#am still definitely doing better than before but remain very very fatigued

[sensitiveheartless]

(The rest is under the readmore!)

(Next part) ->

[uwusenpaiuwu]

Sleepovers At The Baji Household feat. A Fed-Up Chifuyu

Summary: Chifuyu just wants to sleep, man, but Baji wants to be a jealous crackhead at 2 AM.

Pairing: Sano Manjiro | Mikey x Male Reader

Note(s): I had a little free time and wrote this. So, please enjoy! ALSO, to the anon that sent me a request a few days ago, I saw it and have it filed on my to-do list!!! I will definitely get to it as soon as I get a break in my schedule :)

"Chifuyu, ya wanna see some real discrimination?"

No. No, Chifuyu does not want to see what Baji means by 'real discrimination.'

Does he tell him that, though?

Yes, actually, because it's 2 in the fucking morning and, as much as he respects the other boy, he wouldn't put it past himself to smother him with a pillow after having his dream of cuddling with a sea of puppies suddenly destroyed.

Unfortunately for his sanity, Baji either doesn't hear him or, more likely than not, doesn't give a fuck, because he's already flopping onto his belly and whipping out his phone to do God knows what.

The dial tone that sounds from the speaker a few seconds later makes Chifuyu cringe, especially since it's only ever been a calm silence fit for a good night's sleep prior to Baji bulldozing through it with his absurd question. (At the very least, he's thankful that the latter has half a mind to keep the brightness on the lowest setting, otherwise, Chifuyu would have had to fight.)

On the far end of the row of carefully-laid futons, you shift in your sleep, eyebrows furrowing together at the noise. Rotating onto your side, you unconsciously reach for Baji, and just when he thinks you're being cute and trying to cuddle him, you smack him in the head.

Baji doesn't flinch, instead, takes his pillow and shoves it in your grasp to keep your unconscious self occupied, so that he can focus on getting through to the person who reuses to pick up (understandably so).

Releasing a frustrated groan after being redirected to voice mail for the fifth time, he dials the number again, muttering an impatient, "Pick up already."

Chifuyu feels sorry for the poor soul on the other end. He would've blocked someone following the first call, because again, it's-

The blond has to squint his eyes up at the digital clock on Baji's nightstand, which confirms that it's already 2:22 A.M, further solidifying the fact that he shouldn't be awake right now. And this also applies to the ever persistent first division captain, who insists on bothering who Chifuyu soon discovers is Mikey from the contact ID that flashes across the screen.

Why Baji is so keen on bothering him is a question he doesn't have the mental capacity to ponder over. The most energy he'll expend is to listen in when the call miraculously connects.

"What...?" comes a muffled voice from the receiver, tone laced in an irked grogginess birthed from a slumber rudely interrupted.

There's an absurdly loud, almost angry, roar of Mikey's name, one that has Chifuyu curling in on himself in a futile attempt to escape a sound that should be illegal at this hour.

But you know what else should be illegal?

The fucking whiplash Chifuyu gets when Baji's deep voice takes an abrupt 180°, switching from its normal gruffness to a squeaky, ear-piercing shrill as he screams, "I love you, love you, love you! Do you love me, too, Mikey-kyun~♡?!"

The room is dead silent.

Not a word. Not a murmur. Not a breath.

Just pure, unadulterated silence as both Chifuyu and Mikey process the words that hang in the air, permeating it with a goosebumps-inducing eeriness from having heard such a...a girly, overtly cutesy screech from Baji.

Then-

"What the fuck? He hung on me!"

Chifuyu opens his mouth, thinks better of reacting to the cursed scene he had the misfortune of bearing witness to, and promptly closes it.

Other people may have sleep paralysis demons.

But Chifuyu?

Chifuyu has Baji.

With both hands partially raised in prayer, he begs for the shenanigans to be over and done with.

They are not.

While his eyes remain closed in a last ditch effort to convince himself that it's all a bad dream, he hears a lot of grumbling happening on your side of the room, courtesy of Baji, who's scrambling around in search of...something. One quick peek reveals him fiddling with a phone - yours, to be exact, as evidenced by the distinctive phone charm of your favorite anime character hanging from it.

"(Y/n), wake up for a second," he hears him whisper. It takes a bit of prompting, until he's able to successfully rouse you enough from sleep to elicit any kind of response, which is, essentially, nothing short of an incoherent, slurred mess. Although, Chifuyu is pretty damn certain he heard you call Baji a 'dickhead' for the trouble.

Unperturbed, he continues shaking your limp form, coaxing you into wakefulness with, "Repeat what I tell you, and I'll let you go back to asleep. Deal?"

You squint your eyes at him, only able to make out a vague outline of his visage in the lightless room. "Promise?"

"Cross my heart, hope to die," he automatically responds with the same phrase he's become accustomed to saying whenever you two made a promise, something done purely out of habit, formed when the two of you were just kids and he wanted to get you to do something absolutely ridiculous either for him or with him. And just 'cause he knows you're more susceptible to complying if he does it, he also interlocks his pinky with yours.

"...Fine."

The approval is his cue to proceed, and it's as he's putting the phone on speaker that he turns back to a regretfully wide awake Chifuyu, mouthing a wordless, 'Watch.'

The phone rings, loud and clear, precisely once and only once.

"(Y/n), what's wrong?" It's important to note that even though Mikey still sounds tired as hell, his tone is much lighter, much happier really, than when it was Baji, which is an offense in itself to the said teen that's off to the side, attentively listening to the conversation unfold.

Then, it strikes Chifuyu, what Baji is trying to do, and fuck does it give him an instant headache.

Meanwhile, your mouth morphs into the dopiest of smiles with the pleasant surprise of hearing your boyfriend's voice, chest instantly overtaken by a warm fuzziness that never fails to make an appearance whenever he's involved. Sappy, you know, but it's true!

A light but firm nudge to your shoulder reminds you of your mission. It's too bad that, teetering along the edge of sleep as you are, the words Baji whispers are barely repeated correctly.

The initial phrase from before, the one Baji greeted Mikey with, is shortened to a simple, "You wuv I...?"

But, without missing a beat, you receive Mikey's confident reply of, "Mhm... I wuv you a lot."

There's a sleepy giggle then - a fucking giggle - before your voices drop to sweet whispers that the third and fourth wheels can't fully comprehend from where they are.

"Where the fuck was my 'I wuv you,' huh?!" Baji whisper-shouts, considerate of your conversation even when ranting and raving. "Shit, I would've taken a simple 'I love you,' too! I've known that bastard way longer than (Y/n), and this is what I get?!"

Okay. Toman's president answers his boyfriend's late night calls faster than he does anyone else's and openly expresses his love for him. So what? Chifuyu wouldn't exactly call it 'discrimination,' per se. 'Favoritism,' maybe if you wanna stretch it, but using as strong a word as discrimination, especially taking into account you two are dating; it's normal? Nah.

"You wanna say 'bye' to them? Mm. Baji and Chifuyu." A pause. "Fuyu, Mikey says 'bye.'"

"Bye, Mikey-kun."

The other person in the room waits, and waits, and waits, and when it's clear that there is no intention to address his presence whatsoever, Baji turns to Chifuyu with an almost scandalized expression, making wild gesticulations with his hands, clearly distressed. "See?!"

Blank blue eyes stare back at him, unblinking. Honestly, it's a common occurrence - Baji spiraling in a nonsensical rage - so it's easy for Chifuyu to block out the muted, jealousy-driven temper tantrum as he takes his pillow in both hands, raises it as high as he can, and-

Sigh.

-lets it flop right back onto his face.

He can't suffocate Baji. Shouldn't. Wouldn't. Couldn't. After all, they're best buds, meaning he has an obligation to put up with shit like this once in a while. (Plus, he'd probably get his ass kicked before he succeeds anyway. Totally not worth the beating.)

"Did you hear? Mikey said he wuvs me," he hears you drawl dreamily as soon as you hang up, sounding very close to clocking back out for the night.

"Yeah, yeah. Cute shit. Happy for ya, dude," Baji huffs. Thankfully, he sounds like he's in a similar state to yours, if the yawn that follows his sarcastic comment is anything to go by.

"...He soooo ignored you."

That warrants a punishing punch to the arm, dulled only slightly by the combination of the thick quilt you're swaddled in and the raven-haired boy's fatigue.

"I'll fucking throw you out right now, (Y/n). Don't test me."

"You won't."

"I will."

"Won't."

"Will."

The conversation gradually dies down shortly after, the exhaustion that took its sweet time getting to both of you having reached its peak with the help of the childish bickering. It takes 10 minutes, maybe 15, before two sets of light snores fill the room.

Finally.

Let it be known that there is a lesson to be learned from tonight's events. Really, there is. Y'know, something along the lines of 'Don't agree to a sleepover with Baji, if you plan on actually sleeping,' or whatever.

Alas, Chifuyu's consciousness fades before he realizes what it is.

~~~

"Mikey, be honest. Who do you love more? Me or-?"

"(Y/n)."

"But-"

(Y/n)."

"I-"

"(Y/n)."

Baji is only momentarily discouraged, sharp eyes glaring at the blond that lays his head on your lap after hi-fiving you. He didn't want to do this, but he's left with no choice.

"(Y/n) or Babu?"

From the way Mikey stiffens up, refusing to look at either him or you in the eyes, Baji knows he has him right where he wants him, has him torn between a cute face or a sweet ride.

"Oi! Don't pretend to be asleep! Answer the damn question! OI!"

(After hours of serious contemplation - even though you told him it doesn't particularly matter - it's revealed that, of course, Mikey loves you more. Babu just happens to trail behind as a very close second.)

[yostresswritinggirl]

Seers' Miscellany

Prologue: Origins of the first bloom

A circular fic for the Dainsleif mini-series I'll be working on. This will be the introduction; of the evanescent bough keeper of the new world. "Observers of the North do not usually wind up in personal business, but when they do, in their wake comes great shifting of the plates of the timelines." Logs of the stag and the delicate flower.

Pairings -> Dainsleif x Reader; Reader is NOT Traveler

Word Count -> 1579

Themes -> Pretty sad, but also fluffy

Chapters -> 1

Warnings -> Story progression takes a while, oh dear why am I doing this now, I'm so busy

"500 mora; and three answered questions."

He's not really sure what lead him to indulge the requests of a simple adventurer when he made his rounds around the city of freedom. Was it the simple need for currency? It couldn't be, he was better off with other commissions that Katheryne could offer.

Was it the desperation in your voice and eyes? You looked at him like a prophet, your only salvation, and perhaps in this context that may be true. You were but a lone adventurer and the way your weight leans heavier on one foot shows your struggle to those who have keen eyes like him, no other person wished to indulge your needs and you were getting desperate.

Or was it the three questions? Dainsleif have yet to hear such contractual obligations before, but it felt as tho it was the most important part of the agreement he took the moment you pleaded with that soft voice. Humble yet resolved, not letting him walk away without at least considering it once.

And so he found himself traversing the land of the wolves through a dangerous path, where you skip ahead with a gait of happiness, bubbly and energetic enough to surpass even his long legs. You hummed without consideration at the glee of finally having a companion, and he did not mind it at the slightest despite the attention it may bring upon your little party.

"First question," Dainsleif fleeted his gaze away from the horizon to turn to you whom slowed your pace to match his, head looking over your shoulder with a wide grin. "How are you?" So innocent.

He huffs in amusement, the most emotion you've seen of him. "You don't need to waste a contract question for such a simple question, you know," he stands behind you as you crouch down on a shrubbery filled with Wolfhooks. Your main objective for visiting Wolvendom in the first place.

You assured him that you meant your question in every way possible as your hands carefully pick at the herbs, wary of the thorns and the intrusive prickly leaves. Despite your attention turned away from him he knows you await his answer. Dainsleif hums to himself and stops—

How is he? What does he truly feel in this moment of his time?

A simple question yet risked for one of the three inquiries agreed upon definitely holds a deeper meaning. His train of spiraling thoughts halts upon the sound of otherwordly grunts and chants as he turns away from your still busy form (you seem very focused on your foraging) to find three Hilichurls approaching with ill intent.

Dainsleif squints at the impending threat before shooting a final glance to make sure you weren't looking. His arm glows blue as he raises it, power in the form of blue swirling mist surges around him - how are you? The feeling brings him back to vague memories of his past, of the energy rising through him at his expeditions with an old companion, of the thrill spent upon encountering the unexpected. Such thoughts are not vivid but the familiarity of what he is experiencing right now was enough for him.

Though he was sure that there were no camps before they went through this route.

"You asked me how I am," he spoke when you finally turned from the bush with an armful of Wolfhooks on your arsenal, confusion on your face at the sight of downed Hilichurls and the side profile of the bough keeper.

His cerulean eyes were fixated at his left hand that he repeatedly closes and opens for a few seconds, before he fully turns to you (your eyes did not miss the blue glow from underneath his cape, where his right arm should be) with a wisp of a smile, "I feel alive right now."

You reciprocated the gesture with a wide grin, "I'm glad to hear that!"

A majority of the wolfhooks gathered where given to the little Botanist Chloris, the seller of flowers, who looked relieved and ecstatic upon your arrival. Something Dainsleif took great notice of. Carefully handing over the berries and some which you had to pluck singularly from your companion's flowy cape, the little girl gave you her Valberries in exchange.

It was sweet and familiar, something Dainsleif took note as he accepted your offer of the fruit despite his none need for sustenance.

Your little chewing sounded through as you two settled on the humble camp you managed to setup with your supply for a single individual. There was a little hole in the middle for a campfire Dainsleif had made the effort to prepare knowing the coldness the night will bring soon enough, and your fragile form is not something he wishes to bargain now. Is that really the reason? Perhaps in the back of his mind, he was really just working on forgotten routines.

"Second question," his footstep at the edge of the camp halts as he turns once again, where you sat on the mat as tonight's bedding, hands flicking to remove the stray juices of the berries. He stood still in wait before he goes back to his mini mission of getting fire wood.

"Go on," he urged when you stood a minute longer in silence.

"Do you like traveling, Dain?" Easy enough, he simply said yes and left when you ended the conversation with a nod.

When he came back with the wood and tinder bundle for easy spreading, out of the corner of his eye he watched your hands work on the mortal and pestle as you grinded the remaining wolfhooks on your person. The fire started the moment he was done setting up the kindling and your face filled with admiration at the sudden and immediate spark, praising him for his quick work.

Dainsleif is both talkative and not, and at times he finds himself rambling to the wind. The moments of the night passed without much details until he found himself talking about his past adventures with his old companion, of the world they've seen together and the now estranged relationship between them.

His responses were sometimes cryptic unintentionally, and he apologizes when there are things about it that he couldn't answer simply because he could not remember. When silence struck after he finished his tales and meal, the beautiful spike in his eyes found yours gleaming despite the drowsiness pulling at your whole feature.

"I'm glad you're very fond of traveling. If not, I wouldn't have met you," and he wouldn't have taken the commission. Dainsleif's eyes flashed in recognition, finally understanding the meaning behind your second question. Somehow this little commission deal turned into a silent back and forth quip of him understanding past your simple inquiries.

Like a little game he muses on with his curious mind.

That night you rested with the extra comfort of his eccentric cape, something you needed more than him as he gazes over the clear night sky. His eyes silently traced the galaxy of stars while the sound of your whispered breathing accompanies his sleepless night.

The last question and that last of your very quick expedition came the next day at the cliffside overlooking the lair sealed by winds.

Your fingers were dusted by the violet paste of grinded wolfhooks long consumed the night prior, stained fingers gripping the thin and fragile stem of the yellow dandelion in its grasp. It was his great observation that let him realize the disaster that happened now but even his foresight could not prepare him for what has to come.

"Third question," his head snapped down to watch your ethereal face don a calm smile, the sun's setting light kissing your cheeks in the right angle that matched that of the clean clouds above. Your eyes silently questioned his unfocused gaze but he only shook his head.

Don't worry about it. "I know this last question would end the commission with you," your voice trembled in both fear and fatigue but Dainsleif didn't force you to preserve your strength like he should. "But I wanted to ask, maybe tomorrow again,

do you want to be my traveling companion?"

The hand that clutched the Dandelion found it way to the side of his mask, the petals brushing against his eyelids as he looks down at you with an eye. A ghost of a smile lingers on his lips as he leans on your hand.

"It would be my pleasure."

Life momentarily flashed over your orbs before you let out a sharp exhale and a breathless, joyous laughter. Relief overtook the tension that laid on your shoulders, and your hand would have dropped to the ground immediately if he had not gripped it on the last second.

"That sounds good. I've always wanted to travel the world," he pulls the cape closer around your form as your eyelids droop to a close. And he witness another breathe, "It was supposed to be today, but I feel really tired today, I'll rest early too if that's okay."

He rose from the ground with you in his arms, "I'll be here."

"Mmm thank you... good... night."

"Good night, little dandelion."

And perhaps that distant memory from faraway had urged him to invite and indulge, when he saw the same spark of intrigue and desperation, of the warmth of carefree days in front of him.

"But I will require advance payment,

500 Mora, and three answered questions."

Dainsleif SUPREMACY MWAHAHAHAHAH

@genshin-idiot : here's your Dainsleif content

@moaa @dandelion-dreams @witchsungie @lehra @zelos-simp @legionqueensav @snackgod @rxsalinee @cala-ran @wind-wheel @lilydewi22 @yellowflowre @traveler-lumine @nonniechan

[taehyungssss]

into the forest - m

word count: 3.6k

genre: smut 18+ | royal, faerie, forbidden love

pairing: fae!jungkook x fem!reader | hoseok x fem!reader (previous)

summary: as the second princess of the human kingdom, you know to fear the fae, they did wage war on your people for one thousand years after all. what happens when you meet one in the forest, and they aren’t what you imagined?

warnings: mentions of war, slut-shaming (in passing), smut scenes, mentions of rough sex/spanking, unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap your willy), outdoor sex, nipple play, fingering, oral (f receiving), creampie

a/n: this is my first bts fic so i hope you enjoy it! thanks to all my friends for reading it and giving me feedback, you’re the best

Never trust the Fae, that’s what everyone always told you. They’re tricksters, they’re evil, all they care about is corrupting humans, and you believed them. Why wouldn’t you? As a child you were told tales of the terrifying Fae with their leathery skin, red eyes and big black horns. You would wake in the night crying for your nursemaid, afraid that there would be a Fae under your bed.

The Fae were not of legend though, they were very real, you knew this from your family history. You were not an ordinary child; you were the Second Princess of the human kingdom. Your father and mother were King and Queen respectively, and your older sister was the prized Crown Princess. Four hundred years ago your ancestor, the then King, had ended the one-thousand-year war which had occurred between your kingdom and the kingdom of the Fae. He had agreed with the Fae King to end the exhausting warfare on the condition that neither people would breach the others’ land. Since then, each community had kept to itself, neither interacting with the other, but the horror stories of the Fae remained as a cautionary tale to the brave few who wished to seek them out and break the peace.

You were currently stressed beyond belief by the trauma that was the organisation of your sister’s marriage. As the Crown Princess, therefore the next in line to the throne, she had been betrothed to the most respectable and handsome man in the whole kingdom, Lord Kim Seokjin. Your parents decided that at 23 years old it was time for your sister to finally be wed to her fiancé, and that meant hours of planning and protocol. Being the Second Princess, you were to be the maid of honour, and the dress fittings were beginning to wear you down.

Another cause of stress was that you would be the next to be married. You were yet to be betrothed to anyone, probably because your father viewed you as damaged goods after the incident with the Chief Knight, Jung Hoseok. A couple of years ago, after too much wine at a festival ball, you snuck away with Hoseok to an inconspicuous corridor. The drink had blurred both of your minds and your lips had become entangled in a passionate kiss. You still remember his lips caressing your neck and your begging of him for more. This led to your father, the King and ruler of all, finding you with Hoseok’s hand up your skirt. He definitely wasn’t pleased.

Your father had to be held back from punching Hoseok in the face and the next morning he had the guards practically drag the both of you to a private room for a discussion. He decreed that this brief relationship was not to continue under any circumstances, and if you were caught again Hoseok would be banished. Of course, you didn’t listen, but after a few months the relationship fizzled out, the thrill of getting caught wearing thin. Now Hoseok was married to a beautiful maiden, but you remained on good terms.

Part of you wished you could’ve married Hoseok, at least then there wouldn’t be any nerves. The prospect of being married to someone you were incompatible with made you cringe and feel a little sick in your stomach. No other man had ever made you feel anything, they were either too irritating or too arrogant, and you found yourself fatigued with having to dance with a different suitor at every ball, if only you could marry yourself.

This is how you found yourself riding your beloved horse, Bramble, into the Border Forest. There was nothing better than a good ride to relieve stress. However, you must have gotten carried away as you now found yourself in a part of the forest that you didn’t recognise. The flowers were different here and you couldn’t remember if you passed the red handkerchief that you’d tied to a tree many years ago to alert yourself that you were near the kingdom border. You see, the forest was generally out of bounds as it was close to the Fae kingdom, but you bent the rules on a regular basis, always making sure to stop before your self-placed marker so you didn’t accidentally break the peace treaty. Before you had a chance to panic even more, a voice called to you.

“Lost?”. You looked up to see a tall man with a mullet of black and blue hair in front of you. “Oh, thank goodness,” you said, breathing a sigh of relief. “I thought I had wandered into the kingdom of the Fae.” The man frowned slightly. “You are in the lands of the Fae,” he replied. You froze, you must have gotten very carried away on your ride to come this far out, but the sight of a fellow human calmed you slightly. “Could you please lead me back to our kingdom?” you asked. “Our kingdom?” the man looked puzzled. “This is my kingdom.” “But you’re human?” you half-asked. The man shook his head and smiled slightly. “No, I am Fae,” the man clarified.

You suddenly felt incredibly nauseous. How could this man be Fae? Where were his red eyes or big horns? This man didn’t look like a monster, in fact he was beautiful, ethereal and enchanting. “You seem shocked,” he said. You nodded. “You don’t look like I imagined,” you replied. “You know? The leathery skin and red eyes.” The man laughed heartily. “Is that what they tell you in the human kingdom?” he asked through his amusement. “That’s funny. I look like a typical Fae. No red eyes here. I’m Jungkook by the way.” The man, Jungkook, outstretched his hand. You looked at it for a moment before shaking your head, unwilling to touch your enemy.

“I will not tell you my name, all you must know is that I’m the Second Princess of the human kingdom,” you said in a matter-of-fact way. Jungkook laughed again, much to your irritation. “Continue back the way you came, Princess,” you tensed slightly when he used your title, it slid from his tongue in the most exquisite way. “You will soon be back in the human lands. By the way, I am the Second Prince of the Fae. If you’re curious about what other lies your people have told you about mine, meet me here in two days’ time at sundown. I will answer any questions you have.” You didn’t answer Jungkook, fear of his kind still coursing through your veins. You merely nodded, mounted Bramble and rode back home. You told yourself there was no way you would meet Jungkook again, but you couldn’t deny how your heart pulled you towards the idea.

Despite your brain telling you to stay away from Jungkook, either your heart, or something else, pulled you towards him. Two days after your initial meeting you stood in the spot where you first met. He was yet to arrive, and you were beginning to feel uneasy. It was dark and the sounds of unfamiliar wildlife were putting you on edge. Then you saw a figure approaching, Jungkook. He was illuminated by a swarm of floating lights; it was a mesmerising sight.

“You came,” he said, his mouth forming a smile. “I did,” you replied, pulling your shawl tighter around your shoulders. As Jungkook came closer you noticed that his hair was behind his ears, this was the first difference you noticed from yourself, his ears were pointed. “Your ears,” you said. “They’re pointed.” “They are,” Jungkook spoke warmly as he moved closer. “It’s a Fae characteristic.” He came to a stop two steps in front of you, the lights still swirling around him. “How are you doing that?” you motioned around him. “The lights?” “They’re fireflies,” Jungkook replied. “Fae are a lot more in touch with nature than humans are, that’s how we get our magic.” He moved his hands in circular motions and the fireflies spread out around you both, illuminating the area you inhabited. “Please sit,” he said, lowering himself down on the grass. You nervously followed his lead, still questioning why you were here with your ancestral enemy.

“Will you tell me your name, Princess?” the prince asked, the use of your title giving you shivers once again. You stayed silent for a moment. “Y/N,” you replied, shuffling your feet in the grass. “Y/N,” Jungkook repeated. “I like it.” You didn’t really know how to respond, so you settled for nodding, another silence falling on the two of you. “I’m guessing you came because you have questions,” he said. “So, ask me something.” Plucking up your courage you decided on a question that had been troubling you since you had left two days previously. “Why didn’t you tell your king that I trespassed on Fae lands?” you asked cautiously. “It breaks the peace treaty and we’re enemies.” “Are we?” Jungkook asked immediately. “Unless I’m wrong, I only met you two days ago Y/N. How can we be enemies?” You shook your head in frustration. “You know what I mean, we’re ancestral enemies,” you bit back quickly. “You could’ve told the king and declared war on all humans by now, but you didn’t.” Jungkook smiled. “I didn’t tell my father because you obviously came here by mistake, and I’ve never met a human before,” he said. “You say we have leathery skin, but we say that you have no light within, that you’re a barren and cold people.” Your eyes widened. Of course, you knew that the Fae must have stories about humans, but you didn’t expect them to be so philosophical.

“Am I then?” you said nervously. “Am I barren and cold with no light within?” The prince looked you up and down in a way that gave you goosebumps. “No,” he finally replied. “If anything, you’re radiant and lush. Life courses through your veins.” A feeling you hadn’t experienced since your dalliances with Hoseok took hold of you. Heat rushed to your cheeks and you couldn’t look Jungkook in the face. “Please don’t feel uncomfortable in my presence,” he reassured you. “I want to learn more about you, and I sense you wish to learn more about me. I promise not to tell my father if you promise not to tell yours.” He held his hand out to you. “I promise,” you responded, taking his hand in yours. It was warm and soft, it was comforting. Even after letting go you could still feel a tingle where he had touched you. You were in trouble now.

Every week at sundown you and Jungkook would meet in the same place in the forest. On the fifth visit he had been giving you a more in-depth explanation of how Fae magic worked. “We draw our magic from nature,” he said softly, gesturing to the trees all around you. “We can use it to fight, but we can also use it to heal and even create.” He cupped his hands together for a moment, before opening them to reveal a beautiful purple flower. Your eyes lit up in amazement as you marvelled at the bloom he had made from thin air. “For you, Princess,” he said, holding out the flower for you. You took it from him and inhaled the fresh scent exuding from it. “Thank you,” you replied, looking Jungkook directly in the eyes. Not for the first time you contemplated how beautiful they were, like swirling galaxies pulling you closer to him.

You both stayed still for a moment, gazing deeply into each other’s eyes. You felt an overwhelming feeling of safety whenever you were with him, he was of great comfort to you, and now looking into his eyes you felt like you could float away into the clouds. Suddenly Jungkook moved his hand to cup your jaw, brushing his thumb along your face softly. “May I?” he asked. Your stomach erupted into butterflies, surely, he couldn’t be asking to kiss you? “Princess, may I kiss you?” he clarified after taking in your confused state. You nodded, dumbstruck, as he moved closer to your lips.

Jungkook’s lips were soft and warm as they caressed your own, his hand moving to the back of your neck to pull you closer. You melted into the kiss, amazed that this beautiful creature was actually in your arms. All too quickly Jungkook pulled away, taking in your flushed face and puffy lips. Before you had a chance to complain he pushed his lips against yours, more harshly this time. Gaining more confidence, you wrapped your hands around the back of his neck. Jungkook brushed his tongue against your lips and you opened them to allow him in. The feeling of your tongues intimately brushing together gave you a light feeling inside and simultaneously made you feel hot, this never happened with Hoseok.

After an unknown amount of time, it could’ve been minutes or hours, you both pulled away. “I…” you began, at a loss for words. “Thank you.” “My pleasure,” Jungkook replied, stirring feelings within your core. “Your lips are divine, as is the rest of you.” You felt a blush rise on your cheeks as you looked at the ground. “Please don’t look away, Princess,” he said as he grasped your hands. “I like you and I wish to show it. If you would rather stop these meetings then we can, but I would rather we carried on.” You looked back up to his face, he was smiling softly, and his galaxy eyes were glimmering. “I want to carry on too,” you said, pulling him in for another sweet kiss.

Each week the meetings and kisses continued, and you felt yourself falling more and more for Jungkook. Your previous ill feelings towards the Fae had vanished and you wanted nothing more than to be in the arms of your Fae lover at all times. On the twelfth visit you once again found your lips locked against his as you laid beneath him in the grass. This time it was different though, his hands were caressing your body more intensely than usual and you were beginning to feel hot.

Jungkook pulled away, foreheads resting against each other. “Y/N,” he began. “Have you ever been touched by a man?” You felt the colour drain from your face, he could probably sense you sullied nature and no longer wanted anything to do with you. “I have,” you replied cautiously. “Just one. I’m sorry.” Jungkook frowned. “Don’t apologise,” he said, softly brushing your jaw with his thumb. “I’m not pure either, but people don’t fuss over it with men like they do with women. It doesn’t matter to me either way.” Relief washed over you as you heard his words, Jungkook didn’t think you were damaged goods, he still wanted you. “May I touch you, Princess?” he whispered in your ear. Shivers of anticipation travelled down your spine as you nodded fervently.

Jungkook’s hand moved to your clothed breast as he began to massage it, a smirk appearing on his face as you let out a soft moan. He quickly untied the fastenings at the back of your dress and pulled it down to your waist. His mouth kissed where his hand had just been, eliciting louder moans from you as his tongue flicked at your nipple. As he kissed your breasts his hand moved further south, finding its way underneath your dress and on bare sex. “You’re so wet,” he murmured approvingly. “Is this okay?” he asked as he began to rub the bundle of nerves that brought you immense pleasure. You nodded quickly, moaning as he quickened his pace.

The prince stopped his movements and you let out a whine of disappointment. “Let’s get this dress off you properly,” he said, pulling the material from your body. Jungkook was still fully clothed and you suddenly felt very exposed. You reached out and he allowed you to remove his shirt, but you weren’t prepared for what was underneath. You let out a gasp at how incredibly toned and muscular he was, your hands running across his abs. “Like what you see, Princess?” he smirked. “Yes,” you purred as he laid you back down on the soft grass, positioning himself between your legs. Suddenly his mouth was on your most intimate area, his tongue lapping at your clitoris. You moaned wantonly, gripping at the hair on his head. You had never felt such pleasure in your life, and your moans became louder and more frequent as you felt the familiar coil in your core begin to tighten. Jungkook slowly pushed a finger inside you, it felt incredible. “Don’t stop Jungkook,” you cried. “More… Please…” You looked up and saw him smirk as he pleasured you. He added another finger and curled them, hitting the spot inside of you. The coil tightened and tightened until it released, and pleasure flowed through your veins and you screamed out your lover’s name.

Jungkook wiped your wetness from his mouth and began to kiss you. Being able to taste yourself on his tongue was incredibly erotic, and you found your hand travelling down to the hardness at his crotch. He suddenly grabbed your hand, stopping you. “Tonight is about you,” he said. “Let me pleasure you.” He pushed you back onto the grass and removed his trousers and undergarments, releasing his impressive length. You panicked slightly at the sight of it, he was bigger than Hoseok. “You’re so big,” you whispered. Jungkook smiled widely at the compliment. “Yes, but I know you can take me,” he replied reassuringly. “Do you definitely want this?” You nodded and he grasped your thighs, moving them apart. He lined himself up at your entrance and held your hands as he pushed inside. It stung a little as you weren’t used to his size, but after a moment you began to feel comfortable. “Please move Jungkook,” you whimpered.

He began to move within you, leisurely thrusting in and out. His manhood brushed against the sweet spot inside you and you clenched around him, letting out a moan.

“You feel so good,” he said breathlessly. “You’re taking me so well.” His compliments brought even more pleasure to you and he softly held your hands as he brought you closer and closer to orgasm. Sex with Hoseok hadn’t been like this at all, he had been more concerned with taking you roughly from behind and leaving red handprints on your derriere. Something about treating the Second Princess like a common whore had thrilled him, and you were more than happy to indulge him. However, sex with Jungkook was pure lovemaking. It was gentle and soft, you truly felt safe and on top of the world.

You felt yourself getting closer towards release, and Jungkook sensed this from your vice-like grip on his cock. He moved his hand to your clitoris and began to rub fast circles upon it. You gasped and moaned at his touch, taking in his sweaty and downright hot appearance. His mullet was beginning to cling to his forehead and his abs were rippling as he thrusted into you. “Jungkook,” you whined wantonly. “I’m so close.” The pressure in your core was becoming unbearable and you felt yourself hurtling towards release. “Let go for me Y/N,” he leant down and whispered into your ear, keeping up his pace. Your orgasm immediately washed over you, your womanhood pulsing around him as you let out a moan. His hips stuttered slightly, and he managed a few more thrusts before releasing his seed inside you.

Both of you looked at each other, beaming from ear to ear. Jungkook planted a sensual kiss on your lips before pulling away, pressing his forehead to your own. “That was incredible,” he exclaimed, brushing your hair from your face. “It was,” you gasped, still catching your breath. “Jungkook…” “Yes,” he answered. “What’s wrong, Princess?” You were silent for a moment. “I think I love you,” you said nervously, looking away from him. His fingers pinched your chin and turned you back to face him. “That’s good,” he smiled. “Because I think I love you too.”

Six more visits had transpired since the first time you made love, and each time you found your limbs entangled with his, gasping with pleasure. You were becoming more and more fearful of the concept of marrying a stranger chosen by your parents, you only wanted Jungkook. Your parents had not sensed your distress or your weekly disappearances, too wrapped up in planning your sister’s lavish wedding. However, it turned out that you had also become distracted from something of note.

One of your maids entered your chambers. “Your highness,” she said, a bundle of cloth in her arms. “I’ve brought your rags for your monthly bleed. You hadn’t asked me for them, and it slipped my mind. If I’m right, your bleed should’ve started two weeks since? Is everything okay? Should I call a man of medicine?” You could feel the colour draining from your face and nausea filling your stomach. “It’s okay,” you lied. “I got them myself two weeks ago, I was in that part of the castle.” “Oh…” your maid frowned. “Forgive me, your highness, I am glad all is well. I’ll leave these rags in one of your draws for next time.” “Thank you,” you said, relieved she has believed your terrible untruth. Your maid was right, your monthly bleed had been due two weeks ago, but it hadn’t come. The truth sank heavy on your shoulders, Jungkook’s seed had taken root and you were pregnant. You were pregnant with Jungkook’s baby. You were pregnant with your ancestral enemy’s child.

END

feedback is always appreciated! please don’t repost or translate my work

[sigmaleph]

@serinemolecule asked me for hot takes on this 2006 article on Argentinian food, which I am now reorganising into a proper post for y'all's consumption. you're welcome.

First of all: the titular thesis that you should eat two steaks a day. I am forced to clarify that as 'should's go you should eat zero steaks a day, but this is ethical rather dietary advice and I don't follow it as well as I should, so, y'know. I would engage with this on the level it was stated, but I actually have no opinion on it. Moving on...

Argentine beef really is extraordinary. Almost all of this has to do with how the cows are raised. There are no factory feedlots in Argentina; the animals still eat pampas grass their whole lives, in open pasture, and not the chicken droppings and feathers mixed with corn that pass for animal feed in the United States.

This is, as it happens, completely false. There absolutely is plenty of feedlot beef being eaten in Argentina, and this was also the case back when this article was written. There's grass-fed beef too, and maybe the writer structured their life around only eating those, but the claim that there are no feedlots is just not true.

if you let them make the call, you get a two-inch thick of meat[...]The Argentine steak stands alone, towering three inches over the plate,[...]This gorgeous specimen is called a lomito; it's a standard lunchtime steak, clearly so thin that the Argentines are embarrassed to send it out into the world without a protective wrapping of ham and cheese

I have no idea what their obsession with steak thickness is; meat exists at various levels of thick and thin to suit various tastes. If you like yours thick that's fine but quit the projecting, y'know.

As you might expect, vegetarians will have a somewhat rough time here. For most people in Argentina, a vegetarian is something you eat. One's diet will accordingly lean heavily on pastas, gnocchi, salads, and (for the less squeamish ) fish. Vegans will not survive in Argentina.

This is, unfortunately, true (well, hyperbole, but). Rinna had a rather bad time trying to find vegan food when fae came over for visits. The situation is improving slowly, at least.

The homemade cookies bought in the minimarket downstairs taste of steak. [picture of alfajores de maicena[

Jesus. Find somewhere better to buy your snacks.

It should be no surprise that the land of beef also has excellent milk and butter. The milk comes in plastic bags that would give any American marketing department a heart attack. They proudly advertise "GUARANTEED 100% BRUCELLOSIS AND HOOF-AND-MOUTH FREE". One brand even brags that its bacteria count never exceeds 100,000 per mL, and prints daily statistics to prove it (only 82,000 bacteria/mL on Monday! mmm!).

Are you under the impression American milk doesn't contain bacteria and that when it spoils it's because of the molecules' sheer willpower? Or do you just object to the reminder that they exist?

This menu is delicious, but with rare exceptions it is all you are going to get. People coming for more than a few weeks are advised to bring a discreet bottle of Tabasco sauce.

Eat at better restaurants.

With any order from the master menu comes the Bread Basket, which should be treated as you would treat a basket of wax fruit, that is, as a purely decorative ornament. It is considered bad form to actually eat anything from Bread Basket

What are you talking about. Do all your dining companions just suck, eat some bread.

Dulce de leche is a culinary cry for help. It says "save us, we are baffled and alone in the kitchen, we don't know what to do for dessert and we're going to boil condensed milk and sugar together until help arrives". This cloying dessert tar is so impossibly sweet that you wish you were ten years old again, just so you could actually enjoy it. It is everywhere. There is a special dulce de leche shelf in the supermarket dairy case, and the containers go up to a liter in size. Even the churros are stuffed with it - the churros, Montresor!

It is rare that I feel insulted for the sake of my country, but this? How dare you.

Yes, of course we fill churros with dulce de leche; the real question is why anyone doesn't, short of dietary restrictions. Finding out that people do otherwise was like learning that in other countries, "sandwich" just means two slices of bread. Live a little. Eat a real godsdamned churro.

I spent a considerable amount of time trying to figure out how meals work in Argentina, and they remain a mystery to me. Dinner is clear enough: people tend to go to restaurants beginning at ten o'clock (for those with small children), with the main rush around eleven, and dinner is pretty much over at one or so in the morning. And breakfast - or rather, its absence - follows as a logical consequence of eating a steak the size of a beagle at midnight. But I have yet to figure out whether people eat some kind of meal in the afternoon, and if so, when.

At... noon? Like. We eat lunch. Usually somewhere around 12:00. I am eating lunch right now, and I have done so essentially every day of my life. This is just baffling.

I've come to think the culprit in the missing Argentine lunch scene is yerba mate.

how.

Where the ignorant foreigner may see just another kind of herbal tea (yerba mate is a very unassuming shrub that grows in the northern parts of the country) the Argentine sees a taste treat of unimaginable subtlety, and a tonic for all his problems. The Wikipedia article on proper mate preparation should give you a warning of the level of obsessiveness attainable here (the Urugayans are even worse). To the virgin palate, mate tastes like green tea mixed with grass clippings. The beverage is traditionally drunk out of a little gourd, through a metal straw called a bombilla, with hot (but not boiling!!) water poured into it (without wetting the surface!! clockwise!!) from a thermos.

Yeah, this is accurate. Well, not the clockwise part, never heard anyone complain about that and I can't imagine it mattering.

What distinguishes mate from coffee and tea is the social context - two or more people share a gourd, with a designated pourer in charge of refilling it with hot water after each turn. The ritual is low-fuss but indispensible. You can buy mate gourds and thermoses in any grocery store, and get your thermos filled with hot water at any convenience store or gas station, but you will never see mate served in restaurants or sold in little disposable paper gourds, to go. it's not that people refuse to drink mate alone - anyone working a solitary shift will have a gourd in hand - but that the concept of being served mate by someone who does not share it with you seems impossible.

This is also true. Attempts have been made to sell to-go mate but it's never very popular, the social ritual is important. Also unfortunately a disease vector, I haven't had any mate in a year and a half.

Mate aficionados will tell you that mate contains a special compound, mateine, that serves as a tonic and mild stimulant, promoting alertness without making it hard to sleep, reducing fatigue and appetite, helping the digestion and serving as a mild diuretic. Scientists will tell you that mateine bears a suspicious resemblance to a chemical called caffeine. Mate aficionados will then grow indignant, explaining that mateine is really a stereoisomer (mirror image) of caffeine, with different effects, which will in turn irritate the scientists, who will snap that caffeine doesn't have a chiral center, so it can't have a distinguishable mirror image, and why don't the mate aficionados just put a sock in it.

The first part of this is true; some people definitely think "mateine" is different from caffeine and it absolutely isn't. Never heard the stereoisomer claim before but googling it does confirm some people say so.

still have no idea what any of this has to do with lunch, though. I promise you nobody skips lunch because mate is just too filling.

The wine here is very good (something has to stand up to that steak), but Argentina has no liquor to call its own, relying on whiskies like Old Smuggler and the low-maintenance Don Juan cognac to carry the flag.

There's a fundamental omission from this list and it's called fernet.

Beer is ubiquitous and comes in a bewildering variety of sizes, although there is a skittishness about the full-on liter. Things level off at 970 mL. In my case, it means I end up drinking 1940 mL of beer as a kind of personal protest, and all is well with the world. To make up for the abundance of sizes, beer comes in only one variety, Quilmes, which inevitably comes served with a tripartite platter of snacks - nuts, salty cylinders, and aged potato chips.

I never had trouble buying beer by the litre, but I confess I never tried to do so in 2006 on account of being under 18 at the time.

Anyway, beer comes in a lot more varieties today, thankfully, because Quilmes sucks. I'll never be a beer person, but at least these days there's options I tolerate.

[original post]

[keilemlucent]

lavender latte: iii

(T (for now!))

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

chapter 1   ||   chapter 2   ||   chapter 4

word count: 4.2k

a cheeky drink and some mutual sabotage. 

warnings: oh no, they say s*x, fluff, pining, the usual, and a wittle angst on the side, reader smokes cigs bc its a salem trademarked fic thing

enjoy folks ;^) the whole of this piece is gonna be about? ten chapters. so. hold on tight!!!

beta read by @keiqos, heart EYES

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“Let that sit for a second or you’ll burn yourself—”

“Don’t need to tell me twice, angel. I know the drill.” Hawks replied with a wink.

You weren’t ever going to get tired of that.

You really expected Hawks to disappear out of your life. You really, truly expected him to run off for good. How many bigger, better, and more important things did he have to do? Even if you managed to speak to him and regard him like any other customer (or, perhaps acquaintance, and more recently, friend — ), your mind swam with insecurities that only seemed to get worse over time.

You were waiting for the metaphorical thread to snap.

You waited for the day Hawks simply would stop texting you flirty bullshit on a somewhat regular basis.

But, holy fuck, the dude didn’t.

 You couldn’t think of why. You weren’t complaining about the attention, but you also were terrified of getting too used to it. Hawks was a part... bird (?) right? He was flighty by nature.

Despite this, Hawks continued to not only text you but also stopped by the shop fairly frequently for his special, quirk-fueled beverage fix. Politely, he’d text you the day before he planned to make an appearance to check and see if you were working, and then show up the next day like it was nothing. 

He usually wouldn’t stay for long; the hero was ungodly busy and always on the move. But, he always took the time to flirt and get a full description of his drink before dashing out to save the world once more. 

Most days he visited were his ‘hero work’ days. He’d appear in his costume, done up and dashing for a sip and a quick talk before disappearing once more into the skies. Every once in a while, Hawks had an ‘office’ day where he’d be confined to his agency to catch up on his insane backlog of paperwork. On these occasions, Hawks would talk (stall) at the tea shop for as long as possible. You talked and joked with him as long as he would let you. Sure, it put you behind on work, but no one at the shop was going to tell you off for fraternizing with the number two hero (whose repeated presence was drawing more customers anyways). You both reveled in each other's attention, drinking in the other’s slowly softening smiles and quick wit. 

 On this day, Keigo’s wings were the shittiest they had been in a while. Plucked and almost barren with how much he’d been working lately. Total exhaustion seemed like it was constantly on the horizon, tugging as his eyelids and weighing down his chest each morning.

It was easier to get out of bed when he got to think about seeing you.

Sure, your drinks were a perk. Very much so. He was getting so used to the artisan beverages you crafted that the taste of his normal canned coffee was starting to bother him. 

But, what his real thrill in visiting the tea shop was that he got to see you, and that made his heart pound. 

He sat across from you, looking down into your newest drink. It swirled between dark and milky, a heady, rich aroma billowing up with the steam it produced. He had requested something ‘surprising, new, and horribly caffeinated’ as deep fatigue was the worst villain he’d likely see that day. You had just nodded, cheekily starting to prepare his drink with a bounce in your step, pupils going wide. 

“I feel like you’re gonna start running out of ideas one of these days,” Keigo laughed, adjusting himself on his stool, gloves and jacket removed. He almost looked like a normal patron.

 You grinned to yourself, idly cleaning around you as you often did, “I dunno, I’ve got a lot.”

Hawks raised an eyebrow, “Tell me about them.”

“Nope, top-secret,” You shook your head, digging into your apron to flash him the small notepad you carried on you.

Scrawled in nasty handwriting, you carried your many ‘feeling’ ideas around with you. Different concepts and abstractions all scribbled down, a nice long list to look back on whenever Hawks would make his appearances and his own vague requests. Your backlog of ideas made it easy to find something more than suitable to make for him.

When Hawks saw your notepad his eyes widened, tilting his head and a devious smirk coming to his lips.

Your expression fell, and you stuffed the papers back into your pocket, hiding your hot face by idly cleaning some more. 

You left yourself very open for teasing, it seemed.

(Not that you or Keigo minded.)

“You keep a little list of all of your ideas! I’m beyond flattered,” Hawks ran a hand through his hair, flashing a cocky smile for you. 

“I have to stay prepared, can’t be disappointing my celebrity sugar daddy,” You winked as Hawks’s eyes went wide, half-hearing a choke get caught in his throat. (You loved it when you were able to get him visibly flustered. What a treat.) You nodded down to the drink, “Should be good to try now.” 

 Keigo really liked spending time with you. He knew it was always fleeting and short and consistently he wanted to find reasons to stay with you at the tea shop counter for longer and longer. Your quips and chides continued to get quicker and more clever and he was having an increasingly difficult time keeping his cool around you. Most of the time he smoothed himself easily, not showing a trace other than that which he neurologically couldn’t control. 

But sometimes, you were bold enough and ballsy enough to get him to gag on his literal words and he was positive that you were the only person to ever have him break composure in such a way. 

He covered his weakened poise by sipping the new drink, mindfully letting the taste wash over his tongue.

Increasingly, you’d been changing up the so-called ‘vibe’ of your beverages. It seemed like each time Keigo dropped in, you had something new and vibrant to show him. 

This drink was particularly different.

The taste was rich, dark, and smooth, rolling into the back of his throat and down his spine. It coated his insides with a warm, low heat. Peeking through were sweet, light accents, warm but almost... teasing?

His dick twitched.

 Hawks’s mouth dropped open, any and all professional veneers dropped as you just beamed so fucking smugly at him. 

“What do you think?” You leaned a bit forward, bouncing on your toes with excitement.

“Is... Is this supposed to taste like sex?” Hawks asked, taking another mouthful to confirm. Based on the way his eyes briefly shut and some of the tension rolled from his shoulders, he thoroughly confirmed it.

“Technically, it’s crafted based on like... a late-night rendezvous. I left it fairly up to interpretation beyond that. The rest is on you.” You shrugged, still bouncing as Hawks took another chug.

“What the fuck, (Y/N),” Pleasant shock colored his features, but clear amusement stretched across his lips as he continued to drink. 

“You wanted something surprising and horribly caffeinated. That’s a dark chocolate mocha with two extra shots, our in-house raspberry and rhubarb syrup, a bit of white chocolate syrup, and a few of my add-ins as well. It’s pretty different from what I’ve made you before,” You blinked at him, stomach twisting as his expression remained unguarded. “I... I probably should’ve asked before giving you a drink that definitely could’ve been taken as sex. That’s my bad. I can remake you something else if you’d like?”

 Keigo shook himself from his stupor, shaking his head and quickly regaining his composure. He took another sip to emphasize his words, “No, nope. It’s okay. Definitely okay. The drink is really good. I’m just now wondering something.”

“And, what’s that?” You asked, reaching behind the counter to grab your own iced beverage.

“Can your quirk be used to manifest bad feelings and concepts, just like good ones?” Keigo asked. Normally, he’d add more nuance, but he was getting impatient and sloppy around you. He’d have to keep that in check.

Especially with the way your shoulders drew up and tensed. You turned a bit away from him, any and all potential for eye contact torn away.

He hit a nerve.

“The type of abstract feeling doesn’t matter, I can emulate it,” You replied, pulling at your nails. Keigo had long picked up that it was one of your habits when your anxiety spiked. 

He dropped it, but didn’t forget. There were public files on quirks. Maybe he’d look into it. Maybe. It felt a bit invasive, but considering plenty of that data was freely accessible, it hardly was an invasion of privacy, right? 

(Except for the fact that it obviously made you very uncomfortable to discuss the more unsavory potentials of your quirk.) 

(He just wouldn’t tell you.)  

Keigo switched topics, easily rolling away from the topic, “Any particular... event that inspired this one?” 

You pressed your hands into the counter, leaning over it to glare at him, “Are you referring to something with that comment, Hawks?”

He shuddered when you said his name, but you don’t notice. 

“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not,” Keigo shrugged easily, going for another sip.

 The drink was inspired by the several day cinematic, wine-bender you went on a week or two prior. An entire weekend with just you, your cats, three entire bottles of wine, and a backlog of movies to catch up on. You tried to consume lots of different types of media, but what had been catching your eye lately had been anything with gushy romance for fairly obvious reasons.

(There was an embarrassing amount of ideas for drinks that were a bit too romantic to properly indulge with your quirk. You’d never tested the limits of how certain feelings could manifest, and you weren’t quite ready to face the reality where you could make people nut from caffeinated milk.)

“It is good though, the drink,” Hawks smacked his lips together as if it would make his coming analysis more credible. “It definitely does taste like sex, but more so complicated. Darker.”

“Deeper.” You smiled. “Your palette is getting more refined. I’m proud.”

“Are you saying it was bad to begin with?” Hawks pouted, flashing you falsely weepy eyes and a puffed out lip.

You rolled your eyes, “Yes, you yourself have admitted this. You drink canned coffee still, so I can’t even call your taste good.”

Hawks gasped, putting a hand to his chest, “I’m hurt, truly wounded.”

“I’m sure you are, tailfeathers.”

“I really thought I had reliably moved up to ‘birdboy’, angel.”

You snorted, covering your mouth with your hand, “Just goes to show how quickly the tables turn, tailfeathers.”

Hawks’s pager suddenly chimed, a familiar sign. He took a quick look at it and sighed, moving to re-robe. You were surprised by the speed at which he did so, and the way he became tense so quickly. 

It made you realize that he was always tense.

(Unless he was talking to you.)

“I thought today was an office day?” You asked, a bit of a disappointment clouding your voice.

Hawks just gave a small smile, fully plastering back on his heroic facade, “Duty calls. Lots happening lately.”

He flicked his visor back over his eyes, slid you your normalized wad of cash, and whisked himself out the door, immediately taking to the skies from the streets.

He’s in a bit of a hurry.

He... didn’t even say goodbye. 

Wonder what’s happening?

 Truthfully, Keigo was a bit startled by the notice on his pager. The whole reason he’d started patrolling the particular neighborhood the tea shop was in was because there was word of a villain syndicate working nearby. It hardly seemed right for the neighborhood, but Keigo knew that villains hid anywhere. Whatever they were planning was still relatively shrouded, but it was clear that it needed to be treated delicately. That particular neighborhood was rife with pedestrians, businesses, and homes and any sort of villainous activity had the possibility of reaping a heavy amount of collateral damage. Keigo and the Commission had been on their guards about it, but things had been steadily becoming more intense over the past few weeks. 

Plopping himself on a rooftop, Keigo took up residence to stake out his newest lead, watching figures and silhouettes in a nearby office building.

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 Funnily enough, the rest of your week went horribly. Just downright shitty. You figured at some point, things would let up, brighten, but they didn’t. Each day brought some new, personal calamity. 

The first was a trip to the emergency vet with one of your cats after she swallowed a hair tie. An expensive vet bill later, she was perfectly healthy, but you remained wracked with anxiety. 

Another day, the owner of the tea shop paid a visit to chew you out for your newest tea blends not fulfilling his picky seasonal requests. You were relieved it had nothing to do with how Hawks monopolized your time. Still, getting yelled at easily within earshot of both coworkers and customers made your insides twists. 

The final small disaster was when a particularly asshole-ish customer chucked a hot drink all over you and your cute white sweater. One of the younger openers had been dealing with a difficult patron and an incorrect order, nothing out of the ordinary. When you tried to step in and de-escalate the situation, the man ripped the lid from his cup and splashed you with the burning liquid. You held back any sounds of pain even as your skin stung like hell when you offered to remake his drink.

One of your managers luckily allowed you to go home early. Thank god.

By the end of your shitty week, you fell into your apartment and just cried. White sweater stained and day feeling fairly ruined, you let yourself have a good, solid sobbing session to just release how terrible things had been. 

It would pass, you knew. But it sucked at the moment.

It also didn’t help that Hawks had been particularly absent after running out the last time he came around. He’d still managed to shoot you a funny text or two, but mostly, it was silence from him. You rationalized it by reminding yourself of how quickly he flew off at the end of his last visit, hero business forever more pertinent than you and the shop.

You reminded yourself to keep yourself grounded in Hawks obvious impermanence, even if you were starting to get used to (and really like) having the hero around. 

You decided that your Friday evening would be good. You treated yourself to a hot shower, noting with a hiss the pink scalded skin that covered your chest from your collar bones to just below your breasts. You threw on a facemask and uncorked a bottle of wine you had been saving for a rainy day. 

You clicked on one of your favorite shows, an older cartoon that brought you consistent comfort in times like those. Curled up with a knit throw blanket and your healthy cats, it did help soothe the burns, mental and physical.

That is until you got a bit too drunk on red wine and it turned into sad drunk.  

So, you made your way to the roof.

You weren’t fucked up beyond belief, despite the fact that you were towing an open bottle of red in one hand and a pack of cigarettes in the left. The cold would sober you up, along with the nicotine. You hoped it would force you out of your head. 

Upon throwing open the door to your apartment complex’s rooftop, you were made very aware of its wintertime disuse. The gardens that grew during the summer were snowcovered. The chairs and tables for lounging were in a similar state. You didn’t mind. 

The view was still nice. 

You set down your bottle and zipped up your coat. Quickly, you brushed off the flurries from a rickety lawn chair and plopped yourself down. You threw on some music from your phone, playing some sweet, old songs that made your chest ache when you needed it to.

The city stretched in front of you, beyond the rooftop. You didn’t live in a particularly wealthy district, but there was no shortage of dazzling neon and bright street lights dotting the ground below. You watched how the rest of the city stretched far beyond your little pocket, still gleaming with multi-hued lighting and dazzling in the wash of the crescent moon.

You took a swig, fishing for your self-dubbed ‘sad cigarettes’ and lit up. With your exhale, you watched as smoke lazily swirled away, carried by the soft winter wind. If you were any less drunk, you’d be freezing.

A shadow, winged, fell across the snow. 

“You know, I get nervous when I see pretty girls on rooftops with bottles in their hands,” You jumped at the voice, whipping your head to the source.

Hawks stood, scarlet wings fanned outwards, on the lip of the rooftop. 

Your eyes widened.

You took another sip.

He gave an affectionate laugh, jumping down into the area where you were seated.

 Keigo had just been out on his normal, nightly patrol. The leak had been correct and he’d been stealthily tracking the villains while completing the rest of his hero duties. He was able to laugh off his exhaustion, but it was starting to eat him. Several cans of coffee a day was hardly doing it for him. He hid his sleepiness and aches well, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t difficult. All the same, his typical roles had to be fulfilled. 

He was surprised to see you, all alone on a rooftop with a lit cigarette between your fingers. Keigo let himself be surprised before noting that ‘ yes, you definitely probably live in this apartment building and you’re just outside to smoke’, but the sudden jolt of panic he felt was crushingly unbearable. 

Mostly because it was personally protective and not heroically instinctual and he couldn’t start acknowledging that aspect of his feelings for you. Not yet. 

Keigo walked towards you, asking, watching you blink blearily at him “You doing alright?” 

Eyes downcast, you shrugged, “We all feel shitty sometimes. Just depends on how you cope, ‘ya know?”

“And how do you cope, (Y/N)?” Keigo asked, pausing before brushing off a chair. “Mind if I join you for a bit? I could use a second to rest my wings.”

You nodded, almost offering him the bottle, but quickly pulling it back to your chest before taking another inhale. Offering a pro hero alcohol while he was pretty obviously working seemed like a bad move, even in your tipsy state. 

“Most of the time, I watch nice stuff and distract myself, like most people, ya’ know?” You exhaled as you smoked, relishing the nicotine buzz. “Sometimes, though, I just feel extra shitty and need to extra cope.”

Hawks hummed in agreement, sitting back in the chair. His wings were folded up and over its back, the longest feathers trailing in the small snowdrift behind him.

“Do you get cold, being in the sky all the time?” You asked, eyes going cloudy as you stared up at the lights of the city and higher into the sky. 

“Most of the time,” Hawks chuckled, throwing his arms behind his head, “I’ve told you this, angel. It was one of our first conversations.”

Your eyes widened at the realization, mouth open with a hearty laugh.

 It made Keigo’s eyes water a little. He blamed it on the wind. 

 “I’m silly, I can’t believe I forgot,” You nestled back into your chair, tracing the lines between constellations. “It’s the whole reason you came to the teashop in the first place.” 

Your voice resonated, focus foggy. Somewhere else, old memories played in your mind, recounting your first few meetings with Hawks.

A warm, small smile stretched across your face as you traced the stars. 

 Keigo watched, enraptured. You were cute, especially like this. All bundled up in your winter coat, half-zipped. There was a lot less stress in your shoulders than he normally saw at the shop, especially as your thoughts were so far away.

He wanted nothing more than to commit the contours and shadows of your face in the white moonlight to memory, never forgotten in the blissful cold. 

 You interrupted his thoughts so beautifully.

 “Thanks for talking to me.” You took a sip from your bottle just after speaking, half-drowning your words, but Keigo caught each one. “I appreciate you.” 

“P-pardon?” Keigo couldn’t tell if you caught his stutter, but even if you did, you didn’t show it. The comment felt like a jab to his jaw, half-knocking the wind of him and turning him into a filthy masochist. He’d take any whiplash if it meant you saying such kindnesses to him. 

How could you just say shit like that?

What exactly did you mean by that?

Why did your attention make his legs tremble?

You turned your attention from the night sky to Hawks, something like uncertainty bubbling in your chest, “I appreciate you, ya’ know? Coming by the tea shop still, teasing each other and shit, you humoring me—”

Hawks interrupted you, feathers tensing at his back.

“I’m not humoring you.” Hawks deadpanned, staring at you oddly seriously. The yolks of his eyes seemed even more intense in the neon and night light. 

“You’re... not?” 

There was utter disbelief in your voice, accented by the way your jaw was half-opened.

Hawks shook his head, standing in emphasis, feathers fluttering as he did, “ No, angel. Not at all. I visit because...”

I like you.

“Because I like your drinks.”

  Because you make me feel good in a way I’ve never felt.

“You’re fun to talk to, too. Added perk.”

  Because I want to hear your voice when I breathe and when I die. 

“I enjoy it, you know? You're fun.”

 Some feeling in your chest, something full of hope, crushed itself and compacted to the point of pain. You sniffled at his admission, blaming it on the cold. In a fucked up, sad way, part of you was so relieved. 

He likes the shop. He likes your drinks. 

He’s around because he wants to be. 

But not because you’re special to him. 

 His words reminded you of your insignificance in Hawks’s life. No matter how much you craved his attention and words, and more recently found yourself staring at the plumpness of his lips and the curve of his cupids bow and daydreaming about how much you wanted to lean over the tea shop's counter and kiss the constant, teasing smile off his face—

But.

You don’t matter that much to him.

Sure, he likes you, but he’ll never feel the same way about you. 

 You made the decision then to make the most out of Hawk’s affections and sweet words. You’d take what you could get, even if it was fleeting and probably  eventually heartbreaking. It seemed smart, to refuse to get your hopes up for someone so unattainable.

 You let out a shaking sigh, “Thank you, Hawks. I appreciate you coming around. You really light up my day.”

 Keigo saw the fall of your face and bottled himself up. Shoved down everything. Fuck his feeling, fuck how he felt about you, this was all fucking terrifying. It was getting to be too much and he had to try and control himself.

Just like he’d been taught so well.

He was just so happy to be around you. He could squash his feelings, even if they were fairly obviously somewhat mutual. God knows that he didn’t know how to handle anything like that.

On the gods, his pager beeped.

 “Duty calls?” You said, standing up yourself and brushing off the stray snowflakes. 

“Seems so.” Hawks sighed, nodding, “Thanks for letting me rest here. It was good to see you, (Y/N). I’ll see you soon, okay?”

You waved goodbye as Hawks disappeared as quickly as he came, launching himself from the roof with the heavy sound of wing beats. 

Soaring away, Keigo risked a final look at you. He swore he saw tears in your eyes.

He forcibly repressed his feelings, reminding himself that your company, words, and quirk-made beverages were more than enough. The flutter in his chest when he thought of you wouldn’t rest, but he could learn to ignore it. 

 On the roof of your apartment, you felt fatigue in your bones and wetness on your cheeks. You ignored both in favor of smoking another cigarette, soft, melancholy music being your only constant, reliable companion. 

You reminded yourself that he, Hawks, was a temporary fixture, more flighty than most and liked you just enough and for surface-level reasons. You could take that. You’d do anything to be around him more, even if it never amounted to anything. 

You, just as Keigo did, pressed down any larger feelings.

 (The thing about feelings, though, that neither of you was very good at remembering, was that they don’t go away. Sure, you can let them go, but that takes time or a practiced mind!)

(When you take feelings, big, aching, soaking feelings and shove them down into the deepest parts of you, they just tend to make you bleed. The ‘hidden’ feelings color your blood as it spills, even if you don’t notice when it falls and its change in hue.)

(One can only hope that both Keigo and you listened instead of lied.)

 Both of your hearts ached, and neither of you fully understood why.

[perfectpaperbluebirds]

A Darcy Day Off

As promised, I present ~6,800 words of a sick, miserable Fitz/willi/am Dar/cy. I’ve been working on this on and off for an embarrassingly long time so I’m glad to finally clear it out of my WIP folder to make room for new things. But honestly, it was a pleasure to write, and I hope some of you take pleasure in reading it as well!

Definitely he first chapter, and honestly the first 2 chapters are mostly exposition, so if you want to skip straight to the sickfic goodness and reduce the word count, head to chapter 3. But I had fun writing (and worked hard on) the banter and conversation in the beginning, so I opted to keep it. 

( @chezsnez @empresskaze @groundcontrol21 you all asked so nicely, so I hope this is what you were looking for! )

1.

“Darcy, dear, what’s keeping you? I thought we were to meet in the library for tea,” Elizabeth called. She found him still in his study, hunched over the desk. She danced to his side, planting a kiss atop his head. He leaned against her briefly in greeting.

“I’m sorry, my dear. I had more business to attend to today than I’d realized. Just finishing up now.” He rubbed his eyes tiredly, then his nose, trying to be rid of a tickle that had been infuriating him all day.

“Always at your work. I wonder our estate isn’t the finest run in Britain. And here I used to think people of high class such as yourself worried for nothing but amusing themselves all day.” She gently rubbed his neck where she knew he always got an ache when he wrote. He kissed her hand fondly.

“You are of such a class, too, now, my love. And how do you know it isn’t the finest? I’d be willing to wager a year’s salary this estate could be measured against parliament’s own estates and be proven worthy, if I have anything to say about it.”

“You pour your very soul into all that goes on here, and it’s one of the many things I adore about you. I am proud every day to be the mistress of such an estate. Only I wish you wouldn’t work so hard and take more time to enjoy the fruits of your labor.”

“Are you accusing me of ignoring you, dearest? Only say the word and I would throw all my responsibilities to the winds and devote myself fully to your entertainment.” 

He kept his tone light and playful, teasing her, but looked at her closely even as he did. Had he been neglecting her too much of late? He had had several pressing business matters on his mind these last weeks, and he knew he had been at his desk more than usual. Lizzie had not complained of course, and had been nothing but supportive and helpful, but the last thing he would ever want to do is make her doubt where his priorities lay, namely that she was foremost in his mind and heart, and in all things.

“Not at all, for you well know I’m quite fond of my own company. However, I can't help but worry about you. You put too much responsibility on yourself; you are positively careworn these days. I only wish your more lighthearted side could see the light of day now and again, and not just when we’re alone.”

“I am my truest self when I’m with you.” He kissed her hand again, then rubbed his nose. “I will always struggle being lighthearted while working. The two have never gone hand in hand in my experience; gravity and soberness were expected whilst doing business in my growing years under my father, and others. All the more reason I have need of your influence.” 

She kissed his head again. “Very well, I accept the mantle of helping you find levity in your working hours. If only so that the strain you put on yourself will not affect your health. You put on a casual, careless demeanor in public, but I know better. You bear the weight of the world on those broad shoulders of yours, and that is a burden no man is meant to carry, even by his own choice. So come now, and join your wife for tea. The letters can wait another hour or so, surely.

“Indeed they can.” He stood and stretched stiffly. The chill winter wind howled outside and the sound made him shiver, glad for the roaring heat from the fire nearby, and in every room in the house as he moved to escort his wife to the library. 

~~~~~~~~~~

The couple spent a pleasant hour or two in their favorite room in the house, chatting warmly at times, and sitting in comfortable silence at others. The relentless wind made Darcy feel sleepy and lazy, and he wanted nothing more than to take his wife’s advice and take the rest of the day to relax. He would have been content to remain here for the rest of the evening with his favorite person and simply read and chat and perhaps nap. But he had two more letters that needed to make the post tomorrow, and if he did not finish them now, he never would. He stood quietly and brushed his lips across his wife’s cheek. She nuzzled back, then watched as he lingered before the library fire longer than necessary, warming his hands and rear.

“Are you all right, my dear?” she asked.

“Oh, yes. I’ve developed a slight headache is all, and it makes the task of my remaining letters all the more daunting.”

“I can imagine. I wish you would take a day off sometime soon, so that you may rest for longer than a few hours at a stretch. I believe it would do you wonders. Winter is generally a time for peaceful contemplation, but it’s been a frenzy of activity for you these past months. You are overdue for some leisure, my love.”

“You are right, as usual. Sometime very soon, dearest, I will take a week or two off and we will spend all the leisurely hours together you could wish. Perhaps we’ll even have a romp outside in the snow. Within the next month, once this mess is more or less cleaned up. Would that suit you?”

“It would suit me very fine indeed. While you could never be accused of neglecting me, I have been missing my husband of late, most especially his smile. That has been the most absent part of you.”

“For that I am sorry. I don’t like to bring my business affairs into our life together. My lovely, patient wife. You are too good to me.

“Well and I could say the same of you, so there. Enough of that. Come kiss me again, then go to your work before you fall asleep standing up.”

“As you command.” He was truly in danger of this, as he felt his lids growing heavier all the time, so he forced himself to move away from the pleasant heat, going to her side and kissing her fully this time, savoring her sweet lips before reluctantly pulling away. “Away I go. See you soon, darling.”

 Mr. Darcy could not rid himself of the clinging fatigue for the rest of the evening. His remaining letters took longer than usual, and he knew they were not as well done as they ought to be, but at least they were done. When they were finished, he tossed his pen aside eagerly and stretched his stiff neck. Perhaps he should take those leisure days sooner rather than later. He really hadn’t been feeling his best lately, and the wintery weather that had had them in its grasp for weeks certainly wasn’t helping. Also, he missed his wife, though he had just seen her. He missed spending time with her, and not just in stolen hours here and there. 

Right now all he wanted was to curl up beside her in bed, and talk of sweet nothings, and perhaps make sweet love. Hopefully that would help shake this irritating headache. Yes, they were long overdue for quality time spent together. He would make arrangements for some time away immediately, hopefully as early as a fortnight from now. The thought immediately made him calmer as he finished up a few small things, then hurried to find her and begin the more pleasant part of the evening.

2.

“Heh-KERRR-CHOOOOO! Heh- heh- KITSHHH’CHOOOO”

A bellowing sneeze startled Elizabeth from her book the next morning, and the even louder one that followed caused her to go investigate it’s source. To her surprise, following the sound of the miserable sniffles led to her husband’s study, where she found him ineffectually wiping his dripping nose with an already-damp handkerchief. 

“My dear Mr. Darcy, is that you making all that racket? My heavens, bless you! I don’t know as I’ve ever heard a sneeze so resounding in all my life. Were you holding it in all morning for it to grow to such a volume?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he sniffled sourly. “It was merely a sneeze.”

She quirked an eyebrow, amused. “I would beg to argue. You sneeze particularly violently, my dear. Likely because, as I noted, you hold them in until you can’t anymore.”

“Well, since you are evidently the expert,” he muttered as he pressed on with his work, coughing softly. 

She rarely saw this severe, prickly side of him these days, and this, more than anything else, concerned her and made her know he shouldn’t be teased at present. He really must be feeling poorly. She moved to his side and pressed against him as she had the day before, rubbing his shoulder. He did not respond, physically or otherwise.

“You are unwell, my love. You should go take some rest. You quite look as if you have gotten the wrong end of this cold of a sudden.”

“I am fine. Don’t worry yourself. I am only in need of some tea and I shall be quite well.”

“I’d be happy to fetch you tea, but I’d be happier to fetch it for you in bed, or at least in your chair in the library. I fear these large windows will do you no favors with the draft.”

“I have many things I need to see to today. I cannot take time to rest. And all my files are here in the study. I haven’t been ill since I was a boy. I’m certainly not going to be ill now.”

Lizzie sighed and shook her head at the foolishness of males. “Have it your way, then. I’ll see you get some tea. Was there anything else you’d like?”

“Just a scone or two. Thank you, dearest.” He finally turned his gaze to her, and she saw true gratitude there, despite the reddened, watery eyes and dripping nose. “And forgive my rudeness when you came in. You startled me, but I should not speak to you like that. Please forgive me.”

“Of course you’re forgiven, and I am sorry I startled you. You know I only worry about you because I love you.”

“As I love you, my Lizzie.” He coughed wetly into his handkerchief. “Now please, if you’d leave me. I really do have much to do, and you are ever my truest distraction. I will see you this evening. And please know, I am doing all this so that we can have our time together very soon.”

“Yes, my dear.” She sighed softly and made her way out, stopping one of the servants to request her husband’s tea and scones. She gave explicit instructions for the type of tea and what was to be in it, things to soothe an aching throat and ward off fever. If he wouldn’t have a care for his own body, she would be forced to do it for him. She only hoped he would see reason sooner than later and take himself off to bed before he caught his death in that drafty study.

~~~~~~~~~~

Of course, Darcy was endlessly studious and conscientious, not to mention stubborn, and so he stayed in his study, or was running around with different servants and community members all day. He did his best to conduct his business as excellently as ever, despite how very unwell he was beginning to feel.

When their paths would cross later in the day though, she could see he was flagging. His cough had become quite the nuisance, and his nose and lips were raw and chapped. Dark circles began to show under his eyes, vivid against sickly pallor. Every now and again, she heard a massive, wet sneeze disturb the air from wherever he was. She gave him sympathetic smiles and little encouragements whenever she could, but what she truly wanted was to see him to bed and tend to his every need there. The misery on his face made her ache for him. If only he wasn’t so proud. And yes, stubborn.

She was quite relieved when he joined her at their evening meal, wearily announcing he was done working for the day, and she told him such. He was quiet and withdrawn for the remainder of the evening, aside from his frequent sniffles and coughs, and the occasional explosive sneeze, which never failed to make her jump, even as they became more and more frequent. 

Taking his lead, she also said very little, reading exhaustion in every line of his frame, especially as his sneezes and coughs harshened. If she had been another woman, and he another man (indeed, her parents came to mind), she would have said again that she wished he would take the day off tomorrow. But it was not in her to nag, and if she had he would only have become angry, or withdrawn completely. She had said her part this morning, and she knew he had heard her and remembered. What he did from here was his choice alone. 

She watched him unobtrusively as he dozed by the fire that evening, feeling such love in her breast for her dedicated, hardworking husband, but no small amount of worry either. They had been married nearly three years, and she had never once seen him ill. She hoped it was truly only trifling, as he kept insisting it was whenever anyone asked. 

They went to bed earlier than usual, her feigning equal tiredness for his sake, so he wouldn’t feel he was being a burden. But indeed, all she wanted of the rest of this day was to lie beside him in bed, perhaps rub his back, and just be near him for whatever he needed. To her delight, that is exactly what happened. He said very little, and asked for nothing, stifling sneezes now and again even as his frequent, chesty coughing fits worsened, but merely lay beside her and let her rub away at his aches and chills as he fell asleep.

3.

Darcy and Eliza were both early risers, and both loved to greet the day while it was still fresh and full of promise. Being the man though, Mr. Darcy was always up and about before his wife, for it took him far less time to dress, and there were several things he liked to see to before breakfast, though he never neglected to kiss her goodbye as he left.

Imagine her surprise then, when the next morning found him still soundly asleep beside her when her maids came in to help her dress at their usual time. The sound of their arrival woke her, but her poor husband hardly stirred. She hurried out of bed, calming the poor, startled ladies in hushed tones, assuring them they had done no wrong. They helped her dress and fix her hair simply and comfortably before Elizabeth shooed them out again, saying she wasn’t sure what they should tell the other staff, as she had no idea what mind her husband would be in when he finally woke. 

Lizzie sighed as they left. Now it would be all over the house that he was sick abed, and who knew what other irrepressible rumors. He would hate that. However, at present it was the truth so he would just have to deal with it whenever he woke. In the meantime, she picked up her book and read in the chair by the fire, wanting to be close when he woke.

That turned out to be shortly thereafter. He first began to toss and turn a bit, then he started to cough, then he nearly made her jump out of her chair with one of his tremendous sneezes. 

“Heh -KER- CHUUUUHHF!” The noise was thick and miserable-sounding, more than hinting at painfully clogged sinuses and a raw, scratchy throat. While he was mopping the mess from his face with his handkerchief, his lungs decided to take their turn at clearing themselves as well, and he erupted into a series of wet, strenuous coughs. 

She made her way to his side during this sad display, gently stroking his tousled hair as he quieted. He groaned softly when he was able and pressed into her embrace, still holding the handkerchief to his nose, eliciting a cluck of sympathy from his wife at his sorry state.

“My poor dear,” she murmured. “Your health is much worse this morning.”

“Mby head is like a lead weight od the pillow,” he croaked. “Fatigue weighs dowd mby limbs dreadfully.”

“Then you will not work today?”

“Mby wise wife advised that I look after mby body more, and today mby body tells mbe I must rest, so rest I shall,” he murmured sleepily. “As long as you’ll keeb mbe company?”

“I would love nothing more. This is perhaps not the leisurely day we had hoped for, but I’ll accept it just the same." She tenderly caressed his cheek, frowning as she felt it. "You are terribly feverish, darling." Yet she hardly needed to feel, for just by looking at his flushed, sweaty face and seeing him shake with chills, the fever made its presence known.

"And yet I'mb chilled to the bone. I had forgotten how beastly udpleasant it is to catch cold," he rasped with a thick sniffle.

"Indeed, it makes one feel for your poor sister all the more. It seems she is laid up with a cold every other week. Now, how does tea appeal to you? And perhaps some food? You hardly touched supper last night."

"Tea would be lovely. Mby abbetite still eludes me however. But, if only to please you, I would try sumb toast and an egg."

Lizzie had servants running for his requests in short order while Darcy tended to his nose, blowing it over and over, soaking through more than one handkerchief. His tray was delivered in record time. Seeing it arrive, Darcy slowly levered himself to a sitting position, pressing a hand to his temple.

"Mby head is throbbi'g," he mumbled.

Elizabeth pressed the cup of tea into his hands, looking sympathetic. "Drink some. It may help your head."

He did as he was bid, drawing his knees to his chest like a boy as he drank while she rubbed his back. However, another tremendous sneeze almost made him spill the whole thing. 

“Ah- ah- KITCHSHOOOOO! Ugh…” He sought his handkerchief desperately, and when Elizabeth handed it to him, he pressed it harshly against his streaming nose to stem the flow, groaning as he did. Elizabeth hastily took the teacup from his again, for it seemed in danger of being upended at any moment.

"Bless you! My poor dear, what can I do for you? Besides keeping a stack of handkerchiefs here for your poor nose."

"I would ask you to help mbe dress in a few moments," he said, his voice muffled behind the fabric as he tried to rub away the headache between his eyes. "While I will be as quick as I cad, I must speak to mby steward and give hib sumb idstructions for mby absence."

"Can you not write him instead? I fear for you going out in the cold, lest this settles in your chest."

"Mby head aches too miserably to do a probber job with writing. I fear I would forget somethi'g crucial. Ndo, I'll quickly  go dowd and speak to hib, and thed I'll return. Ndo going outside for mbe today, never fear."

She sighed and nodded, knowing he would not be dissuaded. "At least finish your tea and try some egg before you go so you don't collapse on the stairs."

"I'mb far from collapse mby dear, I assure you." His general appearance said otherwise though, as he had been miserably coughing into his handkerchief throughout the whole conversation, and had yet to stop shivering. However, she held her tongue and served him breakfast instead. 

Lizzie saw he made an effort to eat as much as he could, and though it was only a few bites, she was slightly placated. She knew he would not relax until he had set what affairs he could in order. So, after his tea was gone, when he rose and began to dress, she assisted him, for she realized the sooner he left, the sooner he would return.

"I'd rather not ri'g for mby valet, as I'd be worried I would sdeeze on hib," muttered Darcy, looking embarrassed as she straightened his jacket while he futilely tried to blow his nose, which only served to make him cough yet again.

"It's no trouble at all, dear. Only please hurry back. I truly worry for that cough." 

"I'll be back under your watchful eye as quick as I cad, dearest," he murmured, grazing her ear with his lips as she slipped an extra handkerchief in his pocket. With that, he was gone, his boots thumping down the hall wearily.

~~~~~~~~~~

Time dragged as she waited for him. While she knew he could take care of himself and she didn't need to be here the moment he returned, she also knew he would want her to be. Her husband was a strong man, but at times like these, he depended on her, and she was not about to disappoint him. So, while there were plenty of things she could have seen to around the manor herself, she waited in his sitting room with her needlework, keeping the fire high. 

Finally she heard him in the hall. She rushed to open the door as he shuffled in, looking spent. 

 "Darcy dear! I expected you an hour ago!"  she said, helping him shed his coat. Suddenly she felt his shoulders hitch under her hands as his breath scissored:

"Ktt-tsshhEEW!" The wet spraying sneeze was his response, only partially stifled by the sodden handkerchief he held. She blessed him worriedly as he again mopped his face.

"I'mb sorry, dearest," he finally managed. "I was stobbed many tibes between mby study and here to answer questions. I cabe as quick as I could."

He fell wearily into the chair nearest the fire with a deep groan and a deeper cough. He bent to try and remove his boots, but his efforts were hampered, as his nose streamed dreadfully if he bent over. He had to keep a hand pressed to his face as he tried to undo the fastenings with the other. 

Elizabeth knelt in front of him and gently pushed his hands away, loosening and removing the boots herself as he leaned back in the chair, sniffling wetly. 

"Thagk you, mby love," he croaked. 

"Here, have some more tea, I've just had Mary bring some. There, now what suits you best? Shall we cover you warmly and sit here by the fire, or would you like me to fetch you some soup? I won't ask if you want to call for Dr. Bishop yet since I know what you'll say, though I have half a mind to."

"There's ndo need for the doctor," replied her husband. "Whad I most want right now is to lie dowd and sleeb sumb few hours yed. Mby mind is sluggish. I cad hardly grasp on a thought except how exhausted I amb."

"Then take my arm and let's get you to bed, poor man. I imagine some more sleep will do wonders for you."

"I don't need help walki'g mby dear, I'm not invalid, only full of cold." Even still, he took her proffered arm as he stood and rested a hand on her shoulder warmly as she led him to the bedroom.

"That may be, but I'll see you there myself just the same to make sure there's no distractions along the way." She kissed his hand and caressed it fondly as they made their way to the bed. She helped him remove all the clothes she had helped him don not long before and replace them with his nightshirt. While he clearly needed to sleep, he also seemed loath to let her out of his sight. He remained sitting on the edge of the bed for a moment with her pressed against his side. She scratched his back fondly. 

“You should lie down, dear. You’re more asleep than awake.”

Instead, he wrapped his arms around her unexpectedly, burying his face in her abdomen with a weary sigh. Elizabeth was slightly startled, but gladly reciprocated the embrace, burying her face in his hair. Her husband was an affectionate man, but not usually physically so. This gesture from him, while not at all unwelcome, was unexpected. 

“I feel terrible,” he groaned, barely audible, leaning most of his weight against her. “Mby body runs amok with mbe.”

“So it seems. I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t wish this cold of yours on anyone.”  

She held him for a few peaceful moments. Just as she was about to again suggest he lie down, for it seemed he was in danger of falling asleep against her, his back twitched violently and he tried to pull away.

“heh-GIHH’CHOOOO! Hehht-kk’CHOOOOOF!” 

Neither had time to react as poor Mr. Darcy sneezed thickly, his face still pressed against his startled wife. She couldn't suppress a little gasp as he pulled away, stammering apologies and wiping his traitorous nose. 

She was silent a moment appraising the state of her dress, then an unladylike snort of laughter escaped her, sending her into a little fit of giggles even as she comforted her overwrought husband, pressing him gently back against the pillows. 

“It’s all right, my love. Such things happen. ‘Tis only a dress, and I have plenty more. It seems neither of us are coming away from this cold of yours unscathed. But there now, you’re completely spent. You can hardly keep your eyes open, red as they are. Take some more rest, my love.”

“You’re too good to mbe,” he croaked, fighting against his heavy eyelids but already nearly asleep, the handkerchief still in his limp hand on the bed.

She reached out, caressing his face and brushing hair from his brow. “No more of that. Close your eyes and sleep, for how else do you expect to get better?” She clucked her tongue softly again. “You really are painfully warm, poor man. It is most worrisome,” she said, more to herself than him.

“I’ll be alright,” he mumbled, the last word turning into a snore as he finally gave in to the needs of his body.

~~~~~~~~~~

4.

That was to be the last interaction Mr. Darcy would remember for quite some time. He fell into a deep sleep then, and everything that happened over the next few days would be blurred flashes in his mind at best, hazed by illness and fever.

Of course, the same could not be said for Elizabeth. After he fell asleep, she left him and tended to some of her duties around the manor (after changing her gown, naturally). She did not want to hover in the sickroom, both for her sake and his, so she forced herself to stay away for several hours, knowing he would ring if he needed something.

Still, in the late afternoon she returned, unable to stay away any longer. He was exactly as she had left him, snoring softly. He didn’t seem to have moved at all in his sleep, which was most unlike him. She again went to feel his forehead, sensing something amiss. He was much warmer than before. A knot of worry pulsing in her heart, she tried to shake him awake. He opened his eyes and seemed to look at her, but she could tell he wasn’t truly awake, and didn’t respond when she spoke to him, only grunted and coughed, trying to roll over and sleep again. 

Without further ado, she sent for Doctor Bishop, pacing the halls outside Darcy’s rooms until he arrived, wringing her hands in worry and opening the door to check on her husband every few minutes, to ensure he got no worse.  

The doctor arrived quickly, heading right into the sickroom. He did a thorough examination, listening to Mr. Darcy’s heart and lungs, checking his pulse and 100 other things. Darcy woke briefly a few times, but only managed answers of a word or less before he dozed off again. His large frame looked somehow both bigger and smaller than it should, curled up limply on the bed, with only his breathing as evidence of life. After he was through, the wise doctor scrutinized his patient, deep in thought. Elizabeth remained silent, waiting with baited breath. Finally the doctor turned to her. 

“You said he’s been overworking himself and run down lately, yes?”

“Yes, doctor. Business has been troubling him of late.”

“Hm. So it seems. Well, overall his vital signs are normal for a man with a cold. I see nothing overly alarming, excepting the high fever. That is a touch worrisome, but can at times be seen in such cases. No, I don’t fear any illness has befallen him except what you’ve said, a bad cold. I think he’s simply exhausted, and this cold has caught up with him and brought everything down at once. I’ll wager the fever will subside in a day or two, and the rest in the days after that as long as he gets the rest he sorely needs. I shan’t prescribe him anything except what he already has here with you, Mrs. Darcy. Let him sleep as much as he wants, keep him hydrated and don’t cover him too warmly, and I think this will run its course soon enough.”

It was as if great weight fell off her shoulders as he spoke. “Oh, thank you doctor! Indeed, I shall do just as you say, and make sure he does as well.”

“Please do. The stubbornness of the Darcys is well known to me, for my father and his father have been treating this family for generations. I’ll come round to see him every day until I’m satisfied he’s on the mend, if that suits you.”

“Oh, yes please, and thank you kindly. You have my deepest gratitude, sir.”

“My pleasure, madame. Until tomorrow.” He tipped his hat and was gone.

With a huge sigh of relief, Elizabeth collapsed on the chair at her husband’s bedside. After a moment, she found his hand under the quilt and held it, needing to feel his touch, even if in unconsciousness. After a moment, he unexpectedly squeezed it. She looked up to see his eyes were fluttering closed, but his face was angled toward her now. She took a moment to appreciate that fine face, though currently his nose, cheeks, and eyes were matching shades of red against the sickly pallor over the rest of him.

She sighed and softly kissed his hand. “Get well soon, my dear.”

He certainly took his time doing so, or so it seemed to Eliza. Either she or Georgiana were at his side at all times. He slept constantly, barely waking even to drink water. He spoke hardly at all and asked for nothing. He would intermittently shake with chills, or else sweat profusely. He sneezed in thick, messy fits, several at a time, but then would go hours between, until the sensation again overpowered and woke him. He coughed more often, since that it seemed he could do even as he slept. 

Yes, he slept, but he was overall restless. Noise in the room roused him. He stirred when he was touched. He stirred when he coughed. He woke when he sneezed. His sleep didn’t seem peaceful, which was perhaps why he never fully woke, because he wasn’t fully resting. 

The first night, Elizabeth slept in her own rarely-used bedroom (she much preferred sharing his), wanting him (and herself) to rest as much as possible. The second night though, she was achingly lonely, missing his touch, his voice, and his smile. So, she crawled into her usual place beside him in his bed, pressing herself against him. She found herself cold, as she had been since he was ill from the worry, so his warmth was more than pleasant. 

She herself relaxed immediately as soon as she was against him, but more surprisingly, so did he. He didn’t wake and hardly stirred when he felt her, but his breathing quickly deepened and he relaxed more fully as they rested against each other. Basking in the sensation of enjoying one another’s touch, they both slept the whole night that way. 

~~~~~~~~~~

More than 48 hours after he first fell asleep, Darcy finally woke up completely. Naturally, it was a sneeze that did it. 

“Heh’gihh’CHUUUHFF! AHHGK-CHOOOF! … ow….”

Something in the tone made Lizzie turn. She had been sitting facing the fire with her needlework, but glancing at the bed, she saw her husband sitting up, one hand to his temple, the other wiping his nose, and looking aware of his surroundings for the first time in 2 days. She dashed to his side, feeling his forehead at once.

“Bless you, dear. My, but it’s good to see you awake! Oh, and your fever is much decreased, how wonderful! How do you feel? Is your head hurting you? Here, drink some water, the doctor said you’re likely dehydrated…”

She wanted to prattle on, but she saw he was a bit overwhelmed, so she forced her tongue to be still. She gently grasped his hands, to calm him as well as herself, and kissed them fondly. She then handed him a glass of water, and he drank gratefully as she looked him over. He seemed a bit better, but he continued to look around in a dazed way.”

“Have I been asleeb long?” he finally rasped, his voice totally gone, and still stuffed tight with congestion.

“I would say so. It’s been two days darling.” She did her best to keep the worry and accusation out of her voice. He couldn’t help that he’d been ill.”

“Two days?! Good heavens.” He fell back against the pillows with a groan and a cough. “Ndo wonder I feel so sluggish.”

“Yes, but it seems you needed it. The doctor has been out every day, and he says you were suffering from exhaustion. Your body was taking the rest it sorely needed.”

“So it seebs.” He rubbed his eyes wearily.

“How are you feeling? Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Sumb better, I thingk,” he said with a wet sniffle. “Less fevered. I am still weary, and will sleep another night soundly through, but I hope I’m on the mend now.”

“As do I.” She kissed his hand again, squeezing it tightly.

~~~~~~~~~~

5.

Mr. Darcy was indeed on the mend. He was moving about his rooms freely the next day, and 2 days after that, he was allowed by the doctor (and his wife, grudgingly) to resume his duties, though at a reduced basis, for his cough still lingered, along with some fatigue. Yet he was incredibly cheerful to be leaving his rooms, and everywhere he went, he had a spring in his step.

That same day he was freed found Elizabeth curled on the settee in her rarely-used personal sitting room, wrapped in a coverlet and trying to read. However, her dripping nose and throbbing headache prevented her from making much progress in the story. 

A barking cough burst out of her against her will, making her drop her book. With a feeble groan, she reached down to retrieve it, holding a handkerchief to her streaming nose. She had known she likely wouldn’t escape catching her husband’s cold, but that didn’t make it any less unpleasant. However, she was not about to spoil his first day of freedom with her own illness, so she was hiding here to avoid him as long as she could.

Just as she was thinking this, she heard his boots in the hall, and she suppressed another groan. He knocked softly, then peeked in the door, looking happy as well as confused when he saw her.

“Mary said I might find you here, but I thought she must be mistaken. Whatever are you doing? I was hoping to meet you for tea.”

She took a breath to answer, but instead the urge to sneeze snuck up on her. She shoved her elbow against her face, turning away from him to stifle the stubborn urge harshly:

“HXXT’GH! HNNKT! HXXTCH! Guh…” she mumbled at the end, which turned into a painful cough that she hardly had breath for.

Darcy was at her side in a moment, kneeling by her arm and feeling her forehead just as she had his so many times the past few days. Concern and regret crossed his face. “You have a fever, dearest. It seems I’ve shared my cold with you,” he said, stifling a little cough.

“You always were the gentleman, never failing to share with a lady,” she groused weakly.

His low chuckle was warm. “I’m truly sorry. Yet I heard you hardly left the bedchamber while I was ill, so I suppose it was inevitable.”

“Especially since you sneezed on me,” she mumbled, trying not to smile.

“Indeed,” he chuckled again. “I’m sorry for that as well. But now, enough talk. Rest your voice. Come up to bed and I’ll see you get some tea and toast.”

“Perhaps I don’t want to go to bed, did that occur to you? I’ve spent all week in that bedchamber and I’d prefer to not be forced to go back,” she muttered petulantly. 

“I can tell you’re feeling unwell, for you’re never so irritable. That more than anything tells me I must see you to bed immediately.” His tone indicated some teasing, but mostly seriousness. Without further ado, he scooped her up in one motion and stood, carrying her toward their bedchamber, a little smile playing around his lips. 

“Why you--! I’ve never been thus treated in my entire life. Put me down, you terrible man!” Yet she couldn’t keep from laughing, miserable though she was, which of course turned into a cough. She hadn’t felt so ill in a long time. In fact, the overwhelming urge to sneeze was coming over her again. She struggled weakly to free her arms from where he had them pinned, but it was too late: 

“Hhh’rrrrushh’eeeew! Herrr’CHEW! Hihhh’knn’CHOOF!” She sneezed explosively against his chest, covering them both in the spray. His steps paused as he looked down at her, open-mouthed, while she stared back, reddening in embarrassment, but slightly triumphant.

“...bless you, my Lizzie,” Darcy finally said, an odd smile on his face.

“Thank you. I’m terribly sorry!... But what choice did I have, when I can’t move my arms? Now we’re even, I suppose.”

“Indeed,” he chuckled again as he resumed walking. “And I suppose if you must sneeze on someone, it’s best if it’s me, as I can’t very well catch this cold again. But all the more reason for me to see you to bed. You look a mess. In the loveliest possible way, of course.”

“How charming you are, Mr. Darcy. You have quite a way of flattering a woman.”

He chuckled again, but by this time they had reached his bedchamber. He deposited her on the bed with the utmost gentleness, and proceeded to assist her in changing into more comfortable clothes. She shivered miserably as she changed so that her teeth nearly chattered. Darcy tucked her in warmly and quickly rang for some tea, then began to remove his own boots and coat. She watched him curiously, though with heavy eyes, for she suddenly she found herself exhausted. With pleasure she realized he planned to join her in bed. 

He did just that a few moments later, pulling her close against himself and wrapping her in his big, warm arms. She nuzzled in gratefully with a sniffle and a cough. He buried his face in her hair as they settled, coughing as well. 

“What are you doing, Darcy dear? I thought you had many things to do today,” she mumbled, already nearing sleep. “You’ve had so many days off yourself. You needn’t take another for me, though it seems we’re quite a mess still.”

“This has become the most important thing I must do today,” he yawned. “You were a saint to look after me this whole week, so now I must return the favor. I’m not likely to let an opportunity pass to spend time with you after these past weeks, for I’ve learned my lesson.  And I too am already weary, for this cold hasn’t quite left me. A nap would suit me fine, especially if I can warm you in the process.” 

When a servant arrived with tea, no one greeted him, and when he opened the door with the tray, he found it best to simply leave it nearby and duck out again, for Mr. and Mrs. Darcy were fast asleep. 

[soysaucevictim]

“more than ever, hour (work is never over)”

Summary: Logan goes for a run, and hits a snag when Roman seems to have found himself in trouble. Again. (This happens about a year before “Cherry Cola”, to be clear. Sanders Sides, Gym Rat AU. One-shot. Ao3 link.)

Genres: Slice of Life, Fluff, Light Angst, Sickfic(?)

Characters: Logan and Roman centric. Janus, Patton, and Remus mentioned.

Relationships: Logince (platonic), Background Intrulogical (platonic/ambiguous), Background Roceit (sexual/QPP*), Background Loceit (platonic)

Warnings: Lots of numbers, Himbro Roman, Roman Is A Disaster, illness, over-training, sleep deprivation, heat exhaustion, (not as bad as what happened in “Cherry Cola”), vomiting (mentioned), Logan Is A Good Friend

-

Logan was running his typical checklists before setting out for another HIIT routine over at the gym. He highly valued maintaining his cardiac and overall health. He wasn’t in the medical field like Janus is and Patton used to be, but he didn’t need those credentials to appreciate it.

Considering he was a 28 year old Homo sapien, his maximal heart rate would be 192 beats per minute. Obviously, he wasn’t keen on achieving nor surpassing exactly that red zone. To say there were diminishing returns, would be an understatement. Remus would take the notion as a challenge… to be sure.

But that value was necessary to calculate his initial target – 65% of that, to be relatively precise. 125, rounded up. He intended to reach that after some warm-up routine and the first lap or two. He would consider this the yellow zone.

Once that holds reasonably steady, his next goal was to go for 87% at the highest intensity. So, 167 BPM. Holding that line for at least a minute. 2 minutes, if he was feeling particularly bold, he was in pretty good shape at this juncture. This would be more of an orange zone.

After the spike in intensity, he would go down to 50% for recovery, or 96 BPM. Rest at that load for 3 minutes, in the proverbial green zone. And then crank the figurative gears back up to the 87% target.

He intended to repeat this for at least 10 rounds. Add more, if energy is willing. Sounded like a plan.

To hit these marks, one of the simpler ways Logan enjoyed were via the exercise bikes. But today, he thought he’ll do some laps around the indoor track. He felt he needed to work in some more devoted arm action, and that would be a reasonable way to hit this workout paradigm. This outline seemed elegant and flawless.

He reviewed all of that while he swapped out his casual shoes for runners, in the locker room.

-

It was exactly noon when he approached the starting line. He popped in some earbuds to his prepared playlists.

He was listening to the mix named “Warm-Up Playlist”. He knew his fellows would jab him for the plainness of it, but the utility simply couldn’t be argued with. It was a selection of songs that started at 50, incrementing up to 100 BPM in tempo. It helped him keep his pace.

He stood to the side, spending a couple minutes doing some preliminary exercises. Ankle circles, leg swings, pelvic loops, arm circles, and hula-hoop jumps. It’s important to keep all the relevant joints stable and readied. Janus would probably congratulate his refreshing fastidiousness, among their motley crew.

After that micro-checklist was completed, he started going toward a brisk walking pace. He was going to check his heart rate after a couple laps to see how close to 65% he was getting.

Halfway into his first lap, he was nearly knocked over by a blur wearing a red crop-top sweatshirt and matching shorts. Roman, clearly not paying attention to what he was doing. Predictably. Logan snorted and rolled his eyes. He had to table his thoughts about his friend’s whole methodology (or lack thereof, as far as he was concerned), or else he’d fall too far out of rhythm!

Roughly a quarter of the way into the second lap, Roman closed in on Logan again, he was going at a jogging pace to a slightly faster walk to match up with Logan. Roman waved and smiled at Logan, “Hey! Didn’t expect to see ya here, Specs!”

Logan thought the voice was Roman-typically cheery. Frankly Logan would be mystified about this man’s energy, if he hadn’t met Remus first. “Salutations.”

“Why are you going so slooow? Wanna race me? I bet I can totally run circles around you!”

“No. I have a plan I intend to stick to, Roman. You know this.”

Roman melodramatically threw up his arms and pouted at Logan, somewhat impressively coordinated to his slow jogging. “Fiiine. I’m off – I want to see how many laps I can get in, like... the next hour. Adiós, for now~”

Roman went from a jog to a run before he could get a response. Logan tutted before refocusing on getting to that 65% - that yellow zone. After the second lap, he drank some water and checked his pulse… hmmm, 55%. It was time to hit a jog. He skipped a few tracks toward that range and worked to match.

By the time Logan completed lap 3, he reached and held at 65%. So, he turned on a 1-minute interval timer and his “HIIT Playlist”, on his phone. Much of the music went at 120 BPM, give or take 30. This phase, he was going to rely on his fitness bracelet to tell him where he’s at, not enough time to do things digitally… rather, manually or with his fingers, to clarify.

He and Remus programmed this thing to flash his percentage progress, freeing up some mental space to not need to calculate that value repeatedly, whenever he looked at the monitor.

He picked up to a run for about another quarter-lap and broke into a full-tilt sprint. Every 20 or so seconds, he glanced at the bracelet, while keeping the majority of his attention to his surroundings and form.

20 seconds, 73%. Not good enough.

40 seconds, 84%. Logan grimaced and pushed his cadence up a bit more.

50 seconds, 86%. For the love of Archimedes… it’s okay. It’s close.

BEEP! 60 seconds, 88%. Orange. FINALLY. Okay, he thought he had a good read now, being consistent for the next sets should be easier.

-

Time to, figuratively, dial things way down. He spent approximately 20 seconds running, 40 more jogging, and BEEP.

He took a couple sips from his water bottle, before spending the remaining 2 minutes going at a walk.

1 minute, 30 seconds, 78%.

BEEP. 2 minutes, 71%.

2 minutes, 30 seconds, 60%.

2 minutes, 50 seconds, 53%.

BEEP. 3 minutes, 49%. Green. Logan sighed to himself, “Margin of error, you have to account for it… anyways.”

-

Round 2.

20 seconds, 76%. Better.

40 seconds, 85%. Almost there.

50 seconds, 87%. Orange, again. Locked on, Logan smiled. Now hold this for 10 more seconds…

BEEP!

-

Second active rest cycle.

Once he got down to a walk again, he observed that Roman was on the opposite end of the track. Still going at what he could only describe as an absurd pace.

Roman closed in when Logan was 2 minutes into this interval. 69%, by the way. Logan groaned, some of Remus’s sense of humor “rubbing off on him”. Why must people ascribe such crudeness to an arbitrary number, he wondered.

Roman was panting quite loudly, shouting down Logan, “Nerd- Nerd’s got some SPEED!”

Logan took a swig of his water bottle. “This is not the first time you’ve seen me manage this.”

Roman looked like he just realized he should have followed suit, smacking his lips and drinking several gulps from his own water supply. “R-riiight.”

“You really should pace yourself. On everything. Honestly.”

“HEY. Only Snakey McSnakerson gets to tell me that!”

“Is he here right now? Am I wrong?”

Roman was back to pouting, “I’m not going to dignify that with a response.”

“But you just-”

Roman cupped his hands over his ears, “Lalala – I can’t hear you!”

Roman ran off ahead of him again. Logan could only shake his head.

2 minutes 55 seconds, 51%.

BEEP. 50%. Green.

-

Round 3.

30 seconds, 80%. Not bad if he said so himself.

40 seconds, 84%. Margin of error.

50 seconds, 89%. Overcompensated somewhat, it would seem. Perhaps Roman’s competitive streak was “infectious”, today.

BEEP! 60 seconds, 91%. Orange, approaching red. Yeah, he was definitely overcompensating.

-

Third rest, fourth active, fourth rest, fifth active intervals... hitting his marks, pleasingly and without incident.

He was on his fifth rest, soon enough.

Once Logan was walking again, he thought he was up for extending his active intervals to 2’, for the next 5 sets. Things have been building palpable fatigue, but very manageable.

Roman still appeared to holding up, a short distance ahead of Logan, at this point. Perhaps he was slowing down. It was a few moments before the distance was closed again.

Roman was drenched, so Logan decided to ask him, “Are you quite alright?”

“Might be getting a little tired now, no big deal.”

Logan recalled some things Patton instructed all of them about and he looked at Roman more carefully as they walked slowly. Roman looked paler than usual. “Hmmm, is your head hurting, perhaps?”

“Maybe a little. Didn’t get enough sleep again, it’s probably that.”

“I imagine it couldn’t be helping but-”

Roman got a little agitated, “But what, Egg Head?”

“Are you nauseous?”

“I’m not ready to puke, not just yet, Bro Ham.”

“May I check your pulse? Or rather, how does it feel?”

“What are you getting at!?”

“Cramps? Dizziness?… I think you are exhibiting the signs of heat exhaustion.”

Roman looked like he was going to be short with Logan, but it was clear now that he was starting to get somewhat wobbly. Logan decided to prompt him again, “Here, let us go to the showers, you need to cool off.”

Roman knew he couldn’t fight Logan in his current state, “Fiiine.”

Logan was annoyed about cutting his workout short, but he could always resume later. This was more important, anyways.

-

Roman was lying on his back on one of the benches in the locker room. His outfit then saturated with cool shower water, holding a battery-power fan to himself that Logan let him borrow.

Logan was at his feet, “How are your symptoms now?”

Roman groaned, “You’re not “the doctor” in our group, would you please stop acting like it.”

“I do not wish to see you in the hospital, Roman.”

Roman sputtered a little, “Yeah well, I’m fine.”

“Stable, I suppose, yes. But I know you enough to know you are not “fine”.”

Roman almost shot up to rebut, but a wave of dizziness forced him back down. “Look. I just didn’t get enough sleep – mind was running a bajillion miles an hour last night. So many IDEAS to write down. And couldn’t get to sleep until way after… you know what? Nevermind.”

Logan did care and frankly saw a lot of similar tendencies between the two brothers. It disturbed him and made him wish he was able to help them get a better handle on their sleeping and general health habits. It seemed as though they were both at very high risk of something serious occurring. But at the same time, he recognized that this was not his area of expertise. All he could really do was try to be there for them.

“Speaking of which... I think I see my wall… approaching… going to-”

Before Logan could latch onto any inquiries about walls, Roman dropped the fan and started snoring. After a brief moment of worry, Logan was reasonably sure this was simply a nap, not a loss of consciousness. To his relief.

Logan thought idly, “I suppose I should at least inform Janus what occurred. Roman might not be fit to drive for a while longer.”

Logan tapped out a message, “Hey. I’m in the locker room with Roman. He likely had an episode of heat exhaustion, today. He appears to be doing okay right now. But I felt that it was worth mentioning it to you.”

It was not even 2 minutes before Janus responded with, “WHAT!?”

“He’s safe, just taking a nap. I suppose he wouldn’t mind if you took him home.”

“… omw. That dumb ass has some explaining to do. With love, of course.”

“Indeed, I shall see you shortly then?”

“Yeah, ttyl… thanks, btw.”

Logan supposed he should stick around to make sure Roman was safe before resuming his own agenda. He had to admit, like with Remus, he did enjoy seeing them get some greatly needed rest.

[bold-writing]

The One With Whiskey Eyes || 8 || Let Me Bear Your Scars

Warnings: The Horde.

Words: 3400+

Previous || Next

~8~

What a view they must have made; standing outside of the grocery store as Iris chased Luke in circles in an attempt to get her one bag of groceries from him. Luke was wearing a confident smirk on his face as he continued to hold them out of reach, his bags of food sitting a foot away against the wall as they waited for the cab he had called. “You’re being a child! How old are you, anyway?”

 “I am twenty-six, I will have you know,” he snarked back, keeping the bag out of reach even as Iris stood on the tips of her toes and stretched to the best of her ability.

 “Then act like it!”

 The honk of a car horn drew their attention away from one another, turning them to the road as a bright yellow cab pulled up to the curb. “Ha!” Luke cheered before he rushed over to open the back door, rain immediately pouring down over him as he placed Iris’s bag in the back seat. The small woman let out a faint sigh before pulling the hood of her coat over her head and rushed out after him. “You get in, I’ll grab the other ones,” he assured, directing Iris into the back seat as the driver nodded to her in silent greeting.

Iris’s lips barely twitched with a smile in return, her head bowing down in avoidance as Luke closed the door to her right. Luke was quick as he retrieved his bags from against the building and deposited them into the trunk of the cab. “Where to, miss?” the driver called back after a brief pause. “He said that you were being dropped off first?”

 “Oh, yea,” Iris stuttered a moment, before she rattled off her address. It was only a few minutes down the road, but the downpour that was pelting the car was a pretty good excuse for taking the cab.

 She’d barely finished telling the driver when Luke opened the door on Iris’s other side, sliding in as quickly as he could to avoid further rain. It was rather useless, however, because he was already soaked to the bone from the few short moments he had been in it. “Wow, cats and dogs,” he gasped as he shook his head, water trailing down his face. At least his leather jacket had prevented the rain from getting to his shirt and making it all the more uncomfortable for him.

 The driver pulled away from the curb in that instant, jolting Iris to nearly slide into the door. “You’re dripping everywhere,” Iris mumbled, reaching out to catch a raindrop that was a moment away from dripping off his nose. “I hope your door is close to the curb,” she added on, glancing out the window at the rush of water that was caused by the heavy rain and wind.

 “Yea, not really,” Luke reluctantly admitted. “But, I’ve done this before,” he assured with a smile, bringing out his dimples. “Not in an all-out downpour, though.”

 “I’d been hoping I would beat the rain. That didn’t really happen.”

 “Bet you’re happy you ran into me?” he prodded with a teasing smirk. Iris huffed a laugh as she reluctantly nodded. She couldn’t imagine having to walk home while it was pouring rain outside. That paled in comparison to her having met her second soulmate in little more than a week. She never thought that it would happen so quickly.

 She wanted to say a bit more to him, to express her happiness about meeting him, but it concerned her that they were in a car with someone they didn’t know, even if he was the driver. Before she had any further time to think on the matter, the car slowed to a stop at the curb outside of Iris’s building. The familiar white stones were her only warning before the driver glanced back at the two of them, as though silently bidding her out.

 “I’ll help you,” Luke immediately offered, giving no room for Iris to argue before he had popped open the door and slipped out with her bag of groceries in hand. The small woman stuttered in surprise, getting a muffled chuckle from the driver as he quickly diverted his attention to the front window again.

 “Thank you for the ride,” Iris called up to him, her voice still timidly quiet before she turned to the door as Luke opened it for her.

 “I’ll be just a second,” Luke assured the man before he helped Iris from her seat and helped her to rush for the entrance of her building, a supportive hand against her back while the other carried her bag. “I’m real happy I met you, Iris,” he said as he leaned down to her level and tightened his arm around her waist. “Everyone else is gunna be jealous; I got to meet our soulmate.”

 “Don’t brag too much,” Iris warned with an answering smile. Taking her bag from him and wrapping another arm around his shoulders, making Luke lean down to her height so that she could hold onto him more easily. “I’m happy I met you, too, Luke. Get home safe.”

 “Promise,” he mumbled back, leaning against the crook of her neck for a moment. Then he was pulling away, taking the warmth of his body from Iris as he stepped back, and rushed to the cab that was waiting patiently for him. Iris lingered at the door long enough to wave him off, then stepped into her building quickly to escape the chill.

 Slipping into the stairwell, she was left with a smile brightening her features as she steadily climbed up to the top floor. One of her neighbours was making their way down passed Iris on her way from the second-floor entrance, giving her a strange look when she realized that Iris was smiling. There were very few people in the building that had actually met Iris, rushing or hiding as she normally was while inside.

 The look of bewilderment wasn’t even enough to dampen her happy mood or expression, letting the woman step into her warm apartment as her smile remained. The fatigue of the morning had faded, leaving her to thrum with energy as she routinely put her groceries away before moving over to the small bookshelf that held some of the textbooks she liked to read slowly. Because of the lack of sleep from having run from Barry, she hadn’t even been able to find the interest to pick them up let alone take the time to read them.

 Singing softly beneath her breath, Iris placed the book on the counter and began the process of making a tea. The coffee she’d purchased was calling her name, but it was already too late in the day for her to submit to that desire otherwise she would be awake the entire night. Having met her soulmate assured her that she would be sleeping better, but it would be for naught if she drank a cup of caffeine.

 Once her tea was finished, Iris pushed her pillows up against the headboard of her bed and shuffled around a moment to get comfortable. Just as she was about to crack open the history book she’d steadily been going through, her cellphone pinged from the nightstand to her left. Stretching over to retrieve it, the small notification of a new email made her blink in confusion and tap on the little icon.

 At the top of her email list, Barry was written in bold in the subject line, signalling it as unread. Iris’s lips twitched with a repressed smile as she quickly selected the email and waited as patiently as she could for the page to load. Barry had given her his email instead of a cellphone number, explaining that it was easier for each of the personalities to have a personal email account rather than a cellphone for each of them. They had one main phone that was registered in Kevin’s name, mostly used as a means of emailing rather than texting or calling.

 Immediately, the first sentence made her laugh once the page had loaded.

 Luke won’t shut up. He only got home a few minutes ago and I think at least one person is debating on smothering him with a pillow. I hope he wasn’t too energetic; he’s always been a bit more on the rowdy side. I am glad that he didn’t let you walk home in the rain, though.

 Iris found herself smiling as she read along, the happiness that came with the simple method of communication surprising her. There were few things that could brighten her mood so easily, so this was yet another thing about the soulmarks that were changing her life very suddenly, and very drastically.

 I’m real glad that you got to meet him, though. Luke would do just about anything for someone if they asked. And you, Iris, deserve only the best.

 I’ll talk to you again soon; have a nice day off tomorrow!

 -Barry

 Iris licked at her lips nervously while leaning back into her pillows comfortably, tapping on the reply icon and staring at the blank page in thought. She had no idea whether she was supposed to answer back about Luke or not, since Barry had assured her that he wouldn’t tell the others anything personal that she had told him unless it was what she wanted. He wanted her to tell them only when she was ready, just like what she had done with him.

 Was talking about her time with Luke appropriate when she was speaking with another soulmate?

 Sighing softly, she decided that pushing aside her second-thoughts and overthinking had worked for her so far, so she could continue to do so.

 Good evening, Barry. I hope he’s not getting on everyone’s nerves too badly; although, he did seem quite excited about bragging rights. I think it was his way of getting back for having to do the groceries—which, by the way, you might want to hide some of because there was an awful lot of sugar in that cart.

 Please thank him again for me about the ride home, I definitely would not have enjoyed walking through that storm, even if it’s only a few blocks. If you guys keep this up, you’re going to spoil me.

 I promise I’ll enjoy my day off. Have a great shift, and get a good night’s sleep!

 -Iris

 Hitting send before she could let doubt creep in, Iris released the breath that she had been holding as she reread her message for any errors. Her phone alerted her that her message had been sent and she let herself drop the phone onto the mattress and turn away from it, knowing that there was no going back. There was no reason for her to second-guess the message; it was simple, friendly, and polite.

 Retrieving the book she had put aside, Iris allowed herself to relax into the pillows again as the happiness from meeting Luke was joined with the content feeling of having heard from Barry.

 Barry’s expression was soft as he read Iris reply, his footsteps carrying him to the kitchen as he moved the email into his ‘Iris’ file, wanting to keep her messages private from the rest of his work/Fletcher related emails. Entering the kitchen with a smile as he slipped the phone into the back pocket of his pants, he moved over to one cabinet that usually housed their snacks and let out a laugh when he was faced with a shelf full of chocolate, chips, and other assorted candies.

 “Luke, you suck at this, man,” he mumbled to himself and began taking some of the packages out. He’d have to hide them temporarily and let Patricia know, she’d be a lot better at hiding them than him. A ping on his phone drew him to pause, however, and he immediately drew it out to see if Iris had perhaps sent him another email after the first.

 Instead, Dr. Fletcher’s name in the subject line relaxed his excitement as he selected the unopened email, reading over the simple message that she had sent, hoping him and Iris well and confirming that he was going to show up for their next session. She also asked if he would like for her to invite Iris over for another meeting with her; she was offering to better explain D.I.D to her.

 Barry leaned against the counter as he looked down at the phone, contemplating whether or not he wanted for her to learn about their disorder from another person.

 However, that was not up to him. Iris was a smart woman, she was probably already researching about the disorder on the internet. Typing back a quick response that said it was up to Iris, not him, he returned to his original task of hiding the sweets before Hedwig took the light and binged on them for the better part of the evening.

 Heading for his room afterword, he made sure to set his alarm to be awake in time for work, Barry settled down at his desk as he pulled one of his larger sketchbooks over to him. This one in particular he always kept away from the others, and never showed to Fletcher.  It was his personal sketchbook, one that housed the faces of the alters, or the animals that he drew at the zoo. This sketchbook didn’t have any of the dresses or other articles of clothing that he normally drew.

 Flipping to a fresh page, the previous one housing a drawing of the tiger that he had done from the zoo, Barry pulled his tin of pencils closer to him and selected a simple 2H. It would be easier for him if there was a picture or the real thing to look at, but there was still a strong image of her in his mind. And Luke, too, had seen her. Somehow, that seemed to strengthen the memory of her.

 Beginning with the outline, basic shapes of her hair and face; he made sure to get the correct angle of her cheekbones and the deep set of her eyes. He almost wanted to rush through the prep-work, just so he could get into the details of her eyes, her hair, her lips. He wanted to begin giving her true justice, but to rush through the beginning stages would hinder his work on the overall portrait.

 He used the memory of her from their morning, smiling to him as she sat beside him while they were eating breakfast. Her hair had been slightly mussed from sleep, yet to be brushed, and the shadows from lack of sleep had lessoned drastically from the one solid night.

 Once he was certain that he had gotten all of her angles correct, he pulled out a B pencil and began to work on the shading instead. Iris’s eyes were the first thing that he started to work on, filling in the soft shadows around her eyes from how deeply set they were, darkening the crease from her eyes being open, and starting along the line of her eyelashes.

 Starting from those mesmerizing eyes, she was beginning to come to life on the page.

 If they weren’t so new to one another, he’d have asked her if he could take her picture before he’d left.

 Barry wasn’t sure for how long he worked, but it was well past midnight when he finally put the last of his pencils back into the metal case from which he had gotten them. Iris’s portrait was finished, her timid smile just as he remembered, when Barry finally leaned back and propped the sketchbook up to get a proper look at it.

 Smiling in satisfaction, he wondered briefly if he should use her as a model for his later drawings. She didn’t have to wear the clothes, but he could design them in a way that they would fit someone of her tiny frame.

 Her thin arms and delicate joints were attractive in the proper clothing. It broke his heart to see her wearing the baggy, oversized clothes that hid her marks—and her form. She was left to swim in the clothing that she wore, hanging past her hands and draping at her shoulders. He’d only seen her in a few different outfits, the first time having been obscured by her coat, and he remembered that her shirts and sweaters almost always went down to mid-thigh.

 It made him wish he could see her in high pants, accentuating her thin waist, and a tucked in blouse that would show off her arms—which were not nearly as weak as they appeared.

 Selecting a piece of tracing people, Barry tucked it gently between the pages and covered over the drawing he had just done. He didn’t want it smudging from closing and opening the book, and he was fresh out of fixative spray that would prevent any damage from touch. He didn’t want to tarnish the drawing of her, if only because it was Iris, not some random woman that he had decided he wanted to draw because of their attractive bone structure.

 Iris’s bone structure put everyone else’s to shame, of course.

 Tucking the sketchbook back into place on the shelf, he sighed softly when he glanced at the alarm clock next to his bed. He couldn’t bring himself to regret staying up to finish her drawing, but he knew that it was going to come back to bite him in the ass when he had to get ready for work in the morning. As much as he’d rather sleep in, enjoying a fitful sleep for the first time in a week, he knew he’d have to get out of bed when the alarm went off.

 And then, after his shift was over, the light would be passed to someone else for the rest of the evening. He wasn’t sure who, yet, but he knew that he couldn’t keep denying Dennis and Patricia for much longer. He’d kept them from the light for the past two months after they’d convinced Hedwig of the fictional being they had created, and he could tell they were starting to get antsy to be back in the light.

 He figured they must have learned their lesson, since they hadn’t mentioned the Beast to anyone since Barry had reprimanded them for putting such beliefs in a child’s head. And Hedwig, desperate for the approval of the others, had lapped up their stories like a sponge.

 Dr. Fletcher had gotten Hedwig to draw the Beast after he had rushed into an explanation of it. Barry had mentioned his concern in the previous session, so when Hedwig went in for the next one she had immediately begun the slow, delicate process of calming him and coaxing out the information that they sought. Barry’s main concern was that Hedwig was growing closer to Patricia and Dennis, especially after their tales of the Beast subtly scaring the boy into favouring them, and Hedwig was the only identity in Kevin’s body that was capable of stealing the light from Barry whenever he wanted.

 Hedwig had never disobeyed Barry before Patricia’s whispered stories, her quiet promises of protection from the Beast, of praise for his work when he went against Barry.

 They had not been rewarded for their behaviour, and Barry only hoped that the problem was now behind them. As much as he appreciated what Dennis had been able to do for Kevin when he was younger, taking over to make sure that everything was where it should be and hopefully protect them from a punishing beating, he did not know what to do with the man that Dennis was becoming.

 Sighing softly as he began the routine process of changing into his clothes for the night, Barry tried to push the concerns from his mind.

 They had met Iris now, and he only hoped that having her around meant that they would stay on their best behaviour in order to be able to meet her. She was someone who was delicate and sweet, too fragile for stories about a Beast that lived in the train yard. It was his greatest hope that Iris could draw them back to the peaceful, safe memories they had made together—leaving behind the nightmarish tales of the Beast.

 She needed them to be safe, to be loved and welcomed with absolute devotion. They could not offer devotion to something else and their soulmate, as they were meant to do.

Previous || Next

[betweentheracks]

Heyo! Not to be too nosy here but you mentioned you're in bad health and recovering, and I just wondered what happened? Also how would it impact your career since, from how you've made it all seem thus far, it's a highly active and demanding job?

Hope you take care and get well! You appear quite strong and not like you'd take whatever has happened just lying down, so here's to you!! 🙏💓

No sweat and no worries here, I dont find this particularly invasive. If anything, I'm flattered you care to ask after me lol. 😁

A few weeks back I met a friend I hadn't seen in some time for lunch. This was against my better sense of caution that I've held firmly to throughout the pandemic, but I would feel regretful and dismissive if I didnt agree to see her while I had the chance. I should've listened my gut and stayed safely at work because this "friend" failed to mention she had tested positive (she knew already by the time of our lunch date, she has since admitted) and had figured since she had no symptoms there was no harm in being in public.

FF only a few days later and I was feeling a little unwell but had put it off as an effect of the winter blast that had just hit where I live. I'd spent half a day out in the cold and snow for a photoshoot only the day before and thought it was probably due to that since I'm susceptible to weather influenced head colds and bronchitis. Fortunately, my job mandates a rigid COVID-19 screening twice a week due to our high profile clientele and as an assurance of health and safety for us all. Mine read back with a positive and with the way I had been feeling I was immediately sent home and the company closed its doors while the building was sterilized and our clients notified.

Thankfully I managed not to infect anyone I work with nor my son. Regrettably, I did infect my best friend since we're horrifically incapable of maintaining personal space and have weak shit immune systems. We both agree it is a wonder we made it this far into plague times without it catching us.

So I went and got looked over and sent on my way with my prescription of potent anti-virals and steroids. I was well prepared to abide the quarantine guidelines and had sent my son to my mother's home for the duration so that he was out of the danger zone. It was fine, I was kinda cool and keen on getting a few days to myself to rest up and all that jazz. But it wasn't meant to last and I found trouble in the form of being unable to remain conscious much at all and would pass out constantly. After a few times of this I gave my brother (he's a doctor and vaccinated) a ring and told him that my fatigue was no joke dude and needed him to come give me a better once over than the one I'd gotten before bc I was sure I was not meant to feel this badly. He found me unconscious in the shower that night, my head battered from crashing to the basin.

After ensuring I wasn't concussed and jokes on what a hard head I have to take such a beating and show no signs of registering it beyond bruising (a joke between us due to him having once accidentally put a golf club into my forehead and fracturing my skull but that's a different story) he told me to call him regularly so that he can review how I feel and the progression of my symptoms and left. By the morning I had already had two more instances of sudden fatigue and collapsing in on myself. I had been posting on my main blog here about how I was doing and due to this I caught the concern of @peekbackstage and upon their suggestion to have my O2 levels tested it was revealed that I was having issues with my blood not circulating oxygen as it should and nearing hypoxia.

Here's the rub. I have a heart condition that is already very dangerous and bleak which limits my heart's capability of delivering blood through my body as it should. Cardiomyopathy or, as it seems better known, congestive heart failure. I've had surgery for it and it has been a while since it caused me any real issues as long as I stick to my routine of care and manage my health, but when COVID-19 infiltrated my body it immediately snagged upon this weak heart of mine and sank its fangs in.

Within a day of being admitted to the hospital I had a grand mal seizure due to the constant fluctuations of oxygen in my blood and the way my body was working double time to supplement for it. And only 2 days after that and when my nervous system had finally quieted down, I went into full cardiac arrest with a heart attack at my young age.

My next weeks were spent connected to machines doing more for me than my own body could. I developed pneumonia in my lungs, acute though it was it was still another complication that my wrecked body had to overcome as it made my already ragged breathing even worse. I was steadily shedding muscle tone and definition due to a lack of mobility and the fact that my body felt like a deadweight I could hardly take command of, and generally very weakened. My heart, the horrible thing, was inflamed and trying too hard by beating too fast, too hard.

FF some more and I was doing fairly well and treatments were showing some improvement. My heart was still being an ugly and gnarled beast in my chest and throwing weird spikes on the monitor that raised alarms. The pneumonia was retreating and I had no further seizures. It was the dawning light of my first signs that I was recovering!

It took a while more and so fucking many tests day in and day out for me get cleared for release. I tested negative for COVID-19 and was ashamed that I actually forgot that that was why I was even in the hospital to begin with, given all that happened. I have to undergo physical therapy and counseling; PT for heart happy exercises as well as to manage to my depleted muscles, counseling bc I was rocked mentally from all the almost dying and the depressive haze of being holed up in the hospital and surrounded by people who, like me, came in with COVID-19 but unlike me did not come out of it.

I'm home now. I had to have a pacemaker implanted and must stay vigilant for any showing that my heart is not performing as it should. I still have some severe inflammation and chest restriction in my airways as well as my blood vessels but nothing too daunting. I also have a full battalion of prescriptions, most for my heart, and a nebulizer to ease any breathing issues. The worst is honestly that I still am very weak and have severely limited reserves of energy.

My job is required to make me take 12 weeks of leave for rest and recuperation. This is very upsetting since I had been requested by name to be an assistant stylist at the Grammys this year which is truly a dream (especially with BTS in the mix 😩😩) and also bc I'm just a workaholic by nature and love my job. When I return I am expected to learn how to properly delegate tasks that do not directly require me to handle and slow down the pacing of my projects. My boss terminated a contract with a client that was nearing the scheduled end of our agreement and was also incredibly problematic to help lighten my workload. It's imperative that I reign in my stress levels or my heart will not last until the next surgery I'll need, so I'm gritting my teeth and letting my job be picked apart to reduce my responsibilities.

My post awaits my return but I will not be returning to full activity for a while after, which means no rifling through the racks for hours alongside the archivists in search of the perfect piece. I'll be welcome to meet with my clients and oversee the glam teams, will still be the command tower for final verdicts on which styles to use. But I will not be running around showrooms nor personally handling matters any competent trainee could be tasked with like I've always done. I will no longer be able to fly out anywhere for destination shoots or fashion shows.

If, after my next surgery, things are better and my heart stable to the point that they are hopeful of things will be reevaluated. While it is difficult beyond measure for me to relinquish the reigns of my career and be restricted in what I can do now, I am very thankful to be alive and upright when that wasn't a certainty just a little while ago. This is such a humbling experience to have survived when my stats kept dropping every day. I've been told to expect that I will never make a full 100% recovery and to expect to stall out around the 70%-90% range, with 70% being the most realistic.

My best friend (the one I gave the plague to) will be moving in with me so that I am never on my own if things go tits up and to assist in wrangling a toddler since I am currently without the energy to do so as my child is, sincerely, a crazy gremlin spawn with limitless battery life. Slowly, my life will regain some normalcy 💖

[crystalrose555]

Don’t make me slap you pt. 5

Reblog if you want more!!!

Mochi released a drawn out yawn as her eyes fluttered open. She rolled off her back only to discover that she was floating in a body of water. With a splash, she was upright in a decent sized inflatable pool in a bedroom with leafy vines and foliage spread throughout. She snorted as she looked around, looking for any potential danger before she pulled herself out of the makeshift pool and onto the surprisingly plush floor. Turned out she landed on a thick beach towel that lined the pool’s border. 

Mochi shook her head in disbelief as she focused on the room and looked for a way out. Unfortunately, she didn’t see any windows except for the skylight above her that reflected a night sky, thus leaving her the door frame that was lined with cutesy thick curtains. If she had eyebrows, one of them would be raised out of reaction to the questionable design choices but she shook that from her mind as she bounced her way out of the room. She had to find a window, she had to figure out where in the world she was since she failed to take in her surroundings due to her sudden kidnapping and forceful relocation by the mysterious men.

Mochi grumbled to herself, thinking about how she should have taken at least one of them out to better her chances but as she bounced down the hallway, it began to sink in how that wouldn’t have turned out well. However, she still toyed with the idea that if she could have taken out the big guy in the red coat, she would be the one in charge. She snickered in her mind as she quietly made her way to the stairs. Her heart sank inside her chest as she noticed how steep the staircase was. She knew if she iced the entirety of the stairs to slide down it would take a lot out of her and she would overheat but she was definitely not a fan of the second option. Her third choice crawled into her head but she knew that she had to keep that one hidden no matter the cost, at least until the odds were in her favor. So she went with option two.

She scrunched her head and neck into her body and condensed herself into a ball, tucking her flippers in and lining her side with the edge of the stairs. Then taking a deep breath to inflate her blubbery body rounder, she closed her eyes and rocked herself to tumble down the stairs. With each step, her pudgy body bounced harder and faster. She held her breath and prayed for the stairs to end. However, she didn’t account for the amount of momentum she built as she reached the landing and crashed into the waiting wall. 

The hanging portraits and paintings rattled and shook from the force as Mochi tried to get her head to stop swirling. Once she shook off her dizziness, a large painting slipped from its spot on the wall and bounced off her plentiful blubber, leaving it leaning against the wall over her body. Mochi released an audible sigh as she developed a minor headache, wishing she had something to relieve it.

“What the hell was that?”

Mochi tensed immediately as she pulled herself together and balled up behind the sizable painting. The sound of footsteps grew closer as Mochi remained as still as she could, cursing herself for attracting unwanted attention. 

“Looks like a painting fell from the wall.”

“Well that would explain the thump but what about the squeaking noises?”

“Guys, I just checked Mochi’s room and she’s missing.” Asmo pointed out.

“The beast is loose!?”

Mochi rolled her eyes as Satan sighed.

“Mammon, you really need to calm down.”

“Oi, you calm down when she tries to bite you.”

“Whatever, let's just split up and find her.”

“Why should we? The blubber bucket is Levi’s responsibility, I say we don’t do jack.”

“Scummy as usual, besides if she gets eaten by Beelzebub then we all get in trouble.”

Mammon grumbled as the sound of footsteps echoed away. Mochi remained still and refused to move, she felt as if she wasn’t alone. Mammon, on the other hand, refused to move the landing.

“Why do I have to find the stupid seal? Besides, how far can something that fat go? It’s probably stuck somewhere.” He commented as he checked his phone.

Mochi wanted to hold in her growl but pieces leaked out the corner of her mouth. Cold escaped her body from her current aggression of being insulted.

“Huh?”

Mammon turned his attention back to the painting which seemed to be icing over to the point of being a solid rectangle of ice. Mammon backed away with his eyes wide and his cheeks puffed from a stifled laugh.

“No fucking way she can be that fucking dumb?” Mammon snorted out.

That was it, Mochi had enough of his mouth. With all the power she could muster, she bounced out of the corner of the landing and launched herself down the stairs on top of the frozen painting, riding it to the bottom but not before running Mammon over with her icy chariot. The further she went, the more joyous she felt. While keeping her balance, she raised herself up enough to clap and laugh at Mammon’s dumbfounded misfortune. By the time she reached a lower floor, her joy exploded at the thought of breaking out. However, it was short lived as her momentum dragged to a crawl. She lost her smooth patch of ice from knocking it against the stairs but she was on her way out and that’s what counted.

Mochi bounced down the hall softly, making sure she remained in the corner out of sight. She finally got a glimpse of the outside through a window but all she saw was night time and an eerie looking tree with a number of dark birds flying around. She trembled at the thought of being outside. However, that no longer mattered upon hearing the growing swears of a recovered Mammon. She bounced faster, looking for a room to dip into to avoid him.

“Mochi, where are you~”

She froze, realizing that someone was close by and actively looking for her. Quickly she hid behind one of the hallway decorations and peaked to see a puzzled Asmodeus looking around.

“Hmm, where did she go?” He questioned out loud.

Mochi gave a small snort, figuring Asmodeus was no better than Mammon since he also wanted to make a coat out of her. She, however, remained silent as she looked around for a new hiding place. 

“Oh, I know, I’ll get Beel to sniff her out!” He excitedly claimed as he began to text his brother.

Her fur suddenly stood on end as the name of Beelzebub rang in her brain. For her, his eyes and hunger reminded her of sharks and leopard seals whom she could take on in the water anyday. However, she was out of her element and she needed to get to it. She waited till Asmodeus walked past her and down the hall before she bolted towards an open area. Confused by her name being called throughout the house, she picked a random hallway that wasn’t calling her. She could feel fatigue picking at her since she used a good amount of her energy on the stairs and Mammon but her hope was rearing its head as she heard water.

Hoping it was outside, she went faster only to end up in a dead end. The room was lined with windows with a fountain in the center. She sighed in disappointed relief, at the very least she found water to refresh herself. While approaching the fountain, she took in the planets and stars on the ceiling. It would be nice if she wasn’t running for her life. However, her hope was short-lived as she felt her back flippers being pulled by a pissed off Leviathan. 

“I am not missing the Ruri-chan semi-seasonal virtual VIF conference! So get back in your room, you stupid seal!”

His serpent tail, glowing orange eyes and his pointed coral like horns would strike fear in any mortal but Mochi was no mere mortal as her own anger had reached its peak. Like a rubberband pulled past its breaking point, the room was filled with a sharp slap noise. Levi stared in astonishment, not only was he slapped in his face but it wasn’t by a flipper. There in front of him was a young ample woman with fierce purple eyes and frown on her face. Pearls seemed to drip from her fluffy black aquamarine hair as she covered her naked front with what looked like Mochi's fur. However, before his brain could process, he found himself being pulled down to the level of his short attacker.

“Haven’t anyone ever told you not to pull a lady by her flippers, ‘cause it fucking hurts!” She hissed.

"W-Wa-"

"And the next one of you to call me stupid is going to get their brain rattled! You got that, Geek Boy!?"

"Wa-Waaaaaaah!?"

[infini-tree]

FANFIC: against all odds - part 2

prev | next

Summary: One time they dwell on the thought of being caught, and the one time they were. It all works out, kind of. (Piqua Mystery Dungeon)

A/N: ‘i make no promises,’ i say, immediately writing the third fic for this au in one week? have I ever mentioned that the first thing I made fancontent of was the first pmd game?

Also, this really is just an opportunity to practice writing more scenes with the boys and figure out their tone.

_____________________________

George recalled a time when his dad called him precocious. 

What does that mean, he remembered saying. 

It means that you’re very smart for your age, his dad replied with a grin. You already get basic type matchups and dungeon theory better than most groups your mom’s mentoring in the guild she’s workin’ with!

The snivy had let out a laugh at the mental image of himself trouncing a bunch of grown-ups. Whoa, really?

Swear on the Lake Trio’s jewels, he said, putting up a hand to his chest, and he let out a little giggle as he lifted him up, up, up.

Experiencing the real thing was a bit of a-- well, maybe disappointment wasn’t the right word. Accurate, but not fitting. Tedious, maybe. The long stretches of nothing in-between took up more time than the actual dungeons themselves. He looked over to Harold, and he knew he felt the same.

The walk was silent and oppressive. George unfurled his vine-tie slightly and something fell out and onto his palm. It was a shiny half of a disc, but upon closer inspection its lustre had flaked away to reveal the clay underneath.

Sometimes he would turn the thing over in his hands, but if he had to be honest he had no idea why he kept the remains of the novelty hypno pendulum.

When the snivy first used it, he hadn’t expected anything to happen. He heard tales of the line being able to hypnotize its foes to sleep, and in the more outlandish stories suggest them to do something. Ultimately, it was a desperate act, and maybe that desperation was the thing that made it work.

It wouldn’t be the strangest thing that happened to them, but it had the distinction of being one of the first.

The latest strange thing was the quiet. Him and Harold knew Krupp-- knew how to get under his skin in record time, how to avoid him, the works. They knew how explosive his temper was-- even for an ice-type!

They also know that he was at its worst when he was quiet, so when the abomasnow didn’t react to the bombshell that was being Captain Underpants, it was... unnerving.

For the past few minutes, the boys were giving each other a Look, nudging the other into asking what was on both of their minds. Eventually, hesitance wore into mild frustration. George sighed, then pointed a glance Harold-wards that meant you owe me before breaking the silence with a long “Uuuuuuuh...”

“Yes?” Krupp cut in.

The snivy flipped the pendulum piece to his other hand. “Aren’t you mad?”

“About what?”

“About, you know-- hypnotizing you?” When no answer came, he prodded with, “Being Captain Underpants?”

The pine needles on his arm adjusted themselves in agitation. The snow on it sloughed off at the sudden motion and the boys had to step around the snow drift that was now on the middle of the road.

“You are mad!” Harold interjected.

The abomasnow’s tail slammed to the ground. “Of course I’m mad.”

“What he means is, we kind of expected, I dunno, yelling?” George explained. “Something about how we’re literally the worst-- anything!”

His pace slowed down. Krupp finally looked back at them for the first time since they explained the whole thing, but the expression was all wrong. His brow was more pinched in confusion than frustration. “What, you want me to yell at you?”

“No, but we’re kind of expecting it and would like to get it over with,” the snivy said with a shrug.

The temperature dropped several degrees. There was the frustration. Harold brought himself closer to George, and he leaned into the fluffy warmth.

“Get it over with--” Krupp spluttered. “We are literally being hunted down by every team this side of the region. Someone claiming to be one of my students from the future is spearheading that hunt and not only are pokemon listening to that, but he ripped my guildmaster title from me in what is essentially a forceful takeover.”

A thin layer of frost began forming on the path.

“I’m sorry I’m not dedicating every moment of my time being the World’s Worst Guildmaster, but some of us here have priorities. Like, say keeping himself and two children from not dying on his watch? From not getting caught?” He narrowed his eyes. “Do you know what they’re going to do to us if they catch us?

“I know those idiotic comics were a parody of the actual stories, but do you know what you’re parodying in the first place?” Puffs of frost breath punctuated each breath. “I know neither of you like applying yourselves, but you have to be at least a little aware.”

Harold had taken to picking at the ground with one of his front hooves. George traced a digit over the edge of the broken piece anxiously. Neither of them spoke up.

“Are you satisfied with that lecture?” And just like that, the frost started to melt. It slowly got warmer. “Because I’m not.”

(The boys never liked the quiet in general. Maybe that was why they were always so offput whenever he was.)

_____________________________

It wasn’t long before Krupp and Captain Underpants started talking. They kind of expected that. More often than not, they would wake up to scratching noises as one of them tried to write in the dirt with one of their pine needles.

What was more surprising was how quickly they had compromised on the whole switching thing.

“I’m good at fighting, and Guildmaster is good at planning travel stuff,” Captain explained as he floated them over to where the stairs were. “Neither of us are good at puzzles, but at least we haven’t encountered any!”

“Just like that?” Harold tilted his head.

The abomasnow ground his teeth in what was his attempt at a grimace. It looked weird on his face. “He said it was a matter of practicality, and working with what we’re good at makes sens-- ACH!”

His body tensed up in pain, and he instinctively held them closer to protect them. Harold began to struggle in his tight grip, eyes darting in every direction to figure out what had hit them.

“Captain? What’s wrong?” Panic began to creep into George’s tone.

“Hey, guys,” a familiar voice cut in.

George and Harold paled at the sight of Erica clambering up on the abomasnow’s shoulder. Even in the gloom of the dungeon, the violet crest around her neck glinted.

And Captain was going down, down, down. They braced for impact.

_____________________________

Erica, out of the boys’ circle of friends, was one of the ones who was more in-tune into their misadventures and ready to lend a helping hand. Erica was also the scariest guildmember-slash-student they’ve ever met; she had a cool head and popped up where you least expected. 

It was honestly no surprise that out of everyone, she was the first one who cornered them, and right between the stairs out of this place, too!

“What did you do to him?” Harold yelled, nudging the abomasnow to his feet. 

Captain looked, for a lack of a better word-- terrible. He looked like one more hit would do him in. While landing face-first would definitely leave a mark, they knew him long enough that it shouldn’t leave him straining.

And that’s when George finally noticed what was in the axew’s hands. In one hand was the three-pronged pounce wand that brought her up there with them, whining as the last vestiges of its power left it. In the other, the spiked two-edged wand also making a dying down noise-- it was most likely the thing that brought them down.

“Relax, I just didn’t want you guys to immediately fly off.”

Still, there were more pressing questions, like, “Why are you helping Melvinborg?” George made a face like the name was as bitter as the duosion’s personality.

“We all... kinda got no choice,” Erica replied with the nonchalance of listing off the day’s errands. The only thing that betrayed her was how she gripped the now-defunct wands in a vicegrip. Then, belatedly, “Sorry.”

“Wait, wait, wait, um-- uh--” Captain rushed forward in front of them, his arms spread out to protect them despite his fatigue. His face was scrunched up in the way he does when he was overthinking and none of them could tell whether it was because of the abomasnow’s fatigue or because he really didn’t know that he settled on, “Before you, uh-- take us in-- Plungerina can we talk, one human-turned-pokemon to another?”

To Erica’s credit, she was only tripped up for a moment before she steeled herself for a bit of improv. “Sure, right after I catch you.” She lunged forward and--

Tripped. Somehow. She poked her head up to look at the one entrance to the room, then seeing that no one was there, she opened her backpack and threw a box at their feet.

“Oh no, I am petrified,” she said, practically announced for all the floor to hear. Then, in a more regular speaking volume, “I hope they don’t take the care package I dropped that has supplies and letters from their friends and family.”

There was a moment of silence as the three of them processed what she said. And when they did, George put it in his satchel. “I... thanks, Erica.”

“You’re not welcome, because you stole from me, remember?” she said with a conspiratorial wink. She turned her attention to Captain. “You got one question before the rest catch up.”

“Do you know what they’re going to do to us once you turn us in?” The abomasnow was concerned, to put it mildly. But his tone reminded Harold of the same one he had when he asked long ago where dad went. Naïve, but you knew deep down.

Considering his talks with Krupp, he probably knows in some capacity.

“I figured you’ve been in tough scrapes like this, but I suppose maybe not?” His arms lowered. Harold looked at him worriedly; his pine needles were still shot up and pierced through his cape, despite the lull.

The axew appraised him for a moment, and she noticed the needles, too. “It’s weird to see you think this hard about anything.”

The boys grimaced at how blunt she was, but its definitely crossed their minds.

“It’s weird to think hard about anything!” Captain laughed.

“To answer your question, no, I don’t,” she frowned. “Knowing Melvin, and by extension Melvinborg, it’s probably something else than the, uh... standard. You know how he is with tinkering dungeon items to be more potent.”

And just like that, Captain’s cheery mood was back, even if it was a little more sedate than usual. The needles settled to its more natural position. “Okey-dokey, thanks Plungerina!”

All four of them tensed up at the sudden sound of shouting.

“Time’s up,” she gave a half-smirk half-smile. “Also, there’s a petrify orb in the package. Gotta make this look convincing, you know?”

“O-- oh!” George floundered for a moment before opening the box and taking it out. It let out a low hum.

“Don’t expect this to be a repeat thing,” she added, in the tone of voice that mean to definitely expect it. She stared at him, sensing his hesitance. “Relax, I’ll be fine-- the other teams are coming up and will bring me back first before getting to you. It’ll buy you a bit more time.”

The snivy was still a bit unsure about the whole prospect, but he held it high anyway. It flashed and it froze Erica in place before disappearing in a puff of smoke. And then they ran for the stairs.

(And then they continued to run.)

[pitiless-achilles-wept]

2020 Can Take My Hair, But Not My Hope

My hair started falling out on election night.

I thought at first it might be the anxiety, that I was literally pulling my hair out with worry over numbers I already knew were not going to be definitive before the night wore into morning but which I stayed up until 3:30am watching anyway. I tweeted rapidly, reassuring my jittery timeline that not only had we all known that the night would bring no results but that we had even expected Trump to lead in key states because of the greater number of mail-in ballots from urban areas that would largely count for Biden. We knew. We all knew. But we were all terrified, flashing back to 2016 and already dreading another four years of living life on high alert, in constant survival mode.

I posted a selfie with a tweet that read, "Could be the last presidential election I vote in (blah blah stage 4 cancer blah blah) and I wish it were better and clearer than this but it's a crucial privilege to have voted. Remember, whatever the outcome, the last thing they can take from you is your hope."

To me that last sentence has been a mantra for these years and for my treatment. I have consistently refused, despite overwhelmingly terrible odds, to lose hope. The story of Pandora's Box tells us that the very last thing left inside was Hope--that even once all the demons were out in the world there was that tiny, feathered creature left to hang on to. It hasn't been easy, but I am one of the most stubborn people you will ever meet (and if you doubt this just ask anyone who's ever fought me on anything!) and it has turned out to be a saving grace rather than an irritating personality trait. Feeling like the world was trying to take my hope away made me angry. And when I get angry I will fight back.

I know I'm not alone in feeling like we entered some kind of alternate nightmare timeline on election night 2016. To that point, despite periods of immense personal difficulty, nothing truly terrible had happened to me. Then, in short order, my marriage ended and I was diagnosed with and began being treated for a terminal illness, all against the backdrop of a regime so deliberately hateful that it was truly incomprehensible to me. Then, a global pandemic and national crisis swept away the small consolations I'd found in my new life with cancer. The temptation to feel hopeless was strong and I struggled with it, particularly in the isolation of quarantine. I'm struggling with it now, facing a winter of further lockdowns, social isolation, continued chemo, and the added indignity (and chilliness!) of not having any hair. But somehow the coincidence of my hair loss with election night seemed like a good omen for the future, if a sad thing for the present.

I heard the news that they had called Pennsylvania for Biden at a peaceful Airbnb in the Catskills after stepping out of a shower where lost hair in handfuls. It felt oddly like a sacrifice I had made personally. I joked about this with friends on the text chains that lit up and that (despite my promise to myself and my writing partner that we'd "go off the grid") I responded to immediately. Instant replies, with emojis and GIFs, participated in the fiction: "Thank you for your service!!!"; "We ALL appreciate your sacrifice!"; "Who among us would NOT give up their hair for no more Trump?". The feeling was real for me, though. It was as though the good news demanded some kind of karmic offering. You never get something for nothing, I thought, and really it was a small price to pay.

The rest of the weekend passed too quickly, with absorption in the novel I plan (madly, given that I also work full-time) to work on for "National Novel Writing Month" (NaNoWriMo), walks in the unseasonably warm woods, and nighttime drinks on the back deck under the stars, watching my hair blow off in fine strands and drift through the sodium porch light. My friend and I read tarot and both our layouts contained The Tower, the card for new beginnings from total annihilation, the moment of destruction in which (as the novel's title says) everything is illuminated. "This might sound dumb," he said, "but maybe yours is about your hair." It did not sound dumb.

[shaved heads, the 2020 election, and a couple pics under the cut]

There is probably no more iconic visual shorthand for cancer than hair loss. It happens because chemo agents target fast-proliferating cells, which tend to inhabit things that grow rapidly by nature (hair, fingernails), or that we need to replenish often (cells in the gut), as well as out-of-control cancer cells. But not all cancer treatments, not even all chemotherapies, cause hair loss. In my 20 months of being treated for cancer and my three previous treatments (four, if you count the surgery I had) nothing had yet affected my hair beyond a bit of thinning. This despite the fact that my first-ever treatment (Taxol) was widely known to cause hair loss for "everyone." I had been fortunate with this particular side effect in a narrow way that I have absolutely not been on a broader scale. "Maybe," I had let myself think, "I can have this one thing." The odds were in my favor too; only 38% of people in clinical trials being treated with Saci lost their hair. I liked the odds of being in the 62% who didn't. But--as we all felt deep in our gut while they counted votes in battleground states--odds aren't everything.

I had come to treat the "strength" of my hair as a kind of relative consolation (though as with everything cancer "strength," "weakness," and the rhetoric of battle have nothing to do with outcomes). I treasured still having it, not just out of vanity (though I have always loved my hair whatever length, style, or color it has been) but because it allowed me to pass among regular people as one of them. I had no visible markers of the illness that is killing me, concealed as first the tumor and then the scars were by my clothing. "You look wonderful," people would tell me, even when I suffered from stress fractures from nothing more than running or sneezing; muscle spasms in my shoulder and nerve death in my fingertips; nausea that I swallowed with swigs from my water bottle that just made me look all the more like a hydration-conscious athlete; and profound, constant, and debilitating fatigue. Invisible illness had its own perils but I would take them--take all of them at once if necessary!--if only I could keep my hair and look normal.

It was not to be. A part of me had known this, since a lifetime with metastatic cancer means a lifetime of treatments a solid proportion of which result in hair loss. But I had hoped. And I had liked the odds.

The hardest thing for me is having to give up this particular consolation before knowing whether or not my new treatment is also working on my cancer. Unfortunately, there really isn't a correlation between side effects like hair loss and effectiveness of treatment. If it is working then I will feel that--like the election to which I felt I had karmically contributed--it was all completely worth it. Yet, even in this best case scenario, there's a new reality for me which is that while I am on this treatment I will stay bald. When you are a chronic patient you hope for a treatment that will work well with manageable side effects. And if this treatment works--and if the other side effects are as ok-ish as they are now--then I will remain on it.

It's that future that I am furious about more than anything else. I want to continue to live my life, of course, but I don't want to have to do it bald! In part that is because I don't want to register to people constantly as an archetypal "cancer patient" when I know that I am so much more. It is also in part because I don't want to think of myself as being ill, and living every day having to disguise my absent hair will make that all the tougher. I have already noticed that I feel, physically, as though I am sicker because of my constantly shedding hair. How could I not, in some ways, when every move I make and every glance at myself (including in endless Zoom windows) shows me this highly visible change?

For that reason, I'm shaving my remaining hair tomorrow (Wednesday). It's a way to feel less disempowered--less like hair loss is happening to me--and wrest control of the situation back. I will try to find agreeable things about it: wigs, scarves, cozy caps, bright lipstick, statement earrings, and a general punk/Mad Max vibe that is appropriate to 2020. But I don't want anyone to think for a second that I find this agreeable, or even acceptable, or that I don't mind. I mind a whole hell of a lot. My hair was my consolation prize, my camouflage, my vanity, my folly, and my battle cry.

I dyed it purple when I was first diagnosed because I knew (or thought I knew) that I would be losing it soon. I didn't, and I came to cherish it as a symbol of my boldness in the face of circumstances trying to oppress me, to make me shrink, to tempt me to become invisible. I refused and used it to "shout" all the louder in response. Because of what it came to mean to me, I'm nearly as sad about losing the purple as I am about losing the hair itself. It both symbolized the weight I was carrying and also that I would not let that weight grind me down. It was my act of resistance and my sign resilience all at once.

I sent a text to my friends, explaining this and offering, as an idea, that I could "pass the purple" to them in some way, small or large. It would feel more like handing off a torch or a weight (or the One Ring) than anyone shaving their head in solidarity. (After all, if they did that it would just remind me as I watched theirs grow back that, in fact, our positions were very different.) You're welcome to do it if you'd like too, internet friends, with temporary or permanent dye or a wig or a headband or one of those terrible 90s hairwraps or whatever. But I don't require that anyone do it because I feel support from you all in myriad ways, all the time. (But if you do, please send me pictures!)

It's November 2020. The election is over and Joe Biden has won. I still have cancer and I'll be bald tomorrow. I hope it's a turning point, both personal and global, because it feels like one. We've given up a lot in the last four years and I cannot say that I feel in any way peaceful or accepting about having to give up yet one more thing. But in losing my hair I absolutely refuse to also give up my hope.

(On our walk we did also seem to find a version of The Tower, all that was left of an abandoned house)

[hard-boiled-criminal]

Planetary Magick: 1

(Twisted Wonderland x Earthling! Witch! Reader)

This is crossposted on my ao3 and quotev. I have a chapter on some general information you should know about this fic before going into it, so please go and look at it first. I’ll have it linked in the masterlist. There is some essential information there, so I’ll also have a shortened version of the general information linked in the masterlist. 

I haven’t quite decided all the love interests yet, so please comment who you want to be included. But don’t comment until after you’ve read the essential information post. I’ll know if you haven’t when you comment. I started this fic with my two favorite boys in mind, so they’ll probably end up getting more attention at the beginning.

Without further ado, here we gooooooooooo

_____________________________________________

“Alrighty, here we go,” you mumbled to yourself as you got yourself settled and comfortable, then set a twenty-minute timer on your phone for your meditation session.

You breathed in deeply for four counts, held your breath for four more counts, then exhaled for four counts, closing your eyes during the exhale. You scanned your body, seeing how every part of you felt and releasing any tension you discovered. You focused on your breath and how it moves the body, allowing you to clear your mind. Any wandering thoughts that passed through your head you let go, like seeing a leaf floating down a river: you notice it, then let it go.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

Inhale…hold…exhale…

In…hale…out…

.                            .                            .

             You let out a low, gravelly hum as you began to awake, blinking. Or you think you’re blinking, at least. It was the same level of dark when your eyes were open as when they were closed.

             ‘When did it get so dark? Last I remember, it was mid-afternoon… What was I doing again?’ You hummed again, but in a way that you didn’t use your vocal cords. It was more of a throaty exhale. ‘Oh, that’s right! I was medita…ting…fuck, I fell asleep while meditating, didn’t I? That’s one of the big thing’s you’re not supposed to do, (y/n).’

             Seeing as you probably wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep now, you went to sit up from your laying position, just to hit your forehead against solid wood.

             “Ah fuck,” you quietly exclaimed in both surprise and mild pain.

             You raised your arms to figure out what you hit your head against, but they also hit wood. Starting to panic a bit, you rapidly felt out the area all around you: it’s all wood. You were in a box. You desperately tried pushing on all of the sides, one at a time, hoping that you weren’t sealed inside. Nothing budged. Your breaths began to speed up, becoming shallower.

             ‘Why am I in a box? How did I get here? Oh fuck, have I been kidnapped?! Fuck, fuck, fuck!’ Various expletives cycled their way through your thoughts as a result of the panic.

             You yelped when the box suddenly began to tilt forward, causing your body to slide down the box that you now realized was quite a bit longer than you were tall. Your feet stopped your sliding when they hit the new bottom of the box, letting you stand upright. You didn’t know what this meant. Why would someone stand your box up? What was happening? You heard a voice speaking from outside the box, but your panic prevented you from processing their words.

             You quickly shifted your priorities when the box started to heat up like a wooden oven, beginning to fill up with smoke. You didn’t have time to scream. You had to get out of there. With renewed vigor, you rammed your shoulder into the wooden panel in front of you. You felt it budge! It didn’t open, but it budged. You didn’t wait to ram your shoulder into it again. This time, the wood gave in to your force easily, popping off of the box and onto the floor. Maybe it gave way a bit too easily, as your momentum sent you careening to the hard floor, your shoulder taking the brunt of the impact. You heard a loud scream that you knew wasn’t yours, you simply didn’t have the breath to scream, as your momentum didn’t stop, making you somersault multiple times towards the center of the room. Well, somersaulting is a bit of a generous term; it was really more of a chaotic rolling, limbs flailing about as the world blurred between right-side-up and upside-down.

             Something you always suspected, but now knew for sure, was that unexpected somersaults are very painful on the neck, not to mention your head that slammed into the hard floor each roll. You didn’t know where the cracks you heard came from, but you doubt it could be anything but your body. You just hope those sounds were the good kind, like the cracking-your-knuckles cracks and not the snapping-your-bones-in-twain cracks.

             When you finally rolled to a stop, you laid limply on your side, unmoving. You painfully gaped for breath, trying to fill your lungs with the sweet oxygen you were barred from when rolling. Your vision blurred and swam; unable to make out anything or focus on anything except colors, you closed your eyes from the sight lest you get a headache.

             Still disoriented and generally out-of-sorts after you caught your breath, you struggled to roll onto your knees, resting your forehead on the cool floor in hopes to ease the overwhelming dizziness that you could practically feel in every bone of your body.

             “Why are you up?!” You heard strange voice yell out, coming from where your wooden prison sat.

             You turn your head ever so slightly so you could semi-face where the voice came from. You squinted, trying to focus your gaze, but everything remained blurry. You could see bright cerulean flames dancing around what you think was your box, presumably the same flames that smoked you out. And by the floor was an animated gray blob, slowly growing larger. Or was it just getting closer? You couldn’t tell, your attention snapping back to your throbbing head as your vision span once more.

             You groaned as you closed your eyes and turned your head back to where it was, the cold, probably stone, floor felt nice. It helped soothe your steadily worsening headache a bit, but any relief was better than none. You weren’t in a rush to move from your spot, and since the floor was stone, you wouldn’t have to worry about the fire spreading.

             “If you’re just gonna sit around, then hurry and gimme those clothes!” That strange voice that reminded you of Team Rocket’s Meowth yelled again, though this time is was much closer. “Otherwise—”

             You cut them off with a louder groan than before and held up an index finger in their direction to both shush them and to say, ‘give me a minute.’ “Please, just, give me a sec. I’m dizzy and might have a concussion—no, probably have a concussion. So please, don’t shout.”

             “Hah? Why should I care about what some dumb human has to say? Now gimme those clothes unless you want me to roast ya!”

             You grunt as you force yourself to stand, the dizziness mostly subsiding. You looked over to see if you could make out the Meowth-sounding figure now, but to no avail; your vision was still blurry and refused to focus. All you could see was that gray blob, but now you could make out a patch of white and two patches of that same cerulean blue on the figure.

             “I’m sorry, the fuck did you just say? You want me to give you my clothes? Fat chance, ya little pervert.”

             They made a disgruntled sound and yelled again, which did not help your headache at all, “I’m not a pervert, stupid human! Just shut up and hand over that uniform!”

             “I’ll pass,” you quickly glanced around the room, looking for an exit. There was a large area of dark brown embedded in the wall to your right, no doubt being a set of double doors; you now had your escape route. You hope you were staring into the eyes of that bleary gray figure. “…yeet.” And you bolted towards the doors.

“Wha—hey! Get back here stupid human!” You heard them shout after you.

Running felt stranger than normal, like there was more drag, like you were dragging something with your arms. You looked down and finally paid mind to your clothes: they were definitely not yours. You were wearing something like a coat—or a cloak? —with heavy bell-sleeves, the source of the extra weight. You now also noticed that there was a hood pulled over your head as well. It was a miracle it stayed on after your rough tumble.

‘Yeah nope, fuck that. I’m not ready to be sacrificed by some fancy cloak cult,’ with that thought fueling your determination, you stayed true to your ‘yeet’ and rammed your other shoulder into one of the doors, not wanting to waste time on opening it like a civilized person. Besides, that would probably be quite difficult as it was still hard to see, and your hand-eye coordination was probably going to be shit because of your probable concussion.

Luckily, the doors were unlocked, the one you charged at bursting open upon impact with little resistance. You didn’t dare slow down, sprinting down the outdoor hallway the doors led to. And as you noticed a group of people approaching, you couldn’t slow down. You danced through the gaps between them, the sudden twisting bringing back the dizziness. Your poor coordination made sure that you bumped into a few elbows on your way through, adding a couple more bruises to the list. You didn’t bother to spare them a glance or even acknowledge them. Your body was screaming at you to stop, your frantic running only serving to further agitate your too-fresh wounds, sending streaks of stinging pain through your body.

It was no use though. Fatigue finally won you over, and you practically collapsed onto the floor of what was a library of sorts. Or maybe an archive? Even if you couldn’t make out any individual books, you could easily tell that the walls were lined with filled bookshelves. You panted heavily as you laid on your back, too exhausted to care about lying on the floor. Your peace could only last for so long, though.

“Did you really think you’d get away from my nose? Dumb human!”

You grumble in fatigue-induced anger, using a chair to help stand yourself back up. You’ve had enough of this pervert’s shit. You’re hurt and scared and tired and confused, and all you want to do right now is sleep. You quickly hoist up the chair, resting the side of the chair’s back on your shoulder, brandishing the chair as a weapon as your hands grasped the seat. You were just about ready to use the chair as a battering ram on this rat of unusual size.

“If you don’t wanna get roasted, better hand over—Buwah!?” Out of no where a whip stuck the strange creature, staying wrapped around it. “Ow! What’s with this cord?”

“This is no mere cord. It is a lash of love!” Their masculine voice sounded strange, as if they were forced to talk around a physical lump stuck in their throat.

Their voice was rounded, but in an odder way than usual. It was as if each word was its own separate circle: only one circle per word with the circles never quite connecting. It was as if they composed their sentences like a piece of music but added a breath mark between each and every note. You didn’t know how else to describe it. His words were round but ended strong and abruptly, as opposed to the gentle waves and curves you’d expect from a rounded voice.

You didn’t notice him until he stepped closer. His ensemble of clothes was mostly black, and the colors that weren’t black were at least dark. More than half of his face appeared to be covered with a black mask, so could you really blame yourself for not being able to make him out in this dark library?

You slowly lowered the chair back to ground as you tried to process that he called it a ‘lash of love.’

“Ah, found you at last. Are you one of the new students?”

“Uh, I’m sorry—”

“Yes, you should be! You shouldn’t do things like leaving the Gate on your own!” He cut you off and kept talking, not giving you a chance to speak, let alone defend yourself because you didn’t know what the fuck was going on. “Not only that, you have yet to tame your familiar, which has broken a number of school rules.

“Let me go! I’m not their freakin’ familiar!” The creature took the words right out of your mouth while squirming in the man’s grasp.

“Sure, sure. The rebellious ones always say things like that,” he immediately dismissed the thing’s outburst. “Just quiet down for a moment.” You couldn’t quite see what he did, but the gray beast could only make muffled noises. You think the thing was gagged, but you don’t know by what. “My goodness,” he directed his attention to you again. “It’s unprecedented for a new student to leave the Gate on their own. Ugh… How impatient can you be?” He sounded very offended by your actions, still not giving you the chance to explain that you were busy trying not to die. “The entrance ceremony is already well under way. Come along now. Let’s head to the Hall of Mirrors,” he turned on his heel, quickly walking away.

You had three options: 1) Follow him to whatever the Hall of Mirrors was. Maybe it’s like a hall full of those body-warping mirrors they have at carnivals? 2)Stay behind and wait for something else to come try to kill you. 3) Run away and hope you don’t run into something that wants to kill you.

You quickly jogged to catch up to him. “I—uh, where are we going?”

“As I said, the Hall of Mirrors. It’s the room you woke up in with all of the doors.”

‘Doors? Is he talking about the sealed box I was in?’

“All students who wish to attend this academy must pass through one of those doors to arrive here. Normally, students wake up only after the door is opened with a special key, but…” he glanced over to you, silently expecting an answer.

You pointed at the Meowth-voiced creature. “He kinda smoked me out.”

“So, in the end, the culprit appears to be this familiar. If you’re going to bring it with you, you have to take responsibility and properly take care of it.”

“Um, sir? That’s not—”

“Oh my!” He cut you off once more. “Now isn’t the time to be long winded. The entrance ceremony will soon come to a close. Let’s get a move on.”

“Sir, I’m sorry, but I have no idea what’s going on,” it came out form your mouth quietly, barely above a whisper.

“What’s this? Are you still dazed? It appears the teleportation magic has left you disoriented…”

‘…teleportation…magic? Was I—Was I kidnapped by a wizard LARP group?’

“Well, it is fine. It happens often enough. I shall give you an explanation as we make our way there. For I am gracious.”

‘Gracious my ass; your favorite thing is to assume things about me, and you know what they say about assume: it makes an ass out of u and me.’

He cleared his throat as we stepped into the courtyard I had previously ran past. “This is ‘Night Raven College.’ Those magicians blessed with a unique aptitude for magic gather from all over the world, here at the most prestigious magical academy in Twisted Wonderland.”

‘Oh shit, they’re a Harry Potter LARP group. I don’t think Harry would condone kidnapping someone though…’

“And I’m the principal, appointed to take care of this academy by the board chairman, Dire Crowley.”

‘Crowley like the demon from Good Omens? Or like that guy who wrote a book on demons? Or maybe that one guy from Yu-Gi-Oh…’

“…” You patiently waited for him to say, “You’re a wizard, Harry,” but he never did. ‘I can’t believe I have to deliver this line without the lead up. “A what?”

He ignored you to continue with his ‘gracious’ monologue, “Only those magicians seen as worthy by the Dark Mirror can attend this school. Chosen ones use the Gate and are summoned here from around the world. An Ebony Carriage carrying a Gate should have gone to meet you as well.”

“A carriage? You mean one with a horse?”

He gasped, offended, for some reason, “Of course it was drawn by a horse! Our school would never be so uncouth as to have it drawn by anything else!”

“Well, I would have remembered if there was a horse. Horses are the embodiment of equal opportunity fear*. You don’t forget running into a creature like that.” You shivered at the thought of the horse-like fae you’ve heard about in legends. Like the one that can apparently kill gods.

“It seems you are more dazed than I first thought. Well, no matter! I shall continue with my explanation, for I truly am so gracious. The Ebony Carriage goes to welcome new students chosen by the Dark Mirror. They are special carriages that carry the doors to the academy. The market decided long ago that carriages are used to welcome people on special days.”

“The market? Are you telling me stocks have something to do with this?” You had to actively try not to say ‘stonks’ instead of ‘stocks.’

He ignored you again, instead speeding up his walking as the gray creature started squirming and making muffled sounds again. “Come. Let’s go to the entrance ceremony.”

With the both of you now speed walking, it didn’t take long for the three of you, counting the creature, to make it back to the doors you had originally burst out of. Crowley, not being one to wait for anything, quickly barged in. “Not at all!” he exclaimed, probably responding to something you didn’t catch.

“Ah, he’s here,” you heard someone say from inside the room.

‘…You’ve gotta be buttfucking me,’ was your first thought as you peeked out from behind Crowley to see the room filled to the brim with people wearing the same cloak as you.

“I cannot believe you all. We were missing one new student, so I went to find them,” he stepped to the side to present you, making your anxiety spike as all the eyes in the room turned to you. “You are the only one yet to be assigned a dormitory,” he now directed his words to you. “I shall watch over the raccoon, step in front of the Dark Mirror.”

You were never more grateful than now to have the large hood obscuring your face, preventing anybody from fully seeing it. You weren’t planning on going anywhere before you got kidnapped, so you didn’t bother fixing up your appearance at all. You probably looked like a mess. If you fell asleep during meditation, that must’ve meant that you were extremely exhausted; you wouldn’t be surprised if your eyes looked like they better suited a meth-addict grim reaper. Regarding what type of death your eyes belonged to, until you got a good look in the mirror, it was up for debate between two options: if your eyebags were dark enough to make your eyes look like they were sunken into your skull, yet at the same time pop-eyed from the contrast of white and red to dark bags, or if your eyes and eyebags were swollen to all hell, giving you a upper pop-eyed look, as if somebody squeezed you and your eyes tried to pop out of your head, but their escape was thwarted by your skin, just barely strong enough to hold them back. Your face probably looked a bit sallow and nothing but bone; today had been a taxing endeavor, both physically and emotionally. You’d kill for a nap—or any sleep—right about now.

You nervously walked up to the floating mirror, your movements stiff and tense, like a frightened deer.

You were ready to come face to face with your deathly reflection, but instead of your face, there was a mask instead. It looked like a floating porcelain mask that had its own free will, making subtle changes in facial expression and everything. It had a black lacy design in the shape of a masquerade mask around its eyes. ‘Probably has an edgy personality too,’ you added as an afterthought when you noticed the dancing green flames in the background. You couldn’t help but feel that it looked vaguely familiar…

“State thy name.” It spoke with a finality in its tone.

‘So, it talks too, huh? Oh, it’s probably one of those facial motion capture programs. Look at this man; it feels like he’s trying to match the same energy that the Wizard of Oz had. Nobody can live up to that legend of a man.’

“(y/n) (l/n).”

You subtly glanced around the room with your eyes, not moving your head, to try and see if there was a ‘man behind the curtain’ somewhere. You didn’t even see a curtain. Just a bunch of coffins and cloaked people.

‘I’m sorry, are those coffins? I can see better than before but not well enough to make out the finer details, but I can tell those look coffin shaped. Like the kind you would see in Scooby-Doo. Does that mean Crowley said I was transported here in a coffin?! What the fuck, man.’

“The shape of thy soul is…” the mask paused for dramatic effect… okay, for a lot of dramatic effect because this was a long pause. “I do not know.”

‘…what was the point in the dramatic pause, then?’

“Come again?” Crowley sounded like he was about to go into shock.

“I sense not a spark of magic from this one… The color, the shape, all are nothing,” the mask roasted you. “Therefore, they are suited for no dormitory.”

‘Rude but I guess that is kind of how it works? After all, magick is just convincing reality and the world around you to bend to your whims by performing certain actions. So, it’s like being a bender from avatar. But instead of the elements, its reality, sort of. Bending the world’s natural magick… But still, fuck you. I may just be a beginner, but I’m still a witch…wait, unless it’s talking about ‘sleight of hand’ magic. Is this like a Hogwarts school or like a Houdini school?’’

People started murmuring in the audience you now had, staring at you, judging you. You could feel a lump in your throat start to form, a telltale sign of the beginning of an anxiety attack.

“An Ebony Carriage would absolutely never go to meet someone who can’t use magic!” Crowley sounded stunned and frustrated. “In one hundred years, there has not once been a mistake in student selection. So why in the world…” Since Crowley was so wrapped up in what was going on, he failed to notice that his grasp on the creature had loosened.

“Pah!” The gray creature, which you think is a cat since you can see better now, exclaimed as he freed himself. “Then I’ll take their place!”

“Stay right there! Raccoon!” Crowley’s attention was now directed on the freed rabid cat.

“Unlike that dumb human, I can use magic! Let me in the school instead! If you need proof, I’ll show you right now!” The little cat exclaimed

‘Wait, what does he mean by proof? If he’s about to do what I think he’s about to do… then shit.’

“Everyone, get down!” The same voice you heard when Crowley and you entered spoke.

‘Don’t have to tell me twice,’  you lowered yourself to the ground and laid on your stomach; the back of your head was still throbbing, so you didn’t want to chance irritating it more by lying on your back. You crossed your arms in front of your face on the ground so you could comfortably rest your head in the crook of your elbow. Laying like this made your hood fall further over you face, obstructing the top half of the room from your view. The bottom half was all you needed to see though, as the cat spewed blue flames around the room—the same flames that made you panic inside the coffin.

“Waaaah! Hottttt! My butt’s on fire!” You heard an animated voice yell.

“At this rate, the school will be a sea of fire!” You heard Headmaster Crowley shouted. “Somebody, catch that raccoon!”

You heard some of the people in the room bicker about who should go after him, not because of the fear of being burned, but because they were being lazy and saw it as a hassle. ‘Well, I’ve got a bone to pick with him anyway,’ you sighed and stood up, casually walking over to the cat. There was fire everywhere, but you couldn’t find the energy to care. You were tired and hurt and probably concussed, and you had had enough. If your clothes catch fire, you can just stop, drop, and roll. God, you were so done with all this.

So you walked through the hot flames, no doubt getting some burns on your legs from the ordeal, and the slacks you wore that weren’t even yours didn’t burn easily, but the flames still managed to burn several holes through it. The cat didn’t notice you approaching, preoccupied with yelling at the bickering students. Luckily, the cat made sure there were no fires surrounding them, so you got a break from the heat. You took a moment to pat out the fires on your pants and the bottom of your cloak using the ridiculously large sleeves of your cloak. Satisfied that you weren’t burning anymore, you reached for the cat and lifted them up by hooking your hands in its armpits. They screeched at the unexpected flight lesson and immediately began to squirm.

“Alright, I think you’ve done enough. I’m sick of your shit, so cut it out before I choke you ‘til you pass out,” you blandly said to the cat since you were, as you put it, sick of their shit.

“Unhand me you stupid human!” They demanded as they wriggled in your grasp. You held them tighter. You could feel the others staring at you, completely silent for a few seconds before someone broke the quiet.

“OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!” That familiar voice of the stranger shouted, a heart-shaped collar suddenly appearing around the cat’s neck.

“Nygah! The heck is this!?” The cat shrieked and started tugging at the collar.

“Laws of the Queen of Hearts Number 23: "One shall never bring a cat into a festival," you could now see that the familiar voice belonged to a student with red hair, red as in bright ruby red. “You being a cat means you've broken the rule. I shall have you leave at once.”

“I'm not a cat!!” The cat denied the truth. “I'll burn this collar right up and… E—eh? I can't use my fire!”

“Hmph! You won't be using any magic until I remove the collar. Just like an ordinary cat,” the redhead explained.

“Wh-what?! I'm not some pet!” He’s a strong independent cat who don’t need no man.

“Don't worry, I'd never keep a pet like you,” fuck, that redhead can roast. “I'll take it off anyway when you get thrown out.”

“Wow, as wonderful as ever. Any and all magic gets sealed by your Unique Magic, Riddle,” another student spoke, this one had light colored hair.

‘Would you call that shade a pale lavender or periwinkle?’ You questioned his hair color.

He mumbled something inaudible under his breath before speaking up, “No, I wouldn't ever want that cast on me.”

“You must do something about this! It is your familiar!” Crowley shouted at you again.

You sighed, frustrated. “He’s not mine.”

“Properly discip... eh? It's not yours?”

“Yeah. I’ve been trying to tell you this entire time, but it seems I couldn’t get it past that thick skull of yours,” You couldn’t stop some of the irritated sass from leaking out.

“Y-you did?” Crowley looked rightfully embarrassed as he cleared his throat. “Anyway, let's get it out of the school at any rate. We won't turn you into a stew. For I am gracious. Someone help, please.” Another student took the cat from your arms and carried him towards the door.

“Gyaaaa! Let me go!” The cat protested, desperation thick in their tone. “I'm going to, going to… Become the greatest magician!” Those were his final words as he was thrown out of the room.

“We had a bit of trouble along the way, but this brings the entrance ceremony to a close,” Crowley said with a pleased tone of finality. “Dormitory Heads, please show the new students back to the dormitories.”

This didn’t really concern you anymore, what with being rejected by a mirror of all things. So, you stood there, starting to space out.

‘…wait a damn minute. If that was a fire-breathing cat, then… the kind of magic they’re talking about is… real fucking magic. Like fantasy world, Dungeons and Dragons’ kind of magic: flashy fireballs and eldritch blasts… What the actual fuck is going on? Have I been drugged? Is this just a real bad acid trip? I know I’m not dreaming because I feel like DIO used Road Roller on me. What’s gonna happen to me? Because something definitely went wrong with that mirror since it rejected me and holy shit what are they gonna do to me? Is this gonna be something like a ‘you know our secret so we can’t allow you to live’ kinda deal? Am I gonna die? Is that why they had coffins prepared? Are they gonna shove me into one of those and bury me al—’ you were snapped out of your thoughts when the headmaster waved his hand in front of your face. Glancing around, you saw that you two were now the only occupants in the room.

“There you are,” he pulled his hand away from your face. “Well then, (y/n), I’m terribly sorry about this but… We must have you leave the school. Those without any talent for magic cannot be allowed to attend class here.” He must have noticed you tense up when he said that, because you thought that meant disposing of you. “There is no need to worry. The Dark Mirror will send you directly back from whence you came. Enter the Gate, and picture your home clearly in mind…”

You did as he told, picturing where you last were when you had began your meditation. Feeling very much like Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz, you found yourself chanting ‘there’s no place like home’ in your head.

“Oh, Dark Mirror!” Crowley called out. “Guide this one back to the place they belong!” A moment of silence. “Once more. Oh, Dark Mirror! Guide this—”

“It is nowhere…” the mirror interrupted.

Your eyes snapped open, a tight strained smile on your face. ‘I’m sorry, the fuck did you just say?’ Crowley seemed to have a similar dumbfounded reaction.

“The place they belong is nowhere in this world; it does not exist.”

“What did you say?” Crowley voice the pg-13 version of your thoughts. “That is unbelievable! Hmm, well, the unbelievable has been on parade today.”

‘Uh, yeah. There was a goddamn fire breathing cat ready to kill us all.’

“This is the first time it’s ever happened since I became Headmaster, what should be… Where exactly did you come from?” Crowley asked you.

“Uhh… Do you just want the country, or do you need the planet’s name since the mirror said I don’t belong in this world?”

“Just the country is fine.”

“Well, I’m from (country), but I have no idea how far away we are from it right now.”

“I’ve never heard of that place,” your stomach dropped at Crowley’s remark. “I have a general grasp of where all the students came from, but I’ve never even heard that name before… If you really are not of this world, then I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to know your planet’s name.”

“Well, I’m from Earth.”

“Earth? As in the ground, soil, dirt?” He sounded like he didn’t really believe you. “Well that’s not very helpful, but I suppose you could call any planet ‘earth’ if you so wished. Well, no matter,” he clapped his hands in finality. “Let’s go do some research in the library.

“Who in their right mind would name a planet after its dirt?” You heard Crowley mumble under his breath as you followed him, clearly trying to keep you from hearing him, but that didn’t work out so well.

‘I think it might be the other way around, where we made another word for dirt named after the planet itself.’

You and Crowley made it back to the Library where you were before, but this time you could see just how large it was since Crowley turned the lights on. Using his magic, he practically summoned various historical books and world maps that showed the different countries and borders that were present at certain time periods.

Your vision was still too blurry to read, but you could still make out shapes fairly well, so you stuck to looking through the various world maps. The first thing you noticed were the continents: they were all wrong. You didn’t recognize any of them, though they were consistent across all the maps you had in front of you. These were not Earth’s continents. Desperate, you looked closer at the borders of different countries to see if any looked familiar, squinting to see if you could even have a possibility of reading the names.

You take a deep breath, ‘Okay, (y/n). You’re a-okay. There’s an explanation for this. I’m sure of it. Maybe you just astral projected on accident or something. Okay. You can deal with that. You’ve read about how to get back to your body. You can do it.’ You visualized a cord of sorts connecting the you here to the you that you remember meditating at home. And then you pulled. You opened your eyes and— ‘…I’m still here.’

“There really isn't anything,” Crowley was the first to break the silence. “Not only the world map, but the name of your home isn't written in any history. Are you truly from where you say? You aren't lying to me by chance?”

“No! Why the hell would I lie about any of—" you gestured around you wildly “—of this?!” You must have looked absolutely terrible because you saw Crowley almost look a little guilty for his accusation.

“Looking at all this, you may have somehow been brought here from another planet, after all... There's also the possibility you're from another world.”

“I really am an alien, aren’t I?” You could feel a lump rising in your throat, that previously pending anxiety suddenly rapidly rising. You sadly chuckled out a resigned ‘fuck’ and rested your forehead against the table, your hands grasping, digging into the back of your head. You could tell you were spiraling, but you couldn’t do anything about it. Your breaths quickened as bad thoughts and worries about what the hell is going to happen to you now kept infiltrating your head without pause. You tried to take deep breaths, only for your breath to hitch and prevent that. ‘Okay, okay, we can do this; mantra time,’ the only other way you knew that helped you calm down was to repeat an unrelated mantra in your head until you stopped hyperventilating. ‘The—the mitochondria… is the powerhouse of the cell**. The mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell.’ You repeated that phrase as best you could, both in your thoughts and aloud.

Eventually, you were able to get your breathing back under control. ‘Okay…okay. We’re good. I’m good. I’m fine.’

Crowley cleared his throat, obviously not used to being in these kinds of situations and continued as if nothing happened. “What did you have on you when you came here? Do you have any identification, like a license for a magic car, name on a shoe… You appear to be empty-handed.”

You gave your pockets a quick pat down. “I got nothin’.”

“This is concerning. I can't just let someone who can't use magic to stay at school. However, as an educator, I can't just toss a penniless teenager out on the street with no form of communication. For I am gracious.”

‘…Teenager? You know what, I’m not gonna correct him. It’ll probably benefit me more to let him think I’m a minor.’

“Hmmmm… That's right! There is an unused building on campus. It was once used as a dormitory in the past so if you can clean it up, you should at least be able to sleep there. For the time being, I shall allow you to stay there! Then I will look for a way for you to return home. My graciousness is limitless! I am a model for all educators. We had better be on our way. Let's head to the dormitory. It may be a bit old but there is a certain charm to it.”

You felt bad for the poor librarians who would have to clean up your mess. You couldn’t stay to do it yourself because Crowley already took off, his long legs giving him a longer stride, making you speed walk in order to keep up with him. You couldn’t wait to lie down and rest your aching body.

    *Confederate statues in the US—getting rid of the scary white men but keeping the horses: https://youtu.be/aFgGazYzDPo

 ** “The mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell” is easy to remember (since it’s been ingrained in all of our heads) and is completely unrelated to most causes of an anxiety attack. Unless it’s a bio test.

 Okay, so, I wasn’t expecting to get to 6,000 words but here we are. So we have a witch reader, and by witch I mean drawing sigils and making spell jars and such. Let’s see how long it takes for the reader’s adrenaline to run out and realize just how badly they’re hurt. Also, reader is probably end up being a babysitter for those overgrown toddlers (you know who I’m talking about). You thought boarding school would mean getting away from parental figures? Ha! Think again! Cuz the reader is gonna step up and fill that role because these poor boys are young and stupid. But that’ll have to wait until after the reader gets some proper medical attention.

Chapter 2

[runesfactory]

run cried the crawling | 02

summary: Tasokare Hotel is a place that exists between the real world and the afterlife. A residing place for spirits whose fate has yet been decided. To die or to live on. Aesop has yet to discover the truth behind his own near demise. It was until a stranger walked through the doors of the hotel with an owl head that the horrific truth began to unravel.

pairing: aesop carl x eli clark

genre: mystery, supernatural & gothic romance

word count: 5365

warnings:  mature themes. descriptive writing of violence and blood. body horror. strong angst. equally strong romance. heavy pining. mild profanity. death. tasokare hotel spoilers.

chapters: 01 | 02 | 03

cw: brief description of anxiety attack and revisiting trauma

Aesop wakes breaking in cold sweat along with a choked-up sensation in his throat.

The narrow breath in his throat causes his eyes to open wide but immediately squints when the glaring lights from above shine down on him. His body is stiff, so he remains still. He coughs out the soreness in his throat while his right hand frantically reaches the back of his head.

The ache’s no longer there. No blood, nothing. He can only feel dizziness and tightness and hard thumping in his chest. What was that? A memory? He recognizes the feeling of a memory being triggered, but nothing so far has this sort of after effect. All he wants to do now is to lay down. This headache could last him days.

“...needs to rest! Why are you all here?” He realizes there are people around. The voices around became clearer. The ringing stirs away from clouding his mind.

“Can’t we see how he’s doing? We’re all friends here, are we not?” A voice replies, a much huskier voice than the previous one.

“Mr. Campbell, this isn’t a hospital. We do not have the luxury of space to have everyone cramped up in my office like this. So, please leave or I will have to resort to other methods.”

Another voice roars. “Miss Dyer! I can’t encourage any form of violence-”

“Mr. Manager, I am simply doing my job and I cannot have others disrupt the peace that my patients need. So, if violence is required, then by all means—”

The bickering continues. It doesn’t cause any harm really, but he definitely doesn’t expect to be greeted by a crowd after passing out. He feels a little lightheaded, just how long has he been out anyway? He shifts slightly, groaning a little at the ache all over his body.

“Mr. Aesop! Thank goodness, you’re awake!” He looks around to see eyes staring at him with a worried look on their faces. Those eyes feel as if they’re prying deep into his soul. Aesop recognizes the room being Emily Dyer’s infirmary, the hotel’s very own doctor. Just by the smell of medicine and antiseptic in the air. On his right, he sees Emma seated close to his bed while The Hotel Manager stands over him with a familiar figure standing next to him.

“Norton,” He calls out to the familiar face. Norton leans closer to Aesop, abruptly pushing back the Hotel Manager slightly.

“How are you feeling?” Norton asks.

Norton is a close acquaintance to Aesop, being one of the first few people he got close with when he first arrived at the hotel. It’s less worrisome to have people he’s close with around him in such a fragile state, though Aesop couldn’t brush off the worries that flood his head. He can’t help it. They’re just there.

“I’m fine.” He responds quietly, not so very reassuring but his thoughts and feelings are all over the place.

“Oh, Aesop!” The Hotel Manager tears up, coming out as flickers of flames and a puff of smoke. The flame of his head turns blue. “Mr. Clark almost gave us a heart attack when he’d told us that you’ve passed out!”

“You’ve been for about a day. Everyone got so worried, but Emily insisted that you should be left alone. But we got worried so here we are.” says Emma with a concerned look on her face.

A day. It felt like he had only slept in for hours, but his fatigued body says otherwise. He lies back down on the bed. The softness of the mattress lures him slowly back to slumber. Emily appears beside him with a board between her crossed arms over her chest. She presses the back of her cold hand on his forehead. “You need to rest. You’re still fatigued from what happened. If you all could please leave the room quietly, Mr. Carl needs his peaceful time and rest." The subtle glare flashes on the doctor speak for itself as Emma, and the Manager slowly leaves the room. They wave at him. Norton stands there.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Norton catches on quickly. Aesop avoids his eyes, hoping that by turning his head away Norton would understand. Like an unspoken communication between them, Norton nods quietly before walking away. He understands. At least, that’s what Aesop thinks.

The room’s emptier now, quieter. His eyelids grow heavy, then he goes back to sleep. Letting his tiredness take over. Just for this once, he wants to rest but he fears the darkness. Just by a little, but unable to go against the temptation of slumber, he allows the darkness to swallow him again. This time hoping for an actual time of peace.

The second Eli was able to obtain his identity, he immediately remembers. The feeling of memories suddenly clicking together was oddly satisfying. Like having missing pieces of the puzzle clicks into its place seamlessly with no trouble. He is Eli Clark. He's 21 years old and he is an aspiring musician. He has quite an interest in tarots, fortune-telling, and such. He quite likes wildlife, often when volunteering to care for them. He has an owl. Her name is Brooke Rose and he misses her dearly.

It’s not a lot, but he holds onto this information tightly. These are the only things he’s able to grasp that’s familiar to him. None of them particularly shows any crucial information on why he’s here, but he doesn’t feel devastated whatsoever. For now, he’s just content that he can put a name to his face. Something of his human life to hold onto and for that, he’s grateful. However, that’s not to say his mind is at ease.

Who knows how long he’s spent his time pacing back and forth in front of the door? Emma, one of the staff, has told him that this is where Aesop will be resting. He feels that he owes him an apology of some sort, but for whatever reason, it’s a little hard for Eli to walk in there and just… do it.

Click. The door opens.

“Mr. Clark, how long are you planning to stand in front of my office?” Doctor Emily Dyer catches him staring at the door to her office, spacing out. He scatters to gather his thoughts. “Uh,” He stammers, “I was just passing by! Good evening, Doctor. I didn’t realize you were there. Fuh, you scared me alright, hahaha. I must’ve lost my way! Yep!” His laughter comes out obvious to the state of his nerves.

The doctor sighs, “If you are concerned over Mr. Carl, he’s doing fine. A bit distraught, and tense from what happened, but fine overall. Nothing critical. Even if it is, there’s not much we can do.” She continues to explain, crossing her arms across her chest. Eli isn’t quite sure what to make from the look on the doctor’s face. Worry, perhaps. It’s been a day since he last saw Aesop. The way he abruptly passes out when Eli reveals his identity caused him to question plenty of things. Aesop’s pale face when hearing his name. Seeing him in a state cause a trigger in Eli’s memory, a confusing one.

The trigger nearly caused him to pass out as well, but he only fell on his knees. It feels like a hard bang in your head, causing your ears to ring while fragments of memories begin to flash before your eyes. A cinematic reel of his own mind.

In his memory, he could not make out the face of the person, but he could recall the same way the person fell in front of him. A very cold place, he remembers that sensation. Of cold air kissing his skin, stings. He sees his own hands reaching out to the person. He could feel the vibration in his throat as he tried to scream something out, but nothing. It leaves him with a dreadful feeling. The feeling of discontent amplified by frustration over an incomplete puzzle. He has to figure it out. No, he needs to.

“I’m here to see him,” Eli confesses to her, “I was wondering how he’s been. Is he recovering well?”

To the question, he receives an affirmative nod from the doctor, but her stance remains straight. “He’s doing better, and he should be okay soon. The trigger of his memory must’ve given him quite the shock. It happens, but rarely. However, you don’t have to worry too much, he’s going to be fine.”

Eli smiles, “That’s a relief. Can I come in and see him?”

“Ah,” Doctor Dyer pauses. “He specifically told me to not let anyone see him. Maybe another time when he’s fully recovered. That’d be best.”

To that, Eli nods. The doctor returns to her office and he stands there, still deep in his own thoughts. It may be best to not overwhelm him with questions that Eli has kept in mind. Still with curiosity lingering over him. The doctor goes back into her office with the door shutting quietly. Eli walks away, but just as he was only a few steps away, he hears a click from the door. He turns his head to see a man. An unknown figure closed the door to the doctor’s office. The man stares at the door with furrowed eyebrows. One of her patients, perhaps? Eli doesn’t give it much thought, before walking away. He should find a way to talk to Aesop.

When Aesop returns to his regular duties as hotel staff, he senses a presence. No, nothing malicious, but still a presence. It’s the stranger. Eli Clark is his name, he remembers. The man has been staring at the back of his neck for the past half an hour while he tries to fix the tables, arrange the cutleries and plates. He doesn’t express his annoyance often, but if looks could kill. Why couldn’t he just approach him? Ask whatever he wants to ask? Wouldn’t that be better than to just stand there, staring at his back like a creep?

“You know, I’m not one to mind other people’s business. But that man with the blue eyes there looks like he’s going to explode if he doesn’t say what he wants to say.” Says Patricia, one of the staff who works at the restaurant, while glaring slightly at Eli at a distance while wiping up the plates.

Aesop doesn’t look back, already aware from the start. He’s not deliberately avoiding the man, of course. Well, he wouldn’t admit to it even if you ask. Although there’s a part of him who wants to know everything, there’s also a part of him who wants to know nothing. A part that shields himself from the painful possibility of the truth, even though the truth determines his literal life and death.

To that, Aesop takes a couple of deep breaths in and out. Emily reminded him to pace his breathing whenever he feels his thoughts are becoming too much to bear. He laughs, internally, at that. If that’s the case, then he’d be wheezing at this point of the day. But, he does it anyway. It helps, even if it eases only by a slight.

“I’ll talk to him.” He said to Patricia, despite what he thought just now. She raises a brow at him, unsure but then Aesop nods at her slightly. Even though he’s sure it doesn’t give much reassurance, she doesn’t push further before disappearing into the kitchen along with some dirty plates in hand. He turns to the stranger that sits in the corner of the restaurant. The room is dimmed with gentle chimes of the piano echoing from the bar next door. The restaurant is one of the few darker places in the hotel, literally. Mostly rely on the large, accentuated windows to brighten up the room despite its bare view of, well, nothing but the sun that constantly sets on the horizon.

But the corner Eli sits in is quite dimmed, though a lampstand glimmers over him almost like a company in the dark corner of the room. He’d ordered a cup of coffee, Aesop notices. Nothing else. So, Aesop thinks he might have other intentions by coming here. Not to say that relaxing and enjoying a cup of coffee while staring at nothing is out of the option entirely. But after what had happened, it’s almost as if Aesop knows what the other man’s going to do. He picks up the kettle filled with coffee then approaches Eli as swiftly as possible with his back straight and head lifted.

“Would you like a refill, sir?” He asks, politely. Eli nods, giving a small smile but eyes averted away. As Aesop pours the coffee into the cup, he senses how tensed Eli has become once he’s near. It’s quiet between the two, even as Aesop offers sugar or milk it comes off as whispers between the two. Perhaps, he’s not going to question him after all. However, Aesop’s own curiosity piques him. Should he gather enough courage to speak? Or should he continue to wait for the stranger to make the first move?

If he were to put it that way, it’s almost as if he wants to share something intimate. Well, if you can call a very traumatizing recollection of your memory moments before your potential demise as intimate then sure. Perhaps, not today. Not this time—

“Mr. Carl.” The voice calls out to him. A little louder than the whisper before. Aesop looks at him in the eyes. He never noticed how blue they were and the scar that engraved across the bridge of his nose and over his cheeks. It’s quite the change between the owl eyes that were staring down at him before these, dare he say, pretty eyes looking back at him.

“Is it possible for us to have a moment and chat?” Eli continues to ask, now with a certain look on his face. Worry? Concern? A mix of both, maybe?

Aesop firmly shakes his head. “I apologize, sir, but I’m in the middle of my shift.” It’s part of the reason, though it’s true.

Although Aesop doesn’t earn any, if at all, from this job, he still considers it as a job. A duty despite it being a temporary one. Another part is fear. The uncertainty of what may come out of this chat. The truth has haunted Aesop’s thoughts as of recently, his own mortality comes into question more often than he’d like, and more to that, questions about his life, his mortal life. The one he so desperately tries to remember the past however-long-or-so.

Drawing blanks and leaving questions unanswered puts an immense unease in his thoughts. He hates it. He thinks it’s better to leave them be, or not listen to them at all. That way he doesn’t have to dread over the possibilities.

“Ah, I don’t mean to disturb your work. I apologize.” Eli bows slightly with an apologetic look written across his face.

Aesop stays quiet.

“I wanted to apologize, and also check on you after the incident. I apologize for not visiting you at the doctor's as soon as I could’ve. I was very worried about your well-being, but the doctor insisted that you should be left alone.”

“I asked her to. There’s no need to apologize.” Aesop replies, shortly.

Eli’s eyes stare down on the coffee, with a faded smile. A smile that barely curves on his face, barely visible to the eyes.

“Then could we talk after your shift? Or any time that’s convenient for you. There’s no pressure, I wouldn’t want to put you under a lot of distress.” He persists, yet nothing that causes any discomfort.

From the tone of his voice, Eli sounds determined. Aesop turns to face him. He doesn’t immediately reply and remains still, still almost imitating a statue.

“Not now…” His reply comes off as a quiet mumble. The expression on his face darkens before he walks away from him, picking up whatever filthy dishes in his line of sight.

Aesop has never felt so incredibly exhausted before. He doesn’t do much during his shift, so being this fatigued must mean something else. The weight of his worries and troubling thoughts come to wash over him, like vines attempting to drag him back into the abyss of his own mind. Emily advised him to continue practicing his breathing, focus on the present, and not lose himself too much in those feelings. However, it made him warier.

More aware of the way his body responds to his thoughts and those memories.

After the incident, he has spent restless nights just scribbling every single detail of the memory. Picking apart the memory feels like tinkering with a broken clock. You only have the vaguest shape of it, yet the basis of it is there, somehow. The shape of the room that he was in, the object his head was struck by, the assailant, everything. He so desperately grasps at those details and finds himself hanging by a thread. The answers he concluded aren’t the ones he’s looking for.

“Fuck!” The curses slip through his tongue constantly through those nights, an exchange for the frustration he felt bubbling in him.

The memory of the place is nothing that he could recognize. He knows that because from observing other guests who have witnessed photographs or have triggers of memory, most of them were able to recognize every detail. His inability to recognize the location says to him that he knows nothing.

The place was nothing but an abandoned room of some sort. Whoever assaulted him in the memory must not want others to discover what they’d done.

Aesop has made it through his life trapped in this limbo state with ease, unhinged by the concept of death nor witnessing some of the bitter goodbyes bid by some of the guests. The second that sense of calmness slowly slips away from the tip of his fingers, he panics. Similarly, to when he first came here. He was ready to embrace death if anything. Now? He's not sure. The more questions come into his head, the more he begins to doubt himself.

Moreover, the stranger. Eli Clark. Has he ever encountered that name before? It seems familiar, but as he picks through his thoughts, to no avail.

Eli Clark. He chants the name in his head, playing a game of mismatch in his mind to see if anything clicks.

"The photograph." Aesop's mind clears up abruptly. The initials on the photograph. What was it? He purges through various papers on his desk, scattering books all over, and letting some display all over the floor. He found it.

A&EC

The initials taunt at Aesop. He keeps staring at it with a blank look. The initials could mean anything, he thinks. However, he doesn’t want to erase the possibility entirely. After all, he reacted rather strongly to the stranger's identity reveal. That must mean something. The man in the photograph, the initials, and everything else. Stupid, stupid initials. The more he thinks about it, he feels so incredibly drained by everything.

As apprehensive as he is about the man, there is a possibility that he could also be someone to him. An acquaintance, maybe? How come he can’t remember it though? How can he not recall who Eli is? That part scares him. Just when he is beginning to remember, just as he finally got over those walls, then suddenly another wall appears before him. Sturdier and stronger than ever. He fears for the worst, but it is the only way of making progress with whatever he has now.

“I’m not sure what else to do, Miss Woods.”

“Just give him time, Mr. Clark. I’m pretty sure he’s just a bit distraught by what has happened.”

“Why are we having this discussion in my kitchen?”

Eli’s day starts with Emma approaching him covered in dirt with a heavy sack over her shoulder. “I’m delivering vegetables for the kitchen! Wanna come along?” She asked him, not sure why but he was intrigued enough to tag along. Somehow, the two of them ended up here on the floor with mouths full of cakes with the chef glaring down at them.

The hotel’s chef, Naib, glares at the two unexpected companies who’ve just been nibbling the cakes in the kitchen. A piercing glare. The two are seated on the floor with both of their legs crossed, going through the plate full of sweets in between them. Almost like two rodents caught red-handed. Emma quickly brushes the glare off with a wave and a simple chuckle.

“Oh, Naib. Don’t be too serious! We should help Mr. Clark. He’s having a bit of a crisis here!” Emma huffs, not even bothering to hide the crumbs around her lips.

“Emma, my patience is running thin. If you come in here to snatch yet another cake-“

“You’ll annihilate me? Burn my tongue? Oh, Mr. Subedar. You have such colourful ways of speaking of your affection! It’s adorable!” Emma smiles, innocently.

“You-“ Naib rolls his eyes, clenching his teeth slightly before letting out a deep sigh. “Fine, do whatever. Just don’t make a fucking mess or I’ll really come for you.”

“Aye aye, Captain!”

Both Emma and Eli give him a salute. The cook brushes it off with a simple ‘tch’. “Mr. Subedar is quite the character,” Eli says quietly before sneaking a bite of the very much stolen goods.

And quite the cook, he wanted to add but he’s too preoccupied on savoring the melting sweetness in his mouth.

“He certainly is! He can be quite crass; he doesn’t think a lot of things through but he’s a good person.” The gardener puts it simply while still earning another glare from the cook from across the kitchen. “I hear that!” His voice echoes, Emma brushes it off with a wave.

“So,” She continues after swallowing another bite. “Mr. Carl has been avoiding you, right?”

Eli nods, placing down his piece of the cake and brushing the crumbs off his hands. He rests his back against the wall, feeling the tingle of the cold surface send down his spine. “I want to apologize personally to him. I’m a little worried after what happened, especially considering it might have something to do with me.” But he’s not entirely sure of that.

“How can you be sure of that?”

“It’s just,” He pauses, struggling to find the right words. “The way his face just, fell. It was the second I mentioned my name and I just, I couldn’t.”

Eli shakes his head that’s hung low. Unconsciously, he pats his right shoulder. Both arms crossed over his chest, forming a shield from the discomfort he’s feeling. The sound of the hissing of the frying pan and bubbling heat of the pot echoes to their side of the room. It’s the guilt, he supposes. Seeing Aesop in such a state made me panicked, scared even. As if it had happened before. Perhaps, it was odd for him—a total stranger—to feel this amount of concern for someone he’s just met. But he can’t help it. He can’t possibly ignore something in him that says otherwise.

“It feels like I’ve experienced the same thing before. Seen someone in the same state as he did. Maybe that’s why I’m really panicking right now.” He laughs, devastated.

“A trigger to a memory,” Emma adds. “Witnessing something similar, whether it’d be hearing or seeing something, can trigger a memory. It has happened to some of our guests, so maybe it was that.”

“So, does that mean anyone could’ve done something and it’d trigger a memory in me because it feels familiar?”

“Yes… I think.” Even with that answer, it does not sit right with him. He keeps it to himself, however, so he just nods.

“This memory stuff can be a little hard to swallow. So, I wouldn’t punish myself too much for not getting it, really. I mean, heck. Who asks to be stuck in limbo at this fancy hotel, right?” Emma tries to joke, but it falls on just a slip of laughter.

But Eli continues anyway. “Why a hotel?”

“Beats me!” She raises her shoulders. “I’ve been asking the same thing since I got here. But I’ve learned to just go with the flow.” Her hands imitate that of an ocean wave.

“Better than nothing,” Naib comments.

“I wouldn’t be able to savor your lovely cooking then! That’s a sad thought.”

“Honestly, despite being a hotel, this world is so strange; I mean, I don’t even put the idea of miracles and fate past me at this point. Y’know, all that stuff about destiny, red strings,” Her hand gestures act like strings being tangled, scribbling it on the air, “I mean, I’ve heard so many stories about guests reunited with their loved ones and stuff here. It’s sweet but so sad the more you think about it.” And it’s something that sits with Eli for quite a while. Coincidences, and fate. All that stuff. He never doubts the concept of destiny. He believes it if anything, but that’s not to say the enigma that is the hotel doesn’t surprise him.

“Sorry, that came out of nowhere.”

“No need to apologize, that’s… actually a sentiment I believe in as well. Destiny, fate, and all that.” Eli smiles.

“I guess I’ll have to let destiny and time do its miracle work,” He adds, as a harmless joke. “I don’t think I can do anything besides just… wait,” He lets out a defeated sigh. “Not much I can really do.”

Emma nods slightly at his words before giving him a wide smile. “You did the right thing, Mr. Clark. He’ll talk to you, I’m sure of it. Just be patient.” She places her hand on top of Eli’s as reassurance and Eli appreciates the gesture.

“Thank you, Miss Woods. And please, just call me Eli. Mr. Clark sounds a little too formal for me.”

“Same goes to you! Emma, Em, whatever fits your cup of tea.” Emma says with a gentle tone. A contrast to the cold tile walls behind him, Eli feels comfortable. Suddenly, two plates full of chicken katsu with a side dish of mashed potato, shredded cabbage, and a couple of garnishes sprinkled on the side of the plate. Naib stands over the two with the usual scowl, but he scowls almost all the time. A more gentle scowl, so to speak.

“Eat up. Stop eating cake all the damn time.” He adds before walking away, now brewing something in the kettle.

“This looks delicious, Mr. Subedar! Thank you.” Eli admires the food on the plate before him.

“Naib,” He poured something that looks like leaves into the strain. Seems like tea. “Just call me Naib, it’s fine.”

“No sugar for me!” says Emma, before the cook even asks and sure enough, it earns a gritted teeth look from Naib. Now looking closely, Eli notices that Naib looks annoyed all the time. Regardless of whether Emma’s ready to make a quip against him.

“And you, Clark?”

“Me?”

“How do you like your tea?” Naib pours the hot water through the strain into the kettle.

“Plain,” Eli replies quickly. “I’ve had too much sugar and sweets, I don’t think I can afford to suffer from cavities.”

Naib’s face morphs into annoyance “What are you? 50? Live a little, lose some teeth while you’re at it. How much sugar?”

Of course, Eli quickly succumbs to it. Who can resist a little extra sweetness? Especially when you need it. He’ll wash away the worries about potential diabetes and toothache into the back of his mind. It’s the world of limbo, just how much does diet really matter anyway.

Before he’s able to pour the tea into the cups, the kitchen doors burst open.

“Ma’am, you’re not allowed to enter the kit-”

“Oh, boohoo! Just leave me be, will you? You won’t even let me in the bar and I’m a freaking barmaid. The irony!”

“You took a whole bottle, and this is your third one today.”

The woman squints at the man, “Your point?” Eli hears Naib muttering ‘my fucking kitchen’ under his breath. A familiar look of frustration painted across his face.

A woman with a face slightly flushed followed by a man who Eli doesn’t immediately recognize. She has shoulder-length brown hair, and a defining gray strand, dressed in a flowy white blouse that’s tucked in her knee-length dark brown pants. He’s seen her before around the restaurant and lounge, always holding a bottle in one hand. The heels of her boots click against the tiles of the kitchen floor. Slam! They all jolt, surprised when she sways then drops the upper half of her body on top of the counter. She… passed out?

Naib’s eyes glanced at the man, more like a glare. The man shrugs. “Hey, don’t look at me! She was trying to make her way to the bar, but Vera got angry that bottles are beginning to disappear. I had to lead her somewhere else.”

“And my kitchen is better, how ?”

“I don't know, maybe she’ll mistakenly drink one of those olive oil stuff and stop drinking.”

“Oh, and giving her food poisoning’s your brilliant idea?” The sarcastic tone seethes through Naib’s teeth.

“I did not think that through.”

“Yeah? No kidding!”

“Now, now, you two. Not in front of the guests.” Emma stands up from the floor, patting off the dust off her pants. “I’ll be taking Ms. Bourbon to her room! No, no, Norton, you take a break and have a sip of Naib’s tea. I’ll be fine! I'll be back to finish the lovely lunch you've just made. So, I better not catch anyone snatching anything off that plate.” She waves carelessly at Norton. Before leaving, Emma waves at Eli before leaving the kitchen with a very drunken guest wrapped around her. The kitchen becomes quiet, besides the usual humming coming from the stove or the bubbling sound of water boiling. An awkward silence, really.

“Well, that was quite the show.” Eli tries to cut through the silence with a soft chuckle. He stands up to grab the cup Naib has prepared, but he can sense a heavy gaze on his every move. Norton’s observing him. He’s unsure how, but he feels a presence oozing from him. One that he wouldn’t really say very human-like. Similarly, to Vera, but a little different. With more edge, and gloom perhaps? He’s not sure how to describe it. It’s peculiar really to be able to meet others that aren’t humans, yet they look so similar.

“Thank you for the tea, Mr. Subedar. I have faith that you haven’t put any olive oil in this one!” He tries to jest, which works considering how Naib reacts to it. “Keep talking, Mr. Clark. I’m gonna make you do all the dirty kitchen work if you’re not outta here yet.” Naib sneers which makes Eli laugh a little. At the very least, the air’s a little warmer now yet he still feels tense by the other presence in the room.

Norton leaves the room quietly, glancing at Eli for a moment before slipping through the doors in silence. Eli’s hands are wrapped around the warm surface of the cup. The deep, dark color of the tea barely reflects any light. If he lets himself stare too long, he could feel himself drown in it. The air of mystery lingers still, now with even more questions in this head than before. This hotel is filled to the brim with surprises and mysteries that have yet been solved. Not to mention, mysteries that belong to Eli himself. His own memories, his on past.

He takes a sip of the tea, hoping to dilute these thoughts and break them down into pieces. It is sweet. The taste seeps itself onto Eli’s tongue. The sweetness comes as an after effect. But with a mind filled with many thoughts, the sweetness fades quicker than he realizes.

[we-justhere]

Oops pt. 2 but not like you’re thinking

Before I get into this, I just want to make it clear that I am very bad at commitment. I’m not good at doing things every day, either because I forget to or lose motivation, and almost as soon as I promised to post things I fell into a bout of ‘sadness’, no further details needed. I have requests that I will fill, you have been heard, but until then. 

I did a rp with @the-elusive-libbin and she gave me permission to post it. Granted there’s demand there might be a second part, but I’m posting this now because it’s starvation and the second half would be stuffing. I don’t want to subject you to it if that’s not what you’re here for, I understand. This is @the-elusive-libbin‘s own self-insert and Jakurai Jinguji of  Hypnosis Mic: Division Rap Battle. Let me know if you enjoy it. 

~~~~~

Exhaustion and fatigue was something Jakurai was sort of used to. He had a high stress job that squeezed the energy out of him throughout the day, and often he would be able to be just fine until he got home and he would instantly collapse after getting at least a few mouthfuls of food into his belly. But that was all granted things went sort of well.

Everything needed his attention today, and emergency after emergency forced him to go in and out of rooms without being able to even think between moments. He lost track of time and didn't exactly desire to check, but before he knew it he was stopped and told to take his lunch.

He probably did need to eat. He definitely needed to eat, but by then he was already full of adrenaline and had patients to take care of. He brushed off his breaks and his lunches and kept working, not yet feeling any sort of hunger or exhaustion. He wasn't worried about it yet.

He actually didn't have to worry about it for a long time and his body was patient enough to keep him going until his last patient. All of a sudden his body started slowing down and it took that much more effort to keep his eyes open and stay awake. He fought with his body on it for as long as he could until he was free to go, at which point he went right to his desk and fell asleep.

It wasn't as much of a 'I'm going to take a nap', it was more of a 'I'm going to collapse in the middle of work if I don't sleep'. Either way, he was completely blacked out.

Lily started down the miraculously clean corridor towards the doctor’s office. Sterile white walls surrounded her as she walked, a maze of monotonous barriers that all seemed to connect to everywhere and nowhere all at the same time. Lily knew her route and hardly even had to think about where she was going or which direction to take, she had grown accustomed to it all through work.

The doctor was her higher up, that was all too true and she worked mostly for him as his nurse and organizer, in fact it was rare that she ever worked for another doctor within the practice; but today was different. She had hardly seen the long haired man with his ever present bags under his eyes and his white coat today aside from one point mid day where she had reminded him of his break, during a fleeting moment where the two passed by one another in a corridor. It had been way too busy to breathe, let alone chat and so the nurse thought it best to save discussing future plans with the older male until after the rush. The rush passed and the doctor was still MIA.

Lily approached a large, grey door that sported a miniature, frosted glass window and a small, golden nameplate. ‘Jinguji Jakurai Sensei.’ It stated in bold, black lettering. Perhaps the nurse had thought it best to check the doctor’s office last? In theory it should have been the first place she concluded to find the target. With a sigh at her own thought process, she turned the handle and entered the room What she saw left her slightly in awe. The doctor was sat at his desk, seemingly passed out, his long hair draped across the surface as his folded arms cradled his sleeping head. This was the first time the nurse had ever seen the doctor in this state. At first she became concerned that he may actually be dead but the soft rise and fall of his back as he breathed disregarded that notion.

The sound of the door stirred the doctor, forcing a quiet groan of unwillingness out of him. He hated the idea of moving, of waking up after sleeping for what only felt like a few seconds. His body was drained,, exhausted after not even finishing a full day. It was rather disconcerting.

His arms were suddenly comforting here, but once he saw who was in his office that comfort melted away into slight embarrassment. "Excuse me." He murmured as he straightened himself out, brushing out his uniform. "Our break.. is it over so soon? I only meant to be a few minutes." He combed his hand through his hair. "I'll be right out with you. I must have lost track of time."

“It’s only me.” Lily smiled, clipboard clutched close to her chest as she listened to his words carefully. Seeing him in a sleeping state like that was so out of character, so unusual, so....adorable! She wished just for a moment that he would fall back asleep. She shook the thoughts from her mind, quite literally and made herself dizzy in the process. “Hmm, sensei....you were gone for quite a while. You uhh, how do I put this? You fell asleep for longer than you may have thought. Your shift is over...you slept through.” She touched his shoulder gently with the softest smile she could muster. “You were so exhausted, I think your body may have started working against you there.”

His rest felt so short.. had he really slept that long? He glanced at his clock and felt his heart sink when it was confirmed before his very eyes. "Damn." Of course he slept through the rest of his shift. He held his hand to his forehead, cursing the time and his own body. It was embarrassing, being that reckless on the job when there very well could have been something serious that he should have been present for. Not that he seemed to mind that sort of thing, as his own stomach was one of the very things that he neglected most when it needed his attention. 

 "I didn't miss anything, did I?" He continued, meeting Lily's eyes. "I wish you would have woken me up sooner."

"You didn't, all of our patients remained stable after you left. We were busy but we managed to keep a hold of it all. Everything's okay. I'd have woken you up but I had no idea you were sleeping in here." She gestured to the office. "My apologies sensei, had I known where you were I'd have come to get you sooner"

It helped to know that he, at the very least, wasn't absent for something serious. He couldn't even imagine how embarrassed he would be if they needed him and he wasn't there because he was napping in his office. He would have to make it a note to force himself to sleep better at home, not that the damage hadn't already been done. "I'm glad they're doing better. Our patients, I mean." He started to trail off a bit as a growl tore through his stomach, stealing his thoughts away. He cringed at the feeling and clutched at his stomach. "Ah.. excuse me.."

Lily stared at the doctor’s stomach for a moment and then blinked. Once. Twice. Was- was that what she thought it was? The nurse’s thoughts were confirmed when she saw a hand grip tightly at the doctor’s abdomen. “W-was that your-?” A light blush rose to her cheeks as she accidentally cut herself off .

"We had an emergency during what was supposed to be my lunch." His arm didn't leave his stomach, partly out of shame and partly because the pain was somewhat lessened with the pressure. It was embarrassment after embarrassment, and Jakurai couldn't tolerate another noise like that. "I suppose that might have been a part of the problem. I didn't exactly have enough time to.." He cleared his throat and spoke in a more hushed tone. "You understand."

The nurse could feel her heart pounding in her chest and her face felt warm even without physically touching it. It took a minute or so before she could speak again, secondhand embarrassment washing over her. She had never in her life heard the doc's stomach and now she had, while they were alone....and it was fairly loud. "Y-you haven't eaten then?" A question that was more rhetorical than not.

The pause was just as excruciating for him, if not more. He was very grateful when she started talking. "Not since.." Well, his breakfast wasn't exactly outstanding either. He usually just ate whatever was quick enough to bring along with him if he even felt breakfast was necessary, as he was normally fine until lunch. Maybe 'fine' wasn't the best word, but rather he didn't feel weak or queasy until then. "No, I guess I haven't."

"Your poor tummy!" She almost cooed, accidentally using a less scientific term for stomach in the process. Perhaps she meant to keep that part in her mind bit regardless she blurted it into the open and now she felt even more warm in the face.

"It doesn't usually give me trouble." He loosened his grip over his stomach, choosing to ignore how cheery she seemed to be about the situation~ "I suppose I don't really allow it to give me trouble. We don't exactly have time to be focusing on ourselves." He was more or less speaking for himself. Obviously. "I'll be fine."

"You'll be fine when you get sustenance sensei. Your stomach is empty and you need fuel." She reached out and tentatively placed her palm against his midsection over his clothes, her hand shaking nervously as she did.

He didn't make any sort of effort to stop her. She already heard it, he didn't feel the need to pretend it didn't happen. He did get a slight tingling sensation under her palm, but that was greatly overshadowed by the dull, nigh constant rumbles that he had been trying so hard to conceal. He was sure she could feel them, but he couldn't tell how she felt about it. "I appreciate the concern."

It was then that without thinking Lily began to rub at the abdomen in front of her, setting the clipboard she held with her other hand down on the doctor's desk. She could feel harsh vibrations from palm to fingertip as his stomach clenched and spasmed under her hand. Deep yet fairly quiet grumbling came at intervals, sounding through the layers of muscle, skin and organ. Up and down, gently adding pressure as she rubbed his concave stomach, her face turning a colour that she presumed to be nothing short of crimson. The nurse could not meet his eyes and therefore could not tell his expression. The nerves were too real.

That certainly answered his question. He initially assumed it was a mistake, that her hand had slipped or something, but that proved to be absolutely ridiculous within the very same instant. He felt his breath leave his lungs once he realized what she was doing, but the more she massaged his clenched muscle the better it started to feel. Her hands felt soft and comforting even if they were above his clothes, and it really did feel like she was suppressing painful hunger pangs and making them more bearable. If not for her hot blush, the doctor would have no insight on how she was feeling or how nervous she was.

 He gently took her hands into his, temporarily pausing the massage. "I don't understand where this is coming from. You have to tell me."

"I-I just-" she stammered. He was actually HOLDING her hands. Both of them. Not just one, but both! She would have flushed more if she could. "I j-just thought if I massaged your stomach it would ease the p-pain. I meant no I'll will"

"It did ease the pain." He started to let go of her hands when he saw how quickly she fell apart. "It just seemed so sudden. You're always so nervous around me." It was such a confident move. Seemed so out of place for someone so timid, especially one that was proving his point with that powerful blush. "I really didn't mind it."

"w-well I..." she hid her face in her hands and said nothing more. What if he thought she was weird now? What if he became wary around her? 

  "I didn't mean to embarrass you." He stopped himself from touching her hands again. "I just needed to ask. I'm sorry if I.. spoiled it for you." Whatever 'it' happened to be. He didn't think of it as a pleasure thing and really did think she was doing it to help him feel better. It was a service, more like~ "It felt nice."

Lily peeped through the fingers on her one hand and gulped nervously. Was he actually smiling softly back at her? Her heart skipped a beat and she removed both hands from her face. "W-would you like me to continue?" She fidgeted on the spot.

The massages to help with the pain ironically kept him from going home and properly eating. The irony wasn't lost on him. This was the better option though-One where he got a free massage after a long day from someone that could hardly be around him without nearly combusting before this. "I wouldn't say no to it." He agreed, a slight purr evident in his voice. "Though I imagine it will get worse no matter how much you take care of it."

“T-then...” Lily tucked her hair behind one ear and knelt down on the floor next to the doctor. She placed her hand back onto his empty tummy and began to massage once again. “Then I’ll continue a while longer.”

His cheeks reddened as she knelt next to him. He didn't get this sort of attention a lot, really ever, and especially not from her. He didn't think she was even capable of doing this. He felt like he should talk, or say something at least, but all he could really think about was her hands. "Have you thought about doing this before?"

She flinched. “What? D-do you mean massaging your belly?” She immediately flushed and ducked her head as she realized what she had said. 

"Y..yes." It was strange to go from how they usually talked to each other to how they were talking now. His hand twitched, a visible effort he made to stop himself from covering his stomach as a noisy rumble sounded off beneath his shirt. It would take some time to get used to hearing that. "..You don't have to answer that."

Lily twinged as the doctor’s stomach groaned beneath her hand and was surprised at the little noise he gave off himself “Answer your question or your stomach?” 

"The question." His face flushed at her statement. "I assumed that this had to come from somewhere. That you wouldn't have done this for no reason." He looked at her hand rather than her face. "I'm looking too far into it."

“M-maybe you are.....” she trailed off, letting her words linger in the air for a while. She massaged what she thought was a knot and earned a deep roar from the belly in return. Changing the subject seemed to be a good option so lily took it. “You sound so empty.”

The roar was extra painful for him, making it impossible to stop a grunt. It was bittersweet, both the pain of such deep growls with the pleasure of the massage, and he couldn't agree more with her. "I'm sure I've gone this long without eating before. I can't remember it ever hurting this much." That didn't really mean an awful lot. "I guess I stuff it when I get home on days like this before I give it the chance to hurt."

The nurse’s eyes widened. “Stuff...” it came across as a question though it was never meant to be. Her eyes met his finally as they sparkled hopefully.

"Not intentionally." He dragged his fingers through his hair, taking her question as concern or judgment. "I just try to shut it up before it gets started. I don't mean to gorge or anything. I stop before it gets to be too much. I promise." His mood shifted when he saw that glittering in her eyes. There wasn't any sort of judging to be seen on her face. "I really do try not to eat too much. Even when I'm hungry." 

“I see~” she smiled, her grin showing just how happy in the moment she actually was. “But you have been stuffed before? Full of food.” She knew talking about food could possibly upset his stomach into complaining and cramping up but in Lily’s eyes that was a bonus. Regardless of embarrassment, she was finding a way to push through and talk about things she really wanted to talk about. Things she truly desired.

"I don't think I've ever needed to." He had accidentally overeaten maybe once, but he never let himself indulge. He was tired when he got home, lunch was his main meal and dinner was what he could get down before he fell asleep. Stuffing himself.. didn't seem so bad right now. It actually sounded nice, and thinking about it made his hunger feel that much more dramatic. "Maybe I will tonight.. since I've already slept plenty."

Lily fidgeted. She remembered how Hifumi tended to cook for the doctor on occasion to save time and an idea struck, sticking to her mind like tape to paper. “I....I could cook for you sensei...I-If you’re not busy.” She rambled, her face flushing. “I mean you don’t have to, it’s not weird like a date or anything....!!!Date?!? No I didn’t mean that, well I did, it’s just that you’re hungry and I have food...I mean I can make food....I’m going to stop talking now.”

Her scrambling was sort of charming. This was the Lily that he had come to know. He had somewhat expected an offer after her line of questioning, though he had to admit he didn't know what the offer was going to be, exactly. Free food was always a pleasure regardless. "I don't know how much energy I'd have to cook when I got home anyway. If it's not too much of a bother, of course, I'd love to eat with you. Ah, please don't feel pressured to feed me. I know it seems pretty bad, but I assure you I know how to feed myself.”

Lily paused, her face turning red. She stood and looked around the doctor’s chin area, again avoiding eye contact. “T-then....w-would you like to come to my house for a homemade meal? I’ll t-try to keep the portion size as accurate as possible...”

He wasn't sure what she meant by 'accurate', but he would trust her. They were both trained to take care of people, who would know better than her? Homemade sounded good anyway, no matter what it was she planned to cook. He supposed people enjoyed cooking for him, that he wouldn't have to cook for himself with all of this pampering.  "That sounds nice. I wouldn't mind the company, either."

~~~~

That’s all I have for you. It’s pretty long, sorry about that. Maybe.