#ill be over this tomorrow sorry again thank you to the people in my inbox who were nice to me :(( sorry that happened

[sappymix1]

can we all just pretend that didn't happen

[elysianslove]

ay yo? lmao haiiiii any chance we can get some haikyuu boys and nicknames they'd call their s/o? a lil deprived of kageyama, so if possible can you pls include him?? i hope you're doing well :)

omg wait i remember seeing this in my inbox and planning on answering it but i ,,, i forgot :( im sorry :( but here it is lovely <3 

HAIKYUU BOYS AND NICKNAMES 

ANGEL ! — 

akaashi; out of all his nicknames for you, this is his favorite!! he just thinks it’s very fitting for you, because you’re nothing short of ethereal for him. loves to say it when he’s first greeting you or as he kisses you gn or!!! when he says thank you :) 

osamu; it slips sometimes with him!! not his go-to but it’s very familiar on his tongue when it comes to you, and that’s very endearing :,) just slips casually when he’s asking you a question like, “angel, do we need milk?”  

daichi; omg he usually adds to it and it ends up being some cheesy stuff like “angel-face” and it makes you all flustered because wtf man :( and he always says it while laughing teasingly too ugh :( 

suna; suna has the cheesiest nicknames for you and you cannot convince me otherwise, and you can never tell if it’s genuine or ironic but,,, it doesn’t matter. he sounds so sweet calling you “angel” so whatever :) 

aran; this man. this man. he says it cause he knows it has you weak. he says it so lovingly, so sweetly, so casually, so suave and relaxed and his voice is so smooth and deep. who wouldn’t be swooning over him??? 

aone; AONE AONE PLS AONE PLEASE. he’d just think it’s such a sweet and kind and soft nickname and he likes the way it sounds when it’s whispered and he thinks nothing is more perfect than nicknaming you angel and he says it all the time like “ok, angel,” and “see you tomorrow, angel,” and, “love you, angel,” and it’s so quiet but so sweet hwbwjsjd 

oikawa; he’s about to be in 90% of these cause he’ll be calling you anything but your name. is it because he wants to be annoying and to get on your nerves? or is it because he genuinely means it? the world will never know. you’re not even sure he himself does. 

DOLL ! — 

matsukawa; are you kidding me this is his. it’s HIS. he sounds so hot saying it and he looks so hot saying it and he’s so charming and it’s so like easy on his tongue. and he has a slight drawl to it too and he always says it with this aura of relaxation and ease it’s so hot. he just. he loves it. he loves you. you love it. the world is a better place. 

atsumu; he thinks he’s way cooler than he is when he says it. you suppose he is pretty hot when he calls you doll but you’re not gonna tell him that!!! it’s not his go-to but you can catch it slipping off his tongue every once in a while. 

kuroo; yesyesyes he loves it. only ever says it when he’s so up close and personal with you like cups your cheeks and hovers his lips against yours like, “heya, doll,” and he’s just so handsome. ugh. 

kageyama; at the start of your relationship, kageyama called you by your name and nothing else!! but then he had like this talk w someone and they asked him what he calls you and he realized like,,, am i supposed to be doing it differently??? spent so long just searching up “cute nicknames for my s/o” and then he found “doll” and was like ok. i’ll try. and he tried!! and it stuck!! plus timeskip kags calling you doll??? that’s so hot bye

oikawa; this might be the only sincere nickname he has for you cause everything else is either to provoke you or to be cringy and annoying. and i’m sure you prefer doll over sweet cheeks and pumpkin pie and cinnamon whatever like you hungry tōru?? anyways he loves loves loves calling you doll cause he thinks it’s such a ? smooth and serene nickname? and his voice always gets deeper and quiet when he says it so!!!! 

SUNSHINE ! — 

hinata; please he is all the sunshine, but he always claims that you’re the true sun in his life. idk hinata would be so lame yet so cute like that :( and he always says it with such a big grin he’s so cute pls :( 

tendō; he’s so cute he’s so cute he’s so cute !!!!! your contact name is “my sunshine” definitely definitely definitely. he is literally in love with you and wants the whole world to know it. he loves screaming it out for everyone to hear but also absolutely adores like hugging you from behind and whispering in your ear as he kisses your cheek, “hey, sunshine.” :(((((

kenma; kenma doesn’t wanna think too hard on the whole nicknames thing but he also does kind of sort of really wants to call you something special and the first thing that pops in his head is sunshine. first time he used it you were Shocked but he was acting nonchalant about it (read: freaking out on the inside) and you were like “ok guess im sunshine now.” and you are his sunshine to this day. 

BABY/BABE ! — 

atsumu; it’s easy and it’s endearing!! he personally loves being called babe but he loves hugging you close to him after a long day and just sighing, “hey, baby,” like. he loves it okay. he thinks it’s perfect cause it fits and cause it’s like kinda traditional yk!! 

bokuto; he loves calling you baby cause he just cannot fathom that you’re his like he loves to always say it!!! and he loves how casual it is too like he can just call you that?? that’s so cool?? 

iwaizumi; again with the traditional but endearing and fitting. he doesn’t have to think too hard on it, but also it still means something and is more than just your name or a shorter version of it. also he sounds so hot calling you baby or babe idk i just know it. 

hanamaki; king of “babe! babe :( babeeee! babee. babe come on! babe! baby :(” you’re 99% sure he’s just provoking you at this point. like say babe one more time. but he actually loves resorting to baby, especially when you’re upset and he wants to be as endearing and kind as he can to you. 

daichi; very traditional too tbh. honestly when you two first started dating it was all he could think of saying without feeling awkward or feeling like he was trying too hard. later on when he started to feel more comfortable and more secure he got more creative. 

nishinoya; he has been waiting for this moment his whole life. the moment he can actually call someone his baby or babe. it’s his favorite and possibly only nickname (aside calling you pretty or gorgeous or handsome) and it will always be. 

MY LOVE ! —

akaashi; definitely definitely definitely calls you “my love” like i am 100% sure of this. akaashi is just so. he’s just so romantic but it’s also so unintentional? he says it because it feels natural and it feels right like you are his love after all, aren’t you? 

sakusa; he’s not one for elaborate nicknames honestly, and he feels like “my love” is the right balance of sweet, kind, fitting, and subtle and serene. it’s not doing too much but it’s also doing more than enough yk? also people that look like they would wear a trench coat/blazer and a turtleneck beneath also look like they would use the term “my love” hence sakusa and akaashi. 

tendō; i am telling you guys he is a simp. the loveliest simp ever. he says it so sweetly too like it genuinely makes your tummy twist and heart backflip when you hear him say it cause you can hear how genuine he is in his words oh my god. 

kita; he just !!! he is just husband material okay!!! he is so endearing and he says it in the softest most genuine voice ever and it’s literally his go to because yes you are his love you’re his entire world!!! he loves you!! he wants you to know it every time he calls out to you!! 

BUNNY/PUPPY ! —

bokuto; ARE YOU KIDDING ME. HE LOVES IT. he. loves it. he just finds it so cute and like. he loves the way he associates it with you now. prefers puppy over bunny but like. he loves both. he adores both. 

matsukawa; calls you bunny all the time. not more than doll, but it’s definitely so common. he won’t use it around others not because it’s embarrassing but more because he kinda wants it to be just a thing between the two of you, honestly. 

kenma; IT SLIPPED ONCE AND HE WAS LIKE. A DEER CAUGHT IN THE HEADLIGHTS. he calls you bunny!! sometimes, not always. when he wants something from you mostly. “pass me the water.” “no.” “bunny please :(” it works like magic every time. 

oikawa; oh my god can you imagine??? he loves it so much because one, he thinks it’s such a cute nickname props to whoever decided let’s use pets as literal pet names, but also two, he thinks nothing describes you or fits you better. you are just his bunny :( his puppy :( he loves you :( 

kageyama; timeskip kageyama calls you puppy. i have nothing more to say.

hinata; timeskip hinata calls you puppy. again, i shall say no more. 

suna; hello !!! he loves to call you bunny and/or puppy. the feel of satisfaction he gets when he calls you that like ,,, he feels like you’re properly his yk? yk.

KITTEN ! — 

kuroo; this one is for him and only him. 

LOVELY ! — (maybe sweetheart too) 

osamu; is there anything more beautiful than a tired osamu snuggling up to yoi and with a deep gravely voice saying, “missed you, lovely,” ? no there is not. it’s his favorite nickname for you, and he uses it all the time!! kisses your forehead as he leaves and tells you, “have a good day, lovely,” and comes back home and says, “hiya, lovely,” and tilts his head when you wanna talk to him about something like, “what’s up lovely?” cause you are his lovely, you’re his loveliest. 

sugawara; i have no other explanation other than i can picture it perfectly. he thinks it’s the best choice of a pet name he’s ever chosen and thought of. and he loves the smile on your face whenever he says it, he thinks it’s the sweetest thing ever <3 

BAE ! —

hanamaki; is it a joke? is it not? both. 

okay im sure i missed so many boys but i can’t think of any rn bc it’s like. hella late :( but i wanted to put something out for you guys!! point is, if i didnt mention a boy and you want to know, send me an ask!! and if i didn’t mention a nickname and you want to know that too? send me an ask well!! ill be happy to answer it <3 

love u all mwah <3 

[trivia-bangtan]

after (jjk) 002

masterlist

pairing: patient!oc x patient!jungkook

genre: friends to lovers au, kinda a hazel and gus trope, | lots of angst, fluff and suggestive themes

warning: nothing that bad. just the usual bluntness lol

authors note: aaaah so many of you are so supportive! thank you for following the story! i appreciate it! again, my inbox and asks are always open! so don’t be shy ☺️ [unedited and not proofread]

i spoke too soon. i could hear the footsteps behind me approach before stopping completely, probably five to six feet away.

“you look sad,” the voice pipes up behind me, causing me to jump and whip around. oh, it’s him. i rolled my eyes and flicked my cigarette, turning back to face forward.

“is that supposed to be some sort of lame joke?” i asked, raising the toxic stick to my lips and inhaling. i hear him chuckle as i release the smoke from mylungs.

“what’s so funny?” i ask, losing patience with the situation itself.

“the irony of this situation. the cancer kid asking the depressed girl sucking on cancer sticks if she’s sad,” he shrugs. i felt the guilt creep into my heart like an illness, causing me to throw the cigarette to the ground and crush it.

“sorry,” i murmur, folding my arms across my chest, the toe of my shoe kicking the ash around on the ground.

“why? you’re allowed to indulge in life’s pleasures while you can,” the guy shrugged.

“it’s not much of a pleasure if it kills i guess,” i scoff, looking around the parking lot that was becoming vacant quickly.

“anything in this life can kill you. so why should you stop living if you enjoy it,” he smiles, finally stepping next to me. i glanced over at him, his appearance still a surprise to me.

“i know what you’re thinking. how could a guy like me, so incredibly good looking, have a leech like illness that kills? well, even incredibly good looking people get sick,” he smiles, shoving his hands into his pants pockets.

“how do you do that? make everything seem like it’s no big deal?” i ask, no longer avoiding the burning question.

“well, look at it this way. people fear that tomorrow may never come, but it does. even if we live. even if we die. so why waste our time trying to avoid that life will continue to go on without us, when we can live now in a life where we still exist? where we can still watch the sun rise and fall or the wind blow or water fall? why deny ourselves of life when death is inevitable,” he smiles. i had wished i had his outlook on life. and now i felt truly ashamed standing next to a guy full of so much life when i’m practically trying to get rid of mine. i tried to make sense of his words, hoping to adapt the same mentality to my life. i hoped one day i could see the world in a way he did.

“i’m yn,” i say after some time, deciding to introduce myself to the interesting boy.

“fair warning, once i give you my name, don’t fall in love because i might die,” he chuckles, causing me to laugh at his insane dark humor. he sticks his hand out, offering it to me. i take it and shake his hand as he smiles at me.

“i’m jungkook,” he said, smiling at me.

“how did you know i was depressed?” i finally asked. i hoped yoongi hadn’t blabbed to him and told him anything. i don’t know why it mattered but i don't want everyone to know everything about me. the less the better.

“i looked like you not that long ago, partially because of the cancer, the other part the depression. the dull eyes, the short fuse. sound like anyone you know?” he teases, bumping his shoulder into mine, causing me to roll my eyes as i chuckled.

“if you say so,” i smiled, allowing my eyes to drift across the vacated parking lot. where was my mom? i know she knows what time i’m supposed to get out.

“you waiting on someone?” jungkook asks, noting how i hadn’t moved to try and leave.

“my mom was supposed to pick me up but i’m pretty sure she forgot. i wouldn’t be surprised,” i said, muttering the last part more to myself. my mother was pretty notorious for forgetting to pick up.

“well, how far do you live? i can walk you home if you want? i usually walk after the sessions,” jungkook smiled.

“it’s a bit of a hike so it’s fine. don’t worry about it,” i smile, knowing i was lying through my teeth. i lived probably 10 minutes by drive, 30 by walk. it was a bit of journey, but it was doable. but i still didn’t know jungkook and i definitely didn’t want him to know where i lived.

jungkook laughed, his smile as effervescent as the sun shining down on us.

“what’s so funny?” i asked, slightly off put by his teasing laughter.

“you’re a shit liar, you know that?” jungkook finally said after he finished laughing.

“what do you mean?” i asked. i know i didn’t have an emmy winning poker face, but i didn’t think it was that bad.

“if i tell you, you’ll stop. and i think your habits are pretty cute,” he shrugged. i felt my cheeks warm at his compliment, which threw me for a loop since i wasn’t the shy type. but he had this hold on me and it made me anxious.

“leave me alone,” i grumbled, turning my face away from him, making him laugh even more.

“can i at least wait with you? until your mom came?” jungkook offered.

“why are you so dead set on caring for me? you barely even know me,” i asked. my tone wasn’t the gentlest, but it bothered me how kind he was being for someone he barely knew.

“well my mom raised me to be a gentleman and you’ve piqued my interest,” he smiled, not showing any effect to my abrasive personality. jungkook baffled me to no extent. why he was the way he was, i’ll probably never understand, but i continued to feel like crap the more i treated him like he was out to get me.

i know i haven’t known him for very long, but he didn’t seem like the type to have ill intent. i mean, the guy had cancer, i’m sure he wasn’t too concerned with hurting people while he was literally dying. so i let him wait with me.

we ended up sitting on the curb, talking about life before who we currently were.

jungkook was a junior in college who eventually had to stop going because of the cancer. he was diagnosed when he was 14 and the doctors said he wouldn’t make it to 16. now he was 21, almost 22, taking online classes when he wasn’t cooped up in the hospital. he wanted to become a director or a producer, loving the camera through and through. jungkook knew namjoon through his eldest brother, seokjin, who happened to practically raise jungkook on his own. his parents worked overseas occasionally, but when they found out jungkook got sick, they had to move back to korea and decided to work closer to home, traveling on emergency basis only.

“so that’s my life. i would ask you about yours but you seem like the mystique type,” jungkook chuckles, making me chortle in response.

“i just choose not to share my life with people because i don’t want to hurt anyone i could leave behind,” i answered honestly, my eyes focused on my legs that were outstretched in front of me.

“but, then, how would anyone remember you?” jungkook asked, the first sign of sadness i had seen on his features finally creeping onto his face. it didn’t make sense why he would be saddened by this. unless…

“are you scared people won't remember you?” i asked, focusing on his features as he prepared to answer.

“doesn’t everyone want to be remembered?” he asked, dodging my question in the process.

“not me. i haven’t lived a life worth remembering,” i shrug. this seemed to further shock jungkook, which further confused me.

“this is the first time i’ve ever heard anyone say that. usually people live their lives to create stories that could be told long after they’re gone. isn’t that the whole purpose of life?” he says, too emotionally invested in the conversation. it intrigued me how passionate he could be about things.

“jungkook, you gotta understand.. the whole reason why i’m severely depressed and abnormally suicidal is because i see life as purposeless. i don’t see my future, hell, i don’t even see tomorrow happening for me! so when people ask what is life’s purpose, i can’t deny that there isn’t one. it’s just one long never ending road i want to get off of,” i heave, fully sitting upright as i spoke.

it took me a second, but i finally realized how close we were. jungkook was probably a mere couple of inches away and his eyes were wide and it was the first time since we’ve spoken that i couldn’t decipher the emotion behind his eyes.

suddenly a honk interrupted us and we both looked up while we pulled away. i spotted my mom casually making her way to the entrance of the building. we both stood up and watched her drive up. when she finally made her way over to us, parking, i turned to jungkook.

“did you want a ride home? we could drop you off,” i offered, feeling bad that he now had to walk home after waiting for me.

“nah, i have to meet someone somewhere else before i go home, but thank you,” he smiles. he walks with me to my mom’s car, even pulling the door open for me. i smile at him as i slide inside.

“thank you for waiting with her! you’re such a gentleman!” my mom coos, cheesing at jungkook.

“anytime mrs. yln! if you ever need me to give her a ride home, too, i’d be more than happy to,” jungkook smiles. i look up at him and glared, knowing he knew my mom wouldn’t refuse the offer.

“what a nice young man! thank you…?” she pauses, waiting for him to give her his name.

“jungkook. jeon jungkook,” he smiles.

“thank you jungkook! i will consider that! did you need a ride?” she smiles. i have never seen her smile this much. ever.

“i’m okay but thank you ma’am. you two drive safe. i’ll see you next week yn,” he smiles, shutting my door and waving us off. my mom forces me to wave back, and then we speed off.

“so? how was it?” she asked, still carrying a smile. it must be the effects of meeting jungkook cause i couldn’t seem to stop smiling either.

“it was fine,”i mumble. i could’ve been honest and told her that it wasn’t as bad as i assumed it would be, but i didn’t want to jinx it. i wanted to have hope, like jungkook, for the first time in life that something good could be happening.

[elliewritessometimes]

hi! i have Returned™ with a prompt from the lovely @notsomightymightytiger that has been sat in my inbox for well over two months oops im sorry-

the prompts relate to a hospital au and a sick/injury fic and i hope this is okay!!! love you kiera <3

tw: hospitals, injury, sickness it's all fairly minor though there's nothing at all graphic but do be careful take care lovelies

-

Eva Sanchez, in all her eleven year old glory, was more than used to hospitals. Sometimes, old people (in her mind, anyone over the age of 27) would be "so awfully sad" over the weeks she'd spent in a ward. But, to Eva, it was kind of normal. It wasn't exactly fun, but it was her life and she was fine with it.

Tonight, she couldn't sleep.

Earlier, this kid probably about Eva's age had come in, all bruised circles under eyes and rude words towards the nurses. Eva had listened over the gentle chatter of her own grandmother as the dark-haired girl had spoken in a voice filled with hurt to a tall couple who must have been her parents. If she strained her ears over the buzzing of a children's ward, she could hear the angry whispers between the adults and child, before this sour-mouthed, lonely patient had been left alone overnight, refusing comfort from Eva's favourite nurses. Eva felt like she should have been repulsed by this outwardly spiteful girl, but instead she was only curious, sneaking glances at her between curtains as though her eyes were magnetised to theirs.

She was pretty.

Eva liked their eyes.

For once, the ward was quiet. Eva's mother slept in a tiny put-up bed beside hers and once again her drowsy but not yet sleepy mind was focused on the angry patient from earlier. She wondered if their parents had come back or if she was still alone across the room.

Maybe she was a little delirious, or still suffering the after effects of her earlier treatment, but Eva found herself desperately struggling out from bed, pulling a blanket down with her and shuffling as quietly as possible across the ward to the other girl's bed. It was naughty and against all the rules, but Eva knew that if she wanted to sleep tonight, she had to know that the kid was okay.

She slipped past the curtain, trying to be as quiet as possible. Obviously, that didn't work.

"Hello."

Eva jumped, spinning around to see as her target leant up in bed, a hand steadying her head. "Hi, sorry, I- I just wanted to check- I mean, I don't even know you, but- I thought-"

She stopped rambling, taking a breath before beginning again. "I'm Eva."

"Kate." The girl - Kate - raised her eyebrows. "Who are you?"

"I'm on the ward too. I saw you arrive." Eva's feet were getting cold.

"Oh. You were watching me," said Kate, filterless.

"Yeah, your parents seemed kinda mad," Eva replied, also filterless. "I came over 'cause I was a bit worried."

"I'm fine."

Eva's heart dropped. She'd expected to feel a little more wanted. With a sigh, she turned to go back to bed. "Oh. Okay, then. Bye."

She tiptoed away, just closing Kate's curtain again when - "Wait! Eva, no, come back!" Kate's voice was a hushed shout. Eva spun around, narrowing her eyes until they continued. "I didn't mean go."

"Oh." Eva paused at the curtain, narrowing her eyes. Her head span a little, maybe from illness, maybe from the sudden change in attitude from Kate. "Okay."

"Sorry."

"Are you okay?"

Kate only nodded.

Still leaning a little on the curtain, Eva decided to change the subject, "Why were your parents so mean?"

Kate shrugged. "They got mad because I got a concussion. Apparently, it's my fault that this girl at gymnastics made me jump so I slipped and bashed my head in." They rubbed their head where they'd hit it, wincing a little before shaking it off to continue. "My brother says our parents just suck anyway. And he should know 'cause he's sixteen."

Eva nodded sagely; sixteen was almost an adult. She thought that she would know everything there was to know when she was sixteen.

"Anyway," Kate continued speaking. Apparently she was chatty once you got her going. Eva liked this about them - it was nice to not have to be the one doing all the talking. "Why are you here?"

"I'm sick." Eva didn't expand on it, overtaken with tiredness suddenly. "I'm here a lot."

Kate squinted suspiciously at her. "Oh. Fair enough." The squinting increased, enough so Eva could see the wheels turning in their head. Eva almost turned and left to prevent the inevitable questioning. Shockingly, it didn't come. Instead, Kate got slowly out of bed, padding across the floor to put a hand at Eva's elbow. "You're shaking."

Eva's brain short-circuited over Kate's acceptance and lack of inquiry. She opened her mouth to protest, before closing it again and taking a breath. She was, in fact, shivering. "You know when you've been awake for so long that every time you yawn, you start shaking?" She waited for Kate to nod. "That's me right now."

Kate smiled, slipping their hand into hers. "Come on." Together, they slowly made their way over to Kate's bed, slipping under the covers.

Eva yawned, prompting another roll of shivers, subconsciously tightening her grasp on Kate's hand as she did so. Trying not to put too much pressure on her sore head, Kate tilted their head towards the other girl. "This is weird."

"Yeah." Happily content that her worries from earlier were unfounded, Eva really wanted to go to sleep now. She fought to keep her eyes open, grinning when Kate giggled.

"You're so tired!" Kate obviously wasn't.

"Mhm."

"Don't go to sleep yet. You can't come over here, wake me up, get in my bed, and then go straight to sleep." She could hear them pout. "That's unfair." Eva hummed a vague response. "I'm gonna be here for all of tomorrow according to the doctor and you're here all the time, so tell me something that'll make it better."

Eva blinked open one eye. "Okay. Sure." She thought for a while. "I have these tiger toys called Giles and Corey. My tía got them for me when I first got sick to remind me to eat and drink enough." Closing her eye again, she gestured in the direction of her bed. "The ginger one is Giles, he reminds me to drink water in case I forget. The other one, the black one, is Corey-" She was cut off by a yawn.

Kate grinned sleepily. "That's so cool. I think you're cool."

"Thanks." Eva shoved her face deeper into the pillow to hide her smile. "You're cool too."

"What does Corey do?" Despite their head injury and earlier angry demeanor, Kate was surprisingly animated over these two cuddly toys. "Oooh! Does he have superpowers??? Can they fly?"

Eva laughed, "No... Corey just reminds me to eat my meals."

"Wow." Eva's yawn caught up to Kate. "You gotta show me them tomorrow." She closed her eyes along with Eva, still holding her hand under the duvet. "My parents are gonna see that I can have a concussion and still be fabulous."

"Hell yeah, you can." Shivering still, Eva shuffled closer. "We're gonna be the most fabulous friends ever."

[dannypuro]

Hi! In the last chapter and the 'Combeferre finds out that the idiots got their act together' bit you wrote recently, you mention that Combeferre picks Enjy up when hugging. First of all, that it adorable and I love it. Secondly, what was Enjy's reaction the first time that he did that? Also 'ferre repeatedly bullying bakers to make strawberry cakes for Enjy is perfect. Overall, something telling is awesome! Thank you so much for writing it!

(Hello! This is Something Telling verse (aka time-zapped, 1830s Enjolras, modern-era), and takes place somewhere between chapters 6 and 7. this ask has been sitting in my inbox for months, but i..... forgot that i had the draft sitting in my documents 😬. oops. anyways, thank you for sending it!!!!! here is the first Big Hug and best friends time. also.... exr pining, because it’s something telling and that’s the way it goes. but my asks are always open!!!! i accept all forms of questions and prompts!!!!!!)

“Combeferre’s coming back home tomorrow.”

Enjolras looks up from his book. He would not truly say that he had been reading it, per se, not since Grantaire returned from a morning of boxing with Bahorel in naught but a- a tank top, Enjolras believes he had called it, but the name of it is, in his opinion, much less significant than the way in which it clings to his back with lingering sweat, the way in which he can see the edge of his collarbone, the curve of his shoulders, the way-

Well. He had certainly been looking at his book. For the most part.

He clears his throat. “Pardon?” He manages.

Grantaire, thank the Lord, does not seem to notice his momentary… distraction. He sets his phone down. “Combeferre’s gonna be back from Morocco tomorrow. Joly says his flight comes in at four.”

Enjolras does what he can to parse that--even still, after weeks in this time, he cannot shake the semblance of strangeness, of unfamiliarity, that coats the words of everyone he meets. Even Grantaire, especially Grantaire, sounds, at times, as though he is speaking an unfamiliar tongue. (He wishes--God above, he wishes--to know it as he knows his own. To know Grantaire’s words, to know Grantaire, without the boundary of concentration required, without having to ask questions that must sound hopelessly stupid to everyone else in the world. To Grantaire. But-) “His… flight?” 

Granaire grimaces. Enjolras nearly wishes that he had not asked at all, aside from the fact that he does not understand. “Um. Okay. So.” He looks about himself, swears. Enjolras fights the urge to shrink in on himself, to tell Grantaire that it does not matter, to bury his nose back in his book. Only, then Grantaire sits down beside him upon the sofa, so. Perhaps he will not withdraw his question. “Um. Wait. Okay.” He draws in a breath. “Fuck.”

He flushes hot. “You need not explain if it is troublesome,” he mutters. 

Grantaire swears again. Enjolras fidgets with a loose thread on the hem of his shirt. “Um. So like. You know a boat?”

“A boat.” Surely, Grantaire is not asking if-

He nods, eyes wide and genuine and- and fucking caring. His shoulders are rather close to Enjolras’s own. He is still wearing no sleeves. 

He forces himself to breathe in, then out. “Yes,” he says, “I know of boats.” He does what he can to keep the ice from his tone--he cannot say for sure whether or not he succeeds.

Grantaire winces. “Oh. Yeah. Fuck. Obviously, sorry, I- Anyways, it’s like a boat that’s in the sky?”

Enjolras clears his throat. “You have lost me,” he admits. He does not feel guilty for doing so, for he is fairly certain that the fault does not fall upon him, in this rare instance. 

He scrubs a hand over his face. “Okay. Um. Picture, like, a giant metal tube?” That means nothing. Enjolras nods, anyways. “RIght, and then imagine that, like, a bunch of people go into it and then it flies to somewhere else in the world really, really fast. And then you get out of the tube.”

And-

Ah. Of course. Grantaire is making some sort of joke, some mockery at Enjolras’s expense. He scowls. “I do not appreciate it when you make light of the fact that I do not understand your time, Grantaire. You know this.”

Grantaire sputters. He looks- not guilty, not truly, but regretful enough that Enjolras cannot help but to regret a bit of the harshness in his words. 

He sighs. “It is not- It is fine. Only- I haven’t really any other way to learn these things, but to ask you, and so I do not-” He shakes his head. “It is fine.”

“No!” It is sudden, just a mite louder than Enjolras had been expecting--he startles, despite his efforts. Grantaire curses, then curses again, but softer, and then says, “Enj, no, I wouldn’t, I’m not, just-” he fumbles for his phone, prods at it for a few moments, then holds it out to Enjolras. “I wouldn’t,” he says, again.

Enjolras squints down at the phone. The glass is illuminated, showing- Well, it does seem to be a large tube, as Grantaire had said, but he still does not-

The vessel in the video lifts off of the ground. He turns to Grantaire with a start. “There- There are people within?”

He nods. “It’s a plane. An airplane. Lots of people take them.”

Enjolras feels rather as though he is going to be ill. He cannot tear his eyes from the phone. “And Combeferre shall be… inside of one? As it flies?” His hands have taken to shaking; try as he might, he cannot seem to still them. He hands the phone back to Grantaire, instead, presses his palms to the cushions of the sofa. 

Grantaire nods again, and keeps talking, but Enjolras cannot- he cannot quite manage to pay mind to what he says, for-

Oh, but he does not fancy that idea at all, of a man being- being propelled through the air, as such. Particularly if the man in question is Combeferre, for Enjolras has only just met him, has only just managed to befriend him, and Combeferre is terribly kind and frightfully intelligent and funny in a way that makes Courfeyrac groan but that Enjolras quite likes, actually, and-

“Enjolras?”

“I-” his voice cracks; he tries again. “I feel I must voice my concern.”

Grantaire pauses, frowns. Enjolras feels somewhat as though he has said something foolish--but then, he often feels such, and this is too important for him to rescind, even if Grantaire does think him a fool, and- “Because of the plane?”

He nods. “I only think that-” he swallows, starts again. “It only seems as though it would be rather- rather hazardous, would it not be simpler for him to travel by ship? Surely- Surely there is much less risk of-” he breaks off, manages a jerky shrug.

There is a pause.

“Oh,” Grantaire says, soft.

He shrugs again, though he is fairly certain that it is not particularly convincing.

Grantaire is looking at him… oddly. Something squirms beneath his skin. “I mean- Enjolras, hey, he’ll be okay,” he says, but-

“You cannot know that,” Enjolras snaps, and he regrets it, as soon as he has, but he cannot seem to make himself stop, just yet, either. “I was not aware that you were an expert in- in aired plains.”

Annoyingly, relievingly, predictably, Grantaire does not even flinch, he just looks a little sadder. Damn it all. (He also presses a little closer, his arm bared against Enjolras’s own, damn it, damn it.) “People fly all the time,” he reasons.

“Foolish people,” he spits out. “Fools and- and geese, only, would elect to do such a thing.” He is being ridiculous, he knows it, but oh, he does not like this one bit, not at all. “Men are not pigeons.”

“Men aren’t fish, either,” Grantaire jostles him, gently. Enjolras fights the urge to lean into it. “We still have boats, though, dude. Continual progress, and all that?”

“And yet, if a boat sinks, its passengers do not find themselves plummeting to the earth, dude.”

Grantaire snorts a laugh.

“I do not find it humorous, Grantaire!” 

“Sorry.” Grantaire draws in a breath, scrubs a hand over his face. “Sorry, yeah, I know. I’m sorry.”

He huffs.

Grantaire hesitates, and then settles an arm about his shoulders. As though Enjolras would ever deny him that--as though he could ever quell that selfish, poorly-hidden bit inside of him that relishes in the warmth, the closeness, the impropriety of the act. “Want me to call him?” he offers, and again, Enjolras is selfish, and he nearly-

Nearly agrees, nearly jumps on the offer like he knows he shouldn’t, for he- he misses Combeferre, and he does not like the idea of him hurtling about through the sky, and yet-

“No,” he says, “You needn’t.” He swallows. “You needn’t bother Combeferre, when he is surely quite busy with his family. I would not wish to impose.” This is the polite thing to do, he reassures himself, Combeferre will be fine, and simply because he is one of Enjolras’s dearest friends does not mean that he does, or ought, hold similar ground in Combeferre’s heart, and it is fine.

It is fine.

Grantaire looks… sad, almost; it makes something ache deep beneath Enjolras’s ribs. “Enjolras-” he begins-

“It is fine.”

“Enj-”

Enjolras opens his book rather pointedly. Grantaire stops talking, but he doesn’t- he doesn’t actually remove his arm from Enjolras’s shoulders. 

And.

Well.

Enjolras certainly shan’t be the one to remind him that it isn’t quite proper.

.

Enjolras is poor company the following morning, he is aware of this. 

Being aware of it does not, however, quite mean that he is able to bring himself to do anything to correct his comportement. Rather, he leans his cheek upon his hand and picks at a whorl in the tabletop and does what he can not to flinch at the sound of a truck being unloaded outside the window, at the spray of grapeshot which fits so seamlessly into each echo that he cannot quite manage to convince himself that it is not real. (It was real, is real, in a way, but he cannot- he cannot think on that, not now, not when he already has so much to think on.)

Grantaire-

Grantaire is speaking to him, he realizes, from the kitchen, but he does not notice it until it is too late, until he can catch no more than “-up to you, really,” and then, because Enjolras has taken too long to speak, taken too long to parse what he would even be talking about, “Enjolras?” He pokes his head out of the doorway. (He is sleep-rumpled, soft, concerned.)

Damn it, damn it.

He clears his throat. “I apologize,” he manages. “I’m afraid that I was not quite listening.”

At times, he wishes- he wishes that Grantaire would just grow tired of him, of his horrid behavior, instead of being so endlessly kind; that, at least, Enjolras would know what to do with. (At times, Enjolras is so afraid that it will happen that he thinks he would give anything not to ever think of it again.) As it is, Grantaire frowns. “I just- I just wanted to know what you want for breakfast, I don’t- Enj, are you okay?”

Oh. He must look rather poorly. He had not, after all, gotten much sleep at all the night before; he supposes that he had been hoping that it would not show on his face. (It is a vain thought, as well, which is vaguely infuriating. Before he met Grantaire, he so rarely thought about things so inconsequential as exhaustion.) “You may cook what you choose. It matters not.”

Grantaire crosses his arms. His shirt is very thin. 

Enjolras presses his wrists to the table to stop his hands from shaking as he glares back. It nearly works.

Grantaire, infuriatingly, says nothing.

He grits his teeth, then sighs. “I slept poorly. This is all.”

Grantaire pauses, at that. Enjolras takes a moment to wonder as to whether he has had any coffee, this morning--likely not. He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it. “This is about Combeferre,” he says, at last, once he has collected himself.

Damn it.

Enjolras should have elected to become enamored by somebody who is less perceptive. 

Not that-

Not that he is enamored, of course. 

He forces a quiet laugh, hopes that it is convincing enough to draw the furrow from Grantaire’s brow. It is not. “I- I am being foolish,” he admits, eventually. “As you said, Combeferre will be fine.” It does not sound particularly convincing, even from his own mouth. Especially from his own mouth. Part of him wishes that Grantaire would say it again, instead.

His hands are still shaking. Perhaps, he finds himself thinking, they will carry on this way forever; it is difficult to imagine that he could ever fire a rifle straight, anymore.

No matter.

Grantaire makes an odd noise at the back of his throat. 

“It is fine,” Enjolras reminds him, for if he does not stop looking so very wretched Enjolras may- not cry, likely, but- but it stings, in any case. “I simply. Well. Combeferre is a good man, and I- Well. Ah. You see, he- He has told me that I am his friend, and I haven’t terribly many friends, aside from you, and I know that you trust these- these aired plains, but I cannot seem to bring myself to do so, and so I- I am simply rather anxious. It is nothing serious.” (Enjolras thinks of a young man, a boy, far younger than Combeferre, at his feet with his jaw shot off and his hand wrapped like a vise around his ankle, of blood soaking into the seams of his boots, of the spray of grapeshot against brick and against bone, and-) 

Grantaire looks, if anything, more distressed than before. Heavens, but Enjolras is poor at this. “I should call Combeferre,” he says, resolutely. He fumbles for his phone. “Yeah, I should-”

“I would not have you do so.” It comes out just on the side of too sharp, but Grantaire does not startle, he simply winces, as though pained. “There is no need to disturb him by imposing, as such. So kindly do not.”

He returns his phone to his pocket. “Okay. Um.” He does not return to the kitchen; rather, he continues to linger, uncertain in a way in which Enjolras is not accustomed to seeing him. “Do you want anything for breakfast? Like, anything specific?”

And, well, in the spirit of absolute frankness, Enjolras does not--he is not particularly hungry at all, but-

But he is beginning to get to know Grantaire a little better, now, and he is beginning to guess that cookery means a bit more to him than it does to most others, and perhaps, perhaps, this is something that he needs to be able to do for Enjolras, right now.

Enjolras may be selfish, may be too cruel in ways that he cannot avoid, but he can give Grantaire this. He thinks on it, but he does not truly- 

Ah.

Well, perhaps- Perhaps he is not completely without cravings. “Have we any more of the lamb sausage which you purchased at the market the other day?” he hazards.

Grantaire beams. (Enjolras’s heart flutters like a small, helpless bird.) “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, man, totally.”

He returns to the kitchen to make Enjolras breakfast. Enjolras tries very, very hard not to think of the way in which the soft, strong set to Combeferre’s jaw so resembles that of the boy whose hand he still feels around his ankle, before it got shot off. It nearly works.

.

It is not until mid-afternoon that he- that he truly cannot stand it, cannot calm his heart where it hammers out a stuttering rhythm in his chest; cannot still his hands from shaking, even for a moment; cannot bring himself to read, to write, to sit calmly; cannot manage to drive his mind from thoughts of fire and of life lost and of the sharp spray of grapeshot and of horrible, ridiculous contraptions plummeting to the earth, and-

“I would have you call Combeferre now, I believe,” he blurts out, when Grantaire has looked up from his phone to note him standing in the doorway of the parlor. “I- I believe that I- I cannot quite- I-” He forces himself to draw in a breath, but it catches in his lungs, freezes there- “I- that is, I-” He looks to Grantaire helplessly. 

He had not been expecting for Grantaire’s face to drop, so. Or for him to curse, and scrub a hand over his face, and say, “Oh, Enj, I don’t-”

Enjolras does not understand what he has done wrong, but it- it is clearly something, but he does not-

Grantaire curses again. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking, I should’ve- I should’ve told you earlier, but I can’t- Fuck. You can’t call somebody when they’re on an airplane, the call won’t go through. Everybody has to turn their phones off when they’re in the air, and Combeferre’s flight would have taken off an hour ago.”

He does not understand.

“So I… cannot call him,” he begins, for it is easier to start with something that he knows and work backwards, “That- Why?” It makes no sense. What is the use of such- such foolish devices, if one cannot even contact one’s friends when it is necessary?

Grantaire grimaces. “It’s something to do with the networks, I think? Like, the signal from the phone tower messes with the instruments and the navigation and shit. Or, like, maybe it’s too high up to get a signal, or something, but I don’t really know about…” He fades off.

Enjolras feels, oddly, as though he may cry. 

“Enjolras,” Grantaire says, so softly that he does not know what to do with himself, and then Grantaire is on his feet in an instant, and Enjolras finds himself being pulled into an embrace that is warm and gut-wrenchingly close and better than anything he has ever deserved.

He draws in a deep, shuddering breath and lets Grantaire tug him in closer still, presses his nose to the curve of Grantaire’s neck and cannot even manage to think of the impropriety, not when Grantaire’s arms are so warm around his back, his shoulders.

He would apologize, but Grantaire always seems a little bit sadder, whenever he does so, so he figures that it would be rather counterintuitive, all things considered. 

“He’s gonna be alright, you know,” Grantaire murmurs against his hair. “I know you don’t- I know I can’t really do anything to make you believe that, right now, but I promise he is. Planes are safer than cars.”

What a horrifying thought. Enjolras is quite glad that Grantaire cannot drive a car. He does not mention this; instead, he allows himself to wrap his arms around Grantaire in return, to clutch at the back of his shirt and be held closer still. “Okay,” he manages.

Grantaire hums; Enjolras can feel it, deep in his chest. “Wanna watch a documentary?”

“Okay,” says Enjolras, though he does not think that he can bear to do anything, aside from to stay here, like this, with Grantaire’s arm’s around him.

“Cool,” says Grantaire, but he does not move to let him go for a long, long time.

.

They watch a documentary. 

Or. Well. Grantaire watches a documentary. Enjolras sits beside him and leans his head on his shoulder and does what he can to focus on the weight of his arm around his shoulders instead of the weight in his chest. It does very little to calm the way in which his heart races, but it serves, at the very least, as a distraction, as something by which he can mark the hours that slog by.

He would feel guilty for imposing, as such, were it not for the fact that Grantaire holds him so closely that it does not seem possible that it is for Enjolras’s benefit alone.

It helps, he thinks.

There is a crash outside, all metal and glass; there is the jolt of a carbine under his hand and the spray of gunshot against brick, against bone, and he is staring down the barrel of his rifle at a young man with soft features who is staring back at him down the barrel of a cannon, and he can feel the ticking of a pocket watch deep in his palm, and-

There is another sound, sharp and odd, and it takes Enjolras just an instant too long to realize that it has come from Grantaire’s phone. He startles; Grantaire, mystifyingly, takes the moment to run his fingers through Enjolras’s hair, as though gentling a particularly skittish horse, or perhaps a feral barn-cat. He would be rather insulted, he figures, were it not for the fact that it seems to still something frantic beneath his ribs.

“Combeferre’s flight just landed.” It is soft, blurred at the edges, as though Grantaire had been drifting off to sleep over the course of the moving. Perhaps he had--perhaps that would account for the way in which he had settled so comfortably against Enjolras. (Enjolras is not accustomed to people being comfortable around him; he finds he- he likes it. Particularly when it is Grantaire.)

He clears his throat. “Ah,” he says.

Grantaire hums.

“And- And all is well?” he hazards, and he- he does not even know how he would begin to ask more, what he would even say in a demand for more information, but he- 

He-

“Huh?” Grantaire scrubs a hand over his face. (Enjolras becomes more convinced of the fact that he had been half-asleep, only moments before. His heart stutters, uneven, in his chest.) “Oh, yeah, dude, totally normal flight. Everything went fine.”

“Good.” He tries, then, to exhale, to relax, but cannot quite manage it. Damn this new  constitution of his, damn that it never lets him fucking rest, damn that it does not ever leave him be. (Damn that he- that he seems to have lost, somewhere along the way, any shred of the dignity which he used to be able to hold so easily, damn it, damn it. He shall have to work on it, somehow. He shall have to, if he is to keep living alongside Grantaire, and if his heart is to continue to beat such a frantic pace in his chest at his touch.)

Grantaire opens his mouth to speak; Enjolras knows what he will say, what he will offer, before he says anything at all, and- and yes, he wants it, all of it, for he is selfish, and he wishes for Grantaire to call Combeferre, and for Grantaire to embrace him again, and for Combeferre to go out of his way to visit he and Grantaire’s apartment instead of returning to his own, and absolutely none of it is his to ask. “Do you want-” begins Grantaire, and Enjolras pulls himself to his feet despite his every impulse resisting to do so.

“I believe that I shall go read for a time in my own chambers,” he blurts out, before Grantaire can protest, and then he goes to do so. 

He wants for Grantaire to follow him, too, to persuade him back to the sitting room, to call Combeferre anyways, but does not, of course he does not. 

Damn it.

.

And then-

Enjolras makes it three more hours of his heart hammering away in his chest, of gritting his teeth against the feel of a hand on his ankle, of hearing flashes of grapeshot in the rumble of the vehicles below his window. It is a very admirable length of time, in his opinion; his hands have been shaking so hard throughout it that his forearms have taken to aching. 

He ought to wait. He ought simply call on Combeferre tomorrow. There is no need for him to visit unannounced, particularly when he has been traveling, and when Grantaire has assured him that Combeferre has arrived safely, and when there is no reason for concern but for the fact that he seems to have thoroughly lost all sense of rationality, somewhere between the window and the cobblestone, back in June, and-

He sets his book down on the side-table and reaches for his jacket--he was not truly reading it; it is not truly cold. But he- he is frightened, and he is not used to this fucking century, with its- its aired plains, and its bared arms, and he understands none of it at all and he--he tugs on his shoes, does not bother to undo and retie the laces--he is tired, and he would like to see his friend, and-

“Hey, were you reading with the lights off, again?” Grantaire asks, hopelessly concerned, when Enjolras leaves his chambers--and it is jarring, sudden, and he is frozen in place in the hall, for a moment, as he runs the words over in his mind- “Wait, where are you-”

There is a knock at the door.

That-

That is odd.

On the sofa, Grantaire frowns. “Were you expecting-”

Enjolras shakes his head.

“Weird,” says Grantaire.

It is weird. Enjolras goes to answer the door, unlocks it, and-

“Hi,” says Combeferre, who is beaming and who is there, in the doorway, and who is fine, and safe, and-

“Hello,” says Enjolras, and he finds himself unable to keep the sheer relief from his voice, nor a watery smile from rising to his cheeks, and then he is being pulled into an embrace that is so tight his ribs ache.

“I missed you,” Combeferre says, presses against his temple, and then he finds himself being lifted off of the ground, feet dangling, as Combeferre holds him tight. He-

He has never been held, as such, before.

Enjolras’s heart stutters; he swallows down something thick in his throat. “I-” He swallows again. 

Combeferre, then, seems to realize that he has been holding Enjolras some distance from the ground. He sets him down somewhat sheepishly. “Sorry,” he says, “I wasn’t-”

“I have missed you as well,” he blurts out, somewhat too loud, somewhat too brusque. He fidgets with the hem of his jacket, fingers twitching. “Very much so, I-” He looks to Combeferre, wills him to- to understand, to-

Combeferre pulls him into another embrace, and Enjolras presses his face to his shoulder and holds him in return. 

“How fares your family?” He asks, after a long moment.

Combeferre musses his hair as he lets him go. “Good. Numerous. I’ll show you a picture of my sister’s kid, she just started walking, and it’s- Actually, have you eaten? My mom made me take some pastilla back with me on the plane and I didn’t know what to do with it, so I brought it over here with me.”

He… He has not eaten, he realizes, and he shakes his head. Grantaire must not have wished to disturb him. Which- “Did Grantaire request you visit?”

Combeferre herds him into the kitchen. “No? Should he have?” He pulls a container made of square glass from his satchel; Enjolras fetches three plates, though he does not know if Grantaire has eaten. (He has not, most likely--he has come to realize that Grantaire tends to wait, now, tends not to cook unless it is for the both of them. He does not know what to think of that.)

He shrugs. “I was… concerned,” he admits. “Because of the aired plain. I thought that perhaps Grantaire informed you.”

He frowns. “No, I-” His eyes dip to look Enjolras over, then- “You were totally on your way out the door when I arrived, weren’t you?” It is not a question. 

“It is not of your affairs,” he tries, “Perhaps I was simply on my way to the convenience store. You do not know.”

“You were.” Combeferre is no longer frowning. Instead, a grin has risen to his face; Enjolras has only this as warning before he grabs for him, pulls him into a rough embrace before Enjolras can evade his grasp. “You were, you missed me. Admit it.”

Enjolras feigns struggle, hides his own smile against Combeferre’s arm. “Leave me. Release me at once.” 

“Admit it, admit you missed me.” Combeferre holds him tighter, musses his hair further. “Admit it and I’ll let you go.”

“Absolutely not,” Enjolras says. He struggles a bit more, though mostly only so that he is in a more comfortable position for Combeferre to continue to hold him close. 

“You’ve done this to yourself,” says Combeferre. Enjolras simply rests his forehead against his shoulder and shuts his eyes. Only for a moment. They shall eat Combeferre’s mother’s pastilla in a moment. He can hear Grantaire watching television in the other room; Combeferre’s arms around him are warm and comforting. Just-

A moment.

[johannstutt413]

(requested by e-ven-eve)

“Just one more.” The Doctor, hands cramping and head spinning, had been staring at his computer monitor for over five hours straight now, more if you didn’t count the five-minute break he’d taken to down a microwave burrito. “This is the last one for the day, and then...and then I can go home.” As his fingers fell upon the keyboard in a hailstorm of keystrokes, his mind ascending to an almost hallucinogenic zen state of empty-headedness (not unlike Skadi during combat), he knew with absolute certainty this was his limit. He finished the paragraph, clicked through the menus to save the file, and flung himself backwards in his chair, away from his keyboard...as another report hit his inbox. Physically ill at the thought of typing another, he grabbed his coat, staggered out the door without putting it on, and went home.

Crossing the threshold of his apartment, he flung his coat over his couch, and then quickly followed it, rolling over the side and landing back-first with a groan. Could he really keep doing this? He enjoyed the company of the people he worked with, but this was...this wasn’t healthy, having to work to the bone every day like this. But what could he do? Maybe...was there someone who’d be free to act as his assistant? “Amiya...I should ask Amiya tomorrow...uuuuuuhhhh.” Losing consciousness, visions of Chimera Cautus flashed across his eyes. That cute little bunny-girl would make a great assistant, but she must be too busy to help him, right? The idea was silly…

It didn’t stop the dream, though - an idyllic work day with both bearing an equal workload, making idle conversation as they typed, taking lunch together...maybe dinner, if he could work up the nerve to ask her...he could almost hear her voice now, even.

“Doctor?” Her hand was on his head. “You have a fever...Forgive me if I’m overstepping, but I’m going to make you some soup, okay?”

“Thank you,” he croaked. Come to think of it, he had been feeling under the weather lately; even in his wildest dreams, he was sick and tired. Heh. Art imitates life, he supposed.

The microwave beeped a few minutes later, and now that he could see the ceiling of his apartment again, he saw her as well - that angelic creature who called herself Amiya, bowl of soup and spoon in her hands as she returned. She blew on a spoonful and fed it to him, and it felt so real. Also, it tasted delicious. Had chicken noodle soup always been this good, and he just hadn’t had a chance to open a can and find out? Hard to say, but in any case, it sure was nice to see her. Oh, she was talking to him. “...so don’t go to your office tomorrow, okay? I’ll let Kal’tsit know you’re taking a sick day.”

“Thank you, dear.” They were close enough by this point in the dream cycle, certainly. “You’re so good to me.”

“Oh, you poor thing...” She blushed as he spoke - how cute! Even after weeks and weeks together, she still reacted like- hang on, how long had it been? Surely, there was a calendar somewhere…

No, there wouldn’t be; he didn’t have any dates to keep track of, so he’d never gotten one. His phone probably had one, though. “Amiya, do you know where I put my phone?”

“Don’t worry about that.” More soup - still delicious. “Go to sleep, Doctor...darling.”

“Mmmmmkay...Could you...” No, even for a dream, that was pushing it-

She set the bowl aside and leaned closer, her head, sideways, taking up the majority of his vision. “What do you need?”

“...Will you...nap with me?” He shivered. “It’s so cold.”

“I’ll get us a blanket.” Amiya unhooked his mask and set it on the other side of the table from the soup before standing up. She walked around for a minute, looking for a blanket - so silly, she ought to know by now - before finding one. Once she did, she brought it back to the couch, found a way to settle with him on the couch without falling off or pushing him off, and covered them both with the warmth. The Doctor smiled and closed his eyes-

Wait. He opened them, and sure enough...it wasn’t a dream after all. “Amiya? Could you pinch me?”

“Why would I do that?” She adjusted so she could brush his cheek. “You should get some sleep, Doctor.”

“But...but I thought I was dreaming. I...We...” Nope, too much thinking. He could feel himself shutting down again.

Amiya simply patted his chest. “We can talk tomorrow. Right now, you need to sleep.”

“I guess...” The Doctor lifted his head off the couch. “The bed is bigger, though.”

“Do you want me to walk you to your room?”

He nodded. “Please.”

“Okay.” She gently moved off of him - which sent him shivering again - and helped him to his feet. “This way, Doctor.”

“I’m sorry I called you ‘dear,’” he mumbled over the span of the forty steps it took to get from the couch to the threshold.

Amiya squeezed his hand as she walked him to his bed. “I don’t mind. Do you want me to stay?”

“Um...” The Doctor looked blurry-eyed at his bed. “I...yes?”

“Here. Left hand first.” She moved the covers and helped him crawl under them before watching him for a moment, standing at the side of his bed, wavering in her own resolve. She’d come this far, and even if it hadn’t been her plan, it...he was so gentle, and fragile, not unlike she used to be before...before-

He held out his arms to her. “Amiya.” Did he have to sound so cute when he said it? Now, it wasn’t even a choice for her next move.

“I’m coming.” She crawled over his feet and around to his side, slipping under the sheets to rest her head on his chest with a smile. “Now are you going to go to sleep?”

“I’ll try...I’m already in a dream, but I’ll try.” The Doctor threaded an arm around her back to stroke her hair, and after reassuring himself she was really there, he let unconsciousness take him again.

He couldn’t say how long he was asleep, but the next time he woke up, Amiya’s forehead was set against his. She smiled. “Your fever’s weaker than last night.”

“That’s good.” He didn’t dare close his eyes again, lest she disappear by dream logic. “Thank you for taking care of me. I...I didn’t know how bad I’d gotten.”

“You didn’t get bad, Doctor; you got sick. We’ll have you on your feet again once you’re really feeling better, and I won’t leave your side until then.”

The Doctor sniffled. “You um...you don’t have to leave then, Amiya...I was wondering if you could be my assistant.”

“You were?” She handed him a tissue so he could blow his nose, which he did. “But...”

“If you can’t, that’s okay-”

Amiya shook her head. “No, I want to, it’s just...Before you lost your memory, you said I couldn’t.”

“...Why?”

“You wouldn’t say.” She put on a smile. “But if you say I can stay by your side, I won’t say no.”

He sighed in relief. “I’m sorry I made you wait.”

“Don’t worry about that.”

“But I worry a lot.” The Doctor felt his head split open. “Owww.”

Amiya kissed his forehead. “I’ll get you some aspirin.”

“Thank you...dear.”

“I’ll be right back.” She hesitated before kissing his forehead again and walking off to find him some aspirin. “Don’t go anywhere.”

He watched her leave with a smile. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

[hq-cuties]

hi everyone! ^^

I wanted to let you guys know that I will be going on a short hiatus, so it may take me a bit to get to any requests. I will be deleting tumblr and some other social media platforms until may 15. I have many big assignments due within this week, and I don’t have the time to balance my writing with school.

I won’t be taking any new requests that are sent in after 12pm central time on May 9th. Requests will open again when the hiatus is over. I’m doing this so that requests won’t be sitting in my inbox for too long- I don’t want people to send in stuff during the hiatus and not get an answer until weeks after it’s over.

I’m sorry if you have already sent in a request, but please know that everything currently in my inbox will be my top priority once I’m done. Your requests aren’t forgotten :)

If you need to contact me for any reason, dm me on here before 12pm central tomorrow (may 9th) and ill give you my Instagram. Please note that I won’t just randomly give this out- it’s mostly just for my mutuals ^^

Thank you!! I love all of you very much 💞💓💗💕 you are all needed and loved, remember that!!

xoxo, june✨

[tell-me-when-ur-ready]

This Thing Called Love (part four)

Summary: When Shawn meets dancer Kellie in Toronto, he falls for her—hard. But Kellie has an invisible disability and thinks it’s impossible that someone could really love her the way she is.

Author’s note: I have multiple chronic illnesses that are similar to Kellie’s, but I don’t have the same exact health conditions she does. I’ve done lots of research, but I apologize if I get anything wrong!

Warnings: everything comes out and shawn reacts with a disgusting amount of kindness and understanding lol

Word count: 1,800

Kellie had listened to the song. She’d reviewed the general notes sent by the choreographer, who’d said they would hash out the details of the dance during a day or two of rehearsals before they got on set. She had taken off work. She’d booked a plane ticket (and been reimbursed by Shawn’s team—that was nice) and flown to Toronto and successfully seen herself to her hotel. Everything had gone smoothly. So smoothly, in fact, that she should have known it was all about to come crashing down.

Before Kellie even opened her eyes on the first day of rehearsals for Shawn’s new music video, she knew it was bad. Her joints were a little achy; her stomach was cramping, not badly but enough to bother her (she wasn’t totally sure her takeout last night had been completely free of contamination); and there was a dull, throbbing ache in her temples that did hurt. Badly. Without opening her eyes all the way, she reached out through the darkness and fumbled around on her nightstand until her fingers closed around the current medication she was taking for migraines; it had been getting less and less effective over the last couple of weeks. Sitting up slightly, Kellie put the pill at the back of her throat and swallowed it dry, a useful skill she’d finally acquired after three years of medication after medication.

Squinting, Kellie slowly sat up and tried to assess the damage. She stood up slowly; pressing a hand to either side of her head, she walked unsteadily across the room and promptly stumbled into the dresser.

Really, she’d known before she even opened her eyes. But now she knew for sure. There was no way she could get in the dance studio with Shawn.

She allowed herself one moment of self-pity: one moment to close her eyes, silently curse how unfair life was, and feel an overwhelming sense of despair for everything she’d lost after becoming sick and everything she was still to lose. But then she opened her eyes, carefully walked back through the dark room, and picked up her phone, grabbing her little bottle of lavender essential oil on the way back.

 Her phone screen was too bright even with the darkness all the way down, but, squinting, she managed to type out a message to Shawn—his was the only number she had saved in her phone, and she definitely didn’t feel like digging through her inbox to find someone else’s number, even if they were the ones she needed to tell and not him.

 I’m so sorry. I woke up sick. I don’t think I can dance today

 His answer was almost immediate.

 That’s awful, are you ok?

 Was she okay? Kellie chose not to answer that part, instead writing,

 Think I ate something bad last night.

 It wasn’t a lie, she reasoned with herself. It had been bad for her body even if it wouldn’t affect anyone else’s.

 Oh man. What hotel are you staying at?

 She typed the name and sent it—and then instantly regretted it, cursing her brain-fogged state. The last thing she wanted was for him to go out of his way and do something dumb like—

 I’m gonna swing by. What’s your room number? Need anything to eat?

 Kellie let out an involuntary groan and didn’t answer for a moment, staring at the screen while the pounding in her head continued. She didn’t want him to come. She couldn’t lie to his face—but if he came, she was going to have to tell him. And she didn’t want to tell him; she desperately didn’t want him to know.

 But another level, she almost did. If he was going to react badly and run, like so many people (friends, boys, and potential employers alike) had over the years, she wanted to know sooner rather than later.

 So Kellie simply typed No, thanks, added her room number, and closed her phone. She didn’t realize she’d fallen asleep, but she must have, because it seemed like only a second later that there was a light knock on her hotel room door.

 Kellie got up slowly and padded to the door. When the light from the hallway flooded in, she had to cover her eyes for a minute; finally, she adjusted and lowered her hand. Shawn was standing in front of her.

 “Hey. Are you okay?” he said, gazing at her with a concerned line between his eyebrows.

 “Yeah…” She blinked slowly at him, still half-asleep. If she wasn’t in so much pain, she’d be embarrassed about her messy hair and Stark Industries T-shirt and flannel pajama bottoms.

 “You think you ate something bad?” Shawn asked, and Kellie let out a little sigh, because here it was.

 “Yeah. I had a salad and I think it had croutons in it and I didn’t notice, or maybe it was the wrong kind of dressing, or it was cross-contaminated in the kitchen…” Kellie trailed off. She constantly analyzed her symptoms of the moment in her head, but she typically tried not to do it aloud, because no one else really cared.

 Shawn cocked his head. “Croutons?”

 He looked like he wasn’t quite following. She couldn’t blame him.

 Kellie took a deep breath.

 “I’m physically disabled,” she said. Even after the diagnoses, after accepting it, after living with it every day for three years, it was still hard to say the words—because it hadn’t always been like this.

 Shawn’s eyes stayed trained on hers. She was grateful for that; most people would look her up and down, as if searching for physical signs. But there weren’t any. Her disability was invisible.

 “Okay,” he said slowly. “Can I ask… how?”

 If he didn’t run now, he’d run later, when he fully understood everything her health issues implied.

 “I have Celiac disease, and chronic migraines, and a bunch of complications from both of those things,” Kellie said. Even now, after the medicines and the lavender oil and the dark room, the pain was pushing at the back of her head, making it difficult to think clearly. “I don’t know if you know anything about either of those—most people don’t—but, well, this is my life.” She laughed shortly. “I cancel on people at the last minute, I can’t go to work many days, I spend a lot of time in bed. I push through this stuff every day of my life. But some days, I just can’t.”

 “Wow. That’s—that’s rough,” he said softly, leaning one shoulder against the doorway.

 “I feel so bad. I know I’m letting you down and letting everyone down and I just, I’m so sorry, but my head hurts so much right now I can hardly speak and—”

 Shawn was shaking his head. “No, no. It’s okay. I get it. I mean, I don’t get it, but you gotta do what you gotta do. I just—I mean, wow. I’m sorry; shit, that’s a lot. Why didn’t you tell me? When we went to lunch?”

 Kellie shrugged, glancing down at the floor. At her mismatched Harry Potter socks and his pointy-toed shoes. “I just—it’s so hard to talk about. I mean, I want to talk about it; I want people to understand. But they never do no matter how much I talk. So I just… don’t try.”

 He nodded, his gaze softening.

 “But I’m sorry,” she said again, steadying herself on the doorframe as a wave of dizziness hit. She struggled to keep talking: “I really should have told you, when you asked me about the music video. That wasn’t fair. I guess I just—I thought you’d decide you didn’t want me then, and I really need this, and—”

 “No,” Shawn breathed. He was looking her straight in the eye. “I do want you.”

 And despite the fact that Kellie had just woken up and she was practically high on painkillers and this was only, what, the third time she’d ever spoken to Shawn Mendes in person—she thought he meant it. Maybe even, she realized with a sudden flash of intuition at the look in his eyes, on a deeper level than just the music video.

 “So,” he said, clearing his throat, and the moment was broken. “Do you need anything? I could go get you food, or… I don’t know, what do you need?”

 A warm feeling spread through Kellie’s chest. “Thanks. That’s really nice. Um, I have my medicine, and Gatorade, and—I’m not really hungry. My migraine is only half the problem today; my stomach really hurts too, because apparently I accidentally ate gluten last night, so I don’t know if I can eat.”

 “Okay,” he said softly. “Well, text me later. If you think of anything you need.”

 Kellie nodded. “Lately, my migraines have only been lasting for a day or two at a time,” she said, tentative (because who was she to rearrange a shoot for Shawn Mendes because she had a headache?). “So maybe tomorrow, if it’s not too late—I know I’m throwing off the whole schedule, but if you haven’t already filmed everything you would need me for—”

 Shawn gave her a little crooked grin. “How could we film it if you’re not there?” he said, and Kellie felt herself flush with pleasure.

 “I figured—I was replaceable,” she mumbled. Shawn shook his head, still smiling.

 “I saw you dance. We’ll wait for you,” he said. Kellie smiled back at him for just a second before glancing down at the floor, a flash of warmth going through her.

 There was a brief downbeat of silence and then he straightened up, pushing himself off of the doorframe.

 “I should go. Let you rest. But text me, and then maybe tomorrow we can move forward with the rehearsals and the shoot, okay?”

 She nodded, mute. But as he raised his hand goodbye and started to walk down the hall, she found her voice.

 “Shawn? Thanks,” she called, and he looked at her over his shoulder. “For understanding.”

 He smiled and then he was gone, disappearing into the elevator. Kellie went back into her room and shut the door.

 ***

 It was a long, dark day for Kellie; when she got back into bed after Shawn left, she didn’t get up again until almost 4 pm. Occasionally she’d pick up her phone, turn the brightness all the way down, and scroll through social media, and a few times she put the recording Shawn had sent her on repeat and listened to the song they’d (hopefully) be dancing to. But mostly she just laid in the dark—sometimes sleeping, sometimes not, always analyzing the voice and facial expression and tone with which Shawn had said “I do want you.”

 Later that evening, around dinnertime, Shawn texted her.

 Hey. How are you?

 I’m better. Took a bunch of pills and the migraine is slowly going away. I can deal with all the stomach stuff

 You sure? I don’t want you to dance unless you’re really good

 Well I won’t know until the morning but I’m going to try my best

 Okay. Do you need anything?

 No, but thanks :)

 Ok. Talk to you in the morning.

And Kellie went back to sleep.

Taglist: @rosiemercy @learning-howto-be-myselfx3 @evibesss

[gremlinkween]

Bad Moon Rising

Part 2: Mermen, Vampires, and Werewovles, Oh My! 

Summary: The reader finds and rescues a hurt merman who tells her that his name is Jim. She helps him without a second thought, but his presence might attract the attention of other supernatural creatures she never knew existed. This will eventually be a foursome (Jim Mason x Michael Langdon x Duncan Shepard x Reader) mythology/supernatural au.

A/N: I'm not dead! Instead of just saying that I was gonna do something, I figured my welcome back post would be the next revised chapter of BMR as an apology. I had some repressed memories come up and they were repressed for a reason so that rocked my boat real hard, but hi everyone! I'll get to the asks sitting in the inbox hopefully tonight, but it might have to be tomorrow. So for the new readers, the last one of the foursome is introduced, but we’ll get to actually see more of Michael and Duncan in the next part. There is an oc in here, Rory, that we’ll see more later. I’ve had him for awhile and he’s actually one of my fave characters ever. You can totally imagine Cillian Murphy for him. Again, if you want to be on the tag list, just hit me up and let me know what you think!

Warnings: No smut yet, sorry. There is blood, injury, mentions of mental illness, depression, crying, concern about having a total break from reality.

Word Count: 2.3k

Tagging List: @langdonsinferno, and @moonagecordelia and remember, my tag list is all sorts of messed up so please lmk if you want to be on it! either for this story or all my work! 

Previous Parts: Part 1

“I thought that vampires fed off of humans? Why did he go for you instead of me?”

“Well, yeah, vampires feed off of humans, but that’s not their only food source. Faerie blood is actually more nutritious and flavorful for vampires, just humans are more readily available and easier to hunt. He probably smelt my blood and sought me out.”

“… Wow, I mean makes sense, I guess?” It really didn’t, nothing made sense to her, but also Jim could tell her that the sky was actually purple and the ocean was orange, and she’d believe him at this point.

“You should probably take care of him.”

“Yeah, probably. Do I need something stronger than rope.”

He scoffed, “Yes, probably something more like a stake through the heart.”

She looked to the darkly angelic figure passed out on the floor. He looked helpless now, and she could see that the wounds that were on the cat adorned and tarnished his skin. He was hurt, and probably just looking for a way to heal himself. She felt bad, but on the other hand, Jim was in danger. So was she. This was fucked up. “No.”

Jim gave her a look like she might be insane.

“I said no. He’s just trying to survive like you. I’ll get like, chains or something. That should hold him?”

Jim looked at her with such bewilderment, she felt like she was the weird one in the room. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. It’s probably going to end badly.”

She was still looking at the vampire. Probably, she was thinking, but that’s not what she said. “I think it’s going to be fine.”

“…. Okay, if you say so.” Jim was still so unsure of this. “Just move him please.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

—————————

Moving the vampire that was nearly double her size wasn’t an easy feat, but she did it. Thank god for the hauls of fish she’s been lugging around her whole life or this might actually be impossible. She had him propped up against the support beam in the living room. That was the sturdiest place in her house she could think of, but you knew you needed to move fast. There was no telling how much time you had before he woke up, and she couldn’t imagine he’d be happy when he did. Now, the next problem was finding chains and a lock that was probably heavy duty enough. She figured the boatyard, but she’d really have to move her ass.

She grabbed the keys to her dad’s old beat up pick up truck and a jacket and hurried out the door. She was humming to herself in a tense song, a habit she did out of nervousness, and fumbled with the keys.

“Hi there, Y/N, a little la-” a familiar voice called, but with the night’s events, she was already under so much pressure, and she yelped and nearly threw the keys. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Hi, Rory. Sorry, it’s been a night.” Oh Rory, the older Irish gentleman that ran the dock’s favorite bar to go to in the evening, and her next door neighbor. She had known him her whole life, a steady constant in this crazy shit show her life had been these past couple of months. She really wasn't alarmed with him being out so late. With his business, he always had been a night owl.

“I can see that,” his thick accent rang out with a chuckle, and she blanched for a second. “Dragging in buckets of sea water?”

“It’s an art project,” She answered maybe a little too fast and he cocked an eyebrow. “You know, for processing trauma. I read about it.”

“Okay then, Y/N,” he was unsure, but he was going to drop it. He knew grief made people do some strange things sometimes. 

“I’m going out for more things.” She didn’t know when to stop talking apparently.

“Well, good luck with that at 3 am. Just be careful,” he wished her well, “It’s a full moon, all the crazies are out tonight.”

She just chuckled uneasily, if she could only tell him. “Will do, you get some rest.”

“You too, dear.”

She was finally able to get the truck open and started, and she sped off to the boatyard.

————————————

The yard was desolate and particularly eerily this night. Mist from the water was creeping over the place and gave it an all too fitting gothic appearance. She really wished that the world would stop being so poetic for a change. She found herself pulling her jacket tighter as she walked in between the older and busted up boats, something making the hair on the back of her neck stand up on end. A presence was following her, but she was all too tired of the night's weirdness to give into the thought. Surely, tonight couldn't get weirder. 

She had to kick the door down to the supply shed, but she doubted anyone would really care. This was the forgotten side of town anyway. She found heavy duty chains and a padlock fairly quickly, a feeling of satisfaction filled her that was quickly overshadowed by something else. Her head whipped up to the door and then to the window. She saw nothing, but she swore she felt eyes on her. Very intent eyes. God damn it. At this point, she was just hoping for another human.

The best thing to do was just get the hell out of there regardless, she decided, and without actually breaking into a run, she moved as fast as she could.

Outside, she swore she hear footsteps of something. It was much too big to be a person, but she didn’t know what it could be. Could be anything. She didn't know, and she was getting tired of this one night getting so fucking weird. There was an idea trying to creep into her mind, one that she was trying to violently shut out. She actually might just give up if she was right.

There was a movement and then a soft growl. She blanched again, but sighed. Of course. No, of course this would be the night that even more insane shit has to happen. She turned to the boat she saw the movement coming from and her eyes widened, yet she was somehow not surprised. A giant wolf monster sat perched up on the cabin and she nodded. “Sure. Yep. This might as well happen. Let’s just get this over with.”

It glowered at her as it crept down and off the boat, but in the bright moonlight, she saw the deep wounds ruining the lay of the coat. It growled again and began to stand on this back legs, standing at it’s full eight foot height, but she held dropped the chains and held up her hands. “Don’t even think about it, buddy,” she said firmly and the wolf’s ears pitched forward, clearly curious about the lack of fear.

“I’ve got a hurt merman and a vampire I need to restrain soon or he’s going to try to eat the merman at home. I see that you’re hurt. I can take care of you, but I need you to stop being a dick.”

It looked like it was debating something it’s head before settling down on all fours and cautiously moved towards her before gently nuzzling into her neck, smelling and licking her, she figured that this was some kind of greeting that werewolves had, but he was being friendly, but she just rolled with it. It was that kind of night that was already weird enough. She scratched behind it’s ears and it practically mewled and she had to smile, that was pretty cute.

“Come on, let’s go. I have to get back before the vampire wakes up.”

He limped along with her, and she had to help the poor thing up into the bed of the truck, but he was behaving quite well. She covered him up, with one of the tarps she used for the fish, and hopped in. Hopefully, she wasn’t too late, and she felt worry pit itself in her stomach.

———————————————–

She had to make sure the lights on in Rory’s house were off before she uncovered the newest friend and boy from her truck and hurried him into the house.

The first thing she did was check to make sure that the vampire was still out and passed out where she left him. Thankfully, he was, and she was able to breathe a sigh of relief. She went back to the kitchen as the werewolf began sniffing around. “Go upstairs, it’s the room with the lights on.”

The wolf looked at her uneasily, but he relented and sulked up the stairs on all fours, looking over its’ shoulders at her.

She grabbed the chains and quickly secured the vampire to the post. There was a moment that nearly had her passing out, his nose flared a couple of times when she got closer, but luckily that was his only response to her.

She didn’t waste anymore time though, grabbed the medical box for the third time tonight, and she was running up the stairs. Once she reached the top of the stairs, she saw the large furry head pop out of the doorway. It was odd to have such a large creature in her house, but she didn’t think about that just yet. She sat the box down on the desk and she heard it growl softly.

“Come on, I know this is going to hurt a little bit, but,” the wolf cut her off with another, more aggressive growl.

“Uhhh, Y/N,” Jim called from the bathroom. “What was that?”

She turned around and went to the door. “I might have made another new friend tonight.” The wolf’s head popped into sight from the door to look at where the other voice came from out of curiosity, and Jim went white.

“That’s an alpha werewolf.”

She grunted as he pushed his way into the bathroom and began smelling and licking at Jim’s neck like he had done with her, and Jim couldn’t help the giggles that escaped his mouth and it only encouraged the wolf to tickle him more, but he eventually pushed him off gently.

Jim smiled shyly at the wolf before looking to her again. “Why was he growling at you?”

“I was just getting ready to stitch up his wounds.”

The monstrous animal’s ears pinned back at the word and Jim swatted his muzzle, startling the wolf.

“Be nice. She doesn’t know anything and you can’t talk in that form,” Jim chided with a small smile.

“You don’t need to rub it in!” She was almost defensive, but Jim was laughing.

“Werewolves don’t need stitches, particularly alphas. He’ll be fine by tomorrow night, you won’t even know that he was hurt.”

She nodded, but then stopped. “Why did he come with me then? If he didn’t need help.”

Jim’s eyes were practically shining with mischief. “He probably thinks you’re cute.”

She was bright red now and she looked at the clear amusement both of them had.

“Or he had other reasons, I’m just,” He had to think about it. He wasn’t sure about the human word for this. “Having my fun?” He had a little shy smile, and while she was scowling, her heart melted a bit at the expression.

“I didn’t realize I was opening my door to such jokesters,” but even she had to laugh.

She let out a yawn, and she realized how tired she was out. It hit like a freight train now that she didn't have a murderous vampire on the loose and she no longer had to play doctor. “Well, I think I’m going to be retiring for the night. Jim would you like a pillow or something?”

He cocked he eyebrow. Right, that makes sense that they wouldn’t have them in the ocean.

“I’ll go get one for you away.”

The wolf followed her out of the bathroom and crawled up on the bed for no regard to his weight as he circled like any dog would before settling down on the bed. She grabbed one of the extra pillows and returned to stuff it in the corner between the wall and the bathtub and Jim hesitantly rested his head against it before his eyes lit up.

“This is very comfortable. What did you call this?”

She chuckled, “A pillow. Goodnight, Jim.”

He smiled, “Goodnight, Y/N. Thank you. again.”

“It’s no problem.” With that, she left again for the bedroom.

She looked at the wolf, seemingly asleep, and she decided what the hell. She took her bra off and her pants, leaving herself in just a shirt and underwear. She crawled into bed under the blankets and tried to get comfortable, but sleep wasn’t coming to her at all. She was just replaying the events of the night.

So, at the beginning of the night, it was crippling loneliness and a solid crying session, then late night sailing on the boat …. Then she saved a merman …. Then they got attacked by a vampire ….. and then she picked up a werewolf ….. and now there’s a merman in  her bathtub, a vampire chained up in the living room, and a werewolf in bed with her. She sighed. This was…. weird. This was a weird night. This couldn’t have happened, could it? This stuff was made up. Oh god, she was having a mental breakdown. She was breaking and this wasn’t real. None of this was real.

She was starting to hyperventilate, panic gripping her, but then she felt a warm head, a very warm, very large, and very fluffy head nuzzle into her chest. A strong, furry arm ending in a hand with extremely long and sturdy claws wrapped around her abdomen and pulled her tight. An animal’s tongue licked her cheek and she had to laugh at how much it tickled. She heard the wolf make a noise deep within its throat in approval and she relaxed. This was real. It was very very real and she had the feeling that this wolf wouldn’t let anything happen to her.

Sleep soon took over, and for the first time in what felt like years, there was a smile on her face.

[revengeisalwaysanoption]

[Skam Italia] Ad un passo da perdere te

The title is in Italian (A step away from losing you), from Ultimo’s Pianeti, but the fic is still in English.  So, I am totally to blame for this but I’d like to thank @ruinedbyroccofasano for listening to all my flailing and helping me picture this. Ideally it takes place at the end of ep 9, if you know what I mean.

I have absolutely NO IDEA where Martino is gonna be during episode 9.  This could turn out to be completely wrong. <

READ HERE or down below.

"You know what, mom? Pack your bag, 'cause we are going to Cecina."

The bright smile he got from his mom, the whispered "Thank you" as she kissed his temple totally overshadowed the fact that he had to take all his notes with him. Had he stayed at home, he wouldn't have been able to study anyway, so... Screw school, really.

How was he supposed to focus on some fucking dead language, on useless formulas that give him no clue on how to deal with Niccolò and his illness? What if Maddalena was right and none of what they shared had been real, not on Nico's part? What if he really did send him spiralling, only caused him more pain by indulging in his fantasies? How come he found their getaway cute and romantic when he should have been freaking out from the moment Ni bought those tickets? He had been so naive, so willfully blind to the signals there were telling him that something wasn't quite right... Besides, it was because of him and his attitude towards Emma that the Covitti siblings spread the rumor about the two of them dating. He didn't realize it back then, but Ni had been out outed as well. By someone he had to spend six hours with, five days a week. Damn.

He just wanted Niccolò to be happy. To be safe. Could he really give him that? He wasn't sure. People have tried to reassure him, saying that 'you can't fake those heart-eyes, Martì, he worships the ground you walk on (his friends) or 'he might have been a bit delusional, sometimes, but that's not a state you are in 24/7, honey... it doesn't work like that' (his mom). They claim he does make Niccolò happy, but what do they know?

What he knows is that he can't give up on them, on him. Can't even imagine how someone would walk away in a time of need. What he knows is that he loves Nico. His own parents, however, are living proof that it is not an everlasting feeling that can fix everything. It doesn't fix shit, really. Maybe he is too inexperienced, too self-centred, to be the person Niccolò needs by his side.

"Don't sell yourself short, love. All he needs is for you to be there. To feel like he can count on you." She said, when he vaguely voiced out his concerns. It can't be that simple, can it? If it was, then why...

"You know what, sweetheart? Pack your bag, 'cause you're to spend the night with your father." She stroked his cheek, smiling a little at the disbelief on his face. "Don't worry about me. I'm sure I will find someone who's willing to ride with me back home. Now, listen: I can only give you my side of the story, and... It couldn't have been easy, living with me. I-"

"Mom..." He cut in, reluctant to hear her blaming herself.

She never did that before. Not when it came to his father. She had always blamed him and and him alone, for their failed marriage. She had never really tried to turn her son against her husband, but she hadn't tried to smooth things over between them either.

Martino had always thought that reaching out to him, trying to save whatever was left of their father-son bond, would be read as utter betrayal by his mother. Until then.

"I can't tell you why he gave up on me, but I know that he tried his best for a really long time. You should talk to him. Hear what he has to say. Let him help you." She kissed his forehead, and handed him a ticket to Rome.

He got his phone out to call his dad and arrange their dinner together - no way he was going to spend the night in that house - when he saw a new message in his inbox. He rolled his eyes, sighing, telling himself that it could have been from Filippo. He hadn't replied to him, or to anyone really, ever since he got on the train to Cecina.

He couldn't bring himself to, without sounding like a coward that took the easy way out. Much like his father did. He'd rather pretend they never went on that short holiday together, that he hadn't seen Nico in the last ten days. It was much simpler.

Ni: Did you take those riding lessons, in the end? I'm at the bioparco atm but they won't let me borrow their giraffe. Guess I'll have to find something else for us to ride on.

Fuck. Why did he have to go and rub salt into his wounds? Thankfully, Martino had run out of tears to cry or he would have broken down right there, on platform 2. His fingers lingered on the keyboard, but before he could type in an answer he got another text.

Ni: I'm sorry I keep letting you down. You deserve better.

No. Okay. Niccolò should have been honest from the start, it would have saved them both a lot of heartached... but fear can make you behave like a jerk or an idiot. Marti had never been mad at him for that - scared and confused, of course, but never resentful - and he sure didn't feel like Niccolò had let him down by not giving him full disclosure so soon into their relationship. They had to talk, face to face, as soon as possible. He couldn't have him thinking he is a disappointment.

'Tomorrow. I'll call him first thing tomorrow. Or I'll just show up and ring the buzzer. I know where he lives. He thought, closing the conversation to for his dad number. He wasn't too keen on waiting so long, but he feared what Niccolò's parents might think if he showed on their doorstep so late in the evening. He was already threading on thin ice with them, after what happened on that fucking weekend...

                                    /////////////////////////////////////////////

So here he is, basking in the Christmas spirit of a ten year old and his mother.

Paola isn't half bad, after all, especially when she teases his dead for being grumpier and grumpier as the 25th draws nearer.

Martino isn't much of a fan of this particular holiday himself, but it did have its charm when he pictured himself giving his present to Niccolò - nothing really, just a guide on how to survive in a post-apocalyptic world - and then kissing him under the mistletoe... sitting on the sofa as they spiced their hot chocolate with some tabasco...

God, he misses him so much. Can he really wait until tomorrow to see him again? He can't and he's a fool for having believed otherwise.

'We need to talk. Alone. Tell where and I'll walk through the whole city to get to you.' He types in, and sends it without second guessing how harsh might have sounded without even adding a heart or at least a smiley face.

He must have given something away, because suddenly Paola is asking her son to help her with the dishes, leaving Martino alone with father.

"So... You wanna tell me what has been bothering you all night?"

Martino could get defensive and say "Nothing." or yell "So you give a fuck about me, NOW?" Nevertheless, he does appreciate his dad being straightforward and not making this awkward with a poor attempt at small talk.

"It's this guy I'm seeing..." He waits for the ball to drop, for his father to be either outraged with the news or not caring enough to react to it. He doesn't know what would be worse.

"Your boyfriend?" He asks, and Martino is totally taken aback by the sheer annoyance in his voice. Not at him dating a boy, but rather at this boy daring to string his son along. How dares he!

"Dad!" He tilts his head to the side, smiling. "Yes. I guess... I mean... He was, for a while, but now... I don't know."

He's trying to work up the courage to steer the conversation towards what happened last year, what made him decide he was done trying to be there for the woman he married... It's not easy; he actually dreads the answer. What if he's going to say something like "Well, when people aren't right in their head there's nothing you can do about it apart from trying to spend as little time with them as possible. You gotta put yourself first, or they're going to drag you down with them." That's not what he wants to hear.

"Is that him?" His father snaps him out of his thoughts, making him notice that he just got an answer from Niccolò.

Ni:

Marti, I'm sitting here... Where we met for the first time, thinking about you. It's nearly 22:46. That's when we left that awful Halloween party, remember? There's so much I want to tell you. I'm sorry for scaring you. I'm sorry for not telling you I was bipolar. I was so afraid of losing you that I forgot you can't really lose someone, because we are all alone in the end. If I hadn't pulled at the red thread so hard, breaking it, maybe we could have really faced the end of the world together. But if someone has to be the last man on Earth, I want it to be you. It has to be you.

I love you.

Ni

He reads it once, twice, trying not to tear up or panic. He does well with the first, not so much with the second. What... Why does it sound like a farewell note? Maybe because it is? But Ni is not... He would never... He wouldn't.

"Marti?" Oh. So he hasn't been swallowed by a black hole. He could swear he did. His father is offering some small comfort, now, squeezing his shoulder and looking into his eyes as he tries to work out what had him so terrified.

"No, it's not him." He mumbles, evasively. He doesn't have it in him to give his dad the whole picture. It would take too long, and every second counts when Ni might be thinking of... God. Why is he still here?

"It's Giovanni. He needs me, now." It's not really fair to involve Gio in this, but he is the one friend that makes his lie believable. It doesn't need to be a matter of life and death for him to drop everything and go: his father has known that ever since he first brought his best friend home when they were six.

"I have to go, I'm sorry."

                             /////////////////////////////////////////////

As he pretty much runs to the nearest bus stop, he curses himself for not asking his father the money for a taxi.

He tries to call Nico, but of course it keeps on ringing until it goes to voicemail. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.

Fuck his old ass phone, for not letting Martino send Ni a ten minute voice message in which he could either reassure him that he hadn't lost him or yell at him for sending such an idiotic message. Maybe both. Both are good.

Fuck the night buses, for taking forever to show up and even longer to get near his school. That's where Niccolò is, no doubt about that. He watches Chicco Rodi's tutorial on how to break into the building - which he saved on his phone, thank God - unable to keep waiting for Nico to call him back. When it ends, he is still nowhere near is destination. He might as well try sending him a text. He might be willing to read what Martino has to say, even if he doesn't want to listen.

What the fuck was that supposed to mean, Ni? You're spook- No, that would make him feel even worse. Try again.

You didn't lose me. I'm still yo- That's not too bad, but why would Nico believe him when let himself be fooled by Maddalena into thinking Ni would be better off without him? Hadn't he hated when Niccolò had made the same assumption, after Martino said all that shit about his mother?

He would if he could hear the seriousness in his voice, of course, but on a screen... It wouldn't work.

I'm on the night bus. I'm nearly there. Please, don't do anything stupid. Apart from me. This is slightly better. It's not the time for self-deprecating jokes, though, is it?

Wait for me, Ni.

He's crying now, so angry at himself for not finding the right words when Niccolò needs him the most. Martino is the one who keeps letting him down.

He's half tempted to throw his fucking phone - useless piece of junk - from the nearest window. To fight anyone on this bus. To kick a door open and get off. He nearly misses his stop, yelling "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU LOOKING AT?" to some guy that has been staring at him since he got on.

He's at the end of his tether, he is well aware of that. He can't afford being unable to think straight, however. He slaps himself with two hands, hard enough to regain some mental clarity. Watching the tutorial was actually useless, since both the gate and the front door were left ajar, but that's okay.

He is a bit relieved, indeed, that Nico hasn't locked himself inside.

'm sitting here... Where we met for the first time'   In the radio booth, then.

He slams the door open, but Nico isn't there. Martino immediately sends a text, asking where the hell is he. Did he mean "where we were first introduce to one another" but rephrased it to stay within the character limit?

"FUCK!!! I SWEAR TO GOD, NI, IF YOU WENT UP TO THE TERRACE..." He shouts to the empty corridors, as he briskly walks to the stairs. In his haste to get to the roof, he nearly trips twice on the steps.

It takes some work, and a twisted ankle, but it does manage to kick the flimsy gate down. He then proceeds to break down the heavy door with his shoulder - yeah, he should have totally asked Ni what other way he had found to get to the terrace, when he had the chance... Not that being accused of vandalism isn't a risk worth taking.

Having heard all the commotion, NIccolò stands up. It takes an enormous amount of effort to do that, when he feels so sluggish and tired. He doesn't have to raise his head to know who it is. It can only be him... but why? Why did he bother? Is he here to tell him that they cannot break up over text? He did say they needed to talk.

"FUCK IT, NI, YOU'RE NOT ALONE!" Martino cries out, instead.

His voice sounds so raw, and broken, that Nico can't help but back away from him. He ended up hurting Martino, once again. He should go. Then, in a matter of seconds, he finds himself stuck in a bone crushing hug.

"Don't ever say that again. Don't even think about it. The last men on Earth has got to be us. Together. I won't have it any other way. I'm not going anywhere. I'm here to stay, okay? " Martino is rambling now, digging his nails into Niccolò's shoulder blades and sniffling against his neck. He breaths in, deeply, feeling weak in the knees now the adrenaline rush is over. He needs to calm down if he wants his words to get through to Niccolò.

He sighs, kissing his lips to reassure himself that his boyfriend is here for real, in his arms. Alive.

"Whenever you feel lonely, tell me. You are not alone, Niccolò. You will never be. I won't allow it. You always, always, got me." *************************************************** A/N: So, what aboiut a 'minute by minute' epilogue with Martino asking for his mom's help rather than Maddalena's? We'll see if inspiration strikes...Anyway, I hate myself enough that I also want to write this Italian because "Te dimmi dove sei che mi faccio tutta Roma a piedi." and "COL CAZZO CHE SEI SOLO, NI" have totally another vibe from what I used in English :P Also, I know in the og it was Magnus that said that Even couldn't have been having a manic episode 24/7, but I wanted to change it a little... And.. What else? Oh yeah: do you really want me to believe that Martino keeps him under his full name in his phone ;D ? AFTER TONIGHT ?? He's just a step away from having under "Amò" (short for 'love')... For Nico's text I used this as an ispiration, but I didn't want to be too specific with the location: https://twitter.com/concertiallalba/status/1058386950770561026

[rdr2-is-life]

IM BACK, for now...

HIII!!! So sorry guys, I’m currently at my friends house and she has WiFi! So I’m taking the time to use it well ^^. I’ve been constantly contacting the WiFi people (idk what they’re called, I’m pretty sure they would be identified as technicians ... ok I’m just dumb at this point, let’s just called them the WiFi people lol) and they will be coming over tomorrow! I’m staying over for the night with my friend so I’ll have lots to do, still got those matchups. Unfortunately, throughout this week I’ve been trying to upload some, but seems that tumblrs been deleting them as soon as I try to post them.. not sure if it’s to do with the WiFi, or if there’s something wrong with tumblr.. so I’m sorry if some of your matchups aren’t being answered - if you requested before and haven’t seen them posted, please send them in again, and I’ll redo it ^^. Jesus this week has been real tough, lost a job lol. Ah well, looks like I’m gonna have to find a new one ;;;;;. Anyway, that doesn’t really matter, I hope you guys have been ok and I’m sorry to have worried some of you, I’m still here!

ALSO, how. For the love of god, HOW, have I managed to gain 67 followers? Hmmm? Can someone explain the logic behind that? I’m honestly very surprised, I’ve never had that many followers on tumblr, and plus, my writing is so damn bad, how do you guys enjoy it?

Like one moment when I’m writing I throw in so many ideas, and as soon as I post it, I want to delete it because it’s so bad. I get that the characters I write for might be OOC but I’m trying to make them realistic. I get that a lot of people say they’re “soft bois” and I can agree, but we still have to keep in mind they’re murderers. Arthur would kill anyone if Dutch asked him to. I mean, Charles is genuinely a soft boi tho, like he doesn’t kill for fun - still a murderer tho - but a soft one. But yeah, a bit deep from my point of view, sorry lol! I honestly don’t get how you guys like my writing, it’s so crap. I’ve had a few asks telling me how ‘good’ my writing is, and I’m literally sitting there like “..can I have what you’re having? Because I cannot see anything good about it..” >•< I don’t know, I’m glad you guys like it, I really am, i just.. anxiety is a real pain in the ass sometimes and it always makes me feel very insecure as soon as I send those requests out.

On another note, since I haven’t had WiFi for a good week(?) I’ve been playing a lot of RDR2, and got some pics with Arthur! I found something real cool and I’m not sure many people know about it; I don’t know if I should post it because I don’t wanna look dumb and be like “hey guys, I’ve noticed this, don’t know if you have” and get a bunch of you saying “yeah! Saw it on my first playthrough” 🤣but yeah, I’ll do some requests, and some of the matchups I have left (I’m so sorry if I don’t post yours, some of them got deleted because I was desperate to get something out - honestly, I’m such an idiot. John has some real competition on ‘who is the dumbest person alive’ lol.)

Also, Jesus Christ I didn’t know that the gif I made of Arthur and the donkey would get so many likes! Holy crap! I just thought it was funny lol - thank you, honestly, thank you so much!

But I’m back, for now at least - I should have WiFi by Friday, and if I do - everything will come out of my inbox.

THIS IS THE LAST TIME ILL DO THIS OK? But, again, I’m sorry if my writing isn’t as good as other writers >•< I’m not the best, and English isn’t my first language ok?? Russian is ... but I’ve been in the U.K. for over 10 years, it doesn’t count though... I use this excuse when I can’t spell a word correctly when I’m typing to my friend, and she always goes “oh, is this because you’re Russian?” And I’m like “yeah, of course, I’m not good with English and you know that, my dear friend”. Just banter lol. God the more I’m writing on this post, the cringier it gets - deepest of apologies I’ll stop now lol.

[okyio-archive]

hey guys !! im so sorry for being absent for so long :+( !! it’s been a crazy couple of days and i really needed to recover after everything that has been happening. again i just want to say thank you for everyone who has been so patient with me. i’m going to clear these anon msgs + i’ll respond to all my private msgs&discord chats + check out what i’ve missed once i wake up tomorrow. i love you guys sm for showing love + support. i wish you a happy thursday :+)

sims related

Would u ever do an editing tutorial? like how u draw little doodles and stuff like that! If it's not too much fo a hassle. love you SO MUCH!! <3

hey nonny :+) please check the faq next time !! I’ve answered how i drew the little doodles there but for a full blown tutorial i’ve already mentioned that i’ll do one once i have more free time :+) !! thanks for the support love !!

What are your favorite brushes for edits?

i recently found one right over here :+) and i’ve been experimenting w/ em !! tbh i dont have a fav cause im always trying out new brushes out + seeing which ones i like !!! so im sorry if that doesn’t answer your question asjkdhf

hi!!! hope you're having a good day!! is it okay to use the sims from your sim dump in a story as long as you get credit? if not i totally understand!

thanks nonny for asking :+) !! yeah definitely !! you can do whatever you like w/ them !! i would love to see so feel free to @ me :’+) have fun and tysm for using my sims :’+)!!

personal questions

Can i be your friend?

ofc nonny :+) !! ill prob reply slow af but i promise you that i would love to make friends :+) so hmu whenever you feel comfortable !!

How do you deal with perfectionism? Or what ever that word is????

honestly, tk wrote a perfect post outlining what she does and it helped me out a lot as well !! so check her post out + hopefully it can help you a bit too :+) if you ever need someone to talk to, im here :’+)

would it be ok if I asked u for friendship advice?

ofc nonny :+) !!! just hmu off/on anon in my inbox or pm if you wish :+) im always willing to help as long as you’re a little patient w/ me since i reply quite late haha but im always here to listen + give my 2 cents :+)

I find it so hard to study, I get distracted so easily and sometimes it isn’t my phone :(

awh man nonny i know what you mean. i struggle w/ studying a lot and i’m a uni student haha. besides the typical tips you can find online, what i found is this app called forest (it’s on ios + android devices!!) to help me stay on task (whether it’s studying/chores). check out more information here. it’s been honestly helping me a lot + who doesn’t like plants??? 

I don't know who to tell this to and you seem really kind: I'm the pickiest eater I've ever met or heard of. It's just NO most food is disgusting it just makes me wanna barf. And everyone treats me like a 4-year-old child. Nothing cheers me up anymore. I think I have selective eating disorder and nobody understands :( People are being mean to me all the time because I don't like certain foods and maybe I AM just a 4-year-old child. I need help and comfort :( Because being a picky eater is hard.

awh nonny first thank you for telling me about that :’+) im really sorry if im replying this super late asldkjf. i honestly really appreciate that you opened up to me about it okay? i know this can be difficult since it’s smt so personal. i want to let you know right now that i’m always here for you + supporting you okay? i know it’s difficult when your surrounding group of people don’t understand / support. although i haven’t personally dealt with this, i would suggest finding a professional + see what their take on it? if it’s to the extent that certain food makes you barf, it’s def more than just “wow ur picky” yeuno? cause you physically can’t eat smt without barfing it all out. seek a professional when you’re more comfortable okay? you dont have to do it now but baby steps!! remember you’re not alone, im always here for you oaky nonny :+) every step of the way!! lmk + update me okay? i’m wishing you luck ily !!

my moms having her 4th child and like im really nervous abt it cause this is the first time im actually old enough to like remember it and take care of him and like im scared

!! nonny thank you for coming up to me + telling me about it - i honestly really appreciate it :’+) !! first of all: congrats !! i know things will definitely be different since there are responsibilities to deal w/ and added stress but remember !! to take it slow okay? it’s 100% okay to make mistakes. it’s 100% normal to feel overworked. there will prob be more little arguments here and there since everyone will be quite restless + more irritable but take it slowly + (literally) baby steps okay? if it gets too much for you, take a breather and come back to it. im sure your mom will understand if it gets too much for you. and besides - im here supporting and rooting for you too nonny :+) !! i honestly cant imagine taking care of another human being at this age either - heCk i can’t even take care of myself askdjhf but remember it’s a learning curve!! it’ll take awhile + there will be a lot of obstacles to huddle through but it’ll be rewarding okay? again, if u ever need someone to talk to, im always here :+) !! ily nonny!! stay strong

Hi! I'm really sorry to bother you rn, but I just really, REALLY miss my dog who passed away several years ago. She was like my sister... I related to her more than people & I could always rely on her for comfort. All I want to do is just hug her again, but I know I can't do that. I just can't move on. I love her so much. I'm sorry, but I need to tell this to someone, ANYONE, because it's really been keeping me down lately...(dog death anon cont.) I've been seeing a therapist since she's died, and I've been on several medicines which DO help, but only to a certain degree. I realize there's a certain part that I, myself, need to control (ie moving on). but like I said, it's hard. I haven't told anyone this, because I'm afraid of looking stupid for letting my dog's death get to me this much that it's required hospitalizations and such. I just want to see her again. (end)

!!!!! asdf you’re never a bother nonny !! dont ever thing that alright? i’m always here for you ready to listen no matter what (i’m just a super slow replier so i apologize for that askdhf). but first thank you for coming to me + telling me about your personal problems - i honestly appreciate sm. i’m honestly so sorry nonny... i can relate to some extent because i got my dog when i was in gr 7 and he was my only friend who i can go to to feel love + comfort up since i’ve been bullied since elementary school & never really had friends. i can’t imagine what you’re going through .. i’m honestly so sorry. don’t think that you’re stupid at all okay? i’m the last person on the earth to ever think you are. i’m glad you’re seeking a therapist right now !! however, i 100% understand if it’s difficult to move on - cause it is!! my grandpa past away 10 years ago and he was one of my best friends and he was really the only “father figure-like” role model i look up to. till this day my heart aches thinking about my grandfather and how much i miss him. similarly, i would definitely feel the exact same way w/ my dog if he passed away because i treasure him sm. so don’t be too hard on yourself about moving on. i know it’s easier said than done but different people vary on how long they mourn for. some can be 100% okay in a couple months while others takes years - and that’s 100% okay! why? because we’re human. there’s no need to rush in “moving on” - take it in your own pace. i know the pressure / stigma of others thinking you’re “weird/stupid” for being like this state further creates anxiety/stress in “forcing” yourself to rapidly wanting to move on. however, i urge to try your best to ignore what others might think + focus on yourself to the best of your abilities. perhaps distract yourself in finding a new hobby / doing smt that you love or smt new. it takes time to recover - no matter how long you take, no one’s rushing you oke :+)? ill be here every step of the way if u ever need me. it’s okay to have those days where you tried so hard but u end up at point A because after you go through that hurdle, you’ll be closer to your goal. take as long as you need - baby steps nonny :+) i’m here rooting for you oke? i love you so much. you’re a strong sweetheart and i know you can do it. 

[gryffvndors]

uncommon alliances [draco malfoy]

request:  “ wowowow ive only read one of things youve written (idk if youve written more but still) and i already love your writing, since you taking requests, can you do something with the reader being rons twin sister and draco is interested™ in her and pansy is like wingwoman as fuck, but not to draco, to the reader, like theyre lowkey friends, you can take it where ever after those things tho.. thank you ❤️” - @reading-vs-reality

word count: ~1800

a/n: awww, thanks!! sorry this was sitting in my inbox for so long! i got a lil carried away with the “reader is ron’s twin” part and wrote tons (like 5000 words worth) of domestic relationship building between reader, ron, hermione, harry and ginny / the background between pansy and reader’s friendship. it might be posted later if i feel like it, but for now, this is what you got! thanks for reading and sorry if this isn’t what you wanted!

summary: sitting around a table in hogsmeade is the best place to find out secrets. also, reverse psychology ALWAYS works on a slytherin.

part zero

“So, Weasley,” Pansy smirks, leaning forward to tap your knee. “Who do you fancy?”

You look up from your mug of butterbeer, eyes narrowed. You’re sitting with a group of Slytherin girls - Pansy Parkinson, Millicent Bulstrode, Daphne Greengrass. The four of you are circled around a table in the Three Broomsticks, hands wrapped around mugs of butterbeer. You yearn for these Hogsmeade moments - you can be someone else, someone other than the stereotypical “Gryffindor Weasley” you’re expected to be.

You don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea; you love your group. Harry is your best friend, Hermione is a goddess, and your brother - well, he’s your twin brother. Sometimes, though, you feel suffocated by the pressure. Harry Potter’s inner group, a Weasley, looked down upon for the hand-me-down robes and red hair and a Gryffindor in Harry’s year, friendly with the Chosen One himself. Hogsmeade allows you to hook up with your other friends, the ones your main friend group would have a fit over if they found you fraternizing with. Especially Pansy Parkinson - she hasn’t exactly been nice to them. She’s actually quite an interesting friend. Hanging out with her and the others proves to be a vast learning experience. For one, Pansy, while rude, is quite funny when prompted. Daphne Greengrass is sweet and Millicent is so daft, it’s laughable.

“Who do I fancy?” You repeat over a sip of your butterbeer. “I don’t fancy anybody.”

Daphne smiles, nudging your side. “You have to have your eye on somebody. Come on, not even a guilty pleasure?”

“Like who? Daph, who’s your guilty pleasure?” You lean forward on your elbows, smirking into her green eyes. Daphne turns a deep red and hides her face behind perfectly manicured nails.

“I… okay, if I tell you, you cannot tell him! Any of you - you can’t say a word! I haven’t told anybody but Astoria,” she presses her lips together in a thin line, looking between the rest of you. “And you have to tell me yours!”

You roll your eyes. Honestly, you hate boy talk. Sitting around with other girls and discussing the physical appearance of the male species has never been up your alley. You’d rather be out doing something. You don’t know if it’s the Gryffindor in you, or maybe the Weasley - possibly both - but you hate sitting around talking. That’s one reason why you love hanging around with Harry, Ron and Hermione: there’s never a dull moment.

Slytherins, though, never seem to tire of sitting around and talking. Mainly shit, but they do get around to other topics. You’d expected the cattiness from them.

“Okay, Daphne, sure,” you sigh, sitting back and crossing your arms across your chest. The blonde seems awfully nervous; you assume it’s somebody in Gryffindor. If he was anything other than Gryffindor, the girl wouldn’t be as reluctant to spill the secret.

You’re right - Daphne stutters out a, “Ha-Harry Potter,” and waits for the incoming onslaught. All you do is snort, rolling your eyes.

“Harry is attractive,” you muse, pursing your lips. Everyone looks at you, eyes wide. “What? He is. You lot may hate him, but you have to agree he’s attractive.”

“...Fine,” Pansy mutters. “He’s a little attractive. But I would never do anything with him.”

You shrug. “Me neither. He’s like my brother.”

Millicent pipes up, “Your brother is cute, too.”

Now you shiver in disgust. Turning to the Slytherin, you sigh, shaking your head. “Millie, Millie, Millie… never say that in my presence ever again. It’s bad enough hearing that from Lavender Brown with Hermione sulking in the background. The sexual tension between them is insane, but you didn’t hear it from me,” you pause. “Oh, right, right. Well, Draco Malfoy is very pleasing to look at.”

“Draco?” The Slytherins shout. Pansy laughs, running a hand through her hair. “Funny you should mention that.”

“Why?”

The door behind you swings open. Entering the establishment is a trio of boys; all three tall and skinny, one pale, one tan, and one dark.

“Hello, Draco, Theo, and Blaise,” Pansy makes eye contact with you before smirking and twisting in her seat to face the boys. “Cold?”

“A bit,” answers Malfoy, surveying the table. When his eyes fall on you, the corners of his mouth turn down. “What’s she doing, hanging out with you?”

You stare into the silver irises that glare down at you, bringing your cup up to take another sip. Before you can reply with something snarky, Daphne is scoffing. “Don’t be so rude, Draco. She’s our friend.”

“Yeah,” Millie chimes in.

Pansy looks between the two of you and clears her throat. “Draco,” she says sweetly, resting her head in her hand, “are you busy right now?”

Malfoy, not breaking eye contact, grunts, “Does is look like I’m busy?”

“I wouldn’t know, you’re just standing there having eye sex with Weasley.”

You choke on your butterbeer, mid-sip. As you’re coughing, Millie leans over and whispers into your ear, “There’s something I never thought I’d hear.” You only choke even harder.

Malfoy’s gaze snaps to Pansy. He turns bright red, mumbling, “Don’t be daft. I… was not having eye sex with Weasley.”

“Good. So you can walk her back to Hogwarts?”

“What?” The two of you chorus.

Pansy nods. “She’s feeling a bit ill. Doesn’t want to walk alone. The girls and I have shopping to do. Will you walk her back?”

“What? No! She’s a Weasley!”

“She’s my friend, Draco. And you owe me. Walk her back to the castle.”

Malfoy groans, but steps back to mutter something to Nott and Zabini; they slap his shoulder, grinning. “I’ll be outside,” he mumbles, pushing the door open and leaving. You get up and follow. Pansy pulls you back, your ear close to her mouth.

“He thinks you’re very good-looking as well. Have fun!” Smirking, she shoves you away, wiggling her fingers. You glare as you bid good-bye to the rest of your friends.

Outside, Malfoy leans against the brick wall, arms folded. At your exit, he pushes off and waits for you to catch up before continuing onward. You shove your hands in your pockets (you were an idiot and forgot to wear mittens and your scarf, for Merlin’s sake) and jog to keep pace.

“So is this a ruse to bother me, or do you genuinely feel ill?” Asks Draco. You glance up at him, a smile finding its way onto your lips. Your stomach does a little jump when you catch him glancing down for a split second, so fast you think you might’ve imagined it.

“Oh, it’s definitely a ruse,” you reply, nodding. “Pansy went along with it. She thought, ‘I’m going to irritate Malfoy today,’ and bam, here we are.”

He scowls, looking away. “Why were you, of all people, with them?”

“Sometimes it’s nice to get away from Harry’s drama.”

“Who would’ve thought Potter attracts goddamn drama,” Draco snaps.

You shrug, “They’re a fun lot to be with sometimes, when they’re not fawning over boys. That gets a bit annoying,” you side-glance him, and blurt out before you can change your mind, “That’s why we’re in this situation, anyway. Bloody boy talk.”

Draco stops moving. You turn, raising your brows. He retorts, “This situation? What do you mean, Weasley?”

You roll your eyes and huff out, “Daphne admitted her crush for Harry Potter in return for my ‘secret crush,’” you make air quotes, “so I told the table I think you’re attractive. Pansy is obviously playing wing-man. Pulled me aside and told me how you also find me pretty,” smirking, you roll back and forth on your feet, listening to the crunching snow, “is that true?”

Draco’s cheeks turn pink again. It’s a good look for him; gives him a bit of color, evens out the pale skin. “Why would I find a blood traitor like you pretty?”

“Wo-hoa!” You hold up your hands in surrender, taking a step back. “No need to get so malicious! I happen to find a bigot like you attractive. Even though you’re rude and like to insult me and my family,” you frown. “If you don’t want to walk me all the way to the castle, then don’t. Leave. Go back to the Three Broomsticks. I am heading back to the castle, for I have an essay due tomorrow for Ancient Runes that I haven’t finished.”

You turn around and start stomping away. You walk alone for a good few minutes, refusing to look back. Finally, you hear crunching behind you. Malfoy catches up and falls into step with you, pouting. “There’s no need to bring out your Weasley anger.”

“There’s a hell of a lot more anger where that came from, Malfoy.”

He huffs. “Fine. I find you… pretty. But nothing between us would ever work out.”

“True,” you agree. “I’m a Weasley, and you’re a Malfoy. Our parents hate each other.”

“You’re a Gryffindor, and I’m a Slytherin.”

“Your father nearly killed my little sister a few years ago.”

“Your best friend is my worst nemesis and I call your brother ‘Weasel’ on a daily basis.”

“Our children would either be dreadfully pale with bright orange hair, or be freckled and tan with white-blonde hair.”

Draco snorts. “That is a fashion statement.”

You nod, giggling. “You’re probably not even a good kisser, anyway. I broke up with Seamus Finnigan because he isn’t a good kisser. I need good snogging in my life.”

Draco stops again. “I am a good kisser!”

You shrug. “I dunno, doesn’t look like you’d be one.”

“...Is this reverse psychology? Because if it is, it’s definitely working.”

You grin, turning around. He’s a lot closer than you imagined; your chests are nearly touching. “It’s working? Blimey, I don’t think it is. I’m still ta-”

Draco grabs your chin and tilts your head so he has a better angle. He leans down and kisses you, cold lips moving against your own. You grab his jacket and tug. His body collides with yours, but it only makes for better leeway to continue snogging.

You pull away a minute later, cheeks flush. “Okay, okay-” you laugh, “I think you’ve proven me wrong. You’re a good kisser.”

He says, smug, “I know.”

You grab his sleeve and pull on it as you continue walking to make him follow you. “Don’t get too over your head, Malfoy. You’re still a git who thinks you’re better than everyone else.”

“I am better than everyone else, Weasley. At least I actually am better than everyone else, unlike you, who thinks you’re better than everyone else and actually isn’t.”

“We’re a great pair,” you sigh wistfully.

Draco grunts in what you reckon is agreement. You keep on for the castle, his gloved hand in your own bare one. Your other hand is kept in your pocket for warmth. A few minutes into the silence, Draco notices your shivering and takes off his scarf. He drops it around your shoulders until it’s covering your mouth. When you pipe up to thank him, he only mutters, “Don’t.”

You make a mental note to thank Pansy later.

[graymalkyn]

WOW DUDE, I LOVE YOUR WRITING!! You dont have to do it now or anything! Im more than happy with this resting in your inbox if requests arent open, but... How would V react to seeing Yoosung hurt? Like idk, if one of V's coworkers said something mean to the blonde boo, or someone else? And Yoosung just feels really bad. IdkaboutyoubutIreallywanttoseeanangryV I hope youre having a good time!

Aahahaha, thanks! ^^ I’m sitting here laughing because at first I was like, “What requests? *insert confused face*” So I’m afraid I’m going to disappoint you, because angry!V just doesn’t happen in my headcanon. Nope. V is a ball of sunshine. I guess. Maybe. Anyway, here it is, longer than I expected OTL (It takes place during the Christmas event.)

Drawing the curtain behind him, Yoosung tiredly rested hisback against the cold concrete wall and let out a sigh. He rubbed his sweatypalms over his stomach – he hated that bubbling sensation that he sometimesgot, starvation and satiation at the same time. But it had been a long week. Itwas chilly outside, his legs were tired, and he’d barely had anything to drink,and…

A tear rolled down Yoosung’s face. He quickly wiped it offwith the back of his sleeve.

“Yoosung?” Jihyuncalled from beyond the curtain.

Yoosung swallowed hard and pinched his cheeks. Smile, smile! “I’m here!” he saidmerrily. “Merry Christmas!”

Jihyun grinned. “Merry Christmas, love. Sorry I’m late, butthe traffic is terrible. I’m glad it was Driver Kim at the wheel, otherwise we’dstill be stuck there.” He closed the distance between them and kissed him onthe forehead. “It’s so cold here! Are you on a break? Let’s go and get yousomething warm.”

Yoosung shook his head. “It’s okay, I don’t think I can eatanything right now. Oh? Ah, you’re wearing the gloves? Jihyun!” he whined. “We were supposed to exchangepresents tomorrow morning, why did you open it today? It’s so unfair, now what are we going to do…?”

“I really wanted to wear them, sorry! Just as I was leavinghome this morning I thought it would be great if I could wear them, since I’dbe working on location…” Jihyun tilted his head. “Are you mad at me now?”

Yoosung looked down. “No,” he replied jadedly. “No, it’s okay.That’s why I got them, I guess. Sorry for snapping.”

With gloved fingers, Jihyun lifted his chin and gazed intohis eyes. “Yoosung?”

A frustrated sigh escaped the young man, but he bit his lipsand looked away.

“Awww, was that a pout?” Jihyun teased him. “Are you goingto start sulking? We cannot really get all lovey-dovey right now, thefundraiser’s still got a couple more hours before it’s over.” He was about tonuzzle him, but Yoosung pulled away. Jihyun’s smile faded away. “Love?”

“It’s nothing serious.”

“Just tell me.”

“There’s nothing you can do about it. Damn, there’s nothing I can do about it,” Yoosung snapped. Hecovered his eyes, his jaw clenched tightly.

Jihyun pressed his forehead against Yoosung’s and strokedhis shoulders in a comforting way. “Do tell me. It might make you feel better.”

The VIP area was at full capacity. Considering thedemand from the year before, Yoosung had prepared a plan to make the packagemore desirable, which had resulted in the tickets being sold out in recordtime. As he was passing by the area filled with glasses with warm cider andplates with exquisite delicacies that Jaehee had supplied them with, he overheard some of the people on the firstrow.

“Even if it’s an RFA event sponsored by C&R, I’m suremost of us are here for Zen, not for Jumin Han.”

“Either of them is more than fine, and it’d be especiallygood if they came together. Too bad they’re all slated to appear at the end,together with V.”

“The photographer? Tell me about it – I’ve been dying tomeet him for a year now! That’s why I got these tickets this time.”

“I know what you mean. Even if it’s a 30-secondmeet-and-greet, it could be totally worth it. He’s so handsome!”

“Ah, but nobody’s more handsome than Zen.”

“Excuse me? Have you seen Jumin Han’s back in those tightsuits? He’s the most perfect man - he and his millions.”

“They’re all perfect. This event is a blessing, truly.” Asthe woman turned around to get another glass of cider, she bumped into Yoosung,who had finally managed to get hold of some hot chocolate. “Ow!”

“I’m terribly sorry!” Yoosung bowed politely.

“You’d better be! You could have spilled that drink on me,sheesh!” The woman angrily snatched the glass of cider and turned her back onYoosung. “Can you believe that guy? He almost ruined my coat!”

“He did? Who is he?”

“That little guy? Just an employee.”

“How plain; he’s just probably lucky to be here.”

Yoosung left the mug on the table practically untouched ashe walked away, trying not to bump into anyone else.

“I know it’s stupid to feel this way,” he said softly, “butI can’t help feeling that they’re right. I mean, next to you guys, I’m still—”

“No.”

Yoosung looked up, surprised. If Jihyun’s warm hands weren’tstill touching him, he could have sworn that there was an ice statue standingbefore him. He was once again reminded that turquoises were stones, cold andhard. But that was not what the man before him had always shown him. “Jihyun…”he called gently. “It’s okay…”

“It is not okay.” He grabbed Yoosung by the back of his headand pulled him into an embrace. “You… Why is it always so easy for you toignore your own worth? Don’t listen to those people. They don’t know you. Whywould it matter?”

“It doesn’t!” Yoosung exclaimed. “I know it doesn’t matter!But I don’t know, it’s also true—”

“Yoosung!”

“But isn’t it? Everyone loves the catering Jaehee prepared.Since she left C&R, she’s made a name for herself. Zen is fully booked forthe next couple of years. Jumin is Jumin. And you…! I can’t be objective aboutyou anymore. Seven is invisible and he’s used to it, so then it’s just me beingonly me – a personal assistant who’s still in college. It’s easy to feel likeI don’t matter.”

“Oh, Yoosung,” Jihyun sighed, rocking him gently. “There’s alot I could say about you, and I will, once we get home.” A chime let them knowit was time to proceed with the introductions of the guests. “Will you stillpoint out the ladies for me when they come to greet me?”

“No way!” Yoosung said, taking a step back and grabbing hisearpiece and iPad. “I know you always have good intentions, but I didn’t tellyou about it so that you could find a solution. This is my problem,” he said,before he walked away briskly.

“May I have your attention, please?” Jihyun smiled as hegrabbed the microphone from the stand.

“What on earth…” Yoosung muttered. He turned to Jumin, whohad just arrived. “Forgive me, but Jihyun seems to have mistaken his turn to speak—”

“I allowed it,” Jumin replied. “He was visibly upset aboutwhat those ladies said about you.”

I’m going to kill him,Yoosung thought.

“Good evening, everyone. Thank you for coming to the annual RFAall-charity fundraiser sponsored by C&R. My name is V, and I’m glad towelcome you, especially in this time of the year and in this weather. As westand in this tent, surrounded by the warmth of friends and family, we takemany things for granted: those who have no home to go back to when the day isdone, or those who need a helping hand or a friendly ear but cannot have it.How lucky are those of us who have someone like that?” The silence was brokenby a general murmur of consent. “We the people at RFA are especially lucky, forwe have someone who is all of that and more, and his name is Yoosung Kim.”

Oh no.

“Oh. I didn’t realize this could become somewhat embarrassing,” Jumin said, folding hisarms across the chest and noticing that Yoosung had hidden behind him.

“What’s this all about?” Zen wondered, standing by them.

“Someone spoke ill of Yoosung,” Jaehee murmured.

“Eeeh? Who would? Yoosung’s the best of all of us,” Sevensaid.

“When this organization lost direction and we questioned itscontinuity, it was Yoosung who inspired us to continue with its legacy. When wewent through hard times, he was there to support us in any way he could around the clock.” Jihyun made a pause.

“Oh, he’s angry,” Jumin said, frowning.

“Huh? Excuse me? How can you tell?” Zen asked.

“How can you not?” Jumin wondered.

“Because people express emotions with their bodies andvoices, and I see no anger there, you jerk!” Zen exclaimed.

“Must you resort to name-calling?” Jumin sighed. “I supposeit can’t be helped if you don’t see it.”

“Shush, you two!” Seven said, slapping them on the back.

“He’s our youngest member, and in spite of having tomaintain a scholarship to finish his PhD, he works full time, and hevolunteered to organize this event.” V gripped the microphone a little tighter,his voice slightly trembling. “He inspires us to become better just by being himself.We are the ones that have to keep up with him on a daily basis. And to me…”

“Oh God, I can’t hear this!” Yoosung said, covering hiseyes.

“That’s not what you’re supposed to cover if you don’t wantto hear,” Jumin noted.

“Jumin Han, you idiot!” Zen hissed. “Can’t you see he’s embarrassed?”

“To me, he’s the reason I’m standing here. It is because ofhis encouragement that today I can share my view of the world with you, and letme tell you: the world is a most wondrous place because people like Yoosung Kimlive in it.” He took a step forward and looked at the crowd defiantly. “Thereare many Jumin Hans, and many more like me, and yet, without someone like him,we could have no idea of the daily struggles people go through. It is peoplelike him that we need so that in the future, useless things like VIPclassifications will no longer matter. We must learn who is worth gold, and whois only gold-plated.”

“Okay, I think it’s time to stop him now before he starts offending people,” Jaehee saidalarmed, trying to get Seven to stop cackling. “Yoosung, go out there rightnow!”

“What?! No!” Yoosung cried. “After all that, I’ll never beable to show my face in public again!”

“Just… Just get him to stop talking,” Jumin said, his voicetrembling.

Zen grabbed Yoosung by the wrist and dragged him out to thestage. “Hello everyone!” he shouted, flashing a smile. The crowd startedcheering, but they soon turned to wondering the identity of the young man withthe crimson face that was being towed. Zen took the microphone from V’s hand ratherunceremoniously and handed it to Yoosung. “Introduce yourself!” he hissed.

Yoosung’s eyes opened wide and turned to Jihyun, who wassmiling charmingly. He gave Yoosung a little wink that only the two of themcould see, which made Yoosung chuckle. He looked ahead and bowed. “He-Helloeveryone… My name is Yoosung Kim.”

For a moment the crowd remained silent, but then franticclapping and cheering erupted from all corners of the tent.

As he clapped, V moved closer to Yoosung and whispered inhis ear, “Never doubt yourself.” He stepped back for a few seconds but then heseemed to remember something. “Oh, and when the meet-and-greet comes, kindlypoint out the ladies that said those things about you.”

“Like hell I will,” Yoosung hissed under his breath.

“Shall I do something more embarrassing in front of allthese people, then?” Jihyun teased.

Yoosung shuddered as he replied, “The four ladies wearingfur on the first row.”

“Thank you, love,” Jihyun grinned, gently patting him on theback and waving to the crowd.

[letsdiscoverkitty]

Hey beautiful! Did you manage to get to 2500 cals today? if not, the day is not over yet! Gogogo kitty, for uni, for you!!!!! Rooting for you and bigs hugs from the Netherlands xxxxxxxxxxxx

Bless you, thank you for cheering me on. I am trying to keep pushing forwards. I have made a lot of changes recently, and although my head is really trying to beat me up over things not being ‘perfect’ and for not managing x/y/z, I am trying to hold onto the positives. No I am not perfect and yes I really need to keep pushing forwards (and I know this, I really do, I know the ins and the outs, the whys and the hows…), but I need to remember that my struggles do not brand me as a ‘failure’ like my head is constantly trying to tell me that I am. I am not a failure. I have a mental illness, one that really doesn’t want me to get better, but I have already come this far and I am trying to use that to help myself move forwards with the hope that things can get better from here and that I do not need to stay stuck for the rest of my life.

I am really sorry to post this at the end of your ask anon as you are so kind but I just need to say something about some messages I have received recently…

A number of messages have popped into my inbox over the past few days that read along the lines of “have you made your full meal plan yet? come on kitty, seriously, you can talk the talk but you need to walk the walk” and some ‘tough love’ etc. And I know these have come from the most caring places with the best of intentions, but if I am completely honest with you I have found these messages quite hurtful (?) as my head is constantly telling me that I am a failure and that I am letting people down/messing up/never going to get better etc. And to me, these messages appearing in my inbox (and I know a lot of them are said with the best of intentions), is another reminder/confirmation of how much of a failure I am. Please do not take this reply in the wrong way, I know that you are cheering me on and wanting for me to live and fight beyond this illness and I know you are all sick of me being such a stuck-record (goodness knows that I am sick of myself being on repeat), but I am really bloody trying. I am using all the support I have whilst I have it, which has included relaying texts with my support worker yesterday and a phone call with my ED nurse too (I never ever reach out for help/support beyond appointments as I do not feel that I am ‘worth it’ and that I would be annoying/wasting their time). Both wanted to remind me of the changes that I have made and am continuing to make, and that I am defying the odds and that I should be proud of myself - this is hard for me but I am slowly trying to learn to give myself a bit of credit for trying. I am pushing out of my comfort zone every single day, I am challenging my disorders and making myself feel incredibly uncomfortable in the short-term. Yes, I need tough love sometimes, however I need it from the people around me, not anonymous faces on the internet. I have been putting off posting this as I do not want to let any of you down/hurt anyone by saying this as I know all your support comes from the best of intentions, but please remember that I am a person behind this blog, someone who is battling her demons every single day and night. I am not a superhuman, I am nowhere near recovered and do not claim to be and never have done. I want to support others but I also have to support myself. If I could wake up tomorrow and be able to ‘just follow my meal plan’ then I honestly would and I wish it were that simple. Mental illnesses are illogical and do not make sense, and each person is different. There is a lot going on on the inside that we as outsiders cannot even begin to imagine.I know this sounds like I am making excuses and I really shouldn’t be posting this but I need to for me. I am not perfect. I am not an inspiration. I am not amazing. I am just another person trying to fight for their life and holding onto anything she can to give her a bit of hope that there might be a life out there for her without being dragged down by mental illnesses. I am sorry, I really am.Thank you again for all your kindness and support, you are all so kind and wonderful to me and I am forever grateful for that xxxx

[sicklylittlesnowflake]

Hi, I'm the same person that send you the sick Bones request (it was great!) and I had another idea... I really like the idea of Bones losing his voice, he's always shouting and making sarcastic comments. Kirk making fun of him before realising how ill and miserable his CMO is and forcing him to rest. Thank you, you're awesome!

(Hey anon! I’m so glad you liked your first fic, and this came in the inbox great timing as I just rewatched all three of the JJ Abrams ST movies and I’m in the mood for some Star Trek! I’ve completely forgotten how much I love these characters, and if anyone wants any more ST, hit up the ask!! ^^ also so sorry I’m taking so long with prompts!! Im currently busy with acting things, so I haven’t had the time!!)

The five year mission had been quite slow the past month, and Bones had been relaxed, doing nothing but performing random experiments on new plants and other resources they had found on their expedition.

However one day, a bunch of the crew had been rushed in with injuries, apparently upsetting some species because of some culture thing they weren’t aware of.

It had been hectic, a shock to his system of idleness, and suddenly being thrown into a high stake, stressful situation.

A huge wave of bleeding bodies and broken bones came in, the whole situation distressing. While Bones didn’t like to be too prideful, it was nothing he couldn’t handle. Of course, he had his trusty crew with him.

However, Bones was a human, who got stressed. And lost his temper.

“YOU! What’s so interesting about the ceiling? Does the ceiling have a broken bone?! Well, does it?! No? Well this man over here does, so get your ass over here!”

“Get me the hypospray–no, no dear, that is not a hypospray! This isn’t a guessing game!”

“Oh my god, look at that supreme speed right there, wow, have you seen anyone move with such agility? Hurry up and get me the damn hypospray!!”

Sarcastic comments were also not an odd occurrence for the doctor.

“Doctor McCoy, he appears to be bleeding..”

“OH REALLY?! I was wondering what this sorcery leaking out of his skin was..bleeding you say?! What is this alien process?! How fascinating!”

“Doctor McCoy, this person has a broken arm,”

“That’s great! How about we go dance around it and worship it!”

“Doctor McCoy, this guy has a small cut on their–”

“Welp, they’re gone. What a tragedy. They’re dead. Rest in peace, what a fine life they lead.”

Needless to say, at the end of the day, McCoy was exhausted.

He was suffering from a splitting headache from overworking and stressing, felt weak to the bones (a pun Kirk would make, and he’d yell at him) and his voice was beginning to go.

Just before the end of the day, he received a message from the captain.

“Bones, my dearest friend, how’s everything going down there? Is my crew still alive?” Kirk chirped, knowing fully that there wasn’t anything too serious happening, and even if there was, his doctor was more than capable of making things okay again. He had much faith in their CMO, even if he would never say it to his face.

Bones rolled his eyes, groaning, “No Jimmy boy, you’ve managed to kill them all this time. I’m surprised they’ve lasted this long anyway, I’ve already prepared the funeral arrangements.”

He groaned louder and flopped on his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose, “No, they’re fine, Jim!! Of course they’re fine, I’ve managed to bring you back from the dead, so of course a few broken bones can be healed!”

He could practically hear the captain raising his eyebrow.

“You said I was barely dead..”

“Oh, shut up!” Bones groaned fondly, and turned off the message.

From up at the bridge, Captain Kirk burst into laughter, slapping his knee and all sorts. He stretched on his chair, and yawned, “Well, let’s call it a day folks, tomorrows another day. We’ll see you all tomorrow.”

Gradually, the people on the bridge began to clear out, leaving Pavel Chekov to himself, looking rather worried.

Many of the crew, including Spock and Bones, had developed a slight parental instinct towards their youngest throughout the years. So naturally, when Kirk spotted the teen unmoving and worried he approached him, giving his hair a little shake.

“What’s up, Pasha?”

Chekov blinked, a little startled and smiled sheepishly, “I’m sorry Keptin’–it’s just zat..Ze Doctor seemed wery..his voice was wery hoarse..I wonder if he is becoming ill?”

Kirk blinked, not even realising how hoarse Bones had sounded until Chekov had pointed it out. The kid was really good at detecting and analysing things; and he wasn’t even sure why he was surprised when he was the youngest ever to be put on the enterprise.

He smiled softly,  giving the teen a pat on the back, “Doctor McCoy will be just fine. He always does, he’s..really a trooper. C'mon Pav, it’s been a long day, go and get some rest.”

The Russian nodded, and got up to leave but still wasn’t so sure.

“Doktor?” Chekov’s voice rang out, waking Bones from his half nap. By half nap, he meant that he was half asleep, not quite asleep and not quite awake.

“Mr.Chekov, I swear to god if you’ve broken anything..”

“No! I just..I brought you some tea,” Chekov said shyly, holding the steaming mug in front of him, looking far too adorable for it to be legal.

Bones’s heart burst with the sight before him, wanting to hug the boy for all of eternity but he could not let him know that he was a massive softie. No way.

“Is this your thing, now, kid? Givin’ up your boy genius thing to become a professional..tea guy?”

Chekov blinked, not knowing what to say.

Bones softened, “I’m joking, kid. I appreciate all this, it’s really sweet and all.”

Chekov’s face lit up with a bright, cheerful smile that made Bones momentarily forget about his splitting headache.

“It’s just zat you sounded sick on the message just there–I waz worried, iz all..Doktor, you must rest..”

Bones rolled his eyes at the kid fondly, “I’ll be fine, Mr Chekov. You should too, I promise I’ll head to my quarters too, in just a bit.”

Chekov frowned and crossed his arms, “Last time we had zis conversation you didn’t. It is now my duty to ensure zat you do.”

Bones groaned and huffed, unable to say no to this actual marshmallow fluff child and then got up, “Fine, lets go.”

Chekov’s frown disappeared and instantly resumed the cheery smile as the two walked out, with the Russian whiz kid dropping him off at his quarters. Much to Bones’s disapproval of course, he did not like being treated like a child.

The last time Bones had gotten sick, he had lied to Chekov and didn’t rest like he said he would. So naturally, when Bones actually did, he expected he wouldn’t be sick like the last time.

But of course, he was sick anyway.

Bones walked into the Medbay hacking, coughing his lungs out onto his sleeve. He felt awful, like he was about to collapse into a million pieces and that any second from now, his legs would betray him.

However, he would use his remaining time before his inevitable collapse to look after the patients from yesterday, who needed follow-up treatment and checkups.

The moment Nurse Chapel laid her eyes on Bones, she was off in a hurry, strutting away to send a message to the bridge. She didn’t even attempt to reason with the doctor, knowing full well how annoying and stubborn the man was, and that he’d never in a thousand years listen to her.

There were 3 people Leonard McCoy would give in to, Nyota Uhura, James Tiberius Kirk and Pavel Chekov, all three of which were at the bridge, and she knew at least one of them would come down and deal with this for her. She could not afford to waste time dragging him away!

Just as Bones continued to cough his way through the medbay, through examinations–to which the injured patients were more worried about him than their own injuries–James Kirk decided to make his presence known.

“Goooood morning Medbay! I have learned that your very own CMO sounds like a dying cat on acid at this very moment, and I am here to witness such an event!” He quipped as he strutted in, looking around for Bones.

It didn’t take him long to spot the doctor, and before he could even come 5 feet to him Bones hissed, quite literally like a cat.

Kirk blinked, “Woah shit, the cat on acid is still alive!”

“James, if you come any closer to me I will actually end your life,” Bones said harshly, although there was no real threat to his words. At least that’s what Kirk thought anyway, because he was more focused on how scratchy and hoarse Bones sounded.

“Oh, I will actually end your life,” Kirk mimicked in a silly, raspy voice to mock Bones.

Bones groaned loudly and continued to scan a patients wounds from yesterday, the patient looking awfully terrified of Bones, afraid he would snap and murder someone.

“What’re you gonna do anyway?” Kirk laughed, “Croak me to death? The sound of your nails on a chalkboard voice rupturing my eardrum as I die a long, painful death?”

Bones whipped around to face him for the first time, glaring daggers, “I will, James, watch me. In fact, I really want to right now.”

Upon seeing the doctor’s face, Kirk felt a sudden change in mood. He looked awful, pale, with dark bags hollowing his eyes. In fact, Kirk was beginning to feel a bit bad for being a shit. Bones must’ve felt horrible.

“Woah–uh, you can do that dude, but uh, after you go get rest and stuff. That is why I’m actually here–”

Kirk was cut off by a sudden harsh fit coming from Bones, as the doctor abruptly pulled away from the patient and turned away from both of them, coughing harshly into his fist. Kirk winced at the awfully chesty and painful sounding coughs, watching as his friend convulsed and shaken by the coughs. His entire frame was racked by them, and in fact, it looked like he could no longer support himself and was about to succumb to the illness and faint.

Kirk was at his side in an instant, wrapping a strong, caring arm around the doctor so he wouldn’t fall, steadying his entire frame. He lightly and gently patted his friend’s back, to help with the release of his coughs.

When Bones finished, he was gasping for air, taking a hot minute to recover himself and regain his breathing. Kirk sighed and gave Bones a pat on the shoulder.

“We’re out of here, you can’t be working now. Jesus, I should’ve listened to Pav last night..I know he got you tea and stuff and he got you to rest, but the kid’s too soft. He can’t force you like I can, his hearts too pure for that. I however can fight you tooth and nail,” Kirk smirked.

“You know what else I can do? Take care of you! Not that Pav can’t do that, it’s just his immune system isn’t the greatest and we need our navigator!”

Bones groaned, “You are not taking care of me, Jim! I will not allow it!”

“Who’s the captain here, hmm?” Kirk challenged, raising an eyebrow as he began to walk the doctor back to his quarters.

To his surprise, Bones didn’t say a word, and the journey there was quiet.

When they finally reached their destination, Bones slowly collapsed onto his bed. He instantaneously pulled his covers up and closed his eyes, face scrunching in a headache. Jim frowned at the sight, he looked so weak and sick. He wished he had realised earlier.

“..Ya really are sick, aren’t you?”

Bones opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

Jim widened his eyes, “Shit, should I get Chapel–”

Bones shook his head and took out his PADD, typing out,

“It’s fine. It will come back as I recover. Don’t worry about it.”

Jim relaxed, and gave him a smirk, “Y'know what? I really like this! You not talking..it’s so peaceful..OW!” He pouted as he rubbed the spot on his arm that had been whacked  by the PADD.

Jim glared, “It makes you more violent than usual though.”

Bones typed out: “You don’t have to take care of me, you know.”

Jim rolled his eyes fondly, “Well I am, to show how great I am.”

Bones typed out, “You’ll get sick.”

Jim laughed heartily, “I don’t get sick!”

Bones rolled his eyes and sighed, watching as Jim walked around to find and watch some kind of programme to keep them both occupied, enjoying this company with his best friend. He felt awful all over, and he couldn’t even shout at Jim (one of life’s greatest pleasures), but he felt happy like this, in silent company.