#I feel like.. guilty?? because I’m like ‘I SHOULD be working on prescribed work for uni not something that brings me joy that I do for

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Beneath Miles of Stone - Part seven - John Wick x Plus Size Fem Reader

Summary: John has been in prison for nine months. He’s content to stay if it means appeasing the high table and keeping peace between the owners of each continental. However, he meets someone who erases that willingness. Peace be dammed.

TW: blood ; PTSD

It was a prison riot that started in the upper levels and trickled down into the infirmary.  That makes sense, because the closer they got to freedom the more chaotic everything became.

The police officers that talk to her in the ER ask a million questions and she mostly lies to keep John’s name out of her mouth. It’s easy to say that she can’t remember most of it, because her brain is expert at blocking out trauma. She thanks her less than ideal upbringing for that. Truth is, that long term memory loss isn’t really working for the short-term and she remembers everything.

The story is that she was close to the exit, got jumped by some inmates, and managed to get away and out of the doors with guard keys. No, she didn’t see anyone else escape or remember faces or name badges.

They press her until her nurse, a pretty woman named Karen, comes in and puts a stop to it.

Badass Nurse Karen, who tells the police officers: “She already told you everything, and she needs to rest now.”

They leave begrudgingly after that.

“You alright honey?” Karen asks.

She nods, wipes tears from her eyes, wills herself to be just a little tougher in front of her own kind.

The doctor says her X-rays look good, but she may have a few aches and pains over the next few days as her bruising heals up. He prescribes her Toradol to help, but she doesn’t bother picking it up from the pharmacy.

There are more important things on her mind, like who the hell is John Wick and why did he allow her to live?

She Googles his name on her phone while she sits in the hospital bed and comes up blank except for a few pictures and articles on well known businessmen that look nothing like him.

Her second problem should probably be her first, but John sticks to her mind like a glue trap and she can’t stop thinking about him no matter how much she tries.

Will power has never been a strong suit.

The second problem is if she still has a job or not. Will they shut the prison down or keep it open? Does she want to go back after today? Are there any other jobs that pay as well within walking distance? If not, how much time will she need to save up for a down payment on a car?

Her phone rings. She answers blindly.

Michael is on the other end, sounding panicky. “Are you okay? I just got home and the news says there was a riot at your job? Please tell me you’re not dead.”

“I’m okay, Michael. I got out and I’m at the emergency room right now.”

“Oh my god,” Michael groans, “what happened to you?”

She feeds him the same bullshit story she gave to the cops, but, unlike them, Michael accepts and trusts her word. That makes her feel insanely guilty. “I’m alright,” she assures, “just bruised.”

“When are you coming home?” He asks. “I’m gonna make you some tea and whiskey.”

God, what did she ever do to deserve him?

“Thank you, Michael, but you really don’t have to, I’m-“

“Hush!” He commands. “Text me when you’re headed back, and I’ll put the kettle on.”

She rubs her temples. “Thank you Michael, you’re an angel sent from Heaven.”

“Uh, babe, duh, where else do angels come from?” He teases.

Fallen angels. From hell. Here to make her terrified of and pining for them. One in particular comes to mind—

“I’m serious,” Michael interjects on her monologue. “Text me when you’re coming home. Take a taxi and if you don’t have the money I’ll pay for it.”

She agrees and hangs up just as Karen walks in with her discharge paperwork.

Michael grabs her to examine the damage, but quickly thinks better of it once he notices what she’s covered in. “Jesus,” he says, “they beat the fuck out of you.”

“You should see the other guys,” she jokes, not an ounce of humor in her voice.

He looks at her with a skeptical eyebrow raised before ushering her in.

Before anything, she has to take a shower and throw her scrubs in the laundry basket. Better yet, she throws them away. The steaming water does nothing to cleanse her worries or guilt.

She walks out in pajamas, wet hair pulled back off her face, to sit at the table. Two steaming mugs of bitter smelling tea await her.

She takes a scolding sip. “This is delicious.” And she means that. The warm liquid melts her insides into a fuzzy pleasant feeling, and she can’t even taste her least favorite alcohol in the sugary mixture. While the shower didn’t help her anxiety, this concoction just might if she drinks enough of it.

Michael blows on his. “Thank you, but I need to ask you something.”

“What?”

“Who is John?”

She tries to act normal but her whole body breaks out into a freezing sweat. She takes another drink of her tea to hide her face. “What?” She says, swallowing hot liquid and nervous pitch.

He smiles. “You’ve been saying his name in your sleep. I assume he’s a crush, because usually at the boyfriend stage you’ve already got a taste so you don’t have to fantasize as much. At least that’s how it is for me.”

The horrified look on her face makes him scramble to reassure her that he doesn’t think she’s a creep, although in saying so it just makes her feel like he absolutely does.

He groans. “I’m sorry, I just thought I could take your mind off of today. Please don’t hate me.”

“I don’t hate you, Michael. Please tell me you don’t hate me.”

He scoffs. “For what? Dreaming about a guy? Babe, I’ve been there more times than I can count. Now, tell me about mystery man…If you’re comfortable.”

She rubs the side of her neck, embarrassed and staring at the golden top of the table instead of at Michael.

She opens her mouth, then closes it again.

“He’s tall.” Is what she decides on.

Michael deadpans. “Tall?”

“Black hair,” she adds.

“Dark,” he corrects. “Handsome…?”

She nods. “I mean, yeah.”

“What’s he like?”

She tries to think of a good, all encompassing word to describe him. She thinks about him twisting heads off spines like popping daisies. “Intense,” she decides.

“Ugh,” Michael whines, “you have to give me more than this. You’re killing me.”

“He is Russian.” She regrets saying that, not knowing if it’s too much info.

“So you met him online?”

“Yes.” Thank God he gives her that out.

“Ohhh,” Michael grins. “I’ll wanna see a picture.”

“He’s very private.”

Michael sighs. “Fine. But just promise me you won’t meet up with him alone. He could be a serial killer.”

She almost laughs at that, the irony filling her with crazed hilarity.

“Is he outgoing? Funny? Cocky?” Michael asks.

“Just intense Michael. I’m really sorry, it’s been such a…”

“No, you’re right,” Michael nods. “Let’s talk about something else.”

She can tell that there’s a lot he’s not asking right now. For her benefit. Leaving him in the dark makes her feel bad, though, because he’s such an open book. She decides to divulge a bit more info that she thinks he will want to hear.

“He has nice hands,” she says, gulping down tea and then refilling her cup with mostly whiskey. “They’re big. Long fingers. Veins that you could hit with a needle with your eyes closed.”

Michael leans in, eyes lighting. “Nice forearms?”

“Seem to be,” she confirms. “Lean, muscle-y but not too much. His upper arms are a bit more solid.”

Michael giggles like a school girl, cheeks pinking. “My god,” he says, “could he bench press us?”

She remembers him scooping her up off the ground, manhandling her, protecting her. “Yes.”

Michael squeals. He finally chugs his tea and smacks wet lips together. “What a man. So what’s the hold up? Marry him.”

They drink another cup of tea, watch late night Roseanne re-runs, and then go to bed. Michael has to be at class in the morning and then he wants her to come with him to the club. She would refuse, but it would be a dick move considering all he’s done for her.

When she wakes up, she spends grueling hours trying to call HR and searching for new jobs online. She applies for a few: Clinical Specialist for a local pharmacy, home health nurse for an elderly couple that live on her block, IV infusion nurse.

HR calls her in the middle of cooking breakfast and she answers with toast stuffed in her mouth. They tell her that she can come back to work but will have to deal with renovations and a new infirmary location with limited equipment. She agrees, of course, eager to have a job back so soon as next week.

[johannestevans]

The Precarity of Subscription-Based Income

We’re basically busking online. No wonder we have anxiety about it.

This piece is also on Medium.

So let’s start out by saying that in the scheme of things, I am doing okay. I am not starving, I am not at risk of losing my home, and most months I can afford all the medications and medical care I am prescribed without difficulty.

This is a piece intended for online artists and other creators to work through the emotions of this kind of precarity and insecurity — it’s not intended to make any of my fans or my regular readers feel guilty for not giving me more money, or to guilt people into giving me money when they do not have it to give.

In fact, that mutual — if not near universal! — feeling of financial anxiety is precisely what this piece is about.

I have one novel out, for which I do earn some royalties, but the vast majority of my earnings come from Medium and Patreon. All of my streams of income together — book royalties, Medium, Patreon, and scattered bits and pieces here and there — I earn about $1400-$1500 USD a month most months, sometimes less.

Previously I earned less on Patreon but I was earning more royalties on books then, but as time goes on you tend to reach a plateau on book sales as you reach the organic audience for that book — the only way I’ll get a bigger boost to sales now is if I get very lucky with a review on a big publication or, (this will likely come sooner), I finish up another novel.

Some months I earn more, because I earn a bunch of tips, or there was a big boost of sales to one of my books. Most months, that does not happen, especially now that Twitter has died off as a platform — when I did TweetFics that got big, I was often able to boost my tip jar, but now that Twitter’s lost a lot of its traction, that’s no longer a possibility.

It’s not terrible money. It’s actually more reliable as income than when I worked hospitality as a porter, where between my own chronic illness and injury, and hotels loving a bit of casual “accidental” wage theft, I’d often end up with less pay than I was expecting.

What I make is enough for me to live on, for the most part, and I know I’m very lucky to make that much.

I make ~€1300/a month ($1400 USD a month. About $350 a week), rent is €460 — after rent, I have about €210 to live on per week.

My asthma inhalers cost about €80. My testosterone, which I get every 12 weeks, costs about €80. Normally as per the Irish drugs payment scheme, I can get them at the same time and pay €80 for everything. It costs €35 — €50 to go to the doctor and get my testosterone administered, depending on if I’m also getting bloods done at the same time.

My teeth were majorly fucked up, and for a while the cost of my dental care was fucking destroying me, especially when I had to get surgery to remove some teeth, but thankfully I’m mostly on top of that now. I am dreading, on the other hand, having to start a different med to treat my arthritis or otherwise becoming injured or further unwell — I should be in physiotherapy, but the cost is prohibitive; my counsellor takes a voluntary contribution because I see him through a charity for rape survivors, and thank God, because regular private therapy is pretty expensive.

The cost of groceries in Ireland is… high.

To be honest, the cost of most things in Ireland is high, which is part of the reason I want to move back to the UK — with that said, because of the Artists’ Exemption for artists in Ireland, my income goes a bit further it isn’t taxed, I only my universal contribution. In the UK there’s no similar scheme, and the orchestrated fuel “crisis” where energy companies (and the politicians they went to school with) are hiking prices as high as possible to make record profits is even more hard-hitting than in Ireland.

I would love to say that that the tax exemption exists solely because Ireland is a wonderful place for artists, and because Ireland does so much to encourage its artists to create, to have time to create, to have money to create. Ireland is not perfect, but it absolutely does do that, it does try, and it does better than a lot of places. Ireland has a lot of initiatives in place for artists and I love and appreciate that so much!

But also, artists are often fucking impoverished, and very few of them make enough money to live on. Most writers in Ireland make a few hundred euro a year, let alone enough money to survive on.

I do. For the most part, I do make enough money to live on, and not just survive, but do okay. Yes, I panic about money every other week, no, I don’t put money away in savings or a pension scheme or health insurance because I simply don’t have the money, but mostly, I do okay.

And this is with writing being my sole income, without working another job at the same time. A lot of people are doing this sort of subscription-based work whilst being in full-time or part-time employment at the same time — and a lot of people are like me, who just physically can’t really do that, even though it would lead to mildly more economic stability.

I say mildly more because, let’s face it, wages are pretty low, not remotely in line with the cost of living, many hours are demanded from workers — often unpredictably — and bosses know that workers do not have much other option than taking their worst treatment.

Every time someone unsubscribes on Patreon or Medium, I notice, and I panic a little bit — and the thing is, the difference is only going to be, what, $2 or $3 a month? That’s an incredibly small amount. Yes, some people do subscribe on Patreon for larger amounts (for which I’m very grateful), but most people really can’t afford that much because they are also experiencing the weight of a cost of living crisis, the prohibitive cost of being chronically ill during a worldwide pandemic, the impact of not just wage stagnation but casual workers’ abuses, etc.

The amount people spend to subscribe to my body of work is equivalent to a few coins out of their pocket, and I’m constantly aware that many people can’t even afford that at times, which is part of why I have so much free fiction available and why I never guilt anybody for “pirating” my work.

But when people do unsubscribe and I get that moment of panic, I feel guilty for it — Hell, I feel incredibly guilty for wanting to make more money and working to make more money, because I know that every additional few dollars a month from someone on my subscription services is a real person who’s putting money my way.

And that feeling? That shame and guilt for wanting to make more money, because I want to make enough money to be comfortable and to be secure? That comes from knowing how many other people are just like me or are doing worse, and don’t even have the precarious security of income that I have.

So many of my friends gain their incomes from Patreon, Medium, or Substack, from regular tips on sites like Ko-Fi, or from sites like OnlyFans and JustForFans, etc.

We either earn money per item or piece of material (for me that would be book sales, but for others it might be sales of pictures or videos, pieces of art, online resources, etc), or we earn tips here and there on free content (which are inherently unpredictable, much like tips IRL for buskers and entertainers), or we have people who subscribe monthly or annually for a a regular amount.

As a “content creator”, regardless of what that content is, there is constant fear and anxiety.

Is this content appealing to a wide enough audience? Should I be appealing to a wide audience, or should I aim for a specific niche audience?

A wider audience means more people to market to who might give you money, but a niche audience means that while the audience pool itself is smaller, that audience is going to be more inclined to pay you, because they are starved for content otherwise.

I’m gay, trans, and disabled, and much of my work centres around gay, trans, disabled men — and much of my audience is of similar men or other queer and disabled people. Yes, it’s a smaller niche than the broader straight audience, and we’re far less likely to have as much money as straight abled people, but because there’s barely any work created with us in mind, people are more motivated to shell out for the content they crave.

“Content,” because while I’m an artist and an author and a creator, it’s not just about my actual fic, but also about “content” such as Tweets and asks and advice and funny posts and selfies, all of which are nebulously shoved into the same label of “content” for the social media mill, to be “consumed”.

I resent this language, naturally, because for the most part I don’t think a lot of my social media stuff is considerable enough to be content I would charge for, but also because it flattens all manner of art and material and acts of creation into one marketable word, and while it’s partly done because of the endless tread of capitalist nonsense, it’s also done because capitalism demands artists — and art — be defanged and made marketable.

But another piece of language that I really don’t like and avoid using myself is “donations”. I have a tip jar, and I’m grateful when people tip me, but they are tipping me because they enjoy some aspect of the entertainment work I do, whether that’s my Tweets or Tumblr posts, my movie reviews or commentary, my fiction, my selfies, whatever.

It’s not a donation. It’s not charity. There’s nothing wrong with accepting or needing charity, but it would bother me to solicit charity, because I don’t believe I am sufficiently deserving of it, and if someone’s giving money out of charity, I’d rather they give it to someone who needs it more than I do.

Some cishet people will absolutely feel guilty after reading some posts and be like, “oh, I’m gonna give some money to this trans guy on the internet to assuage my guilt about not doing enough to protect or care for trans people in my actual community,” and that’s annoying, but it’s not surprising — but cishet people’s guilt isn’t something that I really want to play on, because there’s other people who could and should benefit from it far more than I would.

But to other trans and disabled people, I’m absolutely not going to present myself as being on the brink of poverty, because I’m not! God knows there are enough grifters online who present a lot of their solicitations for money as charitable giving, either for themselves or others, in order to spin a profit — and more importantly, there are a lot more people who fucking need to rely on charity and/or reparations from the guilt-ridden who can’t produce the sort of work that I can on the scale that I do.

Which, this year I’ve been publishing a piece every week or so — a piece for me might be an erotic short or other short story, an essay or significant blog post, a serial chapter, etc.

I feel incredibly guilty when I struggle to put out a finished piece a week — ridiculous, given that that’s a lot for one person to put out per week, and is a lot more than many creators manage, but also?

In my back catalogue of published short stories and essays, there’s over 200 completed pieces, most of which are thousands of words long apiece, some being short novellas that are 20k+ long, all featuring a variety of different characters, tones, genres.

This isn’t even mentioning my serial fiction, where my serials together comprise of hundreds of thousands of words of fiction across a few genres and tones.

What do I have to feel guilty for? Why should I feel so much shame for not delivering “enough” to my audience, when I do deliver so much?

Because there’s a constant fear that if I don’t do enough (if I don’t do more than enough), that everyone will unsubscribe and either go to different creators or go to new people entirely. Because it feels like all my success as a creator is based on my personal performance and my goodness as a human being — because when we talk about being a “content creator”, a large part of the “content” being sold is oneself.

You’re not just selling your work: you have to sell your identity.

I have to sell that I’m gay and trans and disabled; I have to sell that I’m sexy and funny and confident; I have to sell that I’m witty and biting, but not too flawed in a way that will make people hate me and change their minds about financially supporting me. There are absolutely people who engage with my work — either initially or over time — because they find me personally sexy, which is fine, I am sexy!

But that’s a lot of pressure, and there’s not really a choice to opt out of that pressure to sell one’s self because of the constant grind of social media, the desperate need to stay relevant, and also to cultivate some form of parasocial loyalty from one’s fans.

So when someone unsubscribes on Patreon, there are so many initial fears — Did I do something wrong? Did I not post enough? Did I post too much of the wrong thing? When I said this, was it read as offensive or cruel? Was it taken out of context? Are people talking about me and deciding together that I’m not worth the money anymore? Do people hate me personally? Was I too gay or too trans or too disabled? Was I too horny, or not horny enough?

I don’t have OCD, but all of the above can really easily feed into OCD spiralling, and for many creator friends of mine who do have OCD and grapple with these sort of moralising self-analytical intrusive thoughts, it’s constant and really difficult not to think about.

And the thing is, those are all the wrong questions to ask.

People might well hate me or not think I’m worth the money, or I might be posting the wrong content at the moment, or they might have outgrown me or grown bored of my work, or they might find me dickish and annoying — that’s none of my business. None of those people are my friends, and they don’t owe me an explanation or an answer to any of those anxieties.

They were paying me money in exchange for being entertained by me, and if for some reason they stopped being entertained by me, then it’s right that they should stop paying and go do something else with their money!

But the more likely explanations for people unsubscribing are ones like this, because many people have limited cash to spend:

Recently I’ve been having to work a lot more hours and I’m not reading as much fiction as I did.

Recently I’m sick and tired and struggle to concentrate on fiction.

I’m subscribed to a bunch of creators on Patreon and Johannes’ work is the one I have the least time for/motivation for, so if I’m going to cut one out, it will be him.

I hate reading fiction on Patreon or I otherwise dislike the platform and so I’m just unsubscribing from all the creators on there.

I used to read a lot of this guy’s TweetFic because it was so easy to read, but his other fiction is harder for me to get into, and I can’t justify the cost for work I’m not engaging with.

I’ve read through all of this guy’s back catalogue quite quickly and I’m going to unsubscribe and come back to his work in a year or two when he puts out more work.

For a while he was writing fic about specific characters or in a specific genre that I enjoy, but he’s currently focusing on other things. I will return when he does my favourite things again.

Johannes is posting too much and I’m finding it overwhelming and it’s making me guilty that I don’t have time to keep up, so I’m going to unsubscribe and come back when I have more time.

I’m unsubscribing from Patreon so that I can subscribe on Medium instead.

Or many other reasons.

In short, every single person who is subscribed to me and my work on one of these platforms is a person with their own vastly complicated life and potential reasons for subscribing and unsubscribing. While I’m sure a handful of them might well be unsubscribing with the intention of punishing me or “voting with their feet” to go elsewhere, for a lot more, I’m sure it’s not really a thought.

It will be as simple as “I am spending money on this. Am I using my subscription and engaging (and enjoying engaging with) what the subscription is for? No? Then I will unsubscribe,” which all of us do all the time, and is quite natural!

This will be the case for people who subscribe to me for fiction, but also who subscribe to any other creators for art, for video essays or other videos, for essays and media analysis, for critical commentary, for pornography and erotica, for tutorials, for all manner of creators who earn money from individual subscribers.

How do we cope with that?

How do we remember that, when everywhere we go we’re blasted in the face with the principles of Hustle Culture and Grind Culture and whatever other awful euphemisms that are pushed at us? Where your identity is the work you create and the value you have, and whenever you’re not working, you must feel shame for being alive?

Once I have the trick of it, I’ll be sure to share it around. In the meantime, I do think that transparency and thinking out loud about the reality of the mental toll can help a bit.

If you can’t economically support your favourite creators, do remember that just sharing their work with others or engaging with it — via review or recommendation or just commenting and so on — also really helps them because that engagement boosts their reach to others through you, but also like…

I don’t think you should ever feel guilty if, for any reason, you can’t do that either. So many feelings of guilt or shame are already preyed upon by commercial forces for the purposes of gaining access to some of your money, and on social media, your attention and your emotion are reached for in the same way, and it just sucks.

In an ideal world, things wouldn’t be the way they are — in the world we live in, my goals are to make more money by reaching a broader audience and delivering a broader variety of work to click with that audience, and doing my best to avoid making anyone feel guilty in the meantime.

That’s the crux of it, I think — as a creator, I feel a lot of those horrible feelings of guilt and shame and anxiety because of the way our economy and my financial precarity exist, and what I don’t want to do is pass on those horrible feelings to fans so that they’ll give me money. Rich people use that cycle of emotion to accumulate as much wealth as possible — normal people just do it to fucking survive, and if I can survive without contributing to it, that’s what I’ll do.

[pukeinmyteeth]

╭──────────.★..─╮

Day 6 Alcohol Free

╰─..★.──────────╯

Today I’m on day 6 of alcohol recovery. Though yesterday I did use 💨, the main focus of my journey is to recovery from alcohol use. I don’t know why I still use 💨, when I did yesterday I was convinced my ears were bleeding and I started panicking. I’m not sure if I will go to AA today, as the weather is not good at all, but I believe in myself to stay sober. I am feeling bad about myself. I’m so used to using alcohol as a crutch every time I feel insecure or in any type of mental pain, that I’ve lost the ability to use healthy coping skills to regulate my emotions. I had a binge eating episode last night, and I feel terribly guilty and uncomfortable inside of my skin. Usually I would resort to drinking, but since I’m refraining from alcohol use I’m not sure what to do other than sulk. I’ve started taking my prescribed psychiatric medications again. 5 mg Risperdal, and 60 mg Prozac. Hopefully they kick in within a timely manner. Not like medications have ever really helped with my self image, but I still am optimistic that maybe things will figure theirselves out if I’m medicated and sober. I’ve been drinking a lot of coffee since I stopped drinking. It seems I’ve replaced my excessive alcohol with excessive coffee. I’m fine with it. Today I stayed home from school because I feel ill and upset. Hopefully being locked in my room doesn’t worsen my craving for alcohol. I will be doing some cleaning and working on assignments that are past due. Today I weighed in at a whopping 150.6, which threw me off and made me upset. Not that I wasn’t expecting it after last nights chipotle and Taco Bell binge, but it’s still doesn’t feel any better. Anyways, I should get started on cleaning out the binge room (food everywhere, empty bags of chips in my room). Disgusting.

Todays reflection

Why all this insistence that every A.A. must hit bottom first? The answer is that few people will sincerely try to practice the A.A. program unless they have hit bottom. For practicing A.A.'s remaining eleven Steps means the adoption of attitudes and actions that almost no alcoholic who is still drinking can dream of taking. - Twelve steps and twelve traditions page 24.

[eggjaculations]

am i the only one that thinks news of someone in rehab is good? like a few of my friends have been to rehab and when they’ve told me i’ve always been like “oh, that’s great! i’m so proud of you for making it thru that, it had to be scary and hard, no? how was it?” bc well…they’re always so embarrassed and i get it, but working on your mental and physical health should never be received with negativity; there’s a stigmatism around having mental (and physical!!!) health issues that has been touched on and recognized recently, and it’s a good thing that we’re working on getting rid of that judgement. but there’s still so much stigmatization around actually working on those issues that it’s sort of plateaued for now. (as more people who struggle with a wider array of issues gain more recognition for those struggles and are listened to by those who do not struggle in the same way—or at all, for that matter; though if that is even the case for most people nowadays is a different conversation—this negativity will slowly cease to continue through general understanding and empathy. we’re getting there, we’ve just stagnated at “acceptance” for now, and an overhaul of the entire system is needed to feel real change for those of us who have been cast out by society for various reasons.)

there’s this weird feeling i get when talking to able-bodied, NT people (usually born more privileged than those around them, also a diff convo tho…) about my struggles with debilitating mental health and reoccurring, chronic physical health issues where they are genuinely absolutely considerate of the fact that i have these issues—until it gets in the way of something they want you or expect you to do. god forbid, they find out you’ve never done it before, no matter what it is, no matter your reasons for turning down the offer. whether you have other obligations to your mental or physical health, (“no, sorry, i can’t come out tonight, i keep a pretty strict schedule for myself so i don’t have panic attacks or relapse, but thank you.” “no, i can’t come hiking, i have to rest my body so i can literally move this coming week.”) or if you simply don’t want to for seemingly no “good” reason (“no, i don’t want to go anywhere or do anything today because i’m feeling mentally overwhelmed, and if i push myself too far, i won’t be able to do the things i need to do tomorrow either, and i’ll end up wasting three days staring at the wall feeling guilty about it.”) it’ll often (not always, duh) be met with push-back and actual toxic positivity instead of support. (“one night won’t kill you! we’ll take care of you, and it’ll be fun, and a great experience!” “exercise is the best medicine! a fun experience will recharge you for the week! it’s only a thirty minute hike anyhow!” “if you come out, you’ll see there’s nothing to be so anxious about! you’ll have fun and forget all about your worries!”) or if you mention you do or avoid certain things along your journey to get you wherever you wanna be that seem weird or menial, they will just laugh it off and ask you if all of that is really necessary (“i don’t think you need to journal every day, do you? i mean, does journaling even actually work? and scheduling time for it seems like overkill, just do it when you remember to!” “what do you mean you don’t play sports? like at all? you’re missing out on sportsmanship and teamwork!”) as if it wasn’t either prescribed to you by a mental health professional or something you physically can’t do.

like… yea, dude. i know it’s a hassle. but when it wasn’t, i wanted to die or stop existing or disappear. i’m where i’m at today not just because i accepted that i had issues to work on, but because it took a lot of fucking work and sacrifice to get here. and my continued existence depends on me continuing to do that work and make those sacrifices for my own sake. it does not depend on whether or not my friends can “keep me safe” from a world i have already been existing in for a while, because i’m an adult, and it’s not their responsibility. people with disabilities aren’t children; they don’t need to be “watched” or “taken care of” if and when they are actively telling you no. i understand the sentiment, and im sure it comes from a great place, but jfc just respect the boundaries people set, not just on you and others, but the ones they set for themselves. those are often the most important ones, and once that foundation starts to crumble, it’s only a matter of time before the rest of the entire system that’s been built up for years starts breaking off and eventually collapses in on itself.

[w-ht-w]

Perfectionism

I get why socially prescribed perfectionism is bad, because that relies on an external (and likely impossible) definition of perfection. I also get why other-oriented perfectionism is bad, because setting impossible standards for other people’s behavior is likely to lead only to disappointment. But what about self-oriented perfectionism, or, more plainly, the intrinsic desire to be excellent? Studies show that this form of perfectionism — in which a person sets internally motivated high standards for herself — can be healthy. This is perfectionism motivated not by the fear of failure, but the thrill of success and self-improvement. That kind of perfectionism isn’t a bad thing, or at least it isn’t something we should feel guilty about.

I am mostly grateful for my perfectionism. If I am not here to get better at what is important to me, what is the point? Sometimes that’s work (okay, a lot of times that’s work), but it’s also about learning to be a better partner and friend and family member and citizen. Neither are perfectionism and realism necessarily mutually exclusive; not to sound like a Sesame Street character, but wanting to be the best you is not the same thing as wanting to be the best anyone. For instance, I want to do the best writing I’m capable of. (x)

[all-my-love-for-harry]

my happy little pill ✿ | timothée chalamet

my masterlist | warnings: developing dependence to medication, going through withdrawal.

⋆┈┈｡ﾟ❃ུ۪ ❀ུ۪ ❁ུ۪ ❃ུ۪ ❀ུ۪ ﾟ｡┈┈⋆

Mavis has struggled with anxiety pretty much her whole life. For as long as she could remember she's had trouble to execute simple tasks with ease. Like going to the mall on her own or driving a car.

Therapy helped a lot to work on her confidence but four or so years ago her anxiety got so bad they decided to prescribe her some medication to help with her anxiety attacks. Making the decision of starting to take the pills was a big deal to her, and she felt lucky she had Timothée on her corner.

The first two years went by smoothly, taking the medication only when needed. If she was honest she kind of liked the feeling of temporary numbness it brought her every time she popped a pill in her mouth. After so many years of thinking too much it was nice to not feel anything.

The pills also helped her with the terrible insomnia she's had for years. She started noticing how good she'd sleep when she took it, and soon she became dependent on them, taking it even when she wasn't feeling anxious or having an attack, doubling the dose hoping it would make it feel even better.

Timothée began to notice how her medication started to run out sooner than expected, how she stopped taking the pills with him in the same room because she didn't want him to see how many she was taking. He didn't want to make Mavis uncomfortable by asking her but he was starting to really worry about his girlfriend.

"Timmy," Mavis calls out as she enters their shared bedroom. "I'm going out for a bit, I shouldn't take long."

Before she could exit the room, Timothée poked his head out of the master bathroom. "Where are you going?"

"I have to uh- pick up some things at the pharmacy." She forgot to lie and immediately cringed at the way his eyebrows furrowed.

"The pharmacy? Are you feeling sick?"

She figured she couldn't lie now so she told the truth. "I ran out of my pills." She mumbled, hoping he wouldn't hear. But of course he did.

"What do you mean you ran out?" With slight panic in his voice he pushed past her, making his way to the cabinet they kept the medications in and searched for her anxiety medication. When Mavis caught up with him he was already holding the empty bottle in his hands, examining it carefully. "These were supposed to last until - chérie," his tone changed to a softer one once he realized. "How many pills have you been taking?"

She lowered her gaze. "Just the amount prescribed."

"Mavis." Timothée's tone was dead serious. He never used her full name, always opting for sweet pet names. That's how she knew he was not playing around. "Have you been feeling anxious lately?"

"The pills help." She mumbled. "I take three before going to sleep every night." Mavis hated lying to her boyfriend, and seeing the worry in his eyes made her feel guilty. "They make me feel good, Timmy. I need them." Her voice cracked and her eyes filled with tears making Timothée to drop the medication bottle and pull her into a hug.

"My sweet girl, I know you do. But you can't crank up your dose like that." He pulled away to swipe the tears off her face with his thumbs. "It's making you more damage than good. You're not yourself, I've noticed."

"But I'm better." She tried to argue. "They make my brain numb, I like that. They also make me sleep better, you know how much I've struggled with that. Please just let me go get them, I will only take the amount prescribed, I promise."

"I don't believe you." He shook his head. "I think we should make an appointment and revisit the idea of the pills."

This made her panic. "No! You do not understand. I...I can’t sleep, I can’t eat without those p-pills...t-they’ve helped me a-and I-I can’t-- I can't s-top taking them."

More tears began to fall and he took this a sign delicately pick her up and place her on the sofa. He kneeled in front of her and began to massage her arms. "Mavis, honey, I need you to breathe, okay? Can you do that for me?"

He started taking deep breaths, in and out, until she started mimicking them to help her calm down. They stayed silent for a while, Mavis taking a hold of Timothée's hand and squeezing it now and then, him doing the same to help keeping her grounded and as a reminder he was still there.

"You're right." She finally spoke. "I should probably stop taking them for a while. I'm just... Timmy, I'm scared of feeling the way I did before."

His eyes softened. "I'm right here, chérie. It won't be easy at the beginning but we'll figure it out, okay?"

He was right. It wasn't easy. The first night was the toughest, her insomnia making a comeback when she didn't take the pills before getting ready for bed. But as he promised, Timothée stayed awake with her as she laid on his chest, stocking her hair gently as she played with the plain silver chain that rested on his naked chest.

He hummed a soft, calming melody to help her relax. That night they didn't sleep at all, watching in silence how the sun raised and the sky cleared from the windows of their bedroom.

They repeated the same routine the next night, Timothée trying some white noises on the speakers because he read that helped people with insomnia to sleep. He carefully crafted a playlist, filtering all the sounds he knew she wouldn't like. The sound of rain made her anxious and the ocean terrified her.

"I feel bad you're not getting any sleep because of me." She said the third night she was getting ready for bed.

"In sickness and in health, baby."

"We're not married." She said as she got into bed, assuming her position on her boyfriend's chest.

"Mmm, we could be." He replied softly before placing a kiss on her temple.

Withdrawal was the worst experience of her entire life. Her hands were shaking more than ever, her knee was bouncing so hard the person next to her was able to feel it. She wanted those pills, she needed those pills. It would be so much easier to just go back to not feel anything rather than feeling every emotion amplified, but she continued to push through.

The first two weeks were a living hell for her, constantly thinking she wouldn't make it, and when she was about to give up and just run to the pharmacy for a new bottle of pills, she'd catch Timothée making her a cup of tea every night, buying expensive silk covers because he read those made you sleep better, fluffing her pillow and lighting a candle with her favorite essence. He was going up and beyond to make sure she felt safe and comfortable.

"I love you so much, Mav. You're so brave, so strong. I can't believe you're mine. I'm gonna make sure you always feel safe."

[danielxricciardo]

Can you do one with Max, with 46 and 55 from angst list?

Summary: You are suffering from depression and Max tries to be by your side

Warnings: angst, swearing, mentions of suicide, depression

Word count: 3.6k+

46. “I’ll leave, and the world will move on. I just wish I could see it. See how much better everything is when I’m gone.”

55. “You’re good at finding things. Find me a reason to stay.”

Depression feels like a lot of things.

It feels like sadness, which is what everyone will tell you. It's a pretty common thread.

"I'm worthless."

"Everyone thinks I'm a horrible burden."

So on and so forth.

Everyone in the world is happy but you, and in the end, you are a worthless piece of shit that doesn't belong in this otherwise glorious and happy place. The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and you are lying there on your bed in the same unlaundered pair of pajamas, wondering why you are even allowed to keep living any longer. Some meteor strikes or lightning bolts should be reserved for people like you because you are taking up space and oxygen and food and other resources that real, happy, productive people need.

It feels like emptiness. You have all these possibilities and none of them seem interesting. You could do some art, or play some music, but that just doesn't feel right. There's no joy in it. You could have sex with your significant other, but you can't muster up the desire. You could play video games, or read a book. But what's the point? There's no real benefit to all of it but passing the time. You could get up and make lunch. But no, you're not that hungry, and if you close your eyes, time will pass a little faster. You can lie there. That works. It doesn't require active effort to do something fruitless. Everything is as empty and fruitless as lying and staring out your window at the clouds and the shifting shadows of tree branches, and so why do anything else?

It feels like fatigue. Standing up out of your bed requires the same amount of bodily effort as climbing several flights of stairs. Managing to get dressed and walk outside is like running a race. Heaven helps you if you try to go to the store or a friend's house -- that may as well be on the other side of the continent. Every step is heavy. Every muscle motion requires ten times the work it used to. Exercise becomes difficult, and control over your body expires quickly. You become clumsier, so heavy lifting is right out. You daze out randomly, daydreaming, even dozing, so biking or running is hard. You feel most at home when you are entirely relaxed, so you lie down...and don't get up again until something like your bladder compels you.

It feels like a loss of control. You have no idea why your brain and body are doing this. You don't want to feel sad. Nobody wants to feel shitty and tired and empty all the time. People will look at you and say, "It's like you don't want to get better." Those people are idiots. You truly, deeply, from the bottom of your soul, have no idea why this has happened or what to do. It's not logical. It makes no sense. You woke up like this, or it crept in overtime or something like that. It's like a fog, a force of nature that sweeps in, occludes everything, and there's not one thing you can do about it from where you stand. Trying feels like taking a paper fan outside and trying to blow away the morning mist. Someone has tied puppet strings to your brain and is playing this hideous dance with it, and you don't have the scissors to cut them away. The dance doesn't make sense; it's arbitrary and rhythmless. If you had any sort of reasoning behind it, you could take control. But you don't.

It feels like desperation. You can't find a way out. You lie there at night, keening into your pillow like a wounded animal, making all sorts of noises that no human being should be able to make. You claw and scratch at the sheets, or at yourself, as the pain wrings itself out through bodily expression. The tears won't stop. You don't know why. All you know is that it hurts, it really and truly hurts, and you think if it goes on any longer, you're going to die. Right there. Bleed out on the floor. So you grab up your phone, and you call someone at 4 AM, and you beg them to please just make it stop. You bury yourself in books and movies because at least then you can imagine something else than yourself. You read nonstop. You have to have your fix. It's like an addiction, no, more like a life support machine. Otherworlds, fantasies of happiness, and real experiences that aren't your horrible existence become the iron lung keeping air flowing in and out. You are alive because you can stop thinking for a while. Your friends come over to comfort you. Their stories keep you sane and well, like dialysis for all the toxins in you. Your mind has failed at being independent, and now it relies on a thousand little machines to keep itself running. You rely on one machine until another comes to save you. You read books until your friends come by. You stretch out your time with friends until you have to bury yourself in a movie again just to keep the thought of real-life away.

It feels like untamed anger. Your friends can't keep this up forever. You fall further and further, and you eventually start dropping commitments. You have become That Person, the flake that everyone knows will back out. People start getting annoyed at you, annoyed at how they have to spend so much time just keeping you afloat, annoyed at how often you're causing them trouble by constantly disappearing and backing out of appointments, and so on. Your workplace gets annoyed at your lack of productivity. And then you can't take it anymore, and you want to scream at them, grab them by the throat and shake them because IT'S NOT YOUR FAULT! You start having twisted fantasies, the ones where you walk up to that person who keeps telling you he can't do this anymore, you're just too unreliable, putting a gun to your head and pulling the trigger. Just to make him know, for once, that FUCK HIM, your problems are REAL, DAMMIT, REAL, and he better FUCKING RESPECT that. And when you're gone, he'll fall to his knees and cry, and he'll say, he wishes he had understood, that he didn't mean to be so unkind, and the scar on his heart from his own failure will remain fresh and knotted for eternity. And then you shake yourself out of the daydream, and you wonder why you have turned into such a horrible person, someone who even considers ending their own life just to spite another human being. Then it creeps back in, the knowledge that the world is getting fed up with you...and the cycle begins again. You start thriving off these daydreams, because at the very least if you can't be happy, you can throw caution to the wind and get the petty, oddly satisfying revenge buried under all those layers of morality that are becoming worn and flaking away. It's just a fantasy, right? And it helps pass the time...

It feels like forever. You have forgotten what it's like to truly be joyful. You can imagine it, but it's not really you in those thoughts. This is who you are. This is your life. This is you.

It feels like you have only one thing truly under your power: your existence. You cannot choose what life throws at you. Your brain and body have betrayed you. Your friends have worn away, and you've fled from your job and any commitments you have.

It feels empowering. You can jump whenever you want.

But he accepted you the way you are. He never reproached you for negatively influencing his mentality or life, even though you knew he felt it too. He always listened to you, he was with you even at 2 in the morning when you were crying on the bathroom floor with your knees to your chest, and you knew it wasn't right. It wasn't right for him to go through, basically, what you were going through. But no matter how much you told him you could do it without his help, Max was coming back more insistently than ever.

He came up with the idea to start therapy. "You have to find out why you feel this way. Go at least once, see how it is, if you don't like it or feel that it doesn't help you, you will give up, okay?" That was a year and a half ago.

The psychologist gave you a diagnosis from the first session: Major Depressive Disorder. Sure you knew what the three words meant, but you didn't know what it meant to have a label on your condition.

"A major depressive disorder is characterized by one or more of these depressive episodes. the diagnosis of major depressive disorder requires depressed mood or anhedonia which is the loss of interest in pleasure and five or more signs or symptoms for the SIGECAPS mnemonic for a 2-week period. (SIGECAPS) Sleep Disturbance, loss of Interest, feeling Guilty, feeling fatigued and low in Energy, having decreased Concentration, decreased or increased Appetite and been agitated and slow and having Suicidal ideation."

It sounds incredible to you. Suicidal thoughts? Not everyone has a thought, somewhere, behind their mind 'What if I disappeared?'

You were prescribed Prozac and Zoloft and it helped. You weren't always sad anymore, you could go to the races with Max and support him as a normal girlfriend does. You apologized to my friends who tried to help me and whose lives you made impossible and you managed to get back to work, from home anyway. Sure, you still had moments when you felt like you weren't 100% yourself but not like before. You did therapy twice a week and the psychologist was happy with your evolution.

But being the stupid ass that you are, you stopped taking the medication. You took the last pill on Friday. Because you were fine. You felt ok, everyone around you told you you were better, you were doing amazing, so you were cured, right? Or so you thought. Saturday was normal. Sunday was not. Your mood and energy were very low. You woke up at like 2 in the afternoon. That is not unusual for you. You’re used to it. You were sad. You were exhausted. You knew that feeling like this was “no excuse” so you tried to force yourself to do it anyway. Typical of your life. You feel like you had already taken so much off work because of the triple-header, you were for three weeks attached to the hips with Max.

The only thing you thought of was dying. And that terrified you. And Max senses something was wrong. But he didn't want to tell something and ending up being wrong and you being upset by his misinterpretation. But, yes, he sensed that you were becoming your old self.

"Hey, babe," he snapped you out of your daydreaming. A tragic one, where you were finally at peace and Max was crying for you. You were on the verge of crying yourself at the mere image of Max in your head. But you pushed it far from your mind, somewhere in a dark corner for you to find it at an appropriate time to fantasize about your dying. "How about we go to a picnic? It's sunny outside."

Yes, the wheater was amazing. It was finally summer and you could go outside and spend some time with Max. But your brain literally is tricking you into thinking you don't deserve to enjoy the sunny day. Why? You don't have an answer.

"I'm not really in the mood, Max. Sorry."

You are not in the mood. That was his affirmation. You are not ok.

"You feeling good?"

"Yeah. Just tired I guess."

"But you just woke up."

You shrugged. He was right. You just woke up, so why do you feel like you were carrying a ton of bricks on your shoulders? You couldn't walk. You almost felt like 18 months ago. And that is when it hit you. And Max, at the same time.

"Still taking your meds, I hope."

Silence. Your mind was like overcrowded and you couldn’t take it anymore. You grabbed your head and pulled your hair because you wanted it to stop. You were thinking that you didn’t know what to think. You didn’t know how to think. You didn’t know how you felt. You were like anxious-depressed-angry-miserable-irritable all in one. Your head was spinning with thoughts. Thoughts were talking over thoughts. So fast that you couldn’t even make out one complete sentence. It was just too much for you to handle. You just wanted someone to kill you.

Max came to you and he hugged you so hard you thought he could crush your bones right there and then. You calmed down eventually. But now you were embarrassed. Because Max saw you, again, at your lowest. Because you promised you'll get better, and for a while, you were better, but now you are fucked and back into square one. All those money on therapy and your pills, for what? For you to stop taking them because you thought you were feeling better? Well, you definitely were not ok, nor you'll be. So, yeah, being fucked sounded good.

Max brought you the medicine and a glass of water. Taking the pills again? For what? The pills only fuel the feeling that everything is fine and that you are a normal person. Nothing was good and you were not a normal person.

But you took the pills. And you looked Max in the eyes and you wanted to die. He seemed crushed. He was sad, devastated, maybe angry but definitely disappointed. In you. Because maybe you don't realize this, but while you were doing good, he was doing great. He knew you could be on your own so he stopped worrying that much, and that could also be seen in his driving. He was winning more races, he was at his best and now he was at his lowest. Because you were at your lowest; co-dependency and shit.

"I'm sorry, baby. I thought I was doing well enough to stop taking the meds," you say in a broken voice but the tears are yet to appear. He stroked your hair and kissed you on your forehead.

"You should have told me. You don't have to go thru this alone. I am here."

"Yeah, you are here. But you don't have to be!" you snapped. Irritability, one thing your depression came with. "I am just a burden for you. And no, this does not come from the fact I stopped taking my pills. You took care of me like I was a child, and, fuck it, you don't deserve this."

"Stop talking like this, alright? If I would suffer from depression you would have done the same thing. You would have taken care of me. Or am I wrong?"

"You are not wrong. To be honest, I don't think I would be here if it wasn't for you, but I don't want you to be. It's obvious that I would never get better. This is me. I am fucked in the head, half wishing I was dead and I am just bringing you down."

"Don't tell me this is a fucking break up, Y/N." he narrows his brows and looks at your features to make sure you were being serious.

“I’ll leave, and the world will move on. I just wish I could see it. See how much better everything is when I’m gone.”

"What the fuck are you talking about? Is this a break-up or a suicidal vocal note?"

You broke down. Crying can be cathartic and healthy, but if it goes on too long it can lock your body in a feeling of despair. Even if your mind works through the problem that caused the crying, because your body is still feeling the physical effects it will cause your mind to revert to the negative state. It's not sadness. It's dread and paralysis. You had a certain feeling of emptiness and purposelessness.

“You’re good at finding things. Find me a reason to stay,” you say between sobs.

"You want me to find you a reason to stay alive or to stay in this relationship? To be frank, I can name a thousand reasons, but it all depends on you."

Max hugs you from behind and you lay your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat that was stronger than ever. You allowed yourself to inhale Max's scent, a soothing scent you could get drunk on.

"I want to believe you love me. I mean, I love you and I consider you the love of my life, you know? We are so young and I know it doesn't feel like it, but I promise you, I'm gonna marry you someday, even if right now you don't think you're gonna make it till tomorrow. So, yeah, this is reason number one," he said and pressed a kiss to your cheek. "This is not the worst you have been through in life. Remember where you were 18 months ago; you had no idea what was wrong with you. Now you know and you know you can be better. I know you get sick of those pills, but maybe, in the future, you won't need them. Isn't that exciting? This was reason number two," he said and pressed another kiss to your cheek. He was going to do that every time he would give you a reason. "Have you been to all the beautiful places around the world? Sure, you came to a few Grand Prix, but you never saw Great Ocean Road in Australia, you know Daniel promised he would take us there someday. You never saw Pamukkale in Turkey or Japan in Cherry Blossom season or the Blue Lagoon in Iceland. There are many places you need to visit, baby. So, yeah, this was reason number three. I don't know if you want me to continue but I can give you one more reason. Reason number four. Do it for you, baby. You deserve to live and be happy. I know you can be happy and I promise you I will do my best to help you. You just have to take it one step at a time. You just have to let me in. Let me help you, baby."

You turn around, facing him now. You loved him, with all of your heart. You love him for who he is. You love him because he literally came into your life as your lifeline. You love him because he helped you crawl up the deep bottomless abyss of depression. You love him because he had the patience and the audacity to bear with your depression, anxiety, and panic attacks, your phobias, your mood swings, your temperamental and short-tempered nature, your overthinking, your being overprotectiveness, and possessiveness. You love him because never once he thought of giving up on you in your hard times. You love him because he stands by you like a rock of unwavering support and he’s someone you can fall back on. You love him because he listens to you talking non-stop about your past, your pains, your fears, and your losses without complaining even once. You love him because he rediscovered you and helped you find yourself again when you were lost in darkness. You love him because he filled you with confidence and hope and strength and belief and determination. You love him because he believes you are the best when you set your mind on something and no one can stop you from achieving your goals. You love him because he is protective, caring, understanding, loving, and easy to be with while never being too suffocating or taking up your space. You love him because sooner or later he does everything you ask of him and does with his whole attention. You love him because whatever endeavor he engages in, he likes to give his 100% and hates doing half-hearted things. You love him because he can decode the nuances in your voice and judge your mood just perfectly. You love him because he read you like an open book and he can hear your silence. You love him because he never doubts your loyalty, your intentions, your hard work, and your million issues. You love him because no matter how busy he might get he never forgets that you are waiting for his message or his call. You love him because he keeps you in his priorities. You love him because he gave you a passion you never knew you had. You love him because he very strongly believes that you deserve the best of everything. You love him because he is empathic, kind, magnanimous, thoughtful, and down to Earth. You love him because he has eyes for no one but you. You love him because he wants to see you healthy, wealthy, prosperous, famous and he wants you to hold back at nothing, for no one, he wants you to be a Go-Getter. And most importantly you love him because no one ever loved you like he did.

"I will let you in," you say and you kiss him hard. "I'm sorry for the scene I caused."

"Don't be. It happens."

[peterparkers-bad-youtube-apology]

The Sanguine Web - Part 1

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

A/N: I hope you guys enjoy this, it is the first part of my 100 follower special, the other parts are coming shortly. I’ve been really wanting to a Hanahaki fic for awhile so here it is. I also want to do some different soulmate au’s so those will be coming soon! Love you guys so much xx

Warnings: Angst, mentions of death and blood

Summary: You try to figure out how to tell your friends your sick

Prompts

Masterlist

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

(y/n)’s pov

“I know this diagnosis is scary, but we’ve got a quite few options now,” Dr. Shaw smiled, though it felt a little backhanded, “Not, the only way we can guarantee your safe recovery is removal of the infection, but the good news there are plenty of doctors in the city who know how to perform the surgery so it wouldn’t take us very long at all to get you in. Alternatively, having your feelings requited will lead to the infection dying off on its own, or, you can try to resolve your own feelings. If you’d rather pursue one of those then a good first step is talking to them, as scary as that may be.”

“Okay,” I have to let everything soak in for just a minute, “Is the surgery risky?” “The actual surgery is very safe, though it will lead to the removal of your feelings for that person. The only real risk is the chance that it prevents you from falling in love in the future.”

“What are the chances that happens?”

“It’s about fifty fifty, and unfortunately there isn’t really a way for us to tell if that will be you, it’s just a risk we have to take,” she clasps her arms in front of her, “I’m not asking you to decide today, you’ve caught this very early so we’ve got a bit of time to figure things out. Until then I can recommend a therapist who specializes in Hanahaki’s, and there’s some antibiotics I can prescribe you that will help slow the infection.”

“Okay, thank you,” I swallow the lump forming in my throat, “I think maybe I’ll try and talk to him and work it out that way.”

She nodded, “Okay, most patients opt to try that first. We can still get you into surgery later if that doesn’t work out.”

“How late can I opt in?”

“Up until the infection starts spreading, once it’s outside of your lungs the surgery won’t do anything. However, if your feelings were to change at that point or your feelings are requited, there is still a chance you’d be able to pull through,” she began scribbling things onto a notepad, “That’s still far off right now, but this disease it unpredictable, so we’ll need you to come in every week for blood work and xrays. We’ll monitor everything very closely so we’ll know if we start getting close to the point of no return so to speak.”

“Alright, I guess straight to the pharmacy then?”

She nodded, “Good girl, and you call us if you need anything. If things feel like they’re accelerating or you start coughing up a lot straight to the hospital okay?”

I nod, “Okay, thank you.”

“Of course, I’ll see you next week.”

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I took the subway to the pharmacy stuck in an odd state of numbness. Part of me wanted to cry, or scream, but I just didn’t do anything. I’m in shock until the woman behind the pharmacy counter begins speaking to me.

“Alright sweetheart what can I do for you?” “Just getting this filled,” I hand her my prescription with a forced smile.

She takes the paper, squinting at it before frowning, “Oh my…” she types a few things and sighs, “I’ll be right back,” I drum my fingers nervously on the counter while I wait for her to return, finally she does carrying a little white bag, “I know this isn’t totally appropriate but I know they only prescribe this for one thing and…” she trails off for a second, starting to blush, “Well my girlfriend had Hanahaki’s too, and she was really scared, but she ended up telling me how she felt and it was great, she recovered just like that,” she offers me a sympathetic smile, “I know this is hard but you should talk to them, I’m sure whoever they are, they’ll at least want to help.”

It’s sweet of her to say, so I thank her and shove the bag in my purse on my way out. I’m sure Peter would want to help, but he’s with someone else, and they love each other. I don’t get to confess and clear things up and live happily ever after. I have to move on, it’s the only option for me. I’m not getting that surgery and risking never falling in love again. That’s not fair. Just because I fell for the wrong person this time I have to never love again? Or die? 

I’m tearing up when I get home, and unfortunately everyone is already over. 

Betty beams at me from the couch, “Hey, how’d it go?”

“Good,” my voice shakes a little, “They think it’s just, um, allergies. I’ve got some pills that should start clearing it up.”

She nods, though all of them look a little concerned, “You’re gonna be okay then right?”

I lie through my teeth, “Nothing life threatening.”

“Okay…” she seems to buy it, but I’m sure she’ll end up drilling me on it later, “You wanna join us then?” “Sure, just, uh, give me a second,” I retreat to my bedroom, dumping my purse and jacket before clutching myself tight. I just want to cry, but I have to wait, everyone’s going to know something is wrong if I try to hide out.

I return to the living room after consoluling myself for a minute, taking a seat besides Betty on the couch, “We ordered pizza,” MJ smiles, “I got that veggie one I was telling you about.”

“Hope it’s good,” I bite my cheek, I feel guilty even talking to her.

“It’s amazing, you’re gonna love it,” she insists. 

Betty’s eyes bore into me suspiciously, “Are they really sure it’s just allergies?”

I nod, “Of course Betty, I promise I don’t need a lung transplant or something.”

“Are you sure?” she presses, “There was blood.”

“Blood?” MJ raises a brow.

Betty nods, “Yeah, she was coughing up blood last night, that’s why she even went to the doctor. It seemed worse than allergies.”

“My throat was just dry,” I try to explain, “I promise I’m fine, it’s just something in the air right now.”

“Okay,” she lets up, “But if you do need a lung transplant I’ve got you.”

“And maybe if you give (y/n) one of your lungs you two will get some sort of psychic connection,” Ned interjected, “I bet they’d make a tv show about you guys.”

Everyone starts laughing, and for the first time that day I let myself glance up at Peter. He’s so pretty, and so is his laugh, but before I can appreciate either of those things I start coughing. It’s an almost instant reminder that I can’t do that. Something tickles in my throat so I quickly stand up.

“Are you okay?” Peter frowns at me. I nod quickly, “Just need some water,” I cover my mouth with my hand as I struggle to pour myself some water. 

I bend over the sink to make sure none of them can see the petal I cough up. I know it must be a begonia. Last finals week was really stressful for me, and in the middle of the week Peter had dragged me away from the cave I was studying in to relax for a while. He took me to this cute little market and bought me some flowers while we were out, begonias.

I shove the petal down the garbage disposal and wash away the blood, I’ll have to figure out what to do when I start coughing up more, full flowers too. 

“Are you sure you're good?” Betty questions when I stand back up, I swear she has xray vision or something. 

“Yeah, better now,” I take a big swig of my water, “I’ll be good as new in a few days.”

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“Make yourself comfortable,” Dr. Morrison picks a notebook up off her desk. She seems very nice, I just hope she’ll be able to help me work through some of my feelings, “I’m really glad you came here, therapy can be scary, especially in your situation, so coming here is already a step in the right direction.”

“Thanks, I’m still a little nervous, but anything to help.”

She gives one kurt nod and glances down at her notepad, “Absolutely. I’d like to know what your intention is here so I can know how to help you best. Do you intend to get surgery?” I shake my head, “No, I’m not gonna get the surgery. I want to just try and move on.”

“Alright, is this person aware of your feelings?”

I shake my head, “No, he’s with someone else so that isn’t really an option for me.”

She nods, “Okay, can I ask his name?”

“Peter.”

“Peter,” she repeats, scribbling a few things down, “Are you two close?”

“Yeah, he’s my best friend.”

“Is he aware that you're sick?”

“No, I haven’t told anyone yet.”

“Why’s that?”

“I know they’d ask who and I don’t know what to tell them yet, and it’s still new. I mean I want to tell them eventually, but I think I still need some time.”

“Of course, you need to process everything first, that’s perfectly reasonable. I do encourage you to tell them though, having a good support system is going to help you feel a lot better, and you can always let them know you just don’t feel comfortable telling them who it is.”

“I will.”

She smiled, “So, what do you like about Peter?”

I blush, “Everything I guess, he’s smart and he’s funny and I always feel really good when I’m with him. I don’t know, we just kind of click.”

“You two spend a lot of time together?”

I nod, “Yeah, we hang out all the time, I probably see him more than my actual roommate.”

“How would you feel about spending less time together?”

“He’s my best friend, why would I do that?”

“Separation is going to help you move on, I’m not saying stop being friends or avoid him, but giving yourself space from him is going to be good for you.”

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I feel like therapy went well, I feel more hopeful when we finish, although I’m definitely tired. She told me the goal is to get me really comfortable with my feelings so I can move on. I decided to set myself a goal afterwards, I want to tell Betty before my next session, a week from today. I can’t hide it from her for too long anyway, we live together after all, and she’s already convinced there’s something more than just allergies going on. I debate even telling her when I get home, but Peter and Ned are in the living room, and I’m still not sure I’m ready.

“Hey,” Peter smiles to me as I walk in, “How was work?” “Fine. I didn’t realize you guys were coming over.”

“Oh yeah, we’re going to the movies. You should come, MJ is gonna meet us there.”

Dr. Morrison said separation is good, and I don’t really want to be their fifth wheel anyway.

“I think I’ll stay home,” I clutch my purse nervously, “Thanks for offering though.”

His lips pulled to a slight frown, “You sure? MJ picked some weird art film, it’d be more fun if you came.”

“Yeah, work was actually pretty tiring and I still have a bit of homework…”

“Okay,” his cheeks just barely dust pink, “Next time then?”

I nod, “Of course, you guys have fun,” I scurried to my room as quick as I could.

I don’t know what exactly made me start crying, I mean I’ve cried every night this week so maybe it’s just the overwhelming feelings again, but I think it was Peter. I don’t want to have to pull away from my best friend, I just wish I loved him the way I was supposed to. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, it just makes me feel gross. 

I end up hiding out until they leave, then I return to the kitchen for some hot cocoa and comfort food. I calm down a bit, but I’m still a little teary eyed when I pass out on the couch. I don’t know how long I get to sleep for, but what ends up waking me up is the front door opening. I peer through groggy sleepy eyes, expecting to find Betty, ready to scold me for not going to bed.

What I didn’t expect was Peter. 

He bent down beside me and set a hand on my cheek, “Wake up sleepy head, I know this couch isn’t that comfortable.”

“Hey,” I yawn before rolling onto my back, I push my arms up in an attempt to push the sleepiness out of my body, “Where is everyone?”

“Betty is back at mine and Ned’s, I came by just to talk to you, but it can wait,” he smiles and offers me a hand, “Come on bunny, I’ll take you to bed.”

I shake my head, “I’m up, what did you want to talk about?”

He blushes, “Let me help you to bed first.”

“I’m a big girl Peter, I can put myself to bed. What’s on your mind?”

He sits besides me with a sigh, “It wanted to make sure you’re okay, you’ve just seemed a little off this week.”

“It’s just allergies P, I’ll feel better in no time.”

“I don’t think so,” he frowns, “I don’t think allergies forget how to talk to your best friend.” 

“I didn't, I just don’t feel very good.”

“Are you sure? You know you can tell me if you’re upset with me or something…”

I laugh, “Peter why would I be upset with you?”

“I don’t know, you’ve just seemed off every time I’ve seen you this week.”

“Well it’s not you Peter, I just don’t feel very good. If I were upset with you I would just tell you.”

“Okay,” he accepts my answer though he doesn’t seem totally satisfied by it. Who am I kidding? It’s Peter, he always knows when something’s up. “You know I’m always here for you right?”

I nod, “I’m here for you too Peter.”

He wraps an arm around my neck and kisses the top of my head, “We could hang out for a little while, play some games or something.”

“I’m still pretty tired, I think I’m just gonna go to bed,” I blush as I stand, “Maybe some other time.”

His smile falls but he nods, “Okay, but it has to be soon. I miss hanging out.”

“Soon,” I agree, “I miss it too.”

He stands and pulls me into a hug, placing another kiss on the top of my head, “I’m sorry about whatever’s going on, you know I love you tons.”

It takes every ounce of my willpower not to burst into tears, to not break down and just tell him the truth. I can’t though, I know I can’t. It’s not his fault he doesn’t love me the way that would fix everything, he loves someone else and I want that for him, even if it makes me jealous, even if it kills me. I just want Peter to be happy. 

“I love you too.”

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This morning Betty nearly caught me tossing a petal out the window, making it very clear that I’ll have to tell her soon. I’d much rather tell her than have her just find out, I just don’t know how. I think I should just sit her down and tell her, but I just want to sugar coat it somehow, make it seem better than it is. I’m trying to figure out some way to do that when I get called up to the pharmacy counter. I barely even realize I know the girl behind the counter this time. Adeline, MJ’s roommate.

“Oh hey,” she smiles to me, “Are you okay with me filling your prescription? I can totally grab someone else.”

I know she’ll know if I let her fill the prescription, it’s a little scary, but there’s enough separation between us that it feels okay, like a warm up.

“I don’t mind,” I smile back, “Just don’t tell everyone about the pills I’m popping.”

She laughs, “I’ll keep it to myself,” she turns to her computer, typing away before squinting at the screen, then it seems to hit her, “(y/n)...” she turns to me with a frown, “Do you?...”

I nod, “Yeah, but like I said, don’t tell anyone.”

“Of course,” she pursed her lips, “I’ll be right back.”

It was worse than I thought, Adeline and I aren’t super close, we get along, but we never hang out outside of group get togethers or parties. I didn’t expect her to look so upset or concerned, I thought she’d just tell me she was sorry, that she hoped I got better. It makes me scared of how everyone else is going to react.

“Here you go,” she frowned as she passed the little white bag to me, “You haven’t told anyone?”

I shake my head, “Not yet.”

“Really? Not even Betty, o-or Peter?”

“No one, I’m going to, just kind of figuring out how.”

She nods, “Yeah, I can’t imagine. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, I’m gonna get better, it’s just a little scary for now.”

“Of course,” she smiles, but it’s one of those sad smiles I have a hard time looking at, “I, um, if there’s anything I can do just let me know. I could help you tell everyone,” she blushed suddenly, “When you’re ready of course. Just, uh, maybe it’d be easier to get it out of the way all at once you know?”

“Thank you.” It’s not a bad idea actually, maybe it would be easier than telling everyone individually. Then I just have to explain it once and answer all the questions once. I don’t have to answer all the questions over and over. It might balance out the reactions too. “That might be nicer actually, and you could probably help explain the medical stuff a bit more.”

She nodded, “Yeah, definitely, I mean do it however you need to, but if I can help in any way just let me know.”

“Thanks Adeline, I’ll think about it,” I give her an awkward little wave as I walk away.

I start making a pros and cons list in mind, weighing both of my options to try and figure out the best way to go about this, of course my thoughts are then interrupted by a phone call. Peter.

He’s been trying to get together, and this time I really have been avoiding him, following the advice of my therapist. I don’t know if it’s helping, I think about him just as much, the thoughts are just sadder now, but it’s what I have to do. My therapist knows how to get me better, and I have to get better or I’ll never get to see him, or anyone. It would be so much easier if I could just tell him that, I hate lying to him. 

“Hello?”

“Hey bunny,” he sounds chipper as ever, “How are you?”

“Good, how are you?”

“Well I’m okay right now, but I would be a thousand times better if you came over and helped me study?”

“I can’t, I’m sorry,” I glance around me, trying to think of something, “I have to go grocery shopping.”

“How about I come help you then?”

“I thought you needed to study?”

“I do but,” he pauses for a minute, “I know you said you aren’t avoiding me, but you know it went from not talking as much to suddenly we haven’t even seen each other in days.”

“Well why do we need to hang out all the time anyway? Just go hang out with MJ.” 

I don’t mean to sound as angry as I do, I’m just so frustrated. It’s not easy keeping this all to myself.

He stays quiet and then sighs. “You’ve been acting weird since you went to the doctor, I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on. I’m worried about you.”

“Nothing’s going on Peter,” I frown and wrap an arm around myself, “I’m just busy today alright?”

“You’re busy everyday.”

“I’m not, I’m just busy right now…” I sigh and hang up, I just don’t really know what to say to him.

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After my awkward phone call with Peter I decided it would be best for me to tell everyone at once. I just need to get it out of the way, rip the bandaid off. So I texted Adeline, and she proposed that she and MJ would have everyone at their place to hang out today. She said it was gonna just be dinner and some party games, and everyone agreed to go. I told Betty and Ned I’d meet them there so I’d have a bit of alone time to get ready. I wanted just a bit alone just to prepare what I’m going to say and everything, I want this to go well. I want to walk into therapy tomorrow and tell her all about how I told my friends and I have this amazing support system.

A coughing fit interrupts my attempt to hype myself up in the mirror, it’s much more violent than they have been. The petals tickle a bit, and there’s usually a bit of blood, but it’s never like this. As a bit of blood splatters in the sink I hear what I assume is Betty coming back to retrieve some forgotten item. I kick the bathroom door closed and hope she just ignores me. Instead the door almost instantly starts creaking open.

“I’m fine!” I lean over the sink, trying to cover it with my hair, “Just give me a second!” I choke on my words.

The hand that’s set on my back is distinctly not Betty’s, “Jesus Christ are yo-” Peter stops mid sentence, just as the full flower falls out of my mouth, followed by a streak of blood. The full ones are much harder to cough up than the petals.

“I’m fine,” I quickly try to think of someway to explain this, “That was just in my hai-”

He seizes my wrist as I attempt to turn on the sink and wash away the evidence, “Did you cough up that flower?”

I flush, “Did you break into my house?”

“Betty gave me her keys so I could pick you up and figure out why you’ve been avoiding me! Now tell me what the hell is going on!” he demanded in the most concerned, Peter-like way he possibly could. 

I take a deep breath, glancing at the mess in the sink before I finally answer, “I have Hanahaki’s disease.”

His eyes dart between me and the sink, seeming to debate his next words carefully, “How long have you known?”

“About two weeks.”

“Were you even going to tell me?”

I nodded, “I was going to tell everyone tonight.”

He dropped my wrist and pushed a hand through his hair, I couldn’t even look him in the eyes, “W-Well it’s not that bad right? I mean there’s surgery, a-and I’m sure if you just talk to him he probably feels the same way.”

“He’s with someone else Peter, he doesn’t feel the same way.”

“That doesn’t mean he doesn’t also love you.” When I finally did meet his eyes they were glossy, and his cheeks were red.

“He doesn’t Peter, I just have to move on.”

“I’m sure he does, just tell me who and we ca-”

“I’m not telling you who he is. This isn’t his fault and I don’t want anyone to blame him or make him feel bad about it.”

“It is his fault!” he snapped before sighing, “Okay fine, you don’t want to talk to him, but there’s still surgery right? I know surgery is scary but this one’s pretty safe isn’t it?”

I nod, “It is, but there’s the risk of me not being able to love anyone again, so I’m not getting the surgery.”

“What?”

“I’m not getting the surgery, I’m just going to have to move on.”

“Okay but if that doesn’t work you’re going to get the surgery right?”

My cheeks dust pink as I shake my head, “No.”

His jaw is locked, his whole body tense, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him that angry. “You have to get it.”

“I’m not getting the surgery Peter, but you don’t need to worry about me, I’m gonna move on and get better.”

“Are you kidding me?!” he snaps, “Telling me you’ll get better isn’t good enough! I understand if you want to try and move on first, but if that doesn’t work then you’re getting that surgery.”

“I’m not getting it at all Peter.”

“So you’re just going to die?!” his bottom lip started quivering, it startled me, I didn’t expect anyone to cry, “I’m not going to lose you just because some asshole doesn’t love you back! It’s not fair and I’m not letting it happen!”

“It’s not your choice Peter,” I hug myself because I have no idea what else to do, “Nothing is going to happen to me, I’ll be able to move on and I’ll be just fine. But, if for some reason that doesn’t happen, I really need you to respect my decision on this.”

A couple tears fell down his cheeks and he shook his head, “You cannot ask me to just sit back and watch you die.”

“I’m not, Peter I am going to be fine. I’m on medication that helps slow it down, and I’m seeing a therapist who specializes in Hanahaki’s, she’ll help me move on and I’ll be okay.”

“That isn’t good enough. There’s no guarantee you get better that way and that isn’t good enough for me.”

“I’m sorry Peter, but I can’t give you any other answers. I’m not getting the surgery, even if that kills me. I know that isn’t what you want to hear, and I’m so sorry, but that’s all I can give you.”

A few more tears escape and he pulls me into a hug. I wrapped my arms around his neck and went to my waist. We stay that way for a second, he rests his head atop mine while I wonder what to do. I don’t really know how to make him feel better, I don’t even know if I can.

Peter is the one to finally break the silence. “Who is he?”

“It’s not important Peter.” “Yes it is! You think he’s worth dying over!” his voice cracks and I pull away. It’s really hard to see him cry, and I can feel my own eyes starting to sting at the sight. “You won’t even reconsider it for your best friend so I wanna know what’s so fucking great about him.”

I start crying while I realize I can’t ever tell anyone it’s him. I can’t risk Peter finding out, I don’t ever want to put that on him. “It’s not about who he is Peter, I just don’t want to risk never falling in love with anyone ever again. I know some people are okay with that, but I’m not, love is important to me and I don’t think I’d ever be totally happy knowing I couldn’t have that. None of this is on him, he’s a really great guy, I love him a lot and I know you would to. I don’t want anyone to blame him or be upset with him or anything.”

“Well I hate him,” he snapped, “And it doesn’t matter what you say about him. My mind is made up and I think he’s a dick.”

“You can feel however you need Peter, but he’s a good person, the best I know,” I wiped his eyes, “Can you please keep this just between us for me? I really need to tell everyone on my own terms.”

“I won’t say anything,” he promised before pulling me to him again, “Do you think we could just ditch tonight? I really want to talk, just us, and I want to know what’s going on. I need to be able to help however I can.”

 I nodded, “Yeah, I can make something up.”

He nuzzled his nose against the top of my head before pressing a kiss to the same spot, “Thank you.”

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I ended up texting Adeline, who assured me she’d cover for us so we didn’t have to stress out about it. Peter watched my every move while I washed the blood out of the sink and threw the flower out of my bedroom window. Luck for me, he didn’t notice what kind of flower it was, or at least he didn’t comment on it. Actually he just sat on the edge of my bed, honestly I think he was just too caught up in his own thoughts to actually process what was going on. 

“So, did you have some questions?” I asked as I closed my window and took a seat besides him. He nodded, “Yeah, a few. Do you have some kind of timeline of how it’s going to progress?”

“Well the medicine I’m taking will slow everything down, right now it seems like mine is slow moving and my doctor thinks I’ll have a few months, but it’s really unpredictable. Things could get worse very quickly, but she said that’s pretty unlikely in my case. The coughing will get worse and there will be a lot more flowers and blood, but physically I’ll be pretty okay until the end. As for healing, I have until pretty much the last moments for my feelings to be reciprocated or to move on.”

“What about the surgery?”

“They’re able to perform it until the infection moves outside of my lungs. If I get to that point they’ll hospitalize me, but it won’t get to that point.”

“How long would you have if it did?”

“A few days max, I mean they’ll do everything they can to keep me going as long as possible, but there isn’t much they can do at that point.”

He clenched his hands and gave one stiff nod, “You said your therapist specializes in this?”

“Yeah, and she’s really great, she’s going to help me move on and sort out my feelings and all that. She does a lot of work with patients and their families, and she’s got a really good reputation. I really like her so far.”

“Do you think it’s helping so far?” “Well I’ve only gone once so far, but I feel like I can do this. You can look her up if you want, her name is Raina Morrison.”

“I will,” he assured before taking my hands in his, “Are you going to see her again soon?”

“Yeah, tomorrow actually. That’s why I wanted to tell everyone tonight.” He blushed, “I mean it’s still good you told someone right?”

I nodded, “I think so. It was just a little more overwhelming than I thought it would be.” 

I’m a little nervous about seeing her now, I’m worried that telling Peter wasn’t good. She told me separation was a good thing, that it will help me move on, I’m worried I won’t be able to do that now. Peter’s really protective, he cares a lot about everyone, I really love that about him, and I don’t know if I have the heart to tell him that we can’t spend time together. I don’t even know what explanation to give him now.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have freaked out on you like that. I’m sure it’s not good for you.”

“It’s okay, having you guys know will be better for me, I need to have my friends support in this, it’ll make everything easier.”

“Maybe we can just love you enough that he won’t matter anymore,” the smile he gives is weak and forced, he still looks like he might cry again.

I don’t know what to say to make him feel better. I know he loves me plenty, it’s just not the right kind of love.

“Thank you Peter,” I just ended up hugging him again.

He held me tight against his chest, “If you wanted I could help you talk to everyone, even if you end up doing it one on one. Maybe it would be easier to have me there.” 

“It’d be nice to have you there,” I pulled away to keep from crying again, “You, uh, you’ll get it now if I’m a little evasive right?”

A look of confusion overcame his face, “No. What reason could you possibly have to avoid me now?” his bottom lip started quivering again, “You might not… No, I won’t get it, we should be spending every second together that we can.”

“I need alone time to process my feelings, that’s how I’ll get better.”

“Then I won’t say anything!” his cheeks had flushed again in an instant, “I can sit there and be quiet and do nothing, but I need to be there for you. I need to spend as much time with you as I can…”

“Peter you don’t need to start savoring your time with me or make all these precious memories or anything like that. I’m gonna get better,” I squeezed his hands tight and smiled to him, “And it would help a lot if you believed that too, because right now it kind of seems like you’ve already decided I’m going to die.”

“I do believe that, I know you’ll get better,” he sighed, “B-But what if something happens? What if you’re all alone and you just need someone? I should be here, I want to be here.”

How was I ever supposed to argue with that? I can’t tell him he can’t be here for me, I don’t want to tell him he can’t.

“Maybe we should watch a movie or something before we start crying again?”

He nodded and cleared his throat, “Good idea. Maybe something funny?”

“Yeah, I think that’s a good idea.”

We threw on some supposedly funny movie, but I wasn’t really paying attention. I don’t know if Peter was, but he seemed out of it too. We just sort of stared at the screen until everyone came back to my place. I had to get up from where I was laying with Peter and pretend I had food poisoning as Adeline told them. Really I just wanted to go to bed, the day had been extremely draining.

“Hey guys,” I smiled at them, doing my best to look sickly. 

Betty smiled sympathetically to me, “Hey, you feeling any better?”

I nod, “Yeah, I threw up a bit but I think I can just sleep it off. Don’t worry, Peter has babied me plenty.”

 “Well between that and the cough I think you need a little babying,” she wiggled a small container at me, “I brought you left overs for when you feel better.”

“I brought some for you too,” MJ added, flashing Peter a smile, “There in the car.”

“Thanks,” his cheeks dusted pink and I just prayed he wouldn’t give anything away, “I think I’m gonna stay with (y/n) tonight though, just in case she gets worse.”

“I’m sure she’s had enough of you hovering for one night Peter,” her smile dropped almost instantly, “I thought we were hanging out.”

I wonder if they’ve been fighting or something. A wave of guilt washes over me for avoiding Peter, for not asking if there was something he needed to talk about too. 

“We were together last night,” he frowned at her, “You know (y/n) and I haven’t hung out in awhile, and she’s sick, I should stay with her.”

“You two hung out all night and I’m sure her best friend and roommate is more than capable of making sure she doesn’t die in the middle of the night.”

Peter’s jaw clenches and I interject in the fear they may start arguing if I don’t, “Yeah, I mean thank you for taking care of me, but I’ll be fine. I’m probably just going to go to bed anyway, you should go hang out with MJ.”

His cheeks dusted pink and he nodded, “O-Okay, just as long as you're good…”

“I’m good,” I assured, “It’s been a long night, I really just want to get some sleep.”

MJ smiled, “See? You’re driving her crazy, just let the girl get some sleep.”

“I’m just taking care of her,” he snapped.

We were all quiet, Peter and MJ are always so mellow. I mean they act like they’ve been married for forty years, they don’t really fight. As long as I’ve known them they’ve just been… 

Stagnant I guess.

“Well she just said she doesn’t need to be taken care of so no need to smother her, right (y/n)?”

I just nod, “Yeah, I’m good. Peter go hang out with girlfriend, I don’t need to be babysat.”

He frowned, a small huff left his lips before he nodded, “Sure, whatever, let’s just go,” he gave me an awkward sort of side hug and called, “Text me!” before leaving with MJ, both seeming annoyed with the other.

Part 2

[tundrainafrica]

Title: Lovebug (6/10)

Summary:  

“It might be a bug.”

“A bug?”

“Sometimes the developers of this application make mistakes. This is our first time meeting I’m sure so…Isn’t it a bit weird that we just met for the first time and it rings like this? And for two strangers to coincidentally ring each other’s alarms?“

Levi is the developer of the Love Alarm App and Hange is married to Zeke.

Link to cross-postings: AO3

Other Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5

Notes: Feedback is very much appreciated :D

“As an employee you’re entitled to sick leaves.”

Entitled. It didn’t necessarily mean he needed it. Levi allowed himself a sequence of motions, some reassurance that his body was still functioning as expected

He raised his shoulders up then rolled it back, stretching his neck, bending it to one side then the other. It did wonders to help send a rush of energy through his still exhausted body. It  served as a reminder, he was strong, he was functional. “I don’t need a day off. I’m fine, ” Levi said. 

Erwin raised one eyebrow, giving him a once over. If he had narrowed his eyes anymore or wrinkled his nose, Levi could have given in. Other parts of his body were still reeling from the ordeal from the beach and he was sure he could fall asleep if someone just laid him out on a sofa.

Erwin though was a man of the office, a staunch professional. When it came to work and productivity, he leaned on the side of ‘being productive.’ He took Levi’s word for it.  “If you are feeling anything, just anything out of the ordinary, take the day off. Feel free to just leave me a note, and I can have Petra or Eld handle the rest of the testing.” 

The word ‘testing’ didn’t do much to convince Levi to rest though and maybe Erwin knew that. Levi slammed the door behind him hard enough to have him preparing for a lecture from Erwin about door slamming manners.

He waited in front of the door, gripping the doorknob from behind him for a good few more seconds. 

“We could start working next week?” Hange appeared right next to him. More specifically, she had accompanied him to Erwin’s office that morning, settling for just loitering outside the door, providing a perfectly valid reason for the internal question ‘ did she hear his conversation with Erwin?’

“It’s a Tuesday and it’s not a holiday,” Levi answered matter-of-factly. 

“Well, don’t companies have sick leaves?” 

“They do.” 

“And you were in the hospital just yesterday.” 

“I was in the hospital under observation,” Levi clarified. 

“After almost drowning,” Hange added.

“Just because the doctor prescribes a few more days of bed rest, doesn’t make it an almighty rule.” It was evidence that maybe a day off or two would have definitely made the difference. That slightly caustic exchange had Levi’s head spinning. He found himself having to squint just to even feign eye contact. “Besides, why are you here anyway?” 

“To work on the love alarm. Don’t you think it’s better if we work closely with each other?” 

“Not this early into the whole process. We could have talked through email.” Levi attempted to walk ahead. His office wasn’t too far from Erwin’s  a good few flights of stairs below. With his head slightly spinning and his legs feeling like jelly, Levi went for the elevators.

It was as if Hange was on a mission to flaunt her ability to speed up her pace. She walked next to him then a few feet ahead, turning back at him. And she had been that way since that morning. 

Levi gave in. “Okay, so what parts of the planning process merit a meeting today?” 

“Well, I’m worried for one.” 

“There are many meetings that could have been an email and I think you lecturing me about not taking a sick leave is one of them.” 

“Yeah, and there’s more...” Hange trailed off, giving him a good look from head to toe. Levi liked to believe she just couldn’t find the right answer to whatever implicit question he introduced at that moment. “I’m sorry about yesterday, and the day before.” 

“That could have been an email.” 

“I know Zeke gave you shit about being carried by me and having to be saved by me...” 

Levi stifled a cringe. A bridal carry to be specific. “That could have also been an email.” 

Hange huffed. “Fine. I get if you want to be so pissy about this but let me be selfish. I didn’t join Zeke on his business trip and it’s because I felt guilty. About you almost drowning, about you being forced to play golf and almost losing all your money over a few games. It was shitty okay. And for my own peace of mind, please let me join you at work, and maybe just help you make some progress with the alarm, even just a bit?” 

There was nothing much else his muddled brain could come up with in that moment of silence. “Okay,” Levi said, with a tone that could have easily been seen through. It was in fact, not okay. 

“Why? Is there anything else you’re busy with?” 

Levi sighed. “Making sure that damn love alarm gets tested for the next release.”

***

Anticipation had the tendency of piling stress much higher than the stress was actually worth. For many people, they only realize how much of a simple task something can be when they’re actually doing it. 

When work would pile up, stress would pile up. When Levi’s brain was working at half capacity, while trying to balance responsibilities and a guilty Hange in tow, he was barely thinking about work yet still attempting to the best of his meagre abilities.  

When the work was finally in front of him, the workflow tracker out, the whole ordeal of anticipating a workload had turned out to be anticlimactic. Maybe he had just gotten used to days leading up to releases being particularly stressful. After all, it usually involved early morning sanity checks, junk food and a stressed out team. 

Usually. They had some good releases and the one that day seemed like a good release. Of course it would be a less stressful release. It was under testing for months and it had been pushed back a week already. The QA work was almost over. To be just a little more certain, Levi filtered his workflow tracker to staged tickets and to tickets tagged ‘ready for release.’ 

“So, how does this pre-release testing work?” Hange asked, leaning forward. She had taken the liberty to pull one of the chairs to the corner towards and sat beside him. 

“I’m working,” Levi said coldly.

“Oh, but you said you needed to test the love alarm.” 

“Yes, the team is testing it. I’m making sure everything gets tested.” 

“So how do you make sure everything gets tested?” 

“Well… There’s this tracker here, I assign tickets for testing and when people say it’s tested they click QA passed and I see it here. Then if anything urgent needs testing or anything doesn’t seem to work, I help out and try to fix it,” Levi said, he opened his drawer dropping one of his test devices on the table. 

“So you could have gotten a day off,” Hange asked, seemingly knowingly. 

Levi glanced at the dashboard to seeall tickets were tagged as ‘Ready to Release.’  the others having been done a week back. He was too lazy to check the event history and there was no need to. The necessary work had been finished. 

Maybe he could have taken the day off. He wasn’t admitting that though. “So tell me, what are your plans? We’re getting the money soon according to Erwin but you’re the mastermind behind this.” Levi swiveled his chair behind him, grabbed his whiteboard eraser and cleaned out some of the useless notes from the next release. 

Half way through cleaning it up though, he stopped. There might be something you’ll need there. He cursed himself for even erasing some of it to the point of incomprehensible. 

“You wanna just use the workflow tracker? Like the one on your computer?” Hange suggested. 

“No, this is fine…” Levi racked his brain for those numbers and he settled for just writing the notes just much smaller below the release notes to the side with the larger font. 

It looked messy. It looked ugly. And his dominant meticulous side would not stand for it. In one swift motion borne out of frustration, Levi swiped his white board eraser over the whiteboard five times, more than enough to wipe it clean. 

“Was there anything important there?” Hange asked.

“Just a cleaner version of what we have in the tracker,” Levi said with a slight huff. He would rather Hange wasn’t reminded of whatever could have been there.

“Well, you wanna brainstorm on the whiteboard?” 

“It’s blank now.” Levi gestured for Hange to go ahead. 

“There’s actually not much to brainstorm on my end,” Hange said. Still, she walked a little nearer, grabbing the marker from Levi. She drew a heart. “You used biological markers to determine love right? That’s how you made the application. If you could assume love based on biological markers… maybe you can break it down and do it similarly for feelings right? I work with psychotherapy and I thought your application might have the potential to be tweaked in the context of assessing emotion Just to give therapists an idea of how their patients feel….” Hange trailed off. She drew a small diagram under the heart, a sad face, a happy face then a blank face. “I mean we have the technology for it already right? Most phones now are capable of more complex biometrics, that’s what the love alarm is taking advantage of.” 

Levi hummed. The diagram made it look just a little too easy. “And how do you think we can break down the application?” He knew the answer. Testing Hange though had been a tempting option.

Hange looked back at him, a confident grin on her face.“Yeah, you have the data already? And you created models or algorithms. Maybe you can extract part of those data sets and we can cut it down… to ‘happy,’ to ‘sad’ etcetera. And you can use what you have to make other types of alarms, like a happy alarm, a sad alarm. Right?

“We have the technology and the hardware to pull that off I guess. It’ll just be a matter of making a model, logging data, and coding. Doable with the right resources.” 

“But it should be easier since you already have some of the work done with the love alarm.” 

“But it won’t be as accurate at first. It took us five years to get the love alarm to this level of accuracy. I can’t even guarantee it’s completely accurate,” Levi said. 

“What about it takes time?” 

“We use an AI algorithm.”

“Artificial Intelligence,” Hange said. 

Levi nodded. “It’s a machine learning model. We give the model data as an input and data as an output and the more data you put into it, the more experience the machine has and the better the machine gets at figuring out what the correct answer is . We give it the biological data, the input and we give it the output, the anonymous test results and some formulas, and overtime, the machine starts to figure out for itself what love is.” 

“So you can’t actually break down the application to do it for you?” 

“We can but it will be a pain. Might as well just create a new model.” 

“Will it take as long as the love alarm?

Levi shook his head. “We have the necessary APIs, the hardware. We can buy more server space but we will have to create a new model.” 

Hange raised one eyebrow. “Okay, that’s a good start.” 

“I’ll just have to make a plan, see how much more resources we need and send them off to Erwin.” Levi opened an a blank document and pushed Hange’s seat closer to his. . 

“Wait, I’m curious though…” Hange started. She tapped one finger on her chin. “How does data processing work?”

***

Levi never considered the server room to be anything interesting. It was after all just a conglomeration of headless computers, wires and lights. 

A very important conglomeration. After all, a fire or a faulty pipe would be enough to destroy millions of dollars worth of data. 

He only allowed her one peek, just opening the door wide enough for one eye to see through for just a few seconds long enough for Hange to let out a hushed breath. “Our company handles a lot of applications and some of the servers supporting these applications are housed here,” he explained. 

“And the data?” 

“They’re housed here. Sometimes we use cloud servers too. Sometimes caching servers and everything is processed here then sent to the application." Levi kept his words simple. 

"Billions of points worth of data…" Hange's voice deadened to a whisper.

"It takes time for the data to come, the machines to learn. We started off with manual loading the data, then testing. It took a lot of work to get this much data, enough for the application to work as expected."

"And you continue to get the data I'm guessing."

Levi shrugged. "During quality testing, during actual app usage. As long as someone is using the application and complying to their biometrics being gathered by the application, we get data. That's how all applications work."

Hange hummed. Her mouth curled up into a smile. "So let's say… when I turn on the application, you can collect my data right?"

"The servers are always on, they're always collecting data. It needs the data after all to ring the alarm right?"

"Then how do we check the data?" Hange asked. 

Levi leaned on the door, shutting it with a click. "When we need it, I'll extract your data on my end, then maybe I'll extract mine. To be honest, I don't think they'd give many answers though."

"Serotonin, Oxytocin, Dopamine, Body heat. There's a lot to see from those numbers.” Hange pointed a thumb to her chest. “This is my specialty.” 

"Then I guess we're going to have to make sense of it together."

Hange nodded. "So what are we waiting for? Let’s work on it over lunch.."

"Don't get too hasty. We're gonna have to make a research plan."

***

Hange already had a research plan on hand and she had been working on it for a while. A twenty page document with just a section filled with bullet points and comments. 

There were points Levi had to fill out himself. Still, it wasn't too much work. "You came prepared," he said. 

"What can I say, it's my pet project," Hange scrolled down towards the end of the word document.

"Zeke seemed excited about it, I thought it would have been his at first."

"If this works out, his hospitals will be the first ones in the country or even the world with this type of technology. If it's sure money, it'll be easy to convince him. Besides, I have my ways." Hange gave Levi a sly smile, soon concealed by the cup between her lips. 

She was in a better mood. They were out for lunch in a more seemingly relaxed position and Levi saw opportunity. 

It's better now than never. "How does he feel… about the developer of the application spending a little too much time with you?"

"It's part of the research process and I need to talk to a developer, not an investor.  Besides, he has other investments," Hange said nonchalantly, too nonchalantly that it was almost unsettling.

"With what happened at the beach." Just the quick recall was enough to send blood rushing to his face. He wondered if outwardly he did look a little red. He bit his lip and looked away. From his peripherals, he could see Hange though was just a little too focused on his laptop screen. 

Hange could have spit out her tea. "Are you still thinking about the bridal carry? I didn’t think it was too big of a deal. I could have sworn you were unconscious." 

At first, Levi could have sworn he was unconscious too. Zeke had mentioned it just a little too many times though that Levi was starting to generate his own phantom memories of the incident. 

"Sorry about the CPR though. I probably bruised a few ribs.”

He remembered the CPR just a little too quickly. Or maybe it had been the bruises reminding him. Levi ran his hands over his chest, feeling a slight twinge of pain in response. "Hey, you did it to save my life."

Hange shook her head. "Or maybe I was panicking. It didn’t look like you were breathing but everything was moving too fast and---” She was digressing. 

“What does Zeke think about it?” Levi pressed. 

“Why do you care so much about what Zeke thinks about it?” Hange asked. She had raised her tone, maybe only slightly. It was firm, almost abrasive that Levi regretted it. 

“Zeke is an investor, one of the richest men in the world. I’m spending too much time with his partner. Then back in the beach---”

“Zeke is always busy and honestly, I’m grateful for any other relationships I can make outside this,” Hange argued. “You know, life, building relationships, these things don’t end after marriage. Sure, Zeke and I committed to a relationship but I think I should still be able to find joy in connecting with other people. Marriage isn’t supposed to tie anyone down, stop them from experiencing life. People in relationships are supposed to grow freely together.” 

Maybe Levi had been thinking too hard about it. Or maybe Hange was just a little too laid back. “What do you think about the love alarm ringing?” 

“It happens. Besides, I’m not too worried. Love is a choice,” Hange said. “Commitment is a choice. I think I remember sending you a book about that.”

“So you don’t believe in our product,” Levi challenged. 

“I never said that.” Hange started to stir at her cup, just a little faster. “You can choose to love someone, to commit to them, to be patient with them and to ride out every single problem with them but there is the feeling aspect right? That’s what the love alarm measures, or that’s what I’m suspecting.” 

Levi nodded. 

“So the fact that it rings with strangers or just randomly, shows that it measures attraction right?” 

“Hormones, movements, pace…” Levi listed them out as just another appendix in their dialogue. 

“I wanna understand… where do feelings fit in all this.” Hange put her hands up in defense.. “Don’t get me wrong, I love Zeke, I married him. He’s a good man. And I wanna make whatever it is between us work for a good long time but as someone who works with human psychology, emotions, as someone who’s seen relationships succeed, relationships fail and some that are just so-so. I wanna know, how much of it is emotions, how much of it is volitional commitment. And this type of research, with the love alarm… I think it can teach us things. Emotions are fleeting but there are emotions that stay for a long time and maybe they make being loving and being patient easier---” She slammed her hands back on the table. “Am I making sense here?” 

Levi only realized then he had been biting his straw and had barely gotten anything out. “I’m trying to understand and I think I’m kinda succeeding? GIve me a few more seconds.” He looked away, silently grateful for the good view of the shopping streets from the second floor of the cafe. The cafe was a good balance of loud and soft, filled with whispers and conversations yet still calming and relaxing if he focused on that part in particular. 

“Have you really, never been in a relationship?” Hange asked, seconds or even minutes later. 

“No.” 

“And you told me, you’ve never made the alarm ring for anyone.” 

“In my five years of testing, no,” Levi said. 

“What made it ring with me?” Hange asked. “ Have you ever theorized that?” 

“It could be a bu---” 

“Let’s assume the application is working properly.” Hange pressed. “Do you feel anything different? When you’re with me?” 

Maybe he did. Levi was tempted to look back the moment Hange had ended that question with her tone of voice higher than a second ago. Her eyebrows furrowed, her gaze fixed on his. Levi had to admit, he didn’t want to look away again. 

So he looked away. “I should be asking you that question. Your alarm rang too. Do you feel anything with me that you don’t feel with him?” 

***

They carried the conversation elsewhere, somewhere where the walls didn’t echo, somewhere where there wasn’t anyone within a good ten meters away. Somewhere they could have sworn nobody would be listening. 

It was a silent agreement, consisting of nodding and pulling of hands and it ended with them in the park, a little past noon on a Tuesday. 

“Do you feel any different when you’re with me?” The question was exchanged once again, in a park bench towards the center, after seconds of checking surroundings. It came in variations of it, in stutters, between clearing throats. 

When it came to recovering eloquence, Hange won without a fight. “If I tell you, will you promise to at least try to tell me?”

“Try.” Levi was economical with his words. He made certain though to consolidate all the discomforts of such a pressing topic to that one word. 

Hange took a deep breath. “It’s funny because we just met right? But sometimes, I randomly think of you. When I come home to find the cleaner cleaning out the room, I think ‘Levi would probably like a clean room.’ When I was drinking coffee this morning, I thought of how you didn’t get your tea time and today, I was excited to see you. But I’m excited to see Zeke too… So maybe I’m just lonely because he left so suddenly for a business trip. Were you excited to see me?” 

“Not this morning,” Levi said. That had been easy enough to let slip out. It wasn’t a lie after all. 

“Oh. Then maybe my theory is wrong.” Hange said it  too quickly, her voice much softer. 

That had Levi feeling a tad guilty, at the same time more motivated to find some way to cheer her up. “But I was excited to go to the country club with you and when I saw you with Zeke by the pool, I felt weird.” 

“Weird?” 

“I kept looking, but I wanted to look away…” 

Then there was silence. He was watching Hange and she wasn’t opening her mouth to speak. In the silence, he found reason for a segue. It could have been too sudden or it could have been a natural progression. Levi was easily imagining the scene by the pool as he stared at the empty streets, he thought it natural, and at least appropriate. “You and Zeke really get along huh?”

“Now yes.” 

One syllable, one slip of the tongue had Levi alert.“Now?” 

Hange shook her head. “Now. As in, we get along but at first, we didn’t,” she said, shaking her head. “ Zeke and I have known each other since college and he confessed to me in our senior year before graduation. We dated for a few years after that.”

“You chose to date him, even when you didn’t like him.” 

“Sure he doesn’t give the best first impression, he’s a little extra, if you know what I mean, his head gets a little too big sometimes. My parents and friends said it would be a good idea to just try it out. He was the heir to one of the biggest companies in the country and he isn’t a bad person per se so I opted to try it out and over time, I got to know him, we got closer and he proposed to me a few years ago, I said yes… and here I am, married.”

“Married.” Levi looked pointedly at her. Hange had leaned back and hung her head back, staring at the sky above.  She had said that last part with a little too much breath, and too little voice. 

Hange gave him a wry smile. “Well, I honestly thought it was too early to settle down. I would have wanted to finish my PhD first, maybe travel a little more, meet more people before we get married but we’ve been dating for years, Zeke was insistent and....It seemed like a good choice. What was there to lose? He’s a good man. We were familiar with each other and besides, just because we’re married, doesn’t mean life stops right?” 

“You tell me. I’ve never been married. Some people are asking me when I plan on settling down.” 

“I guess we’re on two ends of the spectrum. You might end up marrying late. I married too early.”

“Do you think this has anything to do with why the love alarm didn’t ring?” 

Hange shrugged. “Maybe it does. Maybe it doesn’t. The thing is, I don’t want love to be a feeling because just bending over backward to however I’m feeling means that I’m not really free right? I want love to be a choice. I chose to marry Zeke, I chose to commit to him and regardless of what a computer says about love, I wanna be able to decide for myself how I feel, who I love and how I love.” 

***

A few clacks of the keyboard. The click of the mouse. Then the computer whirred to life again, a few swishes among them. 

“So, all I have to do is type out a query here on the server management studio and I’ll be able to extract whatever data we need,” Levi said. “So what email do you use for your love alarm?” 

“Wings of freedom…” Hange didn’t finish. Instead she slipped her phone next to Levi, the screen open to the settings page.  

wingsoffreedom95@jmail.com

Levi stifled a smile. “Don’t you have a more professional sounding email?” 

“I like using pseudo emails for making accounts for weird things.” 

“Nice to know our product counts as a weird account to you,” Levi said.  

“Well, I was testing the product out before I even pitched it to Zeke. I wouldn’t want anyone to have gotten information on me.” 

“Then I guess, that was a good choice.” Levi slammed the enter button and the screen froze for a second before the export box appeared. 

“Yeah, I’d expect a company like yours will collect data.” 

“I’m sure we have a tiny box saying ‘you comply to having your data gathered when you use the product.’”

“You did,” Hange admitted. 

“Then you can’t complain about me having access to the location, the hormone levels, the heart rate and all other pertinent information of wingsoffreedom95@jmail.com.” 

“What email do you use?” 

“I extracted that too,” Levi said. He opened his own application and slipped his phone to Hange. 

“So you are using a pseudonym too.” 

“Of course. I test the product. I need multiple emails,” Levi said. 

“Sure, humanitysstronges1225@jmail.com. You really had to go for something tacky like that?” 

“Well, no one got the username yet,” Levi said. He was quick to digress. “I extracted our biodata from the day we met and when we tested the application. It’s gonna be exported as a data file and just open it using excel or something and do what you need to do.”

“You’re a gem, Levi,” Hange said.  

“Just don’t touch anything else. I’m gonna take a break first,” Levi leaned further back on his chair, grateful for Erwin’s suggestion that he got a reclining chair then. “Maybe I should have gotten a day off. Eld told me, support is quiet today and the release has been ready for a while. Nothing much else to do.” He went for his ebook reader next to his desk and held it above him. 

It flashed open to the latest page. 

The room was silent save for the clack of the keyboard and the whirring of the monitor. It was an odd position to be in but Levi found it was much easier to focus on words when all he had behind the reader was the white ceiling. If he tried a little harder, he could also pretend the clacking of the keyboard wasn’t at all, Hange. 

He was tired. He was exhausted and the ordeal from a few days ago still bubbled at the back of his mouth. Surprisingly, the words had shifted so easily into sceneries, emotions, investment and Levi was thinking too hard about one Mr. Collins and his engagement to the protagonist. 

“Levi!” 

Levi was pulled out of that very comfortable stupor by one rash voice and as he looked up to see Hange smiling, he realized, maybe it had been his own emotional investment at that damn book that got him a little cranky at the wake up call. “What? How long was I reading?” 

“Fifteen minutes at least,” Hange said. “I found something interesting with the data. Did you know, that when the love alarm rang, our hormones were low, our body heat was low, our heart rate wasn’t high. Would you know why it still rang?” 

“I told you, after a certain point we don’t know. It becomes an algorithm. The computer figures it out for itself.” 

“But we’re going to need that data when working with other emotions right?” Hange pressed. “I’m gonna take note of this.” 

“Do you think the love alarm still works as expected?” 

“It could. You told me yourself, billions worth of data points. How could they be wrong right? But this is nice to know, you know. Just looking at the data here, is somehow reassuring.” 

“Reassuring how?” 

Hange shrugged. “Well I’ll do a little of my own testing and will contact you when I come up with anything.” She looked at the clock on her phone. “Then we could schedule a visit to one of Zeke’s hospitals and have a talk with the staff, maybe they could give some feedback on the working plan.” 

“You’re gonna leave?” Levi sat up, putting his ebook reader down on the desk next to him. Hange had started to rifle through her bag and that got him alert.

“Why? You want me to stay a little longer?” 

“I never said that.” 

“You said you were busy with work this morning and now you want me to stay?” Hange challenged. 

“Well it turned out there isn’t much work to do anyway. We get the changes live by the end of this week and we work towards the next release.” Now that Levi did think about it, the job was pretty repetitive and Hange’s pet project had somehow added color to the whole experience. “But you can leave if you want to,” Levi added a second later. Just in case, she did get some sort of hint that he wanted her to stay.

That last sentence did the exact opposite. Exactly how? Levi didn’t have much time to ponder it. By the time, he had even attempted to read through the protagonist’s response to her suitor, Hange had already pulled her chair right next to his, close enough for him to be feeling slightly warmer. Then, warm enough for him to pull away. “What the hell?” 

“I was just wondering what you were reading.” 

“You could have asked. Were you looking?” 

“No.I wasn’t raised to look over people’s shoulders when they read.” Hange said matter-of-factly. “Actually, I was about to ask what you were reading when you pulled away so fast.” 

Levi sighed. “It’s one of the books you sent over in that drive folder.” 

“Ooh, which one? Scott Peck?” 

“I read though that already until I realized the author cheated on his wife.” 

“That doesn’t make his words any more invalid. Love is a choice,” she sang. The amount of times he had heard that since he even read the book maybe even the most melodious tone grating. “So what book is it?”

“The novel, Pride and Prejudice.” 

“Oooh, which part are you in?” 

Maybe Levi had let his guard down just a little. He probably tilted his reader a little bit towards her. Those minute details might have been enough though to have Hange pulling closer towards him, looking over at whatever he had been reading. 

“I’m a slow reader,” Levi explained. 

“Well, it’s a classic. Hange said. This time she was looking at him again. “I swear, I think it shaped my own idea of love. think there’s a lot to learn about love and marriage the way that Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy fall in love---” 

“Wait. Stop.” Emotional investment in the book had Levi vulnerable. He only realized it then when he felt his mouth twitch, his eyebrows raise just a little higher. He found himself dropping the reader on the desk in front of him again, a retaliation at that ringing in his ears and the uncomfortable drop of his stomach. Spoilers were surprisingly painful things. “Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth… They end up together?” He managed to let out. 

Hange nodded hesitantly. “Yes, it’s in the title. Mr. Darcy is pride and Elizabeth is prejudice.” 

“You’re talking about the asshole Darcy right? Ten thousand pounds a year asshole Darcy?” 

***

To hell if Hange looked just a little uncomfortable. Maybe more than a little. “I swear I thought everyone knew. Pride and Prejudice is a classic and it’s so talked about that---” 

“I thought she was gonna end up with Mr. Wickham,” Levi admitted. It was difficult to wipe that grimace off his face, to the point that he had worn it almost as a medal while escorting Hange down to the lobby.   

“Hey, I’m sorry…” Hange said. Her attempt to make amends though was grating. 

Levi sighed. “It’s fine. This is a sign anyway, I need to do something more productive with my last few hours of work. I have a few more hours in the office, I’ll probably check on the team first. Is someone picking you up?” 

“I messaged already,” Hange said glumly. “You know, I thought we could hang out a bit first.” 

“Just focus first on getting an appointment with the hospital. To be honest, I really think I do have some work to check on.” 

“Hey, I’ll make up to spoiling you okay?” Hange said. She had tried to curl her lips up to a smile, to widen the grin on her face. It had come out as something wry. 

He found some solace at least in realizing he wasn’t the only one a little too bothered by those spoilers. He could have sworn it had never affected him that way before. But it’s just spoilers. He reminded himself. “I’ll get over it. Just focus on your work.” Still, it was difficult to enunciate words, it was difficult to even look at her. “Who’s picking you up?” 

“Probably a chauffeur,” Hange said. She opened her phone again. The white glare of the screen reflected on Hange’s eyes and Levi was seeing stars in them again. Stars that somehow breathed life into her dead half smile of a while ago. “I can go from here.”

“Wait what?” 

“Zeke’s picking me up at the gate. He said he wanted to try one of the restaurants at the nearby shopping street,” Hange explained.

Levi’s mind was an aggregate of unintelligible emotions. Do you want me to escort you out? Of course you don’t, I practically kicked you out. When there were things he couldn’t understand, maybe the right thing to do was be professional about it. “I’ll wait for your reply on the hospital visit. I’ll do what I can with the working plan and hopefully we could come up with something by Friday.” 

“That would be cool. I’ll make sure to message you.” Hange wasn’t looking at him anymore and Levi had been perceptive enough to notice that her voice slowed just a little, the volume much softer than a second ago. Her mind was elsewhere. 

Then suddenly, she was talking again, her voice a stark contrast from a second ago. “Zeke! I’m so glad to hear from you. Levi and I were just working on the application just now… And we have some great ideas…” 

He never heard what Hange said after that. If he closed his eyes, and focused just a bit, maybe he could have but the ache in his chest was overpowering and he found it most convenient to blame the spoilers at first. 

Hange walking away. Hange mentioning Zeke. Those were moments of clarity. 

Darcy had reminded him a little too much of Zeke. Elizabeth, a little too much of Hange. When he walked back up to the room, back scrolled back to the scene at the ball, the scene with Mr. Wickham, he let out a laugh. 

Fiction was supposed to be comforting and somehow with his own emotional investment in the story, he had hoped for an ending where money didn’t win. And he was scrambling for it long after Hange turned the corner way past the entrance. 

Back in the office, alone with the reader on hand, he thought about it a little more. 

I swear, I think it shaped my own idea of love. think there’s a lot to learn about love and marriage…

“A lot to learn huh?” Love and marriage which ended with a rich abrasive asshole? 

There was definitely a lot to learn. Marriage could be for money. Love could be learned. 

To commit, to love was a choice. 

And Levi didn't need to read the whole book to be reminded of what he had already figured out. 

Levi checked the table of contents, then the tracker at the bottom, he was barely thirty percent into the book, a very long book. Or maybe he was just a slow reader

After a few more minutes of staring, he managed to stumble upon the stone cold conclusion that it was a waste of time. 

He quickly deleted the book, muttering to himself for a second longer that it was a good decision. Then he walked to his team's office, laptop tightly on hand. When he was looking left and right, when he was looking through his workflow tracker again on his phone, he found an out. 

After all, he shouldn't have the time to ponder Hange's own ideas of love when he had an application to maintain and investors to please. 

***

Levi ended up leaving work earlier than expected. It was a total lie to think there was any work needed to be done. Exhaustion clambered up quickly, a special kind of exhaustion at slogging through a day of work less than forty eight hours after being discharged from the hospital. An exhaustion that came with having spent a good hour lying to himself and to his subordinates that they had anything else to do before the release. 

"Any support queries?" Levi asked. It felt more like a formality. 

His subordinates had already started to pack their bags for the day. 

"Nothing too urgent," Petra answered. “Nothing that can be finished in ten minutes either..” 

“Leave it for tomorrow,” Levi said. As much as possible, he preferred to be the only one having to do over time. 

“Sir, do you have any idea when we would start working on that new request by Mr. Jaeger?”

Levi’s answer was calm and straightforward. “We’re currently working on a plan, me and Hange and as soon as we get it approved, we can have a meeting about it.” And exhaustion made acceptance all the more natural. “You’ve all been working hard the past weeks leading up to the release. Stay low or take leaves if you need to, I’ll handle making sure everything goes live on time.” 

Greetings were exchanged after that. Thank yous, sighs of relief and Levi wondered how hard the past few weeks have been, only for the release to have been delayed over Zeke’s request. Somehow, Levi felt some responsibility and guilt over such a ‘bug.’ Whether it was actually a bug or it was his own shortcomings as a human which caused the test to end that way,  whatever musins he had about them, did nothing to placate the guilt as he watched their relieved faces, their much calmer faces.

The next day he woke up to emails, requests for leaves that week which he immediately approved. One week of calm, one week long enough to have it go live that weekend. Then Monday would be the post release sanity check. 

He’d use the week to plan, to coordinate a little more with Hange. He opened his phone to see her number just on top, just like it had usually been recently. He had decided not to open her message until he got to the office. 

Business is business. He thought to himself. The banner had given hints to the message but there weren't many hints to the context of a date time. 

5/15 3:23AM. Check my body heat, serotonin levels, dopamine levels….

Less than a minute later, Levi was on the phone rattling numbers. 

“So they’re high,” Hange said. “High numbers are a sign of love.” 

Levi could have sworn he had heard the smile in her voice. “Why? Did something happen last night?”  

“Zeke and I had a late night. It was the most fun we had in a while.” 

Before Levi even noticed it himself, his mind was racing, asking questions. If Zeke had the love alarm on, would it have rang? And soon, it was clamoring for answers he knew he could never give.

Zeke’s own love alarm wouldn’t be on and even if it wasn’t on, it didn’t send data the same way Hange’s did. All he could do then was settle for speculation. “Maybe there is a bug then Hange. Or maybe there’s something wrong with the data. We’ll turn on your love alarm again when we visit, let’s try it again.” 

The call ended amiably and Levi was a little more sluggish soon after. He lay his phone back on his desk and turned on the love alarm. 

As expected, no hearts appeared. One hand on the keyboard next to him, he typed out a query and pulled his own data. His own hormone levels were much lower than 3am Hange’s. He opened the data Hange had analyzed just yesterday. The hormone levels were still low. 

He clicked on the settings on his application, back at the dashboard then pressed the home button and sighed. “Some developer I am, can’t even figure out how my app works anymore.”

Then he thought something he hadn’t thought in a while. Maybe going for something as complex as love from the start wasn’t such a good idea. 

[ga-yuu]

~Kurama~Main Story Chapter 14~

Chapter 13

*

*

*

--------Part 1--------

Kurama: “Yoshino. I’m reassessing your value. Apparently, you have a strength that I don’t know about.”

(Ah....)

Kurama’s warm fingertips touch my cheeks, and I slowly slide my face into his palm.

Kurama: “....I’m proud of you.”

(This...sounds like a huge compliment, coming from Kurama's mouth.)

I was surprised to find out that my heart was getting warmer.

Yoshino: "Are you...perhaps....do you want me to take that statement as a 'Thank you."

Kurama: "...............Think of it however you want."

I couldn't help but giggle when he so sounded out of tune.

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

1. You're stubborn...

2. You're strange...(+4/+4)

3. That's very much like Kurama...

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

Yoshino: "Hehe, you're strange..."

Kurama: "I could say the same for you.....And how long are you going to stand there and laugh? Let's go home already."

While I was still laughing, he pulled my arm forcing me to start walking, but----

Even his movements seemed slower and gentler than usual and I felt a small tingle in my chest.

..................

When we returned to the Rebels' mansion----

Kurama: "....? Why is everyone so noisy?"

Yoshino: "Yeah, why?"

(What happened?)

There are a few soldiers running around in a panic.

Rebel soldier 1: "Ah! There she is."

Rebel soldier 2: "...! I'll report to Benkei-sama!"

Yoshino: "Hm?"

As soon as one of the soldiers found me, a few of the other soldiers surrounded me quickly.

(Did I do something? or were they looking for me..!?)

Kurama: "What's going on?"

Rebel soldier 3: "Eeermm....were you with, Kurama-sama?"

And then----

Benkei: "Yoshino!! Where the hell did you run off too, huh?"

Yoshino: "I ran off?"

Hearing the unexpected words coming from Benkei's mouth, I looked up at Kurama.

Yoshino: "You didn't tell anyone, before taking me...?"

Kurama: "No. It was an emergency."

Yoshino: "So that's why...."

Benkei looked at both of us and sighed.

Benkei: "....So you were hanging out with Kurama?"

Kurama: "Yes. So correct your men, Benkei. This woman didn't run away. I forced her to run away with me."

Yoshino: "That sounds....wrong out of context."

Benkei: "That's right."

Benkei looks back at his men, awkwardly.

Benkei: "I apologize for bothering everyone. Apparently, her escape turned out to be a misunderstanding. Everyone, dismiss!"

Rebel soldiers: "YES!"

(I'm glad you believed in us...)

Kurama: "Thanks for the welcome but my main priority is putting this woman to bed."

---------Part 2---------

Kurama: "Thanks for the welcome but my main priority is putting this woman to bed."

Benkei: "HUH?"

Kurama: "I made her work for me today. Humans are fragile and I don't her to die from overwork."

Yoshino: "Eeehhh!!"

(Does that mean I and Heikichiro-san are the same for Kurama?)

(I know he's got the wrong idea, but Kurama is caring for us in his own way....so I don't want to stop him.)

Benkei: "What are you talking about Kurama? Tell me in detail."

Kurama: "Stop pulling my arm."

Benkei: "Shut up. You and I have are going to have a long chat about these problematic issues. But more importantly, Yoshino, come with us. Since you're involved with Kurama..."

Yoshino: "Oh, okay."

After that, we all went to Yoshitsune-sama to clear out the misunderstanding.

..........

And after that night------

Yoshitsune: "We're grateful for what you did, Yoshino. Thanks to you, one of Hiraizumi's people's lives has been saved. As a way of saying our thank you, today's party is in your honor."

Yoshino: "Thank you!"

(I'm surprised you're all doing this much for me.)

In front of me, were plates filled with delicious food and drinks.

Benkei: "I'm sorry about last night too. I didn't want you to be surrounded by soldiers."

Yoshino: "No, no, no. It's only natural if anyone's in your position."

Kurama: "Reflect on it, Benkei."

Benkei: "You should also apologize for taking her without telling us."

Yoichi: "Can we ignore all that and start taking out the sake, already?"

With that said, everyone took their seats.

Yoshitsune-sama raised his sake cup, which was already full.

Yoshitsune: "It's a toast to Yoshino."

Benkei and Yoichi: "Thank you!"

Kurama: "................"

Kurama also gently raises his cup without saying anything.

(.....I feel happy.)

(Even though what I did was only a part of my job, I'm happy that they're acknowledging me like this.)

I sipped the sake from my cup and a delicious sweet taste spreads my mouth.

Yoshino: "Mm, delicious."

Yoichi: "Isn't it? Here, have another one. If you like sake, I'll bring you to your room, every night."

Benkei: "Don't go drinking every night like this guy, Yoshino. Here, have some snacks too."

Yoshino: "Yes. Thank you."

Benkei's big hands started sorting snacks for me on a separate plate. Then he hands it to me.

Yoshino: "Yum. This is delicious too."

Yoshitsune: "It sure is...because Benkei was the one who made it."

-------Part 3--------

Yoshitsune: "It sure is....because Benkei was the one who made it."

Yoshino: "Really!?"

Benkei: "What's wrong? Can't picture me as a chef?

I looked at the Benkei, then I looked at the plates in his hands, and then I looked back at him again.

Yoshino: "Benkei that's cool!"

Benkei: "It's not that cool."

Yoshino: "No, no. It certainly is. It's nice that you have a talent for making something so elaborate. I could eat this every day."

Benkei: "........really?"

Yoichi: "Look, you made Benkei shy."

Benkei: "No, I'm not. This is just my way of saying thank you."

(I never thought, there will be a day, where I would have a peaceful conversation with the Rebels like this.)

I felt a pang of guilt when I suddenly thought about my Shogunate friends, but more than that, the warmth of the evening enveloped me.

Yoshitsune: "As Benkei said, I too felt that this party would be an awkward way to thank you. .....So I want to give you something else. Is there anything you desire? Yoshino."

(Anything, I desire...)

I looked back at Yoshitsune-sama while I was feeling confused.

Yoshino: "Actually, Kurama was the one who brought me there and I feel guilty for getting too much credit.....

Kurama: "Yoshino."

Yoshino: "Yes?"

Suddenly I hear my name being called by Kurama who blocked my words.

Kurama: "Don't make any snarky remarks at my liquor table."

Yoshino: "Ermm?"

Kurama: "The power of demons, that specializes in destroying things, is not suited to heal others. I wasn't able to save that old man, but you did. With your medical knowledge and skills. That is something you should be proud of."

(...! I never thought that Kurama would say so much about me.)

His words melted my heart.

Yoshitsune: "Kurama is right."

Yoichi: "I agree too."

Benkei: "Me too. I'm also happy that Kurama is starting to be respectful..." ← Proud mom

(.....Benkei smiling like a proud mom.)

Like that, everyone encourages me to think again.

Yoshino: "Then, I have one request, regarding Heikichiro-san, the silversmith. Will you hear me out?"

Yoshitsune: "I'm all ears."

Yoshino: "Like I said earlier, Heikichiro-san has a chronic illness. So, I'd like to make regular house calls and prescribe medication, if you will allow me."

Benkei and Yoichi: "!!"

Kurama: "........"

Yoshitsune: "......is that what you desire?"

--------Part 4-------

Yoshitsune: "......is that what you desire?"

Yoshino: "Yes. As for the rest, I am more than well provided for as a prisoner, both in clothing and food."

(What I wanted the most is freedom. But I can't really hope for that, can I?)

Yoichi: "Yoshino, you're such a softie."

Benkei: "......Idiot. It's called being kindhearted."

Benkei then stood up with a sake bottle, comes and sits in front of me.

(Benkei?)

Benkei: "Show me your cup."

Yoshino: "Ah, yes!"

Benkei slowly fills my sake cup while staring straight at me.

Benkei: "From now on I will respect you more and treat you not as a prisoner, but as a guest. If you will, I'll take care of you myself, okay?"

Yoshino(blushing): "Ummm...."

Yoichi: "Me too, me too. (Yoichi speaks in the third person and it's really cool and cute at the same time. I don't think I can bring the same amount of cuteness in my translations as much as the writer and his voice actor does.)

Yoichi-san also smiles and sits next to me with a sake cup.

Yoichi: "Leave the entertainment to us. Whether it's Sugoroku or taking a nap. You can ask us anything you want and live here freely."

Yoshino(blushing): "I'm happy...that you two think of me like that. Thank you very much."

Yoshitsune-sama was silent, but he was also staring and nodding at us as if to show he's agreeing with them.

(Looks like, the life of each one of the townspeople is more important to the Rebels than I thought.)

Kurama: "Yoshino." ← He's jealous.

Yoshino: "Hm?"

Kurama calls my name and I turn back to look at him.

Benkei: "Come on, Kurama. Don't just sit there, silent. Don't you have anything to say?"

Kurama: "Okay."

(What is he gonna say.....?)

Kurama: "Yoshino. If you're done talking, come here and pour me a drink."

Benkei: "Hey!" ← Not so proud mom.

Benkei's smile disappeared as if he was embarrassed by his child's remarks.

(Hehe...Kurama. As always, he's unreasonable.)

I was amazed how he stepped back from all this celebration as if it was all troublesome.

Benkei: "Can't you be a little nice and show some gratitude? Or at least give her a hug?"

Yoshino: "No, I'm fine....I'm okay with him like this..."

Yoichi: "But if you think about it, Kurama letting a woman pour him a drink is kinda....not normal, don't you think?"

Yoshitsune: "That's true. I have never seen Kurama asking someone to pour him a drink."

(Really!?)

Kurama: "You're all free to treat this woman as a guest or whatever. But don't forget that I was the one who brought her to Hiraizumi and since then I haven't given her ownership to anyone."

Kurama looks at me with his glowing red eyes and talks in a casual tone.

Kurama: "Come."

--------Part 5-------

Kurama: "Come."

(.......!)

Just that one word was enough to shake my heart so much.

(Oh, I see. I'm sure it doesn't mean anything profound to Kurama....)

(But you make it sound like I belong to you.)

Before I knew it, I was already moving towards Kurama as if I was drawn to him.

Yoshino(blushing): "Is this fine?"

I carefully poured the sake into his empty cup.

Kurama: "Yeah."

Kurama smiles in satisfaction and I blush even more.

Kurama: "....? Are you drunk too?"

Yoshino(tomato red): "Hm?"

His cool hand faintly touches my cheek.

Kurama: "Your face is completely red."

Yoshino(tomato red): "Ah! Mm...Maybe I am a little drunk..."

Kurama(smiling): "Heh, you're so lightweight."

(Mm....don't touch me like that...)

It really makes my heart beat faster.

While Kurama and Yoshino were in their own world. Yoshitsune and others were like-----

Yoshitsune: "I've never seen Kurama smiling like that."

Yoichi: "He doesn't seem to be aware of it at all."

Benkei: "Well, I hope he doesn't give Yoshino a hard time later...."

I didn't even know what they were talking about and the lively night went on.....

......................

Yoshitsune: "It's a good time to stop. I'm afraid we'll have to call it a night."

The party ends at Yoshitsune-sama's words.

(That was quick!)

Benkei: "Yoshino, you were drinking a lot. Are you okay?"

Yoshino(drunk): "Mm."

(He's right. I don't think I can walk straight....)

Yoichi: "Okay Kurama. You were the one giving her drink after drink, so you're responsible for helping her walk to her room."

Kurama: "Why?"

Yoshino(drunk): "No it's okay....I can walk by myself....."

I smiled at Kurama who instead looks down at me with a face that was screaming 'Why should I do everything?'

(I wish I could have said something more clever, but my mind is a bit foggy.)

Kurama: ".....Fine. I'll take her."

Yoshino(drunk): "Hm?"

(Now he's okay with it? But why?)

.......................

After leaving the party hall, Kurama and I walk down the corridor together.

Yoshino(drunk): "Why did you change your mind all of a sudden?"

Kurama: "............................Because you're making that dangerous face."

(Dangerous face? What do you mean?)

Kurama: "That dangerous face."

Yoshino(drunk): "W-What?"

Kurama walks and stops in front of me. His both hands moved to hold my face.

(So close....!)

I instantly looked away from his beautiful face.

Kurama: "You're cheeks are red and eyes are moist...Don't you realize that this is the same face you make when I play with you?"

(.......Mm.)

Yoshino(drunk): "Anyone who is weak to alcohol looks like this....it doesn't have anything to do with....what you just told..."

Kurama: "I'm talking about you now. That's all I'm interested in at the moment."

His deep voice tickles my ears and my body heats up in excitement.

(Maybe I'm too drunk....that I can't think properly...)

I became more sensitive to Kurama's touch and his words.

Yoshino(drunk): "Let..go..."

When I started feeling impatient, I tried to push his hand back.

(Woahhh)

My legs were wobbly and I almost lost my footing.

Kurama: ".....What the hell are you even trying to do?"

Yoshino(drunk): "Sorry..."

He quickly supports my body instead of moving away and held me close to his chest.

(Please don't hear my heartbeat....Please don't hear my heartbeat....PLEASE!!)

Kurama: "You're so annoying."

When I looked up at Kurama----

(.......!)

Yoshino(blushing): "Wait! What are you....?"

One hand was slipped under my knees and the other hand held my back, picking me up.

Kurama: "No more waiting."

Then, Kurama started walking.

Yoshino(blushing): "Ah...umm...am I not heavy? You can put me down...."

(Actually, I'm embarrassed. So please put me down!)

Kurama: "It's not the first time I've held you. So just shut up and let me take care of you."

Yoshino(blushing): "Yes..."

......................

Kurama: "We're here."

Yoshino(blushing): "Thank you..."

(He carried me to my room without complaining at all.)

I thanked him in a quiet voice as he lowered me into the bed with unexpected politeness.

Kurama: "Now, drink this."

Yoshino(blushing): "Yes."

I received a glass of water and quietly sipped it.

(I can't believe he's doing this all for me.)

Yoshino(blushing): "......Are you also drunk? Kurama."

Kurama: "What?"

Yoshino: "No. It's just....you're being surprisingly kind to me. You never were before..."

Kurama: "Did you get drunk so much that you're seeing things now? How do any of these things I did counts as kindness? I was just----"

Yoshino: "Just?"

Kurama: ".....making sure that my things don't break."

He takes the glass from my hand and places it on the nearby shelf.

Yoshino(blushing): "But."

Kurama: "Shut up now."

He gently combed my messy bangs and then, his neat face slowly approaches.....

(Ah.....)

He drops a kiss on my forehead and my heart skips a beat.

Kurama: "Humans are annoying. But, you make me do the strangest things. Like listening to idle talking, watching out for weak people and offering them a hand."

Chapter 15

[femmefoxbeast]

I’ve been thinking a lot about body positivity and self-image and how to deal with that as a trans man.

This is a long post. The rest is under a read more because of this. It’s a bit rambling too. I’m just working through my thoughts.

CW: surgery mention, abuse mention, unhealthy eating/thoughts about eating mention, lots of discussion of social beauty ideals and how people are treated poorly for not meeting them. Nothing graphic though.

The pressure to transition into an ‘ideal man’

So - in September I had top surgery. It was definitely the right decision and (combined with starting testosterone in July 2019) it’s had a huge positive impact on my mental health. I look at myself in the mirror and finally see myself looking back. I feel like life is full of possibility at the moment. It’s pretty great honestly.

Here’s the thing - I’m chubby - I was in an abusive family situation for a while and ended up with some food issues which resulted in me losing a fair bit of weight and then putting a bunch back on.

Because I’m a bigger guy I’ve got dog-ears (excess skin and fat) at the ends of my top surgery scars. I feel mostly okay about them and am not planning to get a surgical revision. But I feel weirdly guilty about being okay with them.

I feel like there’s this pressure and expectation that if I want to look like a man (and I do because that’s what I am) then I should look like society’s ideal of a man. People seem to think I should want to be thin and muscular and to have a sharp jawline and just the right amount of body hair.

But to be honest I don’t want that. And I feel guilty about not wanting that.

I have a lot of conflicting feelings about this - on one hand, I have this feeling that I’m doing something wrong or wasting my transition somehow? Logically I know those thoughts aren’t mine - I know that this external pressure I’ve experienced has put these thoughts into my head. But the idea has bedded itself surprisingly deep into my brain so I haven’t been able to get rid of the nagging voice going ‘you’re doing it wrong’.

On the other hand, I’m pretty repulsed by this expectation that I should conform even more strictly to societal beauty standards because I’m trans. I shouldn’t have to thin, I shouldn’t have to work out unless I feel like it, I shouldn’t have to try and look cis. I want to look like a man yes. But I want to look like a queer trans man because that’s what I am and if I look like a cis dude then I’ll start seeing a stranger when I look in the mirror again.

It doesn’t help that the pressure to conform isn’t just interpersonal but structural - for example, trans people often have to be below a certain BMI to access surgery on the NHS and even in some private hospitals. Because of this, every time I’ve had to interact with the clinic that prescribes my hormones they’ve made some pretty yikes remarks about my weight.

I still remember, in our first meeting, how the person assessing me commented that if I could lose some weight then I’d be very handsome due to being fairly tall and broad-shouldered for a trans guy. It made me feel like they saw me as an object that could be shaped and moulded into whatever they wanted - into a symbol of their mastery over medicine.

It was dehumanising as hell.

Femininity, fatness and autism

Being overweight and a man who is slowly starting to present in a more authentically femme manner is interesting.

It makes me feel like some kind of horrible pervert a lot of the time.

I think we’ve got this image of a fat, effeminate, creepy dude so embedded in our collective consciousness that it’s poisoning my self-image a little. It doesn’t help that this collective caricature has a lot of autistic traits and well - I’m autistic.

It sucks because I try very hard to be respectful and non-creepy. I don’t think other people perceive me that way, from what I can tell.

But my brain keeps insisting that if I wore a dress or lipstick or high heels then I’ll transform into some Silence of the Lambs-type figure.

So I’ve been restricting myself to just painting my nails and wearing necklaces sometimes.

But I don’t want to do that any more. I want to be myself as hard and joyfully and authentically as I can all of the time. I feel like I’ve spent so long repressing myself - first because I was in the closet about being queer and trans and then because I was trying my hardest to pass due to not being about to handle social and physical dysphoria at the same time.

I guess it’s something I need to work through... but I’m not going to give up and hide away again. I won’t do that.

Transandrophobia

The other thing I’ve been thinking a lot about is how the sex characteristics primarily associated with men - for example, facial and body hair - are seen in a negative light. Largely in social justice spaces and communities but in the wider world to some extent also.

In social justice spaces, there is a lot of fear and dislike of maleness and masculinity. I can understand why but it doesn’t make it any easier to deal with as a man who is marginalised due to his gender. I don’t feel very safe or comfortable outside of these spaces but it’s often a pretty tough experience to exist in them too.

This dislike of male things extends to physical traits that are seen as male also. Even in supposedly trans-inclusive spaces, I’ve seen this vocal repulsion to things like body hair and facial hair. Disgust towards traits like this is harmful to pretty much everyone who doesn’t fit cis, perisex, white beauty standards.

People who express this disgust in trans inclusive spaces often seem to think that their words will only hurt white, straight, able-bodied, perisex cis men and that it’s therefore fine.

However, I don’t think it’s okay to talk about cis guy’s bodies like that - for one because it’s just a mean thing to do and for two because even if you want to go out of your way to hurt cis men’s feelings then there’s still no way for you to prevent unintended collateral damage if you say horrible things about someone else’s body in a public place.

So if it’s wrong to make comments like that towards relatively privileged people then it’s very, very wrong to say such things about the bodies of trans people, intersex people and people of colour.

Another factor that harms trans men and other transmasculine people specifically is how people tend to react towards our bodies at varying times during medical transitioning. People (especially cis women) tend to react very positively towards us having feminine physical features - being soft and hairless and pretty-looking. Then we receive backlash if we choose to transition - we run into this idea that we’re “ruining” our “precious, sacred, feminine bodies”.

This nasty, entitled rhetoric tends to crop up strongest among TERFs but I’ve come across less explicit, less obviously transphobic variations in trans inclusive communities also.

This demonisation of “male” traits messed with my head when my hormones started to take effect. I was really happy to feel my dysphoria decreasing but at the same time, I had to come to terms with looking well, ugly. At least - ugly according to the spaces and communities I am a part of.

[carewyncromwell]

Cinderella AU time again at last, baby!! Let’s do this!

Florence’s “Christmas Witch” is inspired by Italy’s Le Befana, who like Santa Claus/Father Christmas and his many variations serves as a holiday gift-giver to young children. Given that in this universe, Florence is more favorable toward magic than its rival nation Royaume, I figured them having a similar tradition was appropriate.

The background depicted in this picture is based on this window from a guest apartment in the Chateau de Chambord in France, though of course this is the outside of such a window, rather than the inside. Damn it, do I hate backgrounds with a burning passion. XD;;

In my headcanon, Orion suffers from anxiety. Anxiety disorders aren’t uncommon among children who were raised in orphanages, and a common visual cue for anxiety is clasping one’s hands in front of them, which Orion does constantly in the game Hogwarts Mystery. Plus two types of therapy prescribed for dealing with anxiety are meditation and regular physical activity (like Quidditch! :D). For safety, though, I also want to put in a trigger warning for this part -- be advised that there will be some discussion of PTSD and war-related trauma, around the middle of this.

Previous part is here -- full tag is here -- Katriona “KC” Cassiopeia belongs to @kc-needs-coffee -- and I hope you enjoy!

x~x~x~x

The morning after Royaume’s Winter Festival, Skye was surprised to find Orion in Florence’s palace library. Admittedly he was balancing on one foot with one leg crossed over the other on the step near the top of a tall ladder while reading, which was very typical of Orion -- but the book was a very thick volume on the weaving of various fabrics, and he was devouring it with intense interest while vaguely humming a tune under his breath that Skye didn’t recognize.

“Oh willow, willow, willow...willow...”

Skye cleared her throat to try to get the Prince’s attention. “Hey...Orion?”

Orion, however, was too focused on what he was reading. It took Skye striding over, stating his name twice more, and finally giving the ladder a light smack to get his attention.

“Orion! Mind coming back down to Earth for a minute?” she said, her voice oddly tense. “I need to talk to you.”

Orion stopped humming and looked up from the book at last, his expression rather pleasant.

“Skye...you’ve returned from the front.”

Skye frowned. “Yeah...Dad’s nearly recovered from his injuries. Penny Haywood wanted to thank you for the herbs you picked up.”

Orion inclined his head slightly. “I’m glad to hear your father’s condition has improved.”

Skye nodded, looking faintly guilty.

“...Orion...I’m sorry about what I said the other day,” she said uncomfortably. “I was just so worried about Dad and his troops, and you being all wrapped up in this girl who works for the enemy...it just...it rattled me, I guess.”

“Florence and Royaume should not be enemies for all time,” said Orion patiently. “If there is to be peace, the mistakes both sides have made in the midst of the War will have to be forgiven.”

“I know,” muttered Skye. “And...well, I know how you feel about the War -- about war and fighting in general. It just feels like what you’re doing is so slow, and people are hurting, and...”

She hung her head.

“I know it’s no excuse, for what I said, but...I am really sorry.”

Orion’s black eyes softened. “It’s already forgiven and forgotten, my friend.”

Skye looked very relieved. Her face burst into a smile.

“...Thanks, Orion. I gotta admit, I...kind of want to meet this ‘Lady Cromwell’ now, after everything you told McNully and me about her. She sounds a bit too good to be true, but...well, I never really thought I’d ever hear of a Royaumanian defending magic...especially one of their courtiers.”

Closing the book in his hands with a quiet snap, Orion lowered the leg he had bent beside the one he was balancing on.

“Fortunately I think you’ll have the chance to do so very soon,” he said with a smile. “Last night was an unquestionable success.”

He leapt down the rungs of the ladder with alternating feet, all the way back down to the floor with a light thump.

“I went to the Winter Festival and met the Prince of Royaume himself.”

Skye gave a start. “You what?”

Orion was beaming from ear to ear. “It was all thanks to Carewyn, appropriately enough. She was the one who arranged it so that he could sneak out of the palace disguised as a peasant and attend the Winter Festival, even with the King and Queen keeping him so strictly contained. Prince Henri himself even said as much, that it was all Carewyn’s doing. Imagine...because of her, the two princes of rival nations were able to meet on completely neutral ground as equals. And now that we’ve been introduced and I have a better fix on Prince Henri’s character, I have a great opportunity to open negotiations in full.”

Skye looked rather impressed, even as her face twitched with discomfort.

“That’s...smashing, Orion,” she granted halfheartedly.

Orion raised his eyebrows curiously. “I would say so...but your aura doesn’t seem to agree with your words.”

With a deepening, guilty frown, Skye reached into the hanging pocket attached to her faded blue skirt and took out a sealed letter, which she handed to Orion.

“The King asked me to bring this back for you,” she said lowly, as Orion opened it and began to read. “He’s requested you and McNully to join him at the front.”

Orion’s face had lost all of its pleasantry, leaving it very stony and unreadable, as his black eyes scanned the letter once, twice, three times.

“McNully’s gone to get the coach ready,” said Skye lowly. “He said that he’d meet us just inside the castle gate.”

The ride from the Florentine royal palace to the battlefield at the northern-most border of Royaume and Florence was a stressful one. Once anyone exited the capitol’s walls, the War was immediately much more visible, since most of the War was fought on Florentine soil. Plus many of those magicians who specialized in casting spells were encouraged to settle closer to the wealthier hubs of the country, so that they could cast temporary illusions to obscure certain buildings whenever the opposing army got too close. That was how people such as Florence’s court magician, Severus Snape, had attained such a respectable status.

Orion spent the entire coach ride sitting with his legs crossed, his hands clasped tightly in his lap, and his eyes closed so he could meditate. Despite his eyes being closed, however, when they arrived at their destination, he could hear the shrieks of wheels on old wagons, the whinnying of unsettled horses, and suppressed moans of pain, and he could smell the burnt wood, gunpowder, and indescribable smell that could only be labeled as “death.” Even just the sounds and smells brought all the memories flooding back -- his and his mother’s house set ablaze...the rearing horses with Royaume blue and red on their saddles...the deafening explosions and the gray ash that rained from the sky...his mother’s light-less eyes and his own labored breathing and clutching, shaking hands...

Orion had never been blind to how run-down much of his country was, but its problems only became more apparent the closer one got to the border, and especially to the war front. Every building was brand-new and cheaply built, for they no doubt had been built and rebuilt several times over and their occupants didn’t have the funds to build it back as well as before. And then once one approached the army camp itself, there were just about no buildings or fortresses at all, since it was so hard to keep them from being demolished. Instead all the Florentines really had were tents that wouldn’t stand up to most any elements. In the freezing cold of winter, many had been crowded under groves of trees, in a vain attempt to try to protect them from the snow that had buried their neighbors, and there were large bonfires set up everywhere where the soldiers gathered, just to warm their bundled hands and feet. One small fire featured a cooking pot and some sort of foul-smelling soup -- it took Orion a moment to realize the smell was burning leather.

It was tragic to think of how many men back in the Florentine capitol like Lord Malfoy had become very rich because of the increased danger of shipping goods through war zones, while the men who actually had to stay in that war zone had to cook their own boots and eat them for sustenance.

Orion did not open his eyes even when the carriage came to a stop. It was proving harder to find his center of balance when the smell of gunpowder outside made the memory of terrified screams and crackling wood pound against his eardrums.

Inhale. Exhale. Let go. Find your center. Balance.

He felt someone lightly touch the top of his clasped hands. When he opened his eyes, he saw that it was Skye.

“...We’re here,” she mumbled. Clearly she knew she was stating the obvious, but didn’t know what else to say.

Orion looked from her to McNully sitting next to her, his eyes very dark even though his face was rather unreadable. McNully looked very grim as he slowly opened the door to the coach. As soon as he did so, someone outside announced very loudly,

“Presenting his Highness, Crown Prince Cosimo Amari VII, heir to the throne of Florence!”

With a swallow, Orion slid his legs down to the floor and, unclasping his hands at last, he hoisted himself up as best he could, took hold of the door frame, and climbed out of the coach. He held his head up high and didn’t shrink, but his eyes were rippling turbulently like oil under candlelight as they surveyed the barren landscape.

Men by the dozens were being carried away on stretchers toward a large off-white medical tent -- even more were being carried away from it or, worse, not even coming close to it at all, for it was already too late. They were too badly injured for Penny Haywood’s potions to save -- for as powerful as magic could be, life and death were inevitable things. The gray-haired flower witch who’d given Orion the charm around his neck had told him so, the Prince recalled, as his hand absently came up to trail over the circular pendant. He’d asked her if she could stop someone from dying, and the sweet grandmotherly woman had looked upon him with an incredibly sad, pitying look.

“Death isn’t something anyone can stop, I’m afraid. One can put it off, certainly...I’ve been able to give people some extra time with my potions, but only by putting in a lot of my own time and energy. And even after putting in that time and energy, there are still plenty of people who I couldn’t work fast enough to help. That’s one of magic’s Chief Principles -- potions take time, but their effects last longer.”

The Prince of Florence tried to bring the cooling, calming sensation that had accompanied the charm around his neck when the woman had first given it to him back to his mind, as the smell of death that hovered over the camp made his heart chill and his stomach churn.

Orion could sense Skye climbing out to stand beside him, and not long after, McNully had lowered himself into the wheeled chair the footman detached from the boot of the coach. By the time McNully and Skye had joined him on the ground, a royal entourage had approached them, introduced by the captain who’d announced Orion’s arrival --

“Presenting his Majesty, Cosimo Amari V, Master and Commander of the Florentine Army, Lord of the Southeastern Sea, King of Florence!”

An older man about Orion’s height with a short mane of graying dark hair and just as strong of a jaw strode forward. Although he greatly resembled Orion visually, however, their physical attitudes couldn’t be any more different: as relaxed and modest as Orion was, the King of Florence appeared traditional and proud. They did, however, both appear quite detached, in their own way -- Orion because he didn’t want to be on the battlefield at all, and the King because he seemed to not be entirely sure how to address his adult son. But frankly, considering that Orion had been snatched out of poverty and made Crown Prince just to replace his older half-brother, Cosimo VI, after he was assassinated by the Royaumanians earlier that year, that wasn’t completely surprising.

“Cosimo,” the King greeted him formally. “Good that you’re here.”

Orion didn’t respond, his face close to impossible to read as he clasped his hands in front of him again.

The King’s emerald green eyes scanned his son’s face briefly before he brought up a hand to take hold of his shoulder and lead him further into camp.

“Come -- we have much to discuss...”

Skye and McNully followed Orion and his father to the largest and brightest white of the tents, pushing the flap with the official Florentine gold-and-green-flower emblem aside to walk inside and gather around a large table. There was a large map laid out on it with many dark green and blood red miniatures and model canons scattered across the surface. Skye’s father, General Ethan Parkin, was also present -- he had to sit in a chair rather than stand like almost everyone else due to him missing a leg and being forced to lean on a crutch, but he sat up very straight with boastful levels of pride. Once he, his generals, and the Prince were all gathered around the table, the King immediately set about discussing McNully’s newest military strategy, which would involve splitting the army in half so as to covertly attack Royaume’s forces from two directions, so as to not only better pinpoint where their canons were currently positioned and avoid them, but also to prevent them from retreating.

It soon became apparent to everyone in the King’s tent, however, that Orion was not in the mood to discuss any of this. He stayed quiet for the majority of the meeting, clasping his hands in front of him, and his eyes remained on the far edge of the map on the table, far away from the battlefield. In his mind, he tried to find his center, even though the sounds of the anxiously whinnying horses outside brought back the memory of the ones that had nearly stampeded him so many years ago, when his part of town was set ablaze.

Find your center. Find balance. Find peace.

Carewyn’s soft, content face as she sang under the willow tree beside the Royaumanian palace moat rippled over his mind, and he felt his heart rate slow.

“Oh willow, willow, willow...shall be my garland...”

Orion tried to stay there on that lake bank in his mind as the King discussed how essential it’d be to prevent any Royaumanians from getting in or out of their camp during their siege -- for, as General Parkin pointed out, if any help arrived, then it would prevent the Florentine Army from wiping out their enemy and ending the War. McNully himself looked rather unsettled by the thought of “wiping out” the enemy and was quick to say he’d only intended for the Royaumanians to be fenced in, like in a game of chess, but the King of Florence clearly didn’t think it was enough.

“This newest batch of drafted soldiers are our last resort. Unless we wish to expand the draft to take all those over the age of 18, regardless of health or status, to take their place, we must bring this War to an end, once and for all. And to do that, our enemy must be decisively crushed.”

He looked up at Orion.

“That is why, son, I’ll need you to take command of the left flank of the army.”

“What?” said Skye and McNully, both taken aback and horrified.

“Your Majesty,” McNully said very quickly and firmly, “I-I fully intended that General Parkin would -- ”

“Believe me, lad, I’d normally be chomping at the bit to do it myself,” said General Parkin with a rather sour expression. “But considering that I can’t even properly stand yet, his Majesty decided it might be a good idea for me to...sit this one out.”

“Prince Cosimo will need to know our army as well as I do,” said the King firmly. “Even when we bring this War to an end, he’ll need to be able to lead them in battle, in order to protect our kingdom. And from what I understand, Cosimo, you’ve been gathering intelligence in Royaume itself for a month now without arousing any suspicion...I believe your flair for stealth would be perfectly suited to the task at hand.”

“I’m afraid I must disagree,” said Orion in a very quiet voice.

The King halted. Orion had looked up at his father out the side of his black eye when he’d first addressed him, and although his expression had been very restrained, his eyes had gone very dark. His hands clasped a bit tighter as he faced the rest of the King’s military officers.

“This meeting is adjourned. Please excuse me.”

He turned on his heel and made as if to leave. The King, however, roughly grabbed his shoulder.

“It most certainly is not,” he said, his green eyes full of both disbelief and urgency. “Cosimo, this is not up for debate -- I require you here, to lead the men.”

Orion didn’t turn around. “...You require my aid, to lead our men in this battle?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” said Orion levelly. “Then should I choose not to cooperate, you will not be able to act on this strategy at all.”

All of the King’s officers looked appalled as Orion left the tent. The King’s eyes grew very wide, flickering with desperation as well as some righteous anger, as he chased after him, stepping in front of Orion to prevent him from leaving.

“Cosimo, this is our chance to end the War once and for all! To bring peace to Florence, to right all of the wrongs the Royaumanians have done...”

“Can one right any wrongs by committing more wrongs of their own?” murmured Orion.

“War is not that black and white, my son,” said the King sharply. The surrounding soldiers were starting to take notice. “Sometimes the ends must justify the means -- it’s something all young kings must learn, and I would prefer you learn it before I’m gone, rather than after making a big mistake.”

Skye and McNully had rushed out to join Orion.

“All people make mistakes,” Orion said softly. He tried to leave for a third time, but the King refused to let him pass.

“But you are the Crown Prince of Florence!” said the King. He was clearly getting frustrated now. “Therefore your mistakes are much more consequential -- when you make mistakes, the people you cherish, that you want most desperately to protect, pay the price!”

His father’s rising volume wasn’t helping Orion’s mood. His anxiety had already been spiking in the tent, but it was only getting harder for him to focus on his breathing with the King continuing to press the issue and the unpleasant, sickening smells and sounds of the battlefield surrounding him.

“Think of your friends, Cosimo,” said the King in a strained voice, “your home, your subjects...”

His friends... Skye’s and McNully’s faces rippled over Orion’s mind, before being joined by KC’s, Badeea’s, the Weasleys’, and Andre’s at the Festival...Carewyn’s...Carewyn rushing up to him at the palace gate -- sighing tiredly and handing him her uncomfortable white heels -- dancing in spirals around him, her red lips turned up in a smile and her ginger hair flying free --

Another battalion was coming through, with stretchers and horses loaded up with wounded soldiers -- the smell of death was suffocating --

“Think of your mother, Cosimo,” said the King. “Could you bear it if any other little boys lost their mothers, the way you did?”

“Don’t talk about -- !” gasped Skye, looking righteously furious, but McNully quickly grabbed her arm to urge her to be quiet. 

Skye’s objection wouldn’t have helped, though. The mention of Orion’s mother, combined with the smell of fire and the sound of horses, brought the images flooding back -- his mother’s light-less eyes -- his own gasping for breath --

Orion closed his eyes, trying to find his center, even as his clasped hands started to sweat.

Return to Carewyn -- return to the lake shore, to her voice --

Carewyn’s brother was on the battlefield, fighting for Royaume -- if Orion charged into battle, could he not end up bringing about her brother’s death? Could he bear seeing Carewyn’s heart broken, upon learning that the only family she had who truly understood and loved her was dead? Could he bear the thought of all that blood being on his hands...the blood of his soldiers and Andre’s -- the blood of Carewyn’s brother -- ?

“This is your responsibility, Cosimo,” said the King, as he seized Orion’s shoulder and squeezed it. “You must lead our men into battle -- ”

SMACK.

To everyone’s complete and utter shock, Orion had actually ripped out of the King’s grip, backhanding his hand away with force.

The King flinched back, looking stricken. Orion stared at his father, his black eyes very wide and devoid of both consciousness and its usual composure. There was no rage or violence in his posture, but his face was very white and his hand -- still hovering in mid-air -- was trembling slightly.

“Forgive me,” he said at once, his voice very soft and unusually fragile. “Just...please, don’t touch me.”

He strode past his father, right over to the coach he’d arrived in. Instead of climbing inside, however, he immediately yanked one of the black horses free from its restraints and climbed up onto its back.

“Cosimo!” the King cried, but it was no use. Orion had already sharply flicked the reins and rode off into the distance with speed.

Orion didn’t stop riding until he’d once again reached the palace gate of Royaume. He ended up tossing off his well-tailored olive green doublet on the way, so as to leave his more peasant-like white undershirt behind. His hair also came loose of its ponytail in transit and Orion didn’t care in the least to try to restrain it again. His heart was pounding so fast and his blood was so spiked that all he could focus on was finding peace -- and in that moment, peace was a person. He just needed to hear Carewyn’s voice...needed to see her face...

Orion tied his horse up not far from the palace and hopped the castle wall. He knew Carewyn wouldn’t be expecting him -- before the Winter Festival, they’d said they’d meet up on the 9th, which was coincidentally after Florence’s Christmas Witch festivities. Even so, and even though Orion knew Carewyn would worry about him getting in trouble, he couldn’t think of the risk to himself. His heart was just too clenched with anxiety for him to place his focus on anything other than reaching her -- even though once he reached the castle, the tension that squeezed every nerve in his body in a vice grip only increased with the knowledge that he had no way to figure out where in the castle she’d be or how to get her attention. As fate would have it, however, as Orion paced through the gardens, clasping his own sweating hands, a familiar tune rippled over the air.

“The sweetest sounds I’ll ever hear are still inside my head...

The kindest words I’ll ever know are waiting to be said...”

The song itself was one even Orion knew -- it was a rather well-known love song in both Florence and Royaume, and one of his mother’s favorite songs when she was alive. But more importantly, the voice singing it was the wonderfully emotional, deep-as-the-sea tone he’d so needed to hear. Orion’s heart gave something like a spasm of relief as he swept around the perimeter of the palace, staying low behind the hedges, until he spotted an open window in a nearby tower where the voice was coming from. When Orion reached the tower in question, he couldn’t stop himself from collapsing against the wall back-first, closing his eyes, so he could just focus on her voice and let it wash over him.

He was suddenly so short on time. The King was so desperate to end the War that he was now open to slaughtering the enemy, if it served that goal. And as confident as the King was that the plan McNully had suggested would put an end to the Royaumanian army for good, Orion himself doubted it would or even could. The cycle of vengeance could only continue ad infinitum until either everything was destroyed or one royal decided to be the better person and stop the fighting. But how could Orion hope to pursue the diplomacy he’d wanted, once the King had done something so ruthless? How could he hope to appeal to Prince Henri or his parents, after such a severe, fresh wound? And Carewyn...how could he face her again, if her beloved brother died because of his own father’s orders?

He needed time. He needed peace. He needed...

“...is waiting somewhere...somewhere for me...”

Breathe. Find your center. Inhale. Exhale.

Orion barely knew what made him do it, but he knew he had to get Carewyn’s attention somehow. So he squeezed his hands, opened his mouth, took a deep breath, and started to sing the words in return.

“The sweetest sounds I’ll ever hear are still inside my head...”

Carewyn had been cleaning one of the guest suites when she suddenly heard her own song echoed back to her from outside the window. She straightened up abruptly.

Who...who is...?

The voice was male and oddly wispy -- the singer was certainly not trained or very comfortable singing, but he still sounded so earnest...almost desperate.

“The kindest words I’ll ever know are waiting to be said...

The most entrancing sight of all is yet for me to see,

And the dearest love in all the world is waiting somewhere for me --

Is waiting somewhere...somewhere for me...”

Carewyn leaned her broom up against the wall and looked out the window. When she looked down, she caught sight of a familiar mane of dark hair and slightly-too-clean white shirt.

“Orion?”

She recoiled from the window at once, her hands flying to her messy ginger ponytail as she looked over her burnt orange and beige servant’s dress. She was in no state for him to see her like this --

She looked into the mirror hanging up on the closest wall and swallowed.

Carewyn knew she was being foolish -- Orion was going to find out sooner or later that she was nothing but a servant...but...

She’d liked being a lady, for him. She’d liked being someone he could respect. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him with the truth of who she was, really, it was more...her being ashamed of herself. She hadn’t had a choice of whether or not Andre or KC or even the Weasleys knew that she was the child of Charles Cromwell’s disowned youngest daughter and a dead-beat merchant with no dowry or prospects. But Orion hadn’t known her. She’d been able to be who she wished she could be, if just for a moment, when they first met...and in every moment after, she found herself that bit more reluctant to put that mask away.

Carewyn wanted to be a brave, noble, graceful, sophisticated lady for Orion. She wanted to be someone he could admire, instead of the insignificant, pathetic, lying fake who’d sold her and her brother’s souls and futures away forever, just to try to save his life. A girl who, truthfully, was no better than her terrible family -- who had brought every bit of unhappiness she’d ever experienced on herself...

Orion started the song again down below, in an attempt to get Carewyn’s attention -- Carewyn, up above, quickly fashioned her hair into a pretty braid in front of the mirror and sang under him as an echo, as if wanting to reassure him that she could hear him.

“The sweetest sounds (the sweetest sounds)

I’ll ever hear (I’ll ever hear)

Are still inside my head --

The kindest words (the kindest words)

I’ll ever know (I’ll ever know)

Are waiting to be said --

The most (the most) entrancing (entrancing) sight of all (sight of all)

Is yet for me to see,

And the dearest love in all the world...

Is waiting somewhere for me... (Waiting somewhere...)

Is waiting somewhere...

Somewhere for...me...”

Once she was finished with her braid, Carewyn quickly dusted herself off and dashed over to the window.

“Orion!” she whispered only as loudly as she dared.

Orion opened his eyes, turning around and looking up at Carewyn with a very soft smile adorning his lips.

“Beautiful as ever, my lady,” he complimented her, inclining his shoulders in a short bow. His hands were still clasped in front of him. “Like the sweet Nightingale that sang for the Emperor.”

Carewyn took several quick glances around, visibly worried. “Orion, what are you doing here?”

Orion raised his eyebrows. “Standing, at present. Though I was singing just a moment ago -- or at least trying to. My voice cannot compete with yours, I’m afraid.”

Carewyn couldn’t completely keep the smile off her face, even despite the concern she felt. Her smile, however small, was like a warm, soothing hand on Orion’s heart.

“You’re lucky that no one else heard you!” Carewyn hissed down with as much reproach as she could manage.

Orion smiled wryly. “Most assuredly. I’m certain that Madam Ali and the Weasley brothers would hardly enjoy my ‘accompaniment’ as well as they do yours.”

The sweat on his hands had gone cold, making Orion actually shiver a bit as he found his body temperature and heart rate finally starting to calm. His smile flickered slightly on his face, creating a much more pensive and murky expression.

“...Will you take a ride with me, Carewyn?” said Orion, very abruptly. 

Carewyn blinked. “What?”

Orion squeezed his own hands together, but tried to keep his voice level and his shoulders straight.

“I realize we’ve made no plans today, and that you are enamored of the work you do at court...but you so enjoy riding your horse, and we’ve not yet taken a ride together, out into the country. There are such beautiful valleys east of here -- perfect for stargazing, I should think, once the sun sets.”

Carewyn’s eyes drifted away, back into the guest suite she was cleaning. The windows weren’t washed yet, and she still had to bring the dirty sheets down to the laundry so she could have them clean in time for tomorrow morning...

Sensing Carewyn’s discomfort, Orion said in an oddly insistent voice, “I’ll wait for you, should you say yes. Whatever you must do, I’ll wait until you are finished.”

Carewyn’s gaze snapped back down to Orion in surprise.

She’d never heard him sound like that before. As mysterious and unreadable as his face was, she could still sense that something was off. Perhaps it was how his black eyes searched her face -- or perhaps it was the tenseness in his clasped hands.

Carewyn knew she was in no state to go riding with Orion in her dusty servant’s uniform, especially when she still had work to do...but truly, she didn’t have to wash the windows today, after having already done them yesterday...and she could always fetch the sheets early the next morning before coming up to the guest suite to change them out.

If something is wrong, I can’t leave Orion to deal with it alone, she thought to herself.

Even if she was only a fake and a liar, Carewyn wanted to be there for him. He deserved to have someone there for him...even if it was just her.

And so with a swallow, she looked back down at Orion with a very solemn, but gentle look.

“...I’ll need to change into something warmer and fetch my horse...but I’ll be down in thirty minutes. Can you meet me outside the gate?”

Orion’s heart flooded with relief that he couldn’t completely keep off of his face.

“I’ll be waiting, my lady.”

[massivelycreepypineapple]

He Loves His Gimp

Request: Gynac Jensen anon here. Couldn't stop reading your work again and again. I just love it❤️ Hence came to you requesting another story. (Sorry🥺) Can you write one Jensen x reader where they have a big fight, she storms off, but while going, falls down the stairs and bumps into a wall and somehow her hand gets into a cast along with concussion. Jensen gets worrried and doesn't leave her alone all the time. After 2 days, for next appointment reader panicks while receiving PRP injection. All the fluff between these days. After few days, when her leg is better, next doc's appointment for removal of cast. Reader gets freaked out again. (Well I did freak, I had a full blown panic attack, my husband had to physically restrain me XD) so Jensen supporting her while removal process. ( I know I mentioned hand, but I wanted to request for leg, Idk how did I do that) Again sorry, I have bombarded you with such a long request. But write only if you want and are comfortable. Thanks ❤️

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Fem!Reader

A/N: Hope you enjoy this! 

Feedback is welcome!

Word Count: 3032

❅ ❅ ❅

It had barely been a week since Jensen got back from Vancouver and in one week everything had gone bad. There was something happening with the brewery and as a result tensions were high. This in turn caused the the married couple to snap at each other often. The last couple of days have been really bad as Jensen and Y/N kept fighting non stop. It was taking a toll on her and she didn’t know what to do to help him. Every time she tried, he would snap at her and it would result in a full blown argument. This time was no different.

“Damn Y/N! God it was so peaceful living alone back in Vancouver!” Yelled Jensen.

“Oh yeah?! Well maybe you should’ve just stayed back then!” Shouted Y/N as she stormed out of the master bedroom.

With tears blurring her vision and blind anger consuming her, Y/N failed to pay attention to where she was going, causing her to trip on the stairs and take a fall. On her way down, she hit her head against the wall and landed with a thud on the ground floor. Her right ankle was askew and pain shot through her like wildfire as she screamed. She barely noticed Jensen run down the stair and crouch down beside her worriedly asking her questions.

“Y/N! Oh god! What hurts, baby? Talk to me!” He asked frantically.

“My leg and my head.” She mumbled out, her head feeling a little dizzy.

Jensen went to hold her ankle to take a proper look at it, the action only made her yell out in pain more. “Shit I’m so sorry, honey! I think it’s broken.” He said.

He pulled out his phone dialling 911, “Hi I need an ambulance immediately! My wife fell down the stairs and I think she broke her ankle and might have a concussion.” He explained, giving them their address.

Y/N was close to falling asleep but was immediately woken up with insistent pats on her cheek.

“Hey, stay awake sweetie. You might have a concussion and falling asleep will make it worse.”  

“Everything hurts, Jay.” She said doing her best to keep her eyes open. The tears streamed down her face quickly wiped away by Jensen.

“I know, baby. I know. The ambulance will be here in a bit.” He said not leaving her side.

“C-can I sit up?”

“Just stay still okay? You’re going to be fine.” Jensen said carding his fingers through her hair while he held her hand with his other one.

The paramedics finally arrived and Jensen rode with her to the hospital.

_______________

12 hours later they finally made it back home at 1:30 in the morning. The doctor insisted on keeping Y/N in the hospital that long to make sure her concussion cleared up. He put her leg in a cast and prescribed some pain killers along with strict orders for plenty of rest for the ankle to heal. Lucky for her it was a small fracture that should heal on its own within a few weeks if she didn’t stress it out too much. She was, however, asked to come back couple of days later for a PRP injection to accelerate the recovery.

Jensen carried her inside the house and placed her on the couch. He shut the main door and went into the kitchen to bring Y/N her medicines and some water. Y/N knew there was something bothering him. He had been quiet the entire time and barely looked at her. She was feeling more and more guilty especially after the fight they had this morning. Her thoughts were interrupted when Jensen offered her a glass of water along with the pill. She took it and returned the glass back to Jensen who took it back to the sink, still avoiding any eye contact.

He came back to her to carry her to their bedroom when she stopped him.

“Jay, wait.”

“What’s wrong? You okay?” He asked fearing that the doctors missed something.

“I’m fine, but you clearly are not. Talk to me Jay.” She asked worriedly.

“Y/N it’s 1:30 in the morning and you’re hurt and in pain, and I’m exhausted. Can we please not do this now?” He asked rubbing his face.

Y/N felt a pang of hurt go through her heart. She had really messed up with the fight. Jensen was right he would’ve been more at peace without her.

“Okay.” She whispered and allowed him to carry her up to their room.

_______________

That morning Y/N woke up late thanks to her medication that made her drowsy. The space next to her was empty and suddenly the events that occurred the previous day crashed on her all at once, breaking her heart. Her leg was throbbing and she was doing her best to keep the tears at bay as she sat up and placed her feet on the floor.

Jensen walked into the room with a tray of breakfast, “Where do you think you’re going?” He asked chiding her.

“I thought-“

“I was making you breakfast in bed, Y/N. Now get back in and relax, okay?”

She got back in bed and Jensen placed the tray on her lap and sat in front of her. “How are you feeling today?” He asked rubbing her knee.

“Leg hurts a little, but my head is much better.” She replied taking a bite.

“Good. Eat up so you can take your painkillers.” He smiled softly at her.

“Okay.” Y/N back smiled at him.

Once breakfast was over Jensen grabbed the tray and handed her the medicines. He then helped her into the shower so they could take a bath. He covered her cast with plastic to it wouldn’t get wet and placed a stool in the shower so Y/N could sit comfortably. He helped her strip her clothes and proceeded to do the same. Nothing was exchanged between them which was odd. There was this lingering tension and Y/N didn’t know how to break it. Her mind was racing thinking of ways to apologise, and just as he proceeded to scrub shampoo in her hair a tear slipped from her eye. Her sniffle didn’t go unnoticed by hm and he immediately crouched down in front of her.

“Y/N, what’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” He asked concern filling his eyes.

She shook her head sniffling some more.

“Then what’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“I’m sorry” she whispered.

“What for?”

“I’m sorry I’m so overbearing. I’m sorry, Jay. I shouldn’t have pushed you with the brewery and now you want to go back to Vancouver to get away from me. And then I had to get hurt and you’re stuck here with me. I’m sorry it’s not so peaceful here.” Her outburst stunned him.

“Y/N…”

“I’m sorry!” She was clutching onto him as tears fell rapidly down her cheeks. Jensen hugged her tightly to him, uncaring of the shampoo in her hair.

“Baby, you listen to me. I don’t want to get away from you. I’ll never want that, Y/N. I’m sorry I said that. I was angry and tired with everything that was happening and I took it out on you when you were only trying to help. It’s my fault baby. Vancouver sucks without you there. And I’m even more glad I’m here when you’re hurt. I’d hate myself if I wasn’t here for you. I already hate myself caz you’re hurt because of me.”

“It’s not your fault, Jay. It was a freak accident.”

“Feels like it is. I caused this indirectly.” He whispered, closing his eyes tightly. “God, when I heard you scream and saw you at the bottom of the stairs, my heart nearly stopped.”

“No you didn’t. I wasn’t paying attention. But I’m okay, Jay. Nothing too bad happened.”

“Yeah. Thank god for that.”

Y/N kissed him softly. When she pulled away from him she giggled.

“What?” He asked amused.

She scooped the suds on his nose left by her on her finger and showed it to him. He chuckled at that and kissed her nose. “Let’s get cleaned up. We have a busy day today.”

“Oh?” Y/N asked amused.

“Yep! A whole day dedicated to R&R!” He grinned.

“Can we watch The Lord of the Rings again?” Y/N asked with puppy eyes that she learnt from Jared.

Jensen groaned at her, “Fine, the gimp gets the final say.” He said earning a whack.

_______________

The next couple of days went by in a blink and the dreaded day finally arrived. It was time for Y/N to take a PRP injection. With lots of coaxing and promise of mind blowing sex, Jensen finally got her into the car and drove her to the hospital.

They were waiting for their turn and Y/N was bouncing her uninjured leg in nervousness. Jensen placed a hand on her leg, stopping her. “Calm down, Y/N. It’s going to be fine.”

“I hate you.” She snapped at him. “They’re going to give some stupid shot and I’m going to kill you.”

“Hey! I’m not the one giving the shot!”

“You made me come here!”

“You’d do anything in return for sex and you know it. You’re insatiable.” He grinned at her wiggling his eyebrows.

“Shuttup, Ackles.”

“Y/N Ackles” the nurse called out.

“You know if I wasn’t married to you now, that name would mean nothing!” Y/N whispered yelled.

“Haha, hilarious.” He said rolling his eyes. “Come on, gimpy. Let’s get you cured.” He helped her into the wheelchair and the nurse rolled her into the room.

The doctor made her lie down on the bed and got her prepped.

“We’re going to first draw some blood from your arm and then we will be transferring that blood into your leg. It’s so the extra platelets can help the injury heal faster.” He explained, making Y/N shudder.

Jensen moved closer to Y/N and she gripped her hand tightly. The doctor left the room for a while allowing Y/N to panic freely.

“Jay, I don’t want to do this!” She said frantically. “It’s not just one, it’s two needles poking me!” She said looking mortified. Jensen chuckled at her, “It’s not funny, Jay! Quit laughing at me!” She glared.

“I’m sorry, baby but it is a little funny. Besides, Y/N, it’ll be over before you know it. I promise, sweetheart.” He tried comforting her.

“You’re a jerk, Jay and I want to leave. Take me home, please!” She cried getting up.

Jensen pushed her back down gently and was about to say something when the doctor came back in with the stuff. Y/N was trying not to go into a full blown panic. Needles freaked her out big time and this was one of the worst things she’d had to do.

The doctor took a cotton swap with anti septic and cleaned the area making her flinch. Her grip on Jensen tightened and he kissed her forehead. “Just look at me, baby. Think about something else. Like what do you want to do this weekend, hmm?”

“I don’t know!” She looked at him wide eyed. Trying to play along but it was getting increasingly harder.

Just as the needle pierced through her she shut her eyes tightly, holding her breath in. She felt Jensen caress her cheeks with his thumb as he cupped them. “Breathe baby. It’ll go away.” He whispered.

“Almost done, Y/N” The doctor said smiling sympathetically at her.

She felt him gently withdraw the needle and she let out a breathe of relief when it was done. But that didn’t last long. She remembered the hard part was yet to come. The damn doc had to stick the little bastard into her leg and it was going to be 10 times worse.

She felt Jensen squeeze her hand, “Don’t think about it. Just keep talking to me ok?”

“Let’s go visit Jared and Gen this weekend.” She said, giving him a small smile.

“Yeah, that’s a great idea.” He smiled widely.

Y/N and Jensen kept chatting and she didn’t notice when the doctor was near her feet. The needled pierced her leg just above the cast and she whimpered in pain. “Son of bi-!” She exclaimed.

“There all done!” Grinned the doctor.

“See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Said Jensen smirking at her.

“Wipe that look off your face or I’ll do it for you.” She glared at him.

The doctor chuckled at her, “Well you’re good to go, Y/N. You just need to come back a week from now and we can remove the cast.”

“Can’t wait. This thing is itchy as hell.” You said, thanking him.

“And it smells” mumbled Jensen to himself earning a glare from Y/N.

An hour later they were back home comfortably cuddled up on the sofa. Y/N was flipping through the channels trying to find something good. Jensen groaned beside her as she changed it once more.

“Just pick one!” He exclaimed throwing his head back.

“I’m trying! There’s nothing good on!”

“I’m booored, N/N!”

“Urgh fine! You pick then!” She said throwing the remote into his lap.

He settled on some silly rom com, making Y/N look pointedly at him. “Really? This one?”

He grinned at her and she squeaked when he shifted her in a blink of an eye. She was sitting on his lap with her leg carefully placed so it wouldn’t hurt.

“What are you doing, Jay?” She asked suspiciously.

“Snogging to silly rom coms like teenagers?” The grin not leaving his face.

Y/N giggled at him, “You’re such a boy!”

“You love it.”

“Nahh.” She said with a cheshire cat grin. But soon started laughing as Jensen tickled her.

“Jay! Stop please!”

“Nope!”

“I’ll make you smell my cast if you don’t!” She managed to gasp out between laughter.

“Yuck! Keep that thing away from me, woman! That stench is poison!” He exclaimed with wide eyes, immediately stopping the tickle attack.

Y/N laughed at his reaction and kissed him hard. They spent the rest of the day snogging to crap TV.

_______________

A week later Y/N was back in that dreadful hospital room. She got her foot x-rayed and cleared for the cast to come off and she couldn’t be happier. Jensen was sitting on the chair beside her reading the stuff on the wall. Y/N was fiddling with her phone when the doctor came in with the equipments to cut open her cast.

When Y/N noticed the equipment, she freaked out. “W-what’s that? I thought you had to cut the cast open!”

The doctor chuckled at her, “This is to cut the cast open. That thing is too thick for scissors. We need something stronger.”

“Oh no no. You keep that thing away from me, she said in shock. She moved backwards in bed.

“You won’t feel a thing, I promise.” Said the doctor looking at Jensen for support.

“Y/N come on. This is the last time you need to be here. So let’s get this over it, huh?” He said gripping your hand.

Y/N watched in fear as the doctor got everything set up. He turned on the electric cutter and got ready to cut open the cast. Y/N went into a full blown panic attack and began thrashing around.

Jensen was holding onto her. “Honey, you gotta breathe for me. Look at me, Y/N.”

“No! No please. I can’t keep doing this, Jay! I’m constantly in pain and now he’s going to cut my leg! I like my leg!”

“Baby! He’s not going to cut your leg!” Jensen talked over her. “Look at me, Y/N. Open those eyes and look at me.” He pleaded.

Y/N reluctantly opened her eyes and looked into her husband’s green ones. It calmed her down for a second.

“There’s my girl.” He whispered. “I promise it won’t hurt.”

“Y/N, it won’t even get any close to your leg.” The doctor explained. “It’s just vibrations that will break open the cast.”

Y/N still looked unconvinced and stared at the monstrosity in his hands. Jensen cupped her face between his palms and kissed her forehead. “Do you trust me, Y/N?”

“Yes.” She whispered teary eyed.

“Then do this honey. It’ll be over soon.”

“O-okay.” She said taking a deep breathe and letting the doctor get to work.

20 mins later the cast was off and the doctor was checking her ankle once more. He then decided to put it in a brace since it was still swollen quite a bit and was painful.

“It’s going to hurt for a while, but I think it’s strong enough for you to start physical therapy. Just keep icing it and soaking it in hot water to bring down the swelling.”

“Thank you.” Smiled Y/N. “And I’m sorry you had to witness my freak out.”

“Oh don’t worry about it. I’ve seen people react worse.” He chuckled and left the room after shaking hands with Jensen.

“I’m sorry I was so panicky, Jay.” Mumbled Y/N looking guilty.

Jensen let out a booming laugh, surprising her.

“Why are you laughing?” She asked, confused.

“Y-you thought he wanted to cut your leg off!” He laughed harder.

“Shuttup, Ackles! It was scary okay! I’ve never done this before.” She looked at him grumpily. But she wasn’t really mad.

“Aww my poor gimpy!” He said pinching both her cheeks, making her swat his hands away.

“I’m not a gimp anymore!” She fake glared at him.

“True. I’m going to miss my little gimp. I could do whatever I wanted to her. But now she can limp away so fast.” He grinned cheekily.

“Ha ha! You’re fucking Robin Williams!” She said rolling her eyes.

“Oh the hubris! You’re not Robbin Williams, honey” He said his grin getting wider.

“Just take me home, you dork.” She shook her head at him fighting off a smile.

❅ ❅ ❅

Tags Below

@hobby27 @akshi8278 @svmwinchesterr​

[hopelikethemoon]

The Guilty (Javier x Reader) {MTMF}

Title: The Guilty Rating: PG-13 Length: 3100 Warnings: Mild Angst. Medical Triggers ( loss of consciousness and discussion about pre-eclampsia, etc.) Notes: You can find the Maybe Today, Maybe Forever Timeline here. Set in March 1997. Part two in the “big angst arc”. There’s a POV switch midway through for obvious reasons. Summary: Reader follows her gut. 

Taglist:  @grapemama​  @seawhisperer​ @huliabitch​ @pedropascalito​ @rogrsnbarnes​​@thewallpapergoesorido​ @twomoonstwosuns​ @gooddaykate​ @livasaurasrex​ @ham4arrow​​@hiscyarika​ @plexflexico​ @readsalot73​ @hdlynn​ @lokiaddicted​ @randomness501​​@fioccodineveautunnale​​  @roxypeanut​ @just-add-butter​ @snivellusim​​@amarvelousmandalorian​ @lukesrighthand​ @historynerd04​ @mrsparknuts​​@synystersilenceinblacknwhite​ @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead​ @exrebelshocktrooper​​@awesomefandomsunited​ @ah-callie​ @swhiskeys​ @lady-tano​ @beskar-droids​​ @space-floozy @ct-arc-5555​​ @cable-kenobi​​

At noon you made your way down to the records room where Lieutenant Ableman had put the intern. Javier had been hesitant about you asking Monica what she knew about the rumor, but… you had to know. If the rumor was loud enough to make its way to the dean’s office, then it was loud enough for the students to be fully aware of it. 

“You know,” You started, leaning against the doorframe as you watched Monica sort through a stack of files and put each one into the appropriate banker boxes. “I had a sweet gig when I was sixteen helping process evidence at my town’s tiny ass police department.” 

Monica startled a little, dropping the folder she was holding. “Shit! Hey! How long have you been there?”

“Couple minutes.” You laughed. “Just thinking.”

“How have you’ve been?” Monica asked with a hesitant smile. “You’re due soon, right?”

You shrugged a shoulder as you rested your hand on your stomach, “Still got a few months to go.” You walked further into the record’s room, leaning down to pick up a stray file that had fallen. “How are your classes going?”

“I’m in this finite math class that is killing me.” Monica answered, making a face. “I was told it would be easier, but… C means complete, right?”

You chuckled, “I’ve heard that somewhere.” You moved to sit down, feeling the slightest inertia from bending over. That was happening far too often lately. “I’ve heard a lot of things lately.”

“Oh?”

You inhaled and exhaled slowly, trying to ignore the sensation of being able to feel the world spinning around you. “A couple weeks ago I heard about this crazy rumor at the university.”

“What was it?” Monica stared at you, looking a little nervous.

“Oh, just that Javier was cheating on me with a student, which…” You laughed humorlessly. “Is hilarious, because I have that man by the balls.” 

“I—.” Monica shook her head. “I haven’t heard anything about that. I think the whole class knows that Javier loves you. I mean his office is practically a shrine to you.”

“I know.”

Monica swallowed thickly. “I should… I have a lot to finish before my night classes.”

You weren’t about the let up, “Why are you so nervous, Monica?”

“I’m not nervous.” She shot back too quickly. “Look, I’m really sorry about this rumor or whatever… I’m sure it’ll blow over.”

“Or Javier will lose his job.” You rubbed at the center of your forehead, trying to soothe the throbbing headache forming there. “I mean, a rumor like that could destroy someone’s career.”

Monica put the cardboard lid on the banker box with a little more force than necessary. “I really… I haven’t heard anything.” She didn’t meet your eyes. 

“Look, you’re a nice kid Monica…” You offered her a small smile. “I’m not accusing you. I just want to know what you know. And I think you know more than you’re telling me.”

You started to stand back up, fingers gripping at the filing cabinet beside you for support. Shit. 

Your pulse was throbbing in your ears. You could feel it in your throat, down your arms. 

Fuck.

“Monica…”

“Hey. Hey.” She grabbed your arm to support you. “I’m here.”

You clenched your eyes closed, trying to ignore the way that the world was closing in on you. Everything felt like it was in a tunnel. Voices — distant and kind of tinny sounding. Your lips felt numb, your words slurred and mouth full of cotton. It felt like pins and needles up and down your body. 

“Call Javi.” You managed to think or maybe say… just before everything stopped. 

 ——

 Everything stopped the moment Javier got the call. He wasn’t even entirely certain how he ended up at the hospital — the period between the phone call and arriving at the hospital was a blur. He vaguely remembered swearing at a red light for lasting too long — he definitely went through it. 

“Mr. Peña, right this way.” A nurse said as she guided him through the emergency room, back to her room. “The doctor will be with you both shortly.” 

Javier’s heart clenched as he looked at the hospital bed, meeting her eyes. She looked awful. They had her hooked up to oxygen and she had an IV. “Hey baby.” 

“Hi, Javi.” She said quietly, his voice half of what it usually was. 

His gaze flickered to the woman sitting beside her bed. Monica. She jumped up quickly, gesturing to the chair she’d been sitting in. “Here, Professor Peña… I’m so…” She looked between the two of them. “I’ll just go.” 

“I have questions.” Javier said, his jaw clenched tight. “Do you mind waiting in the waiting room?”

Monica clasped her hands together. “Of course… Yeah.” She looked towards the hospital bed. “I’m so… I’m so sorry.” 

“What are you—”

“Just let her go, Javi.” She whispered, gesturing for Monica to leave. 

“What the hell is going on?” Javier questioned, his hands on his hips. Before he grabbed the chair and pulled it closer to her bedside. “Baby… you gave me a fucking heartattack.” 

“You and me both.” She breathed out, reaching out for his hand. “I was terrified.” 

Javier squeezed her hand tightly, lifting it to his lips. “Have the doctors talked to you?”

“A little.” She sank back against the bed. “They took some blood.” She said, lifting her arm to show off the bandage. “I guess they need to check kidney and liver function.” 

Javier stood up, leaning over the bed to press a kiss to her forehead. “It’s your blood pressure, isn’t it?” He questioned, brushing his knuckles against her cheek. “Baby.” 

“Yeah.” She grimaced a little. “I’m actually fortunate I was down in records with Monica. She… saved me.” She swallowed thickly. “She knows something. I don’t know what, but… that girl is guilty.” 

“I told you not to.” Javier shook his head, trying to keep his voice steady. “You’re supposed to be keeping your stress levels low. And what? You decided to start questioning my students about this bullshit rumor and now you’re in the fucking hospital.” 

“Javier.” She shot him a look. “I passed out. It happens.” 

Javier dragged his fingers through his hair, taking a step away from the bed and turning his back on her. He was so fucking pissed and he didn’t know who to be pissed out. He couldn’t be pissed at her — even though she’d done exactly what he had told her not to do. He wanted to be pissed at Monica if she was behind the fucking rumor. He’d been so lenient with her — late work, missed classes… 

His fingers curled into fists at his side and he shook his head slowly. He so fucking angry. 

“Javi.” She whispered. “Come here.” 

“I’m fine.” 

“I’m the one in the hospital bed, I get to call the shots. Come here.” 

Javier’s shoulders sank as he turned around to face her. “I thought I was going to lose you.” 

“You didn’t.” 

“I get a call that you’re in the hospital unconscious and you don’t think I’m going to lose my mind, baby?” He dragged a hand over his face and looked away. “I can’t fucking lose you. I can’t.” 

“You’re not going to lose me.” 

Javier paced the short distance he could in the room. “What the fuck does she know?” He questioned, stopping at the foot of the bed. “Is she the one spreading the rumors? I swear to God if it is—”

The door opened slowly and the doctor stepped inside. “Bad time?”

She sat up in bed and shook her head slowly. “My partner’s under a lot of stress at work.”

“Stress that seems to be rubbing off on you,” The doctor’s brows raised suggestively. “I’m Dr. Smith,” She offered, shaking both of their hands. “If you’d like to sit Mr. Peña we can talk about what happened and how we can prevent this from getting worse.”

“Of course.” Javier mumbled, ducking his head as he moved to sit back down in the chair beside her bed. He reached for her hand, interlacing their fingers. “Is she going home today?”

“She is.” Dr. Smith smiled warmly. “With a number of changes, however. Fetal heartbeat is strong, I’m not concerned about the baby's health right now. Mom’s health is my primary concern. You came in here with a blood pressure that was 150/90. That’s a dangerous level for anyone, but especially while pregnant.” 

“So, what do we do?” Javier questioned.

“A whole lot of nothing.” Dr. Smith answered with a levity-offering chuckle. “You’re going to have to stay at home. I’m prescribing you to remain on bed rest for the remainder of your pregnancy.”

“Are you fucking serious?” She grumbled, sinking back against the pillows. 

“Yes. I know it’s inconvenient, but it’s necessary. If your blood pressure remains high, you’re at much higher risk for strokes, seizures, and placental abruption. The last thing we want to do is have to induce labor early. Everything looks great with baby, it’s just you we’re worried about right now.”

“When will we get the results back from the tests? You took blood, right?” Javier questioned.

“In a few hours. We’re just going to keep her for observation for a few more hours. Get that blood pressure down. You’ll be home tonight.” Dr. Smith answered, offering both of them a small smile. “Do you have any questions?”

“Will the delivery be more difficult?” She questioned, rubbing her stomach. “I didn’t have any problems with Josie.” 

“I’m not going to rule that out,” The doctor explained. “Your obstetrician will be best able to answer that. Where did you deliver?”

“In Colombia.” She answered. “But I didn’t have any issues like this and that… was stressful.” 

Javier scraped his teeth over his bottom lip as he looked between the doctor and her. The mere mention of Colombia had his own blood pressure spiking. This was all his fault. She was laying in a hospital bed, hooked up to wires all because of him.

“I need to…” Javier drew in a shaky breath. “Shit. Josie... “ He raked his hand over his face as he stood up suddenly. “Daycare. I need to call Steve.”

“Are you alright, Mr. Peña?”

It was all his fault. 

“I need to call someone to pick up our daughter.” Javier looked towards her then. God, she looked so weak. So pale. 

The doctor said something to him as he left the hospital room, but he was gone before he could make it out. He headed down the corridor, retracing the path the nurse had led him along, heading out the double doors that led to the waiting room.

He headed for the payphone, fishing a couple quarters out of his pocket. 

Steve offered to pick her up and bring her to the hospital. They both figured Josie might make her mother feel a little better. She was a cuddle monster whenever she knew someone wasn’t feeling well. 

It was his fault she wasn’t feeling well. 

He was the stupid fucking selfish idiot who had wanted another try. He was the one that had wanted another kid to make up for all of the shit he missed out on in Colombia. 

Javier slammed the phone back into the cradle before bringing his fist down against the top of the box. He was so fucking angry at himself. They had Josie — why couldn’t she be enough for him? Why had he wanted to have another child? To put her at risk. 

And she was at risk. 

“Professor Peña?”

He tensed, slowly turning to look at Monica. “Why are you still here?”

“She asked… I can go?”

“Don’t you have classes?”

Monica swallowed thickly and lowered her gaze to the ground. “I feel awful about what happened. She just… she was asking me about the rumors and…” She shook her head. “I didn’t know she was having trouble with her pregnancy. I didn’t know.”

Javier narrowed his eyes. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything!” She looked up then. “I didn’t… mean to. But it was so much money and…”

“What?”

Monica glanced over her shoulder warily. “After work one day. The internship.” She gulped a little, looking like she was actually about to cry. “He had a badge.”

His jaw rocked as he stared her down. “Who had a badge?”

“Someone with the Drug Enforcement Administration.” Her cheeks flushed with shame and she stared at the ground. “I’m so sorry. But it was so much money and I…” 

It felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice on him. 

The motherfucking DEA?

“What the fuck did they tell you to do?”

Monica took a step back, “To start the rumor.” 

“Why?” Javier questioned, fingers clenched at his sides. 

“I don’t know.” Monica admitted. “It was ten thousand dollars. You have no idea how much I needed it… I couldn’t say ‘no’.”

He took a step backwards. 

The article. It all had to do with that goddamn article. His idea. 

“I need…” Javier bit down on the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste blood. “I need to go sit with her. I need to…” He flexed his jaw, turning away then. “I can’t fucking do this right now.” He didn’t even look back at her, he headed straight back into the emergency room, back to her room, back to her bedside. 

She was asleep. Whatever they’d given her to help calm down had clearly knocked her out. She needed the rest. He knew she hadn’t been sleeping well — not since the start of the rumor. Not since he gave her those five fucking envelopes. 

All of it. All of this. 

It was all his fault. 

There was a clock on the wall that was ticking. Each second growing louder. 

This was his punishment. 

All those people. The people he failed. People who died. The people he wasn’t able to save. 

“Javi.” She whispered beside him, reaching out to touch his face. “What’s wrong?”

“Just rest, baby.” He pleaded quietly. 

“You look like you need to be admitted too.” She smiled at him. “Babe, I’m fine. My blood pressure is just high. I fainted. I’ll be home in a few hours.”

“But what if you’re not fine? What if this…” He clenched his jaw and shook his head. 

“And what if you got shot in Colombia? Don’t treat me like a fucking flower over ‘what ifs’, Javier.” She pulled her hand away from his face and rubbed at her forehead. “You know how much I hate being treated like an invalid.” 

“I don’t want to do this right now.” Javier shook his head. “I want to get you home and then… we can talk about everything. What we’re going to do…” 

“It was Monica wasn’t it? My gut was right, wasn’t it?”

Javier stared at her, before nodding his head slowly. “Yeah.” He laughed bitterly. “It wasn’t just Monica… it was the fucking DEA.”

Something beeped on one of her monitors.

“Just my pulse. It slipped off my finger.” She assured him, readjusting the clip on her forefinger. “What do you mean it was the DEA?”

“You need to relax, baby.” Javier reached out and rested his hand on her stomach, his other reaching for her hand. “We can talk about this at home. When you’re not… hooked up to fucking wires.” He sat back and pressed the heel of his palm against his forehead. “This is fucking bullshit.” 

“Javi.” 

“We’re not doing this.” He stood up, hands on his hips. “I’m not losing you.” 

She held her hand out, “Come back here. You have to keep your shit together for Josie, Javier. You can’t be freaking out like this.” 

“It’s all my fault.” Javier let the words slip out of his mouth.

There was a knock on the door before it opened to reveal Dr. Smith on the other side again. “Good news.” She said with a hesitant smile. “Your organs look good, but we are still concerned with your blood pressure. We can bring it down if you keep your stress levels down—” She gave Javier a pointed look. He knew he was red in the face, still fuming from everything. “I’m going to send you home with a prescription for anticonvulsants.” 

“What does that do?” Javier questioned.

“It’ll stave off seizures. She hasn’t had one yet, that we know of. But with her blood pressure range, it's potential. They help prevent them. But rest will be best.” The doctor looked towards her bed then. “We can get a letter sent to your office.”

“I’ll handle it.” She promised. “Or Javi will. Whoever. They’ll understand.” She laughed bitterly. “I’m a walking worker’s comp claim.” 

“And the baby’s fine?”

The doctor nodded. “Both of them should be fine if her environment is kept calm.” 

“We’ve been going through a lot.” Javier admitted, staring at the floor. 

“We just moved.” She explained. “And some stuff from our past has been giving us issues. It’s nothing that we can’t resolve.”

“After you give birth.” The doctor reminded her. “I’ll start the discharge process within the hour. Good luck.” 

“I’m so sorry, baby.”

“Don’t blame yourself.” She sank back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling. “Don’t lash out at her.”

“Who?”

“Monica. She’s just a kid, Javi.” 

Javier sighed heavily. “I wanna fucking punch a wall.” 

“Try not to make a mess.” She quipped dryly. “And I can’t exactly help you hide the body like this.” 

“You’re going to bed when we get home.”

She made a face. “Sounds like the bed is going to be my new home.” She tilted her head to grin at him, wiggling her brows. “Sounds like fun, yeah?”

Javier glared back at her. “How can you make jokes?”

“Because if I don’t I’m going to fucking lose my shit.” She shot back. “I was so scared.” 

“I know, baby.” He took her hand into his and leaned down to kiss each knuckle. “I’ve got you though, okay? I’m going to take care of you and Josie and the baby.” 

“Bean.” 

“What?”

“You called her bean. Remember?” 

Javier cracked a small smile. “It was little legume, I believe.”

She grinned at him, “We’re going to be okay, Javi. I promise you.”

“That’s just the medicine talking.” He leaned down and cupped her cheek, pressing a quick kiss to her lips. “Steve should be here with Josie soon… then the three of us can go home.” 

“That sounds nice.” Her lashes fluttered. “I need a nap.”

“Yeah you do.” He laughed softly, brushing his thumb over her cheekbone. He hated seeing her like this. Weak. Exhausted. Not her typical fiery self. 

She could say it wasn’t his fault, but he knew it was. And he fucking hated it. 

[cxplqnce]

Behrad Tarazi - Naked

Based off Naked by James Arthur

Word Count: 1597

Hey, you there

Can we take it to the next level, baby, do you dare?

Don't be scared

'Cause if you can say the words, I don't know why I should care

Your relationship with Behrad was interesting, complex and difficult to explain. You had been a close friend of the Legends for years before joining them after your trip to Earth-X. You had met Behrad a few times but hadn’t really interacted with him about anything outside of superhero stuff.

One of the reasons you had joined the Legends was because you had been through a pretty bad break-up and Star City just wasn’t a good place for you anymore. You had hundreds of bad memories, of your family’s deaths and almost dying yourself so you thought it was best to leave. You were going to leave the superhero life all together, travel somewhere and work through your problems but when you were offered a place on the Waverider as the team’s newest scientist, you couldn’t refuse.

That’s when you started getting closer to Behrad. You became friends with him and didn’t even consider him as anything more until Nate mentioned how much you and Behrad acted like a couple on one of his trips over from the Time Bureau. You had chickened out of telling him about your feelings for weeks, until Heyworld. Nate almost died and so did Ray, you knew that it could be you or Behrad in that position at any time with your line of work so you told him after you got back on the ship.

Your confession ended with the two of you in bed together, but that’s all it became. The next morning, Behrad was acting like it never happened and when you asked him about it, he told you that it was a mistake and never should’ve happened so you agreed to forget it.

Unfortunately, it was easier said than done. It was obvious Behrad didn’t share your feelings and you weren’t going to push him but it hurt. You had completely fallen for him and after your last relationship; it had taken you a long time to trust yourself enough to want a relationship with someone else.

Hey, get out

I've got nothin' left to give for you give me nothin' now

Read my mouth

If you ever want me back, then your walls need breakin' down

After you guys had taken down Bugsy Siegel, you were headed to the lab to retrieve the blanket you had left in there when you heard Nate and Behrad talking. You were going to interrupt but stopped when you heard Behrad mention your name.

“What the hell am I supposed to do here, Nate? I was a complete dick to Y/N and I’m pretty sure she hates me now.” Behrad huffed, plopping down on the couch with his head in his hands.

Nate sat next to him, “Just tell her how you feel. Be honest with her.”

“What if she just wanted our night to be just that?” Behrad asked with a saddened look on his face.

“Well, you won’t know until you talk to her, like I’ve been telling you to do for the longest time.” Nate said, before getting up to leave the lab.

You immediately moved and hid around the corner from the door and once Nate had left you decided now was the time to talk to Behrad about everything. Unfortunately, the team was called by Gideon to deal with the next Encore.

'Cause here I am, I'm givin' all I can

But all you ever do is mess it up

Yeah, I'm right here, I'm tryin' to make it clear

That getting half of you just ain't enough

Gideon had informed the team that the next Encore was a guy named Freddy Meyers, a serial killer from 2004. Most of the team had gone down to try and find Freddy at his class’ high school reunion. You were coming out of the kitchen when you bumped into Behrad, who was heading in there. “Hey,” You said simply.

“Hi, Y/N. You didn’t go with the team?” He asked.

You sighed, awkwardly, “No, I am QB-ing today. With you, apparently.”

“Cool. Well, I’m gonna grab a burger.” Behrad said, moving past you. You turned to leave as well but quickly changed your mind.

“I heard you.” You started, Behrad turned back around to face you, “I heard you and Nate talking in the lab earlier when you mentioned my name. What did Nate mean when he told you to tell me how you feel?”

Behrad’s face lost all colour. What was he supposed to do now? You clearly didn’t feel the same way as he did and he was scared that if he told you, your friendship would be ruined forever. “It was nothing, just I didn’t want that night to ruin our friendship that’s all.” Behrad lied, well, it was more of a half-truth. He didn’t want it to ruin you friendship but he wanted way more than friendship to begin with.

“Oh.” You started, your heart breaking at his words, “Well, don’t worry, we’re all good, B.” You smiled, stuffing your feelings inside of a locked box and burying them six feet under.

I wanna give you everything

I wanna give you everything

I wanna give you everything

I wanna give you everything

You cried that night, so much that you began to get a splitting head-ache so at around one in the morning you left the safety of your room to go to the med bay, stopping off at the galley to grab a glass of water on your way.

Once you got to the med bay you notified Gideon of your situation and she prescribed some painkillers that you took with your glass of water. Since you knew you wouldn’t sleep now you decided to go to the lab and play some video games.

However, a certain someone had had the same idea.

I'm not going to wait until you're done

'Cause you pretended you don't need anyone

'Cause you see that I'm naked (naked, naked)

Oh, you see that I'm naked (naked, naked)

I'm not going to try 'til you decide

You're ready to swallow all your pride

I'm standing here naked (naked, naked)

I'm standing here naked

Behrad saw you before you could scurry away and you knew he could tell that you’d been crying by the concerned look that washed over his features. He stood up from his place on the couch and came over to you, “Have you been crying?” He asked, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“Yeah, b-but it doesn’t matter. I’m fine.” You lied.

“It doesn’t look like your fine. And whatever it is you were crying about had to matter because it made you cry, what’s wrong?” He asked, pulling you in for a hug. You couldn’t stop the tears from falling again as you stood wrapped up in his arms. You desperately wanted to yell and scream at him that you were crying over him – over the feelings you had for him but you couldn’t form the words. “Whatever it is, I can help but only if you talk to me.”

“I can’t.” You snapped, a little too loudly, pulling away from Behrad. “It’s the one thing that I can’t talk about with you.”

Behrad’s face held a look of utter confusion, he didn’t understand what had gotten you so upset and so riled up, “What? Why can’t you talk to me about whatever it is?” He argued.

“Because it’s about you!” You cried, instantly regretting the words that came out of your brain. It was like the filter that was between your brain and your mouth just broke for a few seconds.

“You were crying… because of me?” He asked, his voice was soft and quiet like he felt guilty and was wondering what he’s done to make you so upset. “What did I do?”

“It’s not what you did, it’s how I feel.” You admitted, you’d already sprouted the seed so now you had to continue, “I like you, B. And after we slept together – you called it a mistake and it hurt so bad… and earlier, you said you were worried about our friendship. I was literally friend-zoned by you… So, I’m standing here, in all my stupidity, telling you that I like you and I want to have a relationship with you because you make me feel so happy and so safe and I like you.”

Behrad stared at you intently, you didn’t know exactly what he was feeling since his facial expressions were a bit ambiguous and hard to understand until he smiled, standing closer to you, “I said those things cause I thought you only wanted to be friends and I didn’t want to lose you by admitting how I really felt about you. I like you too, and that relationship thing… sounds real good.”

“Perfect.”

[spaceskam]

For the fanfic mash-up thing: how about 10 and 72 for Malex?

this prompt is literally like a year old whoop. from this prompt list 

10. airport/travel au & 72. stranded on a desert island

warnings: plane crash, anxiety, injury, open ending

ao3

Michael Guerin hated planes.

He spent most of his life avoiding them which was easy. His childhood rendered them virtually nonexistent and his adulthood had always carried the excuse of poverty. It worked out. Until now when he found himself five seconds away from throwing up on his ex-something as they waited to board the plane.

“Are you sure you don’t want to even half of one?” Alex asked. He’d basically been trying to feed Michael his anxiety meds from the moment he realized Michael was nervous. It was painfully attractive and annoying of him to try to take care of him like that.

“You need them more than me, that’s why they’re prescribed to you,” Michael argued.

“You’re going to have a full blown panic attack if you don’t calm down,” Alex said, “Why didn’t you tell Isobel you were scared of planets?”

“And ruin her dream destination wedding that she can finally have because it’s her second one and she doesn’t need to have everyone come out, just the ‘nearest-and-dearest’, and that your brother took off of work for, and that you pulled strings to get me a last minute passport for? Absolutely not,” Michael said. He didn’t have to look at Alex to know he was rolling his eyes.

“You might ruin it anyway if you show up having a full blown breakdown,” Alex said.

“Shut up, I’m fine. I am perfectly and entirely fine,” Michael said, taking a deep breath, “I don’t need your help.”

“Okay,” Alex sighed.

And he was able to pretend that that was the truth until they called for them to board the plane.

Michael was shaking and sweating and already looking for exits. He didn’t know why he was so fucking scared. Nothing bad was going to happen. The plane was going to land and he was going to be absolutely fine. Fine, fine, fine.

He closed his eyes and took deep breaths, buckling himself in immediately and identifying the little oxygen mask. Alex sat on the side near the aisle and Michael sat by the window. He didn’t look out of it though, instead choosing to look straight ahead.

Isobel was already there, ready to have her lovely wedding to Gregory in Cabo and Michael was going to be there if it killed him. Max and Liz were flying there from California and that was their wedding party. It was small and just about immediate family. And Michael was going to be there.

The plane started to move and Michael was gripping the arm rests like it was the only thing saving him. He hated this. All the way up until Alex reached over and laid his hand on top of Michael’s. He fiddled with it until he locked their fingers and squeezed.

“You can crush my hand, it won’t hurt me,” Alex promised him. And if it were any other situation, Michael would’ve sat there and let himself overthink every tiny thing about the fact that Alex was holding his hand. However, he was way too scared for all that and just squeezed and ignored Alex’s soft laughter.

Even after the plane took off, Michael didn’t let go. He clutched Alex’s hand until his started to cramp up and then he powered through the cramps to keep holding onto it. He just stared forward and tried to will away the bad feelings.

And it was all full and games until the plane shook.

“It’s just turbulence,” Alex said, voice soft and promising. Michael swallowed harshly.

“You promise?”

“Yeah, it’s normal.”

But then it happened again and worse.

Alex didn’t say anything that time, just rubbed his thumb soothingly over the back of his hand as the flight attendant asked everyone to put their seat belts back on. There was rough winds, they said. Michael swallowed harshly.

“It’s okay,” Alex said, giving his hand a little squeeze.

Except it wasn’t okay.

Things started to move too fast, the plane was shaking and waving through the air. People were screaming, the flight attendant requested they put on their oxygen masks. And Michael knew this was going to happen. Bad, bad, bad.

Alex held onto him and stayed completely stoic. Michael almost felt guilty about that. He was staying calm because he wanted Michael to stay calm. He should get to freak out too, right?

Then they were going down.

-

Michael Guerin hated planes.

And now, in the middle of the woods, with the plane suspended amongst trees in the middle of nowhere surrounded by people screaming and hurt and dying and dead, he felt like he had a completely valid reason to hate them. He hated them more than anything in the entire world. Higher than Jesse Manes and snakes.

With a little unconventional use of his power, Michael had gotten himself and Alex safely to the ground. Sort of safely. There was a doctor on board and a couple other soldiers assessing everyone and trying to help them, triage them. Michael didn’t feel bad putting his full focus onto Alex.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine,” Alex breathed, eyes closed as he laid on the ground. Somewhere during the plane going down and him trying to keep Michael calm, he’d taken a dislodged tray to the thigh. It was stuck in him and he was still trying to act calm.

“Alex,” Michael breathed. He’d thrown away his panic for the time being. He was still a little shaky, but he had his priority set on this man as it always should’ve been. “Alex, hey, I’m gonna get it out.”

“What? No, no, don’t do that,” Alex said, shaking his head. His hair was matted to his forehead and he was pale and he was bleeding and this was unfair. “Could make it worse.”

“No, look, I’ll make a tourniquet,” Michael said, already ripping his shirt to tie around his thigh.

“No,” Alex said, shaking his head and pushing at his shoulder, “No.”

“Alex,” Michael said a little desperately, “I need to get it out so I can try to heal you.” That got his attention.

“What? No, no. No, no, no. There’s people.”

“I don’t fucking care, Alex, you’re hurt!” he argued. Alex shook his head.

Alex was able to keep his stoic composure up until he tried to move a little to show he was fine. He let out an involuntary groan of pain and then gasped as it moved another way. A few heavy breaths later, Alex nodded.

“Okay, heal it,” he whispered. Michael nodded and immediately tied the fabric around his thigh and went to remove the tray. He moved slow and Alex did his best to stay calm. He had to admit, it was impressive how calm he stayed.

Blood gushed as the tray was removed and Michael hated it. He immediately covered it with his hand and was preparing to try his damnedest to heal him. Alex grabbed his shoulder.

“Wait,” he said, "Wait.”

“What?”

“Just, wait,” Alex said, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, “If you do this, will you be able to feel my feelings?”

“Only if you want me to,” Michael assured him. That was, at least, what Max had said. “But I can’t promise you won’t be able to feel mine even when I don’t want you to. So, if you’re, like suddenly in love with me after this, don’t trust it.”

Alex gave a breathy laugh, squeezing his shoulder before he moved his hand to his jaw. “I’m already there, I’ll let you know if I feel anymore.”

“Okay,” Michael said, taking a deep breath as he pressed his hand over the wound. He felt like that just added fuel to the fire already brewing in him. “Okay, thank you.”

He’d been practicing for awhile now with Isobel and Max and he’d been getting pretty good at it. The main problem was that he usually didn’t do it when he was this stressed out. Alex was hurt. Actually hurt. He could’ve died. And they hand’t even fixed their bullshit yet.

It took a few seconds, long seconds, almost a minute, but eventually his mind swirled and blurred and he slowly pieced Alex back together from the inside out. He didn’t scream, not wanting to draw any attention to himself, just fed on Alex and the fact that he loved him more than anything.

After draining himself into Alex, he tipped forward a little and caught himself on the ground. So he sat there on all fours over Alex’s lap and just breathed and tried not to focus on the fact that this was bad. Alex getting hurt was just the tip of the iceberg. There were in the middle of nowhere after a fucking plane crash and Isobel’s wedding was still happening.

“Are you okay?” Alex asked.

“Are you?” Michael asked right back. Neither of them really gave appropriate answers.

Alex swallowed and grabbed his head, pulling him into his chest. Michael let himself fall and breath him in.

They were going to be okay.

There weren’t any other options.