NEED THIS WHOLESOMENESS TO COME TRUE!! I AM BEGGING YOU-

hehehhhehhe

The shed was never the right place for you.

The dank, dark shack was normally reserved for his… his prey. It was cold, small, bare and gloomy… no place for you. No place for an angel at all.

He felt your tiny tiny body stiffen in his massive arms when the door slammed shut behind him. He could hear your precious fragile heart start to flutter faster as your weak human eyes finally adjusted to the gloom to the best of their ability and saw the state of the walls and floor. don’t ever let go of me. A combination of laziness and needing to keep the place filthy if he wanted Papyrus to stay out of it had led to... well. Many victim’s worth of blood gathering in the dirty shack. He had to keep his meals secret from Papyrus if he wanted any of the meat to still be there by morning.Some of the old blood splatters were from a heavy impact, some swiped quickly across the surface, some drips…

… Some very clearly desperate handprints.

…

His eyelight darted around, nervously; it was so much more disgusting in there than he remembered.

He couldn’t help but wonder, his Soul feeling like it was sinking to his patellas, what you possibly could be thinking about him right now. He looked down at you, afraid and tiny, clinging to his jacket with white-knuckled hands that were so small it made him want to kiss them. You weren’t meat, you weren’t prey… but you didn’t know that, did you? First he touches your face like a creep who’s never seen cheeks before, drools right in front of you, then shushes you and carries you back to what must look like a murder shack…

… No wonder you were shaking against him like a leaf.

He knelt down, setting you onto the floor in a corner of the room. You glanced at him for a split second with wide, petrified eyes, and he could practically see every thought going through your head- he’s gonna torture me, he’s gonna kill me, he’s gonna eat me… his chest stung, eyelight shrinking. 

What he wouldn’t give right now to be able to speak properly. To soothe you, to let you know it was going to be okay. Tell you that you were only here in this fucking shed because he needed to wait until sundown to sneak you into his room, past his brother. Instead… all he could do was trace your face again with the back of a blade-like phalange and hope it came across as comforting and not hungry.

“… safe.” He managed to croak out. “t… temporary…”

… He could tell you didn’t believe a word he said.

please love me.

...

He sat beside you, heavily, and settled in... waiting for the light coming through the shed’s tiny slit window to fade away.

He wanted to stare at you the whole time, take in every expression on your perfect face. He wanted to spend every minute waiting with you familiarising himself with each beautiful curve and dimple and freckle and strand of hair…

… But at the same time… he knew you were frightened of him. And he needed to do his best to just… mitigate it as much as possible at the moment. So instead, he stared at the ground in front of him and a particular patch of old blood that made a vaguely bird-like pattern on the bare concrete.

…

…

He didn’t know how much time passed, but the room visibly darkened as the evening rolled around.

He wouldn’t have even registered the passed time if he didn’t feel the slightest, gentlest pressure on his arm.

Copper glanced over at you.

…

You were leaning on him.

His Soul jumped into his throat instantly, a wave of an emotion he didn’t recognise hitting him so hard his vision shook and eyelight bloomed wider. You… you were leaning on him? So soon? Was he dreaming? N-no, there you were, your petite body pressed against his arm… he… he thought it’d be weeks until you could even stand to touch him, w-why were you… his jaw cracked open a fraction and he sucked in a nervous, shaking breath.

i love you. i love you. touch me more. touch me. to-

A puff of steam escaped from between your lips…

… And he noticed your shaking.

You weren’t just shaking from fear- you were cold.

of course, sans, you fucking moron. Copper thought, wincing at his own stupidity. she’s human! she’s wet from the snow, she’s freezing, there’s no heating in here, and now it’s getting dark. of course she’s going to get cold. she needs warmth, that’s why she’s pressing against you. she probably doesn’t even realise…

He knew you needed warmth, and he wanted to hold you. He could feel it, inside him, and his hand was already raising to pull you in- the desperate urge to grab you and squeeze you close and bury his face in you soft, soft, soft hair and just close his sockets and smell your smell and keep you with him like that all night long with every part of you to himself, but…

… He was so scared of crushing you.

…

… And then he had an idea.

You looked up at the sound of him unzipping his jacket, starting and pulling away, seemingly realising that you’d been semi-consciously moving closer to the giant source of warmth right next to you. But he wasn’t going to let you get far. He felt your flinch when he grabbed you, he felt it all through his body, he felt his instincts cry out… but as much as it hurt, it couldn’t be helped.

He made sure to be quick and gentle. You fought a bit when he pulled you close, still gathering your conscious brain through the fog of fatigue and cold, trying to use your legs and elbows to push away, but… you both knew it was useless. You were so cold and weak and tired and unbelievably tiny… it was like… fighting with a sleepy kitten.

it’s okay. i’m doing this for you. stop struggling.

It didn’t take much effort to get you into his ribcage. So small, so delicate… You could sit in the curve of his pelvis and tuck your legs up a little and have a few inches of wiggle room around you. Your confusion seemed to mount by the second as your tiredness cleared and you realised what he was doing- but it was too late, he already had you in, had you tucked up, had you safe. He re-zipped his jacket almost to the to so you still had some air… but the warmth would stay in.

… His face was all but lighting up the room. He felt his socket fill up with so much unrestrained happy magic, it was pouring out, he couldn’t control it, he had to squeeze the socket shut, he was starting to shake, his Soul felt like it was going to explode- you were in him, he was protecting you, he was keeping his mate as safe as possible… 

He could feel everything. Your hair on the inside of his ribs, your quick hot breath, your tension slowly bleeding out of you as the seconds ticked by and nothing bad happened to you. He could feel you shuffle, feel you shivering, feel your Soul...

... Feel you slowly start to instinctively relax as the warmth surrounded you. 

“… w… warm up…” He managed to get out, hoping you understood his intentions were good. He was glad you couldn’t see his face... he knew at this point his eyelight was a large, intensely glowing heart.

... Your reply was to lean your head against his spine.

He smiled, shutting his socket and bringing his legs up, wrapping his arms around himself. That was a reply he was more than happy to take.

[hinac0lada]

somber

CHARACTER PAIRING: sugawara koushi/reader NOTE: i tried to do something new!! // listen to this song  too, it’s where i got inspo for the title hehe my love for koushi reignited, so pls take this fic as a very self-indulgent piece ;3 [ banner made by me! ] anyways! i wanna thank everyone in cheese cult - y’all so nice ily all sm<33 WC: like, , 2.2k words pls give love</3 WARNING/S: contains fluff, angst, suggestive themes CHEESE CULT TAGLIST: @cupofkenma @bubbleteaa @milkandc00kiez @writingsbycrackhead​ @fern-writes-ig​ @pineapplekween​ @kxgeyamasmilk​​ GEN TAGLIST: @fitriiaw @idiot-juice-enthusiast 

there was a side to you that sugawara koushi couldn't quite place his hands-on. it irked him in a way that he can't exactly explain. to put it thoroughly, it's like comparing misleading signs - signs he couldn't read. there was a partial thought in the depths of sugawara's mind, will i be in too deep?

he certainly hopes not. it will be a struggle for sure, begetting to deal with taking risks and caching his feelings in check. 

though, in parallel to both his heart and mind, he doesn't mind taking flight in either.

coming over your place was like a natural thing sugawara affixed to his routine after school hours, something nearly akin to second nature. he needn't have to ring the doorbell or knock at the door to have you alerted of his presence. you gave him a spare key after all. he enters your modest residence as if it was his place that he just resided in. he tries to be patient and earnest about it, but fatigue trailing after him like an endless marathon socked him in the face before he could utter words.

the silver-haired setter plants face-first on the soft material of your cushion couch, breathing in the fragrance of the freshly cleaned cute throw pillows you had on for display. he faintly recalls your lavender-like scent, mixed with a tinge bit of vanilla and mocha - a smell so distinct that it essentially revulsed him at how quick he was to recognize the fading scent.

it was perplexingly heartening in his weird ways. (why wouldn't it be, it's your stuff after all)

the sound of the door clicking minutes after his arrival didn't go unnoticed. "ah, sugawara, i didn't expect you to be here so soon," your voice sounded muffled in his ears at how he's buried two pillows against the sides of his face. he'd assumed you to be late (like you always were), so it wasn't a big deal that he constantly manages to somehow get to your home first before you do.

"i thought you had practice today?"

"we do. just need to charge up for now.. not much to make do since finals are coming up and all," was his muffled reply. that was just a simple white lie. he did have practice today - it's just that he was trying to come up with numerous justifications of why he's late. (that or he just wanted to spend a couple of hours lounging about in your home)

you huff at his slothful disposition. you sometimes think sugawara is a little too comfortable with you letting him barge in your house like he even pays for rent. sure, the company he gives you is lively, but you considered having him pay for using you as a live source for shelter and food. 

even with that kind of reasoning, you don't exactly mind nor were you gonna lament.

"humph!" sugawara makes a surprised noise as you jumped on top of him, your weight burying him further on the plushness of the couch. his muffled protests that reached your ears sent you into a fit of small giggles, a free hand coming down to ruffle his blanche, soft and unruly hair.

"(n-name)--! mhmmp!" 

"what was that? sorry, i can't hear you over the sound of your anguish," you snorted, adding a small bounce from your position to add on the burden he feels with you on top of him. 

by now, sugawara was wearied enough just let you do this. it's fine, just harmless fun. but when suffocating between the couch and a long-time crush and having to choose between air and you - you ought to have another thing coming. within minutes of you cackling like mad, he's pulled off the pillows beside him, successfully managing to hit you with one square on the face before he tackled you on the opposite side of the couch.

your chortles were rashly cut short by a surprised yelp and a force that pushed you off on your back. sugawara towered over your figure, triumph evident on his features. you stared right back with slight annoyance and a small blush coating your cheeks. this was new.

"i thought i told you to not suffocate me between your couch anymore, (name)," he sticks his bottom lip out in a small pout. his little complaint only had you rolling your eyes, a chuckle slipping past your lips as you slapped a hand underneath his jawline, moving his face up and away from yours. 

"when have i ever, suga? i don't think i can recall," you subtlely tease him. it was just too fun to poke fun at sugawara - especially acknowledging the fact that he might've purposely came over first instead of going to practice.

he whines, attempting to slap away your hand. instead, he promptly leans his entire weight on you, head finding solace within the soft material of your clothing. it occurred to him that you still haven't changed from your uniform, but he didn't bother commenting on it either.

the two of you laid in comfortable silence for a while. that was until you broke it.

"do you wanna kill some time watching a movie?"

"what kind?"

"anything you want. i'm fine with whatever."

"how about someone great? i haven't watched that yet," sugawara smiles, lifting his head as stares down at your face. you smile back, closing your eyes as a soft chuckle emits from your throat.

"i don't mind."

you two somehow ended up cuddling in the middle of the movie. sugawara questions his morals. it's purely platonic, right? they're best friends, there's nothing else to it. sugawara mostly says this to himself in his head to convince himself that cuddling can be platonic. 

he just wished he could stop thinking of it as something more.

minutes in the movie, he finds himself relating to jenny. it's ironic. maybe he only feels that way because the story is told in her perspective. nothing that derives from his feelings. 

however, something about this moment seemed peculiar to the silverette. he didn't know if it was just him or how your features seemed to be enhanced upon closer inspection.

you were always beautiful in his eyes. he found himself drowning in the warm, earthy tones of your delicate skin. with your hair sprawled out on the surface of the sofa, contrasted by the sheen ruffles of your clothes.

you just looked so innocent, so serene. sugawara knows he shouldn't have. he should've had more self-control. 

but he loses it when he's around you.

he quickly leans down with a puff of excitement growing inside him while tilting his head to the right. his wet lips capture yours, gliding over smooth contrasting with chapped lips. sugawara pulls and bites on your bottom lip, eliciting a pleased sigh from you. his hands squeeze your hips, tongue tracing over your lips for sweet entrance. 

surprised, you grant access, letting him invade your mouth with a versatile tongue, his mouth sucking on your tongue felt like heavenly feathers. your lips smacked against his, pulling apart warm and wet tongues before darting back in with even more vigor. the intensity develops - heartbeats clamoring with painful bliss against your ribcages. you didn't pay attention to the movie anymore, too engrossed in each other's euphoria to divert consideration elsewhere.

this was wrong. sugawara knew that. but he couldn't pull himself away - not yet. the feeling of your body so close to his felt so right. you pull away first, lungs hopelessly and greedily sucking in the air but this was short-lived as his hand only pushed your head back, with noses bumping as he further divulged into the frenzy hot, steamy kiss with a groan. 

he couldn't get enough.

it was sort of surprising as to how he was the first to pull away. a dense tint of red adorned his cheeks, breath heavy, and pupils blown wide wistfully as he sought to steer his gaze away from your plump and oh-so red lips. the sight burned itself into his mind. underneath him with half-lidded eyes, you took in gasps of air, chest rising up and down from how wild and the present fierceness behind it just blew you away.

sugawara shifts away from you, his body heat leaving yours had you feeling cold. "i-i.." he stammers, words clogged up as his mind was still fogged up with the steamy makeout that just happened. he couldn't get it off his mind. (what was he thinking?)

your gaze was fixated on nothing, still too lost from the hysteria and the feeling of his mouth on yours just a moment ago. it didn't submerge in till he stood up with haste from the sofa, bowing his head while he repeatedly apologized for his brash actions all the while with a flustered and guilty expression.

"i'm so sorry, i'm so sorry! i don't know what came over me--! i'm sorry if i made you feel so uncomfortable!" with hasty movements, he gets up and picks up his things. a part of him is dying with embarrassment and screaming that he needs to leave, while the other wants to stay and discuss what the hell just happened.

you, on the other hand, were silent as a rock. you held up a hand to your lips, tracing over remnants of his margin on yours - the boundary between you two felt suffocating.

when you still didn't reply, he ends up leaving anyway, with a false promise of seeing you another day along with another wave of apologies. you still stayed starstruck on the sofa, hand hovering over your mouth.

your lips tingled and the memory of the kiss had the apples of your cheeks blossom with a cherry red tint.

sugawara had been avoiding you for nearly a week since the happy accident that happened at your house. you asked (keyword; tried) daichi and asahi on why the third year acted this way. they both shared the same answer. 

there was too much at stake.

you racked your brain to understand their vague answers, but none of which you thought could help you with your dilemma. this was stupid. it was just a kiss (tl; a heavy makeout session). why did he spare the need to talk about it? you decided enough was enough. you had - no, need to confront him now.

you pleaded daichi to have sugawara excused for a while just so you could talk. the former seems to have no qualms in letting the aforementioned male. daichi mentions sugawara himself has been feeling quite down in the dumps. he profusely requested that you make amends with the setter. it was disheartening to see the usually jovial and tranquil male all grim.

"sugawara, please," you stop the male as soon as he exited the main building. he tried desperately to avoid you all week. this is, yet again, the same mistake he's done before. running away when confronting your souls.

"we should talk about it."

"talk about what? there's nothing up for discussion." stop avoiding the topic.

"no, as a matter of fact, there is. what's with you? why have you been avoiding me all week-" you place a hand on his shoulder, but he flinched at the touch. you took a step back with eyes filled with a weary, hurt, and guilty conscience.

sugawara thinks point on black and white. he couldn't begin to explain why he did that nor does he want to. things won't be the same anymore. 

you sigh heavily, head tilting down to glare harshly on the ground near the soles of your feet. "what are we, koushi?"

i had hoped something more, "we're just friends," he swallowed down the spite in his throat.

"what kind of friends do that kind of thing?" the chuckle that left your mouth had no humor to it. dusky irises trailed over your plethoric lips once more, recollecting the kiss yet again. sugawara mentally scorns himself.

"it's not worth the fight, koushi." you try and meet his eyes in which he reciprocates with a gaze filled with anxiety and guilt. you take a hold of his hands, rubbing circles on his knuckles - something you usually did to calm his nerves. his lips quivered as he forced himself to let go. to let you go.

unspoken words met with an umbra of fleeting eyes. there's no turning back. sugawara didn't want to risk losing something great. someone like you, at the very least.

"i'm sorry," he lowly mutters, letting go of your hand as he slowly turns towards the other direction, already yearning for your touch on his arm. it had to be this way, right? there wasn't a time where sugawara neglected to count all of his mistakes.

mistakes of one in a million. 

you felt small as sugawara slowly but surely slipped away from your grasps. with a weak voice, you called out to him, in hopes that he'd answer your calling and return once more to your arms. although his retreating figure showed no assurance of such, you wished you could've thought of ways to seek closure.

just one more kiss. one more cuddle. one more possibility to make amends that you hoped to be endless. but those possibilities only made chances for you and  him - not you together.

[nanowebster]

Mold in Apartment? Your Symptoms Could be from Exposure to Mold

Mold In Apartment

Moving day in West LA. My last day in an apartment I had called home for over three years. I had everything packed, cleaned, and ready to go!

Just one more thing I needed to do before leaving: A walk-through of the apartment with the landlord.

He started the inspection and everything was looking great. I was about to get my whole security deposit back! He stopped in the hallway though. He opened up a closet (I rarely ever opened) that stored the water-heater. Water was leaking out of the heater, causing rust. The paint on the wall was ‘puffed up’, usually an indicator of mold growing underneath.

On my last day in that apartment, I discovered a serious mold issue. For most of my time there, I had been living with mold.

The landlord was gracious and did not knock anything off my security deposit. The leak in the water-heater was small. He said he was renovating the unit anyway.

This was not the first time I had found mold in that apartment though. Walls, ceilings, clothing stored away long-term, all had mold at one time.

This may explain some of the health conditions and symptoms I experienced during my time in that apartment. My exposure to mold in apartments has been a wake-up call. I have learned so much and want to share with you ways to address this problem.

Mold in apartment units is common in areas of the United States with high humidity or rain. The US South and Pacific Northwest experience mold problems on a regular basis. Many older apartment buildings were built in a way and with materials that make them susceptible to mold.

The apartment I was living at in West LA is made mostly of concrete and was built in the 1950s. The back corners of the two-bedroom apartment received very little sunshine and airflow. The stagnant air and coastal moisture of West Los Angeles allowed preferable conditions for mold and mildew growth.

If there is mold growing in your apartment this means there is excess moisture. Mold and mildew need a damp environment to grow. You need to be aware of every corner of your living space. Even hard-to-reach and out-of-sight nooks and crannies. These areas are where mold generally grows best. Dark and moist, with minimal airflow.

Mold and other microbes common in apartment buildings can have adverse effects on your health. Mild to severe symptoms can appear from mold exposure. These health effects are largely reactions to toxins the mold or bacteria create as a biological function. Microbes make these toxins for their protection, but we humans can be greatly irritated by their presence.

Mold In Apartment Symptoms

The symptoms of mold in an apartment are varied and many. Many of these symptoms may be caused by other environmental factors - pollution, seasonal allergies, and stress.

Many people discover their mold allergy by eliminating other causes of symptoms. Upon ruling out any other cause for their symptoms, one can determine if they may be from exposure to mold in an apartment.

Many people who experience mold in their apartment report these symptoms:

Chronic sinus congestion. Coughing. Shortness of breath.

Skin irritation. From itching to rash.

Fatigue. Weakness. Drowsiness. Low energy.

Muscle aches. Cramps. Unusual shooting pains.

Cognitive impairment. Confusion. Memory loss. ’Brain fog’. Trouble concentration and speech.

Strong Headaches. Often confused with a migraine.

Sensitivity to bright light. Tearing and watery eyes. Blurred vision. Redness in and around eyes.

Abdominal pain, sensitive stomach, diarrhea.

Joint pain. Stiffness.

Mood swings. Appetite swings. Sweats, often at night. Temperature regulation.

Numbness. Body tingling,

Excessive thirst. Frequent urination. Sensitivity to static.

In my experience, at the apartment in West LA, I had the following symptoms:

Trouble concentrating and staying focused on tasks.

Fatigue and drowsiness.

Shooting pains in legs or arms.

Mold, mildew, and bacteria can cause illness on their own, but many also contain toxic chemicals. These biological chemicals they make naturally can have adverse side effects on human health. Not only to our body but our minds.

These are the various types of toxins mold and mildew may contain:

Mycotoxins. Toxins produced by fungi and mold. Allergic reactions, trouble breathing, drowsiness are caused by mycotoxins.

Neurotoxins. Toxins that have an effect on mental function. Confusion, headaches, hallucinations have been some of the symptoms reported from neurotoxins.

Biotoxins. A general term for any toxin created by biological organisms.

‘Microtoxins’. A new term I see more and more. Refers to any microbe toxin created by microscopic or ‘invisible’ organisms.

Areas to Check for Mold in Apartments

Mold can appear anywhere in an apartment. Many molds and mildews can be detected by the classic ‘musty smell’ from old homes or by thorough cleaning to uncover mold problem areas.

The main areas of concern for mold in apartments are as follows:

Windows. Especially during rain or high humidity. Condensation is perfect for mold and mildew growth. Keep windows and window sills clean and dry.

Sinks and drawers. Particularly below and under sinks and drawers. Areas of moisture, low airflow, and low light are suitable for molds.

Closets and storage. Dark and minimal airflow make closets a comfortable spot for mold and mildew. Clothing fibers are a food source and a good substrate for growth.

Bathrooms. Due to the presence of water, showers, tiles, grout lines, and curtains are perfect homes for mold. Ceilings of bathrooms tend to grow mold from excess moisture as well.

Leaking Ceiling in Apartment. In lower and ground floor apartment units, water leaking from the ceiling can be an opportunity for mold to thrive. Keep an eye out for excess moisture, discoloration, staining, and ‘puffiness’ that indicates mold growth.

The type of mold you find in your home will determine the severity of health concerns. For example, black mold is well-known for being poisonous and should be addressed with urgency. Others may just give off unpleasant odors or create unsightly stains.

There are countless types of mold. You need to know about the major types of mold in homes. These are the most common types of mold in apartment units:

Stachybotrys ‘Black Mold’

Aspergillus

Chaetomium

Penicillin

Cladosporium

Acremonium

Fusarium

Trichoderma

Ulocladium

To accurately identify mold in your apartment or home, a professional inspection is the best way to know. I am no biologist or doctor, so my advice is just that: advice. Please contact a local specialist to get the best counsel for your situation.

Tenants Rights / Landlord Responsibility for Mold in Apartment

There are laws, at least here in California, that protect tenants from mold in apartments. In California, landlords must follow an ‘implied warranty of habitability. This requires them to provide livable conditions to tenants. California also has a mold disclosure requirement landlords need to follow if their units meet unsafe levels. When deemed uninhabitable due to an outstanding mold problem, tenants may take several courses of action.

Withhold Rent Payments. By claiming the apartment unit is uninhabitable due to mold, tenants in California may be protected from legal actions by landlords for refusing to pay rent.

Repair and Deduct from Rent. Repairing the conditions yourself and taking the expenses of the repairs out of your rent.

If you choose to pursue any of these actions to address a mold issue, I recommend you seek legal counsel beforehand. Laws vary state by state, even city by city.

Mold in your apartment? You need to take action

If you have found mold in your apartment, do not panic. There are steps you can take to protect yourself. Ultimately, you have a few options to address the issue of mold in your apartment.

Know Your Rights. You will save a lot of time and headache knowing what you are responsible for and what your landlord needs to do to address mold in an apartment.

Seek Professional Help. For inspection, cleaning, and remediation, an expert is hands down the best way to address any mold issue. For legal advice and handling landlords, a lawyer is the option to navigate the legal issues. Professional experts will be able to help you make the best decision for your situation.

Do-It-Yourself. Do what you can to clean and prevent mold in your apartment. Preventing mold before it appears will save you a lot of time, work, and money. Communication and talking to your landlord about the issue are essential, even if your landlord does not help solve the issue. But chances are they will help address the issue. So let them know as soon as you know.

Move Out. Find another home without mold. This is not always the easiest option. But when a mold issue is too large to address or a landlord is refusing to help, moving may be the quickest solution to the problem.

As I have moved out of that apartment, I have noticed a change in my symptoms. I do have less brain fog and I feel more clearheaded day to day. I now live in an area with more fresh air and natural light.

I have gained a newfound awareness of mold and mycotoxins. For any apartment I live in or home I buy, I will always keep my eyes peeled for mold problems. If you find an apartment that has mold issues, assess whether it is worth the cost on your health and well-being.

For some parts of the US, mold is inevitable. This does not mean you should ignore the problem and take measures to mitigate and prevent mold.

Hope this was informative and helpful. Please contact me for more info. I’m happy to share any local resources I have accumulated and educational resources to learn about mold and microbes.

Thank you!

[celosiaa]

steady, love (chapter 7)

Summary:

Martin is not doing well.

Jon is there with him through every step.

(because I became obsessed ™ with the idea of Martin dealing with the physical and emotional aftermath of leaving the Lonely)

Chapters 1-7 are up on ao3 under the same username!

(The EYE speaks in glitched text.  Jon’s thoughts are italicized.)

WARNINGS: illness, hospitals, medical talk, addiction mention

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8)

P̘ͮnͯͧ͋̏e͓̳̭͗ͩu͔̲ͥ̽̿ͯ̾m̲̑̉̿̏̅ͨ̿̔o̭͚͗̏̉̂̌ͪ̿͗n̪̟̫̩͉̍̓ͤ̈̿̂i͙̥͕̱̯̿ͮ͋̄ͣ̄̀a͎͔̮̻͗͊ͣ̓ͯ̄͛͒͑ ̝͇͍̯̫̺̋ͫͯ̍́ͤ̄ͤS̹͍͓̪̠̙̯̟̥̔ͬ̑̋ͪ̚e̻͉̳͈͕͔̟͍̲̖ͭ̈́̎̿ͦv͈͓̼̲̭͍̖̲͐̒̿͊ͬ̉ͭͅe̻̫̞̬̬̤̯̹ͨ̃ͤͩͤ̉ͦ̈r̪͚̙͖̩͉͓͙ͤ͐̆̽̑̊͒̚i̼̘̖̼͕̫̦̻̩̙̬͐̓ͣ̇̚t̤̙̹͉̭ͭ̄̔ͭ͊̍̓͛͋̚ẙ̼͙̩̻͈͙̈́́̒ͣ̿̋ͣ̚ ͙̺̱̣̪̒ͩ̋͑ͫͤͭ̓̌Î̺̼͓͇̖͖͋͒ͥ̓͋̇ṇ͇͎̓̿̄͛̐̂̽̿̓d͚̤̩̹ͤ̍̈ͭ͐̄͗e̫̺͓̺̤̺͋̒͋̂x̖̟̦͊͂͂̾̓ ͈ͨ̈̾ͣ̿̅Ŝ̗̗̈́̇c͓ͪͧ̓o̭̜re:

aͦ ̀c̤̏l̠ͪi̻͍n͉̿̋i͖ͨ̉c̘ͬͬa̗̖ͅl̹͊͂̈ ͉̊̉̔ẗ̗̥̣ö̻̳̓̄o͒͛̋̈́̚l̘̳͂̃͒ ͎̋͌ͪ͋f̙̖͑ͥ̒̍ọ̼̭ͭ̈̃r͎̥̪̓̏̇ ͖̞͍̐ͫ̀m̱̣̖̤̎ͯͩe̮̫̙ͯ͐̚ͅȧ͉̥ͨ̂ͧͣs̮̟̗͇ͧ͒̅u̥̥͕͔͕̔̾r͙͍̘ͨ̈́͗̂ḯ̠͙̹̘͒̍n̗̐̌̎̋́ͭ̊g͚̝̜̳̬̈́ͦ̂ ̘̗̗̓͂ͭ͊͑t͓͙̯̩͒͌̾͌h̲̳̝͓̊̓̆̚ẻ̥͚͉͙̑͒̑ ̫̤͊ͦͥ͊̄̈́l̮̦̯̏̎̽̈́ͥỉ̟̖̲ͯ̿̓̊k̜̬̮̙ͬ̑͂̂ḛ̭͕̽͊̄ͦͅl͇̺̼̤̿ͦ͒̚ï̠̙̮̪̠̓̎h̯̱͔͖ͭ͗̉ọ͖̝̘̔̊ͮo̳̬̬̩ͧͩ͋d̲̦̩̰̿̍͒ ̲ͨ̀̾͋͋ͩo̤͖̤͋ͨͭ̚f͌ͥ̈͂̄̅̈́ ̞ͨͭͬͭ̚m̮̪̄̆͋̔o̬̰̺̤ͥ̈́r̘̳̈́̔̐ͅt͕̳͇̎̉a͓̤̫͕ͪl̤͍̰͋ͮì̫̠̂͒t͙̥ͧͥẙ̤ͦ̓ ͓͇̺̻f̤́͂r̼͑̏o̦̱̘m͐̓ ̲ͮp̙̀ṉėu͉monia.

A̮ ̞s̬ͨc̥͈ǒ͆r͈͂e̪ͤ̚ ̼ͬͯiͭ̾̑s͙͗̌̓ ̮̪̝͙g̻̿̊͛i̹͛̒ͬv̯̄̿͊ͦe͚̺ͣͨͦn̙̹͂ͤͩ ̠͙̝̊͒b͊̇̔̆̉a̝̰ͧ́ͨs͕͖̝͗̌ḛ̣̥̄ͣḓ̥͌̄ͩ ͚̙͈͊ͯu̘ͪ̋̊̂p͕̥ͫͫ̚ȯ͖̙̒ͬn̗̓ͮ̎̿ ̘̽̈́̊͂t͙̞̻̯̏ḫ͉̰͕͚e̼̫̳̩̤ ͇̐͆͆̅f̓ͭ̄͛ő̜̯̫l̹̉ͪ̂l̩̘̻ͦo͔͕̊w̯̞̃i̇̍̈́n̞̾ͩg͙͒ ̻̊f̻̚a̽c̰t̄ors:

God, shut UP.

Jon buries his face in his hands, the familiar hunger-driven brain fog beginning to settle in.  It’s been nearly thirty minutes since Martin had his x-ray, and he’s been dozing ever since.  Left with nothing but the silence for company, Jon’s head has been spinning with information that he doesn’t want, he doesn’t need, he doesn’t understand.

He rubs at his eyes.

Christ, I am exhausted.

Before he can sink further into his misery, there is a sharp rapping on the door, and Jon is forced to pick up his head and push wearily forward.  Martin’s eyes flutter open along with the door, which reveals Aaron, cheery as ever.

“Hi again, how are we doing in here?” he says, flashing a wide smile in Martin’s direction.

Eyes still half-lidded with sleep, Martin gives yet another thumbs up in response.  At this, Jon cannot help but roll his eyes and sigh, sharing a sidelong look with the doctor.  Aaron returns the look, nodding at Jon in acknowledgment before he continues.

“That good, eh?  Well, the results are in, and—drumroll please…”

With a flourish, he slides Martin’s x-ray in front of the lightboard and points at dense-looking white spots on Martin’s lungs.

“You’ve got a pretty significantly sized infection in your left lung, with a small spot of infection in your right.  Which means that it’s a double pneumonia, and a pretty nasty one at that.  But you knew that already, I’d wager.”

Martin lets out a faint sigh, and nods.  Seeming to sense his growing fatigue, Aaron lowers himself to sitting on a rolling stool, and turns to address both Martin and Jon in a softer voice.

“What happens next is this: we need to get that fever down a bit and get you some antibiotics.  So we’re going to keep you here for a few hours while we get you those, as well as an IV to get you some liquids, and see what happens from there.  If you seem to be doing better, we’ll send you home with oral antibiotics and oxygen, in case you need it.  If not, we’re going to have to send you to the hospital in Aberdeen for treatment tonight, since I can’t keep anyone overnight here.  Does that all make sense?”

Sending a glance towards Martin, Jon squeezes his hand to elicit some sort of response, but he merely continues to stare at the doctor, blinking owlishly.  Jon clears his throat.

“Err, yes—that makes perfect sense, thank you,” Jon replies for him, certain that Martin had not taken in anything that had just been said.

“Happy to help,” Aaron replies, shooting Jon a lopsided grin. “Anything else I can do for you in the meantime?”

Jon takes a moment to think, watching as Martin’s eyes droop closed once again.

Basira.  She’ll want to know.

“Actually, yes—is there a phone I can use here?”

“’Course, just take a right down the hall.  Can’t miss it.”

“Thanks.”

Aaron stands from his stool then, clapping a hand on Jon’s shoulder.

“No trouble!  Isla—Martin’s nurse—will be around to get all that stuff to you.  I’m just a shout away if you need me, alright?”

“Right.  Thank you, Aaron.”

He dims the lights as he exits, closing the door behind him.  Turning his attention back to Martin, still drifting into fever-induced slumber, Jon takes up his left hand again, holding it in both of his own.  Slowly, nervously, he begins working his fingers over Martin’s palm, clumsily imitating Martin’s well-practiced massage technique.  He looks down at his own hands, scowling at the scars peppered across them, faded and pale against the dark of his skin.

My hands are too rough, this is foolish.

He is proven definitively wrong when Martin lets out a soft sigh of contentment, fogging up the mask instantly.

Jon grins from ear to ear and keeps going.

(13:37)

His left knee aches as he walks unevenly toward the hall phone, old injury pulling at him in the wake of half-carrying Martin to the car that morning.

Should have brought my brace.

Martin has been sleeping on and off for the past few hours, rousing only to cough or smile pleasantly at Isla when she comes by to tend to him.  He’s been set up with IV fluids and fever reducers since noon, and his first dose of antibiotics went down with little issue.  Left only with the prospect of waiting to see what happens, Jon finally feels comfortable enough to leave a sleeping Martin in the room for a while to call Basira, grab some coffee, find a bite to eat, and—

No, you will NOT smoke today.  Not an option.

Reaching the phone, Jon hesitates for a moment, mulling over what to say before finally dialing Basira’s number.  She lets it ring out a few times before picking up brusquely.

“Hussain speaking.”

“Basira?  It’s Jon.”

“Jon?  I don’t recognize this number.  Where are you?  What’s going on?” she asks rapidly, voice ticking up in concern.

“I’m calling from the village clinic.  You said to call if Martin got worse, and…well, he has.”

“Shit.  What happened?  Is he alright?”

Jon sighs exhaustedly, running a hand through his hair.  He can’t quite keep his voice from shaking.

“I’m…not sure, yet.  They’re keeping him under observation for the rest of the day to see if he needs to go to the hospital.”

“Jesus.”

“He was running a fever of nearly 40 this morning and sounded like…well, like he couldn’t breathe, so I took him here for help.  Apparently he’s got pneumonia.  He’s fallen asleep, so…I thought I’d call to let you know.”

“Oh, Jesus.”

“Y…yeah.”

Jon’s voice breaks roughly.

“How are you holding up?” she asks, in what might be the gentlest tone Jon has ever heard from her.

A lump forms immediately in his throat, making his eyes sting and his vision swim at the edges.

Pull it together, come on.

Tipping his head back for a moment, he blinks away the tears and takes a damp, shuddering breath that must have been audible on the other end.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” she soothes, her voice nearly a whisper.

Jon clutches at the receiver, as if it will somehow bring her closer.

“I-I’m fine, Basira.  Just…just tired.  And worried,” he says, voice thick.

“And hungry?”

“…yes.”

She sighs at this, pulling her phone away from her face for a moment.  Jon braces for her tone to be harsh upon her return, but to his relief, it remains decidedly softened— understanding, even.

“The statements should be there by tomorrow.  So there’s something good, at least.”

“R-right.  Something good.”

Silence falls for a moment before Basira continues, her voice returning to her usual matter-of-fact register.

“He’s going to be alright, Jon.  Even if he does have to go to the hospital.  He’ll recover, and then you can get back to your usual hopeless pining.”

At this, Jon can’t resist huffing out a laugh.

“Well…it’s not so hopeless anymore, actually.”

She gasps in shock.

“You’re joking!  You actually went for it, then?”

“Not-not exactly, it just sort of…happened.  I don’t know exactly how, but—yeah.  It’s…good.  Really good, actually,” he stammers, unable to keep his smile from bleeding into his tone.

“God, listen to you.  You’re like an enamored schoolboy,” she replies fondly.

Jon sputters in mock-indignation, pulling a hearty laugh from Basira.

“Well, I’m happy for you both.  You deserve something lovely, for once.”

“So do you, Basira,” Jon replies softly.

“…thanks.”

They allow the silence hang for a moment.  Basira then exhales sharply before continuing.

“Well, enough of the mushy shit.  Let me know what the doctors say, alright?  And tell Martin I hope he feels better soon.”

“I will.  Call you later, then.”

“You’d better.”

She hangs up on him, as always.

(14:43)

Half-empty coffee and a bagel in hand, Jon walks back to Martin’s room from where he had been standing outside, fiddling with an unlit cigarette for the better part of an hour.  It had taken everything in him, but he had managed not to light it, instead walking back through the clinic doors and deciding to snag some food on the way back to the room.  He cannot help the guilt welling up inside—for his struggle, for the way his hands are shaking, for bringing the cigarettes with him in the first place—

He opens the door to see Martin smiling back at him, and it all fades away.

Cheeks flushed and face pale, Martin is half-sitting in up in bed now, the heat no longer rolling off him with such vicious intensity as before.  His oxygen mask has now been replaced with a nasal cannula, allowing Jon a clear picture of the sunny smile Martin offers so freely.

Something warm tugs at Jon’s heart, and a wide grin spreads across his face.

“Well, well, look who’s got an upgrade,” he says lightly, stepping toward the bedside.

Martin’s own smile widens at this, and he reaches out for Jon’s hand as he sets his coffee and bagel on a nearby table.  Scooting his chair closer before sitting, Jon gently takes Martin’s hand in both of his own, closing his eyes and lowering his lips to the back of Martin’s palm.

3̙̩8͖̓͊.̘̹̎7͖̏.͙

At last.

Jon smiles against Martin’s hand for a moment before looking back up.

“Your temperature’s down,” he says, trying not to sound as dizzy with relief as he feels.

Martin nods quickly before clearing his throat, causing something to catch in his chest.  Turning away at once, he presses his face into his elbow as heavy-sounding coughing erupts from him, causing Jon’s brows to knit closer together in worry with every moment that passes.  Mercifully, the coughs fade away after about fifteen seconds.  Martin flops back gracelessly against the pillows, panting and exhausted.

And still smiling.

“Lucky to have you,” he rasps, lifting a hand to Jon’s cheek.

Jon leans closer, expression lightening, and brings up a hand to press against Martin’s palm where it rests.

“Lucky to have you,” he whispers, gazing intensely into the warm hazel of Martin’s eyes.

They remain like this for several seconds, neither wanting to violate the sanctity of this moment.  Martin then inhales sharply, mouth open to say something—before snapping it shut again, looking suddenly nervous.  Jon’s brows furrow instinctively.

“What is it, darling?” he asks, head tilting to the side of Martin’s palm.

The corners of Martin’s mouth curl up at the term of endearment, pulling a deep flush to his cheeks and ears.  Looking up again, he determinedly matches the intensity of Jon’s gaze.

“I…I love, you, Jon.”

He inhales more confidence.

“I love you.  Just…so much.”

Every nerve in Jon’s body is on fire.  Vacantly, he knows that his mouth is hanging open, his eyes wide, his face flushing with heat—but for a moment, he cannot move, nor breathe, nor speak.

Martin LOVES me.

Martin loves ME.

At last, he regains some measure of control, managing to keep hold of Martin’s left hand while shifting his weight to sit on the edge of his bed.  Reaching out his other toward his face, he cups Martin’s cheek with a still-shaking hand.  Their faces are just inches apart now, hovering, begging to be pressed together.

“I love you too, Martin Blackwood.  More than…more than I know how to say.”

Martin smiles then, wide and charming, before craning his neck up to brush his lips against Jon’s, questioning.

“Say it like this, then?” he whispers.

“Gladly.”

Their lips meet in a gentle blush of a thing, hesitant and brief, before deepening into a warm, unhurried kiss.  Martin’s hands move into Jon’s hair as they find the perfect rhythm, gentle and passionate and utterly their own.  When he manages to pull small noises of pleasure from Martin, Jon grins against his lips in pride before pulling him back in for more.

After nearly a minute, Martin urgently pushes back against Jon’s chest.  Immediately breaking contact, Jon pushes himself away frantically, careful not to touch him, panicked at the thought that he’d done something wrong.

“M-Martin, I’m so sorry, what ha—”

He is cut off as Martin pitches forward violently, coughing deeper than Jon has ever heard—as thick grey fog pours from his mouth, his eyes, his nostrils.

“God, Martin, here, here—”

Jon braces him by the shoulders as he leans forward, chest rumbling in desperation to clear the way for oxygen.  Guilt floods Jon as he feels the force of Martin’s convulsions beneath his hands.

Why did you kiss him?  Damn it damn it damn it

Dense fog is filling the room now, and Jon is struck with terror at the thought of anyone entering the room to see this.  The tendrils have nearly reached the door, could snake beneath it at any moment—

Tͮ̀h̥ͫ̎̂ë̗̹̯̜y̬͔͖̝̅̇ͧ ̯͙͈͖͙̈́͛̚w̮̺̻̜̔̈́ͬͩͮi̙̠̙͍̤̒ͩ̂̽l̺̣̣͕̩̥̟̈́̔ͨl̯̺̩̳̰͂̍̉̈́͌ ̼̼̬̟̞̘̏̈́̌͑ñ̩̞̲̯̤̅̉ͮo͓̝̠͌ͤ͊͗̿ͤṭ̯͂̈ͥͧ̂͆ ̳̦̣̃ͬ͒c͓ͥ̍͛̃o̔ͪ̈́m̓ͮe.

Jon pays for this knowledge with pain, every Mark on his body throbbing furiously.

Breathe it in, and let it go.

Breathe, let go.

Focus.

At long last, Martin’s hacking subsides, leaving him utterly spent and hunched forward on the bed.  Jon begins rubbing slow circles on his back with aching hands, calming him as he finally manages to regain his breath.  After a few moments, Jon gently guides him to lie back against the pillows.  Tears leak out of the corners of Martin’s eyes as he does so, and Jon’s heart clenches briefly with sympathy before Martin begins to laugh, a toothy grin spreading across his face.

“Wh…what is it, Martin?” he asks, confused.

“I think…I think that was the last of it, Jon,” he says, voice wobbling.

Jon inhales sharply, taking Martin’s hand.

“What? Really?”

“Y-yeah, really.  I can feel it, I…I think it’s really gone.  I’m not…I’m not Lonely, anymore.”

More tears spill over Martin’s cheeks as he resumes his weak laughter.  His own eyes brimming, threatening to cascade over a growing smile, Jon cups Martin’s face in his hands, wiping gently at his tears with his thumbs.  He then moves upwards, stroking a hand through Martin’s soft curls, watching as the last remaining bits of the fog dissipate forever.

A few minutes later, Martin smiles up at him, playfully swatting at his forearm.

“Let’s not do that again until I can breathe properly, though.”

At this, Jon laughs in earnest, before pressing his lips tenderly against Martin’s forehead.

I love him I love him I love him I love him

And he loves me.

He loves me.

[cirrius-akiyo]

UNPACK THE BAGGAGE

-Parallel to Hold On (Let's Go Home) [Buck's POV]-

Buck has been feeling a bit under the weather for quite some time now. It has started with small throbbing headaches, which he quickly dismiss as fatigue or stress. Then come the sudden spells of dizziness that had caused dark spots to dance behind his eyes. To which he blames his lack of sleep.

He has not bother to tell his husband nor to consult Chimney or Hen because of the gap between the episodes of dizziness or getting light-headed were quite big. It's not like he has a constant throbbing pain to the point he's unable to function, so he doesn't really dwell on that matter.

Then one night came the nose bleeds after he had finished putting Chris to bed. Eddie was still on a shift after switching with Gary in order for one of them to be able to attend the parents-teachers meeting and Eddie had insisted to go this time. Remembering that one time Bobby got it too after the radioactive exposure scare, Buck shoves down his panic and worries into the imaginary bin. At least this time he is sure that he was not exposed to any killer rays.

After cleaning himself, he prepares to go to bed and slipped under the cover. His hand wanders towards the cold empty space beside him. Being by himself in the silence of the night, it is easy for his mind to shift to the last scene of the previous night.

They both had gone to bed angry. In all honesty, Buck doesn't really remember why they were fighting but he knows it was about something trivial. Something mundane on house chores, but he was tired and he snapped at Eddie.

The next morning he has said his apologies and Eddie had kissed him goodbye before leaving for work.

"I'm in my bed

And you're not here

And there's no one to blame but the drink and my wandering hands

Forget what I said

It's not what I meant

And I can't take it back

I can't unpack the baggage you left"

///

It is the night of the parents-teachers meeting and Eddie has left a while ago after finishing his 12 hours shift, leaving Buck to complete the rest of his 24 hours. Chris doesn't need to attend the meeting so he's at Abuela's, most likely in food coma now.

Once in a while, the unwelcome ache come back niggling at the base of his skull but Buck doesn't let them bothers him. He has learnt to live with them for a while. He really doesn't want any unwanted attention on him and be the man that has too many baggages, the firehouse doesn't need to divert their attention to a firefighter who simply has recurring headaches.

What is he really looking forward to right now is to go back home and cuddle with his husband, preferably while hearing the praises the teachers must have showers their son with.

Thinking about his family somehow able to chase the pain away to the point it is unnoticeable.

He simply smiles to the thought of his little family and his smile just get wider when Hen throws him a knowing look.

Their relationship is not without hiccup, but they've got through it all together. They both believe in healthy communication and no-sad-no-bad-secret-rule. Little did he know his belief is about to be tested.

"What am I now?

What am I now?

What if I'm someone I don't want around?

I'm fallin' again

I'm fallin' again

I'm fallin'"

///

"I kissed Ana."

Not the three words Eddie usually says to him before bed.

At Eddie's thundering confession, Buck can feel his heart break, but he also literally can hear his mind cracked. Like his whole body is about to pop out of his skin.

Buck tries to find the logical reasoning for this confession and alcohol is usually to be blamed.

Eddie then has refuted on the possibility of getting drunk during a parent-teacher meeting and Buck doesn't know what to do about that. Did Eddie kissed Ana because Buck snapped at him the night before? Did he fucked up so bad? Did he do anything that has pushed Eddie away? His brain immediately went into overdrive and so he froze eventhough he can hear the strings of apologies that fell out if Eddie's mouth.

Then come the tears.

"What if I'm down?

What if I'm out?

What if I'm someone you won't talk about?

I'm fallin' again

I'm fallin' again

I'm fallin'"

///

That night Eddie had held him while whispering strings of apologies into his ears, swaddles him with comforting words. But despite the lightness of Eddie's words towards him, Buck feels like the weight of the world is crushing him down. He feels like the exhaustion and the fatigues of the past few weeks are squeezing him dry. He's frustrated and tired and the tears doesn't seem stop any time soon. After baring his soul out, he finally succumbs to sleep, seeking momentarily solitude from bitter reality.

His sleep was not a peaceful one. Once in a while he'll wake up to either nightmare or sudden panic washed over him. He had thought of leaving to sleep in Chris' bedroom, but Eddie has keep him tight in his embrace. Dull ache keep pulsating in his head and so he nuzzles himself deeper into Eddie's hold. His husband's smell always able to keep him grounded and for a moment he believes in his wishful thinking that everything will work out later.

"You said you cared

And you missed me, too

And I'm well aware I write too many songs about you

And the coffee's out

At the Beachwood Café

And it kills me 'cause I know we've run out of things we can say"

///

Buck woke up that morning to warm kisses peppered on his neck and jaw. He still feel sluggish and not well rested but to see Eddie's warm brown eyes full of guilt and sadness just tug his heart in the wrong way. It is easier for him to remain angry at his husband but with their history, he knows anger doesn't do any good to either of them. So he reciprocate when Eddie's lips touch his, welcoming the warm feeling while trying to shove the thought that this lips had been on another woman last night.

Initially he was hopeful for a busy day that will give enough distraction to him, but now he is thankful for the minor calls that came in as his head is literally pounding him to the ground.

They had start their morning routine as per usual but Buck had noticed how Eddie has been working hard to give him more attention and care. Not that Buck is complaining but with Eddie plastered to his side, it is getting harder to hide the needling pain of the headaches from his husband.

They were doing the inventory when a sharp pain blossom in his head that caused him to falter in his step. Worry immediately etched on Eddie's face as his husband massage the stiff muscle between his neck and shoulder.

"Are you okay, Evan?" Eddie asked.

Buck really hates to cause unnecessary worry to Eddie and so he grit his teeth trying to ignore the pain. "I will be." Buck replied with the most steady voice he could muster.

But Buck did not get better. Every passing moment is an agony but he wills himself to keep going, effectively trying to avoid to be in close vicinity with Chim or Hen.

But then he found himself halfway into the toilet bowl vomiting the little food that he just ate with Eddie a constant present on his side providing silent support.

He feels awful. The pain. The nausea. The heartbreak. The frustration. The exhaustion.

Is he being exhausting right now?

Will Eddie ran away to kiss Ana again now that his mouth full of stomach acid. He's not actually kissable right now.

Buck chases the dark thoughts away while trying to stand up with Eddie's help. Buck's mind is really jumbled up at the moment so sue him if he thinks Eddie is going to leave him alone in his misery.

"Maybe it's migraine." Buck suggested to Eddie who is still actively acting as his support pillar. With all the symptoms he's experiencing, the possibility fits, but then as fast as he heard Eddie humming in agreement, he feels like the single string holding him splintered and sudden blackness consumed him.

"What am I now?

What am I now?

What if I'm someone I don't want around?

I'm fallin' again

I'm fallin' again

I'm fallin'

What if I'm down?

What if I'm out?

What if I'm someone you won't talk about?

I'm fallin' again

I'm fallin' again

I'm fallin'"

///

All Buck is able to feel right now is fatigue. Extreme fatigue. He can hear white noises all around him but he can't really help himself to care. He feels the fog of unconsciousness slowly dragging him under but as soon as he let the darkness embraces him, stabbing pain prevented him from giving into total sleep.

He feels like he's trapped in between worlds and he hates the idea and the feeling of it. Buck wanted to stay in the world that have Eddie and Chris in it but right now he's encapsulated in a world clustered with pain and agony. Colours keep bursting behind his closed eyelids as waves of nausea hitting him.

He can't help but to let his mind runs the image of Ana substituting Buck in their house. Ana kissing Eddie goodbye. Ana making pancakes with chocolate chips for Chris. Ana on Buck's side of the bed. Ana celebrating Christmas and Halloween with the 118. Ana attending the parent-teacher meeting with Eddie. Ana putting Chris to bed. Maybe later on Ana will give Eddie another child. Maybe a girl so they'll have a pair. Buck had thought of adopting another baby with Eddie but they haven't really discuss it seriously, and now Buck is about to lose his chance.

Pictures of Eddie and Chris with Ana and their faceless child slowly taking over the house, replacing any trace of Buck in it.

Where will Buck be? Who will Buck be?

"And I get the feelin' that you'll never need me again"

///

After feeling like eternity, the line of consciousness finally tugging him awake. Buck can feel a presence beside him, but he's in so much pain that tears are slipping free from the corner of his eyes.

He can feel the warm hands holding his left but he can't make out the owner but the feeling is like coming home.

But later the pain become unbearable to the point that he regrets of being awake.

The hands that are holding him suddenly gone and so as his consciousness. Buck knows no more as he slipped back into a nightmare addled sleep.

"What am I now?

What am I now?

What if you're someone I just want around?

I'm fallin' again

I'm fallin' again

I'm fallin'"

///

Clarity comes to him in stages. At one point he can hear a voice saying his name and Buck simply hums in response. That is his name, right?

Later he can hear Eddie's voice calling him, and he smiles to the thought that his husband is still beside him. At least he's not a lost cause.

When the numbness slowly fades, he can feel familiar calloused hand stroking his jaw and he leans his face into the warm palm silently pleading: please bring him home.

"What if I'm down?

What if I'm out?

What if I'm someone you won't talk about?

I'm fallin' again

I'm fallin' again

I'm fallin'"

(Falling - Harry Styles)

Eddie’s POV is here: https://cirrius-akiyo.tumblr.com/post/621917028804165632/hold-on-lets-go-home-i-kissed-ana-eddie