#it was/still is norovirus

[arctic-hands]

I spent FOUR DAYS in an E.R bed because there were NO beds open anywhere in the hospital proper. I get discharged after a week of being dangerously dehydrated despite the constant heavy duty electrolytes being pumped into my veins round the clock and in the third worst pain of my life, only to watch on the news at home a report about the days-long wait times in hospitals and hear that the reporters have the audacity to wonder why hospitals are overcrowded again

It's covid. Stop being wilful idiots

[delulluart]

Dracopia's thighs 45 min sketch because I haven't drawn anything in days (thanks work!).

[ohello0]

Really struggling with knowing there’s a few viruses going around that are airborne and also spread through poor sanitation but we’re a few years into a global pandemic that due to protecting a tanking economy and backwards status quo, public health and safety is kind of a joke at all levels of life so HCWs don’t mask in hospitals and schools don’t put soap in bathrooms

Is anyone else thinking about this…is anyone else concerned about covid and measles and norovirus and diarrhea planes and schools closing because all the students and teachers are sick. Is anyone scared of getting sick and dying anymore???

[anthonycrowley]

fob flu does seem to have had the long term effect of mildly fucking with my bitterness taste buds. i can’t taste ANYTHING bitter wtffffff.

[peachesofteal]

ghoap x reader / 18+ mdni / dark themes / prev here

Six thirty in the morning might be your favorite time of day. 

It’s the before.

Before anyone else comes in, before the morning rush, before the chime of the front door’s bell, before the shop is filled with lines of people, before it all upends you.

At six thirty in the morning, you sit in the back, perched on the prep table, with a fresh cup of coffee. You leave the side door open, screen separating you from the world, fresh air mixing with the smell of strawberry basil scones, cinnamon coffee cake and mini kolaches, fruited with whatever jam you’ve managed to throw together. Steam rises, semolina spills, the sun dawns, and the world wakes… all well after you’ve had your breakfast.

This corner of the city is busy, and the shop always hums like a well-oiled machine in the dregs of a rush, the front counter team churning out specialty coffees and teas effortlessly. It’s cyclical, similar faces every day, morning commuters rushing in and out, locals settling in a nook with their laptops and lattes, people swinging in for a quick bite. You hide in the back, usually, elbow deep in sudsy warm water with your mountain of dishes, answering the occasional shout of 'do we have more of-' and 'just sold the last-'

This morning in particular, cranberry orange scones, pumpkin muffins and mini quiches are the only things left cooling on the speed racks, waiting patiently for their turn to be placed in the display case, an endless cycle of replenishment lasting until the rush dies down, morning fading into afternoon, triple shot monstrosities turning into decaf coffees. 

It’s laborious, this routine. Five, six, sometimes seven days a week, going to bed with the sun, rising before it. Your wrists ache from rolling dough, cutting dough, scraping dough. Your back weeps when you lift the bowl from the mixer stand every morning, and your joints fare no better. You need new boots, and new insoles for your new boots, and probably a new standing mat, though you know your boss will never go for it. 

You’re tired.

The exhaustion settles into your bones easily today, wearing you down until you’re allowing your eyes to close, wilting atop the butcher’s block- 

The shop phone rings. 

You heave yourself down and swing through the double doors to the front, scrambling for the classic corded receiver, nearly fumbling it in your hands. 

“Hello?” Shit. You always forget to answer with the shop’s name. You’re not exactly the customer facing part of the operation. “Galaxy’s.” You correct and… wait. 

There’s no response. 

You think you can hear someone breathing, something rustling, but it’s too faint and difficult to make out. 

“’Lo?” You try again, but still, there’s silence. It’s an unending moment, you on one end… who knows what on the other, and you hold your breath, straining to hear, to listen. 

The line clicks dead in the next second. 

Odd. 

The shop girl is chewing gum. 

You’ve told her a million times not to chew gum when she’s working the counter, but clearly, she’s never heard of norovirus, and you’re not the boss, or the owner, so being the broken record only gets you so far. 

“There’s someone out front to see you.” She snaps it between her front teeth, and your molars grind together like stone. 

“Who?” You toss a clean towel on the stainless steel table in the middle of the kitchen with a frown. You don’t really get visitors here, most of your friends are in the same industry, and either work the line too late to be up in time to even get coffee somewhere, or are already at work, buried beneath a bain-marie and the never-ending sound of a ticket printer. 

There’s dried, caulked dough caked to your fingers, shoved up underneath your nails, and you brush them self-consciously against the ratty old apron stretched across your waist. 

The surprise lingers on your tongue, and then explodes when you spot the massive dusky blonde from the other day, the one who was with the guy who split the coffee all over your favorite dress. He’s too tall, and too broad, and too imposing, everything in your sense of self-preservation screaming at you to run when he notices you approaching, gleam of a predator sparkling in his eyes.  

Still, somewhere, tucked away, it thrills you, the idea of them, the balancing act, two halves of a whole. He’s etched from stone, strong and steady, while his partner is saporous, vibrant, and riotous, crystal blue eyes sparkling in the mid-day sun. 

You wonder what they're like. What they talk about. What they do.

Curiosity killed the cat.

Your skin prickles once you fall into his orbit, immobilized by the molten toffee pooling around his irises. You float for a second, tracing his knife’s edged jaw, the fullness of his lips, imperfect pieces puzzled together to make a masterpiece, and then crash back to earth quickly, realizing you’re standing in front of him… staring. 

“Uh. Hi.” What is he doing here? How did he know where to find you?

“Sorry to barge in on you at work.” He starts immediately, wallet appearing from his back pocket like a magic trick. “Wanted to make sure we settled up.” Thick fingers hold a folded nest of notes, and you stare down at them, slowly processing what he means.

Cash? 

“Oh, I… I have… venmo. Or we could use apple pay, you didn’t have to come all the-“ 

“Don’t have venmo.” His mouth tilts, and you go with it, head listing to the side like a wayward buoy. “This is easier.” He pushes it into your hand, peeling your fingers back to enclose the money in your palm, heat sparking up your spine. 

“How did you know where I worked?” You blurt, unable to keep it at bay any longer. The question singes, settles uncomfortably in the sparks between you. 

“Saw you in the back yesterday, when we were in for a cuppa.” Oh. Suspicion sheds, snakeskin left behind on a cold, dusty trail, suspension of disbelief settling in the back of your mind. Sure. After all, this is where you ran into them last week, on your day off. They do come here. 

“Well. Thanks.” 

“It’s our pleasure. Hope the stain came out okay.” 

“Oh, yeah. It’s… still at the cleaners.” This is absolutely false, but he doesn’t need to know that. The spare bills will probably go towards your energy bill, and the ruined dress will go in the trash. 

It is what it is. 

“Couldn’t help but notice when I was comin’ through the parking lot that the back door is open.” His voice swoops low, dropping into a rumble, and you blink, lips parting. 

“Oh, um y-yeah. I like the breeze.” He shakes his head, a simple rejection, leaving you spinning. 

“City’s not the safest right now, yeah?” Oh, yeah. Of course, you knew. Rival factions of organized crime were leaving a red sea of bodies in their wake all over town, a new murder popping up in the headlines nearly every week. 

But you were safe. You were fine. Galaxy’s had never been stained with the bloody touch of any of them, and you took it as fact. Permanence. 

You agree reluctantly, watching the storm clouds roil on across his expression before evaporating. You shrug, hands clutched in your apron, doubt and skepticism clear on your face.

His expression shutters. His eyes turn cold.   

His thumb and forefinger dart through the air, latching onto your chin. 

You freeze. You should tug away, jerk backwards, yell and scream and hiss, but all you can do is stand there, caught in a trap and trembling as he leans forward to murmur in your ear. 

“Lock the door, little doe.” 

[the-descolada]

forgot how fucking miserable it was to be in some constant pain for days i want this to end

[lyekisses]

why must i, the world class hypochondriac, always be the one to clean up vomit

[handsomeamoeba]

I am once again begging for everyone's assistance at this time.

I currently have $57 in the bank. Will probably have around $200 coming in from unemployment in a couple days HOWEVER:

This is my last week of unemployment eligibility, following this week I will have NO income

Rent is coming due ($675)

I still owe a portion of last month's rent ($125)

I've fallen behind on health insurance payments and need to reinstate ($85) in order to see my therapist and get my meds (I am out of them, if I don't get more by tomorrow I'll start having Effexor withdrawals)

I still need to pay off my unpaid excise tax ($114) to renew my license ($50)

I owe my therapist something like $350 as well because my insurer dragged their feet about cutting me off so we had several sessions that appeared to be insured but weren't, but she says she'll discuss a payment plan AFTER I am employed

I am currently housebound because my car is broken. Also, y'know, the license. My dad is a mechanic and will fix it for free but it's going to take him a bit to get to me, so if I have an emergency in the meantime I may need to pay for rideshare.

This isn't really relevant to any of the above but I am currently recovering from a nasty bout of norovirus so that just. That just really. Yeah.

Anyway. Help? https://ko-fi.com/doilyspider

[starcrossedxwriter]

Built for Love Part 8 (MBJ x Famous Black OC)

A/N: Ummm this chapter has a little bit of everything... Family, fluff, a bit of smut, slight angst. It also has a time jump because we gotta keep shit movingggg. And I could write 100 chapters of fluff with these two butttt we're here for the drama! lol Also another gif that has nothing to do with anything LOL But I imagine this is what our girl wakes up to every day and I love that for her

Warnings: brief mentions of DV

“So Charlie, are you excited to be back on the stage?” Michael’s mom asked as they settled around Michael’s dining room table for dinner.

Though it was a small affair, the table was weighed down by Donna’s decadent and delicious cooking, his mom cooking both he and Charlotte’s favorites for their goodbye dinner. Once his father had said grace, initial conversations had given way to the sounds of forks and spoons clinking against china as everyone passed dishes and savored Donna’s cooking. Though Michael’s family was used to it, Charlotte’s were too busy stuffing their faces to be much conversationalists.  

Her face had been drawn up in a bright smile since her brother, Lauren, and Jazz arrived. The tone around the table was a bittersweet one, joy for Charlotte and this opportunity everyone knew she deserved and needed, but melancholy at having two staples of their respective communities gone, even if it was only a temporary absence. 

Between the press tour and preparing to leave, the time had flown by and the move that once seemed so far away was hurtling toward them like a high speed train. Charlotte still found herself shocked that Michael was willing to move with her. As the date inched closer and closer, she half expected him to find an excuse not to accompany her. But that never materialized. Instead, he took it upon himself to do all of the planning. Time to find an apartment? Already done and vetted by Michael. Furnish the place? Interior decorator was already on it with images of both of their homes to capture their respective styles. All day, every day, he sent her restaurants and places he wanted to try, some Charlotte had been to and some she hadn’t, or asked her about her favorite spots to add to the list. His excitement was contagious, which counteracted the stress, dread, and anxiety Charlotte felt. For him, this was just the first of many adventures with the woman he loved. For her, it was returning home after running away. And that was never easy.   

“Yea I really am. It’ll be an adjustment for sure. Next two months’ll be crazy. But I… really missed it. I’m coming in a few weeks behind in rehearsals but it’ll be good to be back.” 

Michael’s hand, which had rested on her thigh since they sat down, squeezed gently to reassure her, soothing her anxiety. 

“Only on the choreo. This girl could perform the show and songs forward and backwards right now if she wanted.” 

Charlotte smiled. “He might be right about that. But the choreo is the harder part for me anyway.” 

“Yea the girl was born with every talent but rhythm,” Jackson called down the table causing everyone to laugh, Charlotte leaning behind Michael’s chair to flip him off without everyone seeing. 

“He never gives her credit. Charlie is a great dancer,” Lauren chimed in, not allowing her husband to joke at her best friend’s expense. “Remember the spring production of Oklahoma our freshman year??” 

Charlotte groaned. “Ugh don’t remind me! Some of the worst weeks of my life.”

“What happened?” Michael asked. 

“There was a nasty norovirus going around campus and Charlie, one of the only freshmen in Juilliard history to play the coveted lead of a spring production, caught it the second day of rehearsals. Was out for two weeks. The director planned on bumping up her understudy.” 

“A senior who despised me and was probably hoping the virus would kill me,” she laughed. “Director said there was noooooo way I could learn the staging and choreo in the two remaining weeks before opening night,” Charlotte interjected, rolling her eyes. “He was just worried he took a chance on a freshman only for her to crash and burn.” 

“Since I was dancing in the production, I could record rehearsals. Charlotte watched every rehearsal, learning every move, lyric, and note while she was sick. Sis showed up once she was cleared by the doctor and you wouldn’t have even known she missed two weeks of rehearsals. She looked and sounded better than some folks who’d been to every rehearsal.”

“Messed up one or two steps,” she admitted. “But nothing that couldn’t be fixed in the time we had left.”

“How’d you manage that?” 

She shrugged. “I just rehearsed and slept in between trips to the bathroom,” she laughed. “My doctor thought I was completely insane but as they say, ‘the show must go on.’” 

“Will you have enough tickets for us all to come to opening night or do we need to come at a different time?” Jackson asked.

“I definitely can get everyone tickets for previews, those start mid February. Not sure how many I can snag for opening night though.” 

“What are previews?” Michael’s dad asked. 

“Oh, sort of a test run? Just an opportunity to perform the show to audiences before the official opening night. Gives you a chance to work out issues and fix things before critics review it. The show ran off-Broadway first so our previews are only a couple weeks. So we have a month and a half of true rehearsals and then previews and then the show premieres March 1.” 

“And how long are you all gonna be there again?” 

“In total? 8 months I guess with rehearsals? I only signed on to be on the cast for six months though… March to September.” 

“Knowing you, you’ll extend it,” Jackson offered with a knowing smile.

Charlotte shook her head. “I dunno. Chris would love that. But doing 8 shows a week for six months is a lot. And gets old after a while,” she admitted. “Maybe I’d do a different show, but I'll probably come back here. I promised Chris six months so that’s all I’m committing to.” 

Everyone nodded in understanding, the conversation drifting away from Charlie and to separate topics. Charlie glanced around the table, a soft content smile on her face as she watched the two groups interact. It was not just each family chatting off to themselves. Lauren and Michael’s mom and sister were deep in a conversation about the struggles of parenting young children; Michael’s brother and Jackson were arguing about the Lakers vs the Clippers; and Jazz and Michael were deeply enthralled in a story told by Michael Sr. And everyone seemed genuinely happy to be there and interact. This was their first time truly combining the groups but she thought it boded well for when they all met the rest of her immediate family on the East Coast. If Jazz, Lauren, and Jackson liked them and fit in, the rest of her family would too. 

As dinner winded down, Charlotte stood up from the table to bring out dessert. Michael offered a soft peck to the inside of her wrist, which she returned with one to the top of his head, before she grabbed his plate to take into the kitchen. She hummed to herself as she loaded the dishwasher and pulled out the cake his mom prepared earlier that day. It was Michael’s favorite, her rum cake. Charlie could not deny it was one of the best cakes she had ever tasted, hers included. 

As she moved the cake to the island, she lost her balance on her heels, almost falling. She was able to sit the cake down quickly, it wobbled slightly in its glass case but remained unharmed despite her clumsiness. 

“There you go, tripping over air,” she cursed herself, annoyed and thankful she had not destroyed his mother’s cake. As she moved the holder on the island, a wave of deja vu hit her, a vision of a cake and cake holder smashing to the ground filling her brain. She paused, studying the glass cake stand, her stiletto-shaped nails gliding over it gently. Just as quickly as it appeared, it vanished, the memory too foggy and distant to make sense of. During most of her deja-vu moments or flashbacks, the memories hit her like she was being forced in front of a movie screen. But as much as she racked her brain, she couldn't think of anything related to this moment.

“You ok, dear?” Donna’s soft voice interrupted Charlotte as she zoomed through the Rolodex of memories in her mind.

“Hm? Oh yea, I’m ok,” Charlotte answered, glancing up. she noticed the plates in the woman’s hands before abandoning her thoughts and grabbing them from her. “Let me get those.” 

“Thank you, dear. Your family is lovely. They fit right in,” Donna offered as she moved to grab a knife and small plates for dessert. 

Charlotte smiled, “Thanks. I’m excited for all of you to meet the rest of them. Everyone else is fairly tame in comparison,” she joked. 

As she loaded their dishwasher, she glanced at his mom. 

“This was all delicious, thank you. Thank God he picked up your cooking skills or else we’d starve in New York.”

The older woman laughed. “Well anytime you want to learn, you let me know. Though I think you’d give me a run for my money with those desserts of yours.” 

Charlotte could not help but beam a bit at her compliment. 

Charlotte dried her hands on a dish towel, anxiously twisting the soft fabric in her hands and chewing on her lip as she watched his mom. 

“I hope you don’t mind…” she started, pausing as the older woman looked at her with confusion. “M-Me stealing him away for a while. I’m honestly still a bit surprised he wanted to do this at all. But I know it’s probably hard when he’s gone for a long time. I feel kinda bad?” She admitted quietly. “I know he’s gonna miss you guys so much.” She stared at the wall that blocked Michael and everyone at the table from their vision, her face falling a bit as she felt the guilt of pulling him away from his family and community in LA. Even though he offered, she could not help but question whether she should have accepted it, accepted taking him away from his family like this.

“If I may?” Donna’s hands wrapped around Charlotte’s, halting her anxious movements and towel twisting. “I know it hasn’t been that long but I’ve never seen my son as happy as he is with you. One thing you should never doubt is how much that man in there adores you. I dare say he would try to move a mountain if he thought it’d bring you joy. You should never feel bad for accepting the manifestations of his love and commitment. Because I dare say, this is just the beginning.”  

Charlotte felt a tear start to fall, not from sadness but from the love, grace, and compassion his mother always showed her. From the moment they first met to today, she never acted like those dreaded mother-in-laws her married friends moaned about. Charlotte’s mother would not be considered a constant presence in her life, a rarity at best. And through everything she had been through, the one thing she had always hoped for but never had was a mom. Michael’s mom did not know about her mom’s absence but she seemed to recognize it was something Charlie still needed, a mother’s love, support, grace, and word of wisdom. And she offered it in droves. 

“T-thank you,” she whispered, whisking the tears away just as Michael rounded the corner to check on them. 

“Hey, you two alright?” 

“Yes of course, baby.” Her face immediately brightened as he entered the room, not even just to hide her and his mom’s emotional moment but just from his presence. “Just hounding your mom for this amazing rum cake recipe so I can make it for you in New York…” 

“But… I told her she’s gotta be officially in the family first for me to share it. So get to it,” she whispered to Bakari with a sly smile and a peck on the cheek as she returned to the dining room with the rest of the family. 

“Damn, she’s not subtle at all, is she?” he asked as he grabbed the cake while Charlotte grabbed the plates his mom pulled out. 

Charlotte laughed, patting him on the chest as she passed him to return to the dining room. “No, definitely not.”

***

Their moans created an orchestra filling his bedroom as Michael kept Charlotte’s eyes trained on his as he fucked her slow and deep. 

They rarely had sex in missionary these days, both of them finding other positions far more interesting and fun. However, when they were both in the mood for something slower and more sensual, missionary hit the spot for both of them. It offered them something deeper than pure pleasure. It was an intimacy and comfort they both needed for their last night in Michael’s bed for a while. 

Looking into each other’s eyes was a meeting of the minds, beyond merely connecting with their bodies, they connected with their souls. They saw all of each other, all of the excitement, anxiety, joy, and fear of what tomorrow would hold for them. And every moment, every movement and touch between them was an effort to honor those feelings. Every touch and whispered adoration told the other that they were here and they were ready for everything the universe had in store for them. 

There would be time for fast and wild later. Tonight, they were just cherishing the moment and each other before their first real adventure as a couple began. 

“J-Just li-like that. F-Fuck, I-I love you,” she moaned, having already lost count of her orgasms as Michael pushed her to the edge of another one. 

She could tell he was close as he picked up the pace a bit. Her hips rocked slightly to meet his, her core pulsing and tightening around him causing a primitive moan to escape him. 

It only took a moment for him to fill her before he rolled off of her. 

“You good?” He asked, a question he usually asked when they finished up, whether the session was slow and sensual or had her doing acrobatics. And the answer was always in the same vein: she was more than good.

“Excellent. I could fall asleep j-just like this,” she yawned, knowing that her sleep after sex was always elite, Michael tiring her out to the point where she could not do much else. However, before she did, she got up to go to the bathroom, Michael talking to her as she groped her way through the darkness of his room. 

“You ready for tomorrow?” He asked as he found his briefs to slide on and climb back into bed. 

“As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess,” she called back. “You sure you still wanna come? Not too late to back out. Well, we signed a lease, on a way too expensive apartment, I might add… so it’s a bit late. But you could still do it.” 

Though her tone had the intent of a joke, Michael could still hear it, her hesitation and fear that let him know she was still concerned he would abandon her. He knew she would not truly believe him until they were moved in and settled but he was genuinely excited to go with her. Not just to support her and provide her with some sense of safety while she was there, but to witness this next stage in her career. This was her dream and he saw no better use of his time than watching her fulfill it. He knew why she was hesitant, they had only been dating for mere months. However, when he looked at Charlotte, he saw a perfect glittering gold path to a future he had never given much thought to because he had always been too focused on the hustle, a marriage and a family like the one his parents had built. To him, this was one step down that path and he would never regret taking it. Part of him was annoyed he would have to return to LA in June for another project before her time in New York ended but he decided he would savor the initial six months of uninterrupted time together. 

“You ain’t gettin’ rid of me that easy, honey bee. And after living with me in New York, maybe that’ll convince you to move in with me when we get back?” He asked as she washed her hands. 

She poked her head out into the room to look at him, finding that his face matched the seriousness of his tone and words.

“What? Y-You want me to move in? Here?” 

He continued to surprise her with his level of commitment and dedication overall. However, just as she was about to doubt he truly meant it, his mother’s words floated back to her mind. 

"Well, it wouldn't be here forever. Just till we found a new spot… something that's ours," he emphasized. “We’re gonna live together for at least 6 months in New York… if it works out and you don’t absolutely hate me by the end,” he joked, “Why not? What? You don’t think we should?"

She shrugged as she climbed back into his bed. “No, no, I’m not saying that at all. I mean I basically live here as it is,” she admitted. “I g-guess I just didn’t think about what living together in New York would mean for when we got back? Of course, you thought of it though. You think ahead and have a plan for everything.” 

Michael was glad she could not see his face as she settled against his chest. She truly had no idea how far ahead his planning went when it came to her. 

“Well, I just know what I want and I don’t believe in wasting time. But I’m not sayin’ you gotta decide now or anything. Let’s see how New York goes. I just wanted to see if you’d be interested in it.” 

“Yea, I’m interested.”

He nodded. “Now are you gonna tell me what you and my momma were talking about earlier? You looked upset?” 

Charlotte chuckled, she turned over so her chest was against his, her ear pressed against his chest. The light thumps of his heart filled her ear like a soothing drumbeat. “I should’ve known you weren’t gonna let that go… I wasn’t upset. She j-just said something I needed to hear.” 

She felt his lips press against the top of her head, her eyes falling closed for a moment. She appreciated that he did not press any further for information. 

“Yea, I don't know how she does that. It's kinda creepy, honestly… that mother's intuition."

“Yea, its like she sees into your soul or something." Her last words turned into a mumble as she yawned and her eyes fell closed.

All Michael could do was chuckle before kissing her forehead and falling asleep himself, her gentle snores filling his ears.

***

Charlotte glanced out of the floor-to-ceiling window of their new apartment on the edge of the Upper West Side. It was as beautiful and pristine as the pictures Michael had shown her. They were high enough to have a great view of the city from their balcony. It was in the perfect location too for work and there was so much around for her and Michael to do. The furnishings were perfect, the exact mix of her and Michael’s individual interior style. She knew he hired a designer but it was clear the person knew their shit. The house already felt warm, cozy, and safe, all the things Charlotte needed, and they had only been in it for an hour.

“What are you thinking?” He asked from the couch as he scrolled through his phone, both of them avoiding the dreaded unpacking they had to do. 

“I’m thinking about my crappy little studio apartment when I first graduated… and my two bedroom with one of my college friends for those few months…” she paused, that apartment was a graveyard of bad memories. “Before I moved. I’ve j-just come up in the world, I guess.” 

Bakari beckoned her to him, the young woman leaving her perch against the window to join him. The moment she was in arm’s length, he gently pulled her down onto his lap, Charlotte nestling into him with ease. 

“This place is insane, Bakari. I mean I love it but I still think it’s too much,” she remarked, she raised her hands as if to surrender, knowing she was bringing up a touchy subject for them both. 

“Aht aht. We came to an agreement on that,” he lightly kissed her bare shoulder. 

She nodded, neither of them wanting to fall back into their first true argument of their relationship a few months earlier. 

“So what do you think?” 

Charlotte laughed. “I think I could fit 5 or 6 of my first apartment in that place,” she gestured toward his laptop as he flipped through photos of a high-rise three-bedroom apartment. “I mean it’s gorgeous but I don’t think I can afford it.” 

“Yea but I can. It’s perfect. Really solid security, there’s only one apartment on each floor so it’s pretty private. And it's only 15 minutes from the theaters so when you finish up evening shows, it’s not a long drive. It’s perfect for us. Don’t think about the cost. Do you like it?” 

“Yes, I love it but,” she chuckled. “Creed was my first real check in two years, babe. And I still gotta pay for my apartment here. I don’t really have the luxury of not thinking about the cost of things.” 

“Ok but I’m sayin’ you don’t have to think about it cause I got it.” 

“Well how much do you want me to contribute a month? If we go 50/50, it would be tight but I could swing it then, I guess.”

Michael rolled his eyes. “ I wasn’t expecting you to contribute anything. We ain’t roommates, Els.”  

She shook her head, pushing off of the couch to pace in his living room, her annoyance officially rising. Finances continued to be a touchy subject for the pair. However, usually, Charlotte only put up so much of a fight before she gave in. But she could not give in on this, not today. 

“It’s one thing for you to always pay for dinners and shit like that but you can’t pay all of our rent while we’re there. That’s ridiculous.” 

“Why can’t I?” He asked, his tone signaling that he did not understand the seriousness of the conversation for Charlotte in the slightest. He still did not quite understand her hang up with finances. He knew it was part of the cycle of abuse but he had no problem spending money on her if need be. She had only just stopped fighting him on paying for dates. Though he was not the type of celebrity who blew all of his money on frivolous things, Michael also did not pretend money was a significant consideration in his decisions because it just wasn’t. And he would never apologize for wanting to spend his money on her, for wanting to support her. 

“B-Because I…” Charlotte stopped herself from finishing the sentence, Don’t want you to be able to control me that way. But she knew that was not his way.“T-then it’s y-your house a-and not mine. I-I would just feel more comfortable i-if you let me contribute something. L-Let me pay for half? Besides, you’re gonna be in LA sometimes, full time in the summer. You shouldn’t pay the full amount every month like you’re gonna be there the whole time.”

“It’s really not that big of a deal, Charlotte. I don’t need your money and I don’t want it.” His tone signaled that he hoped to get the final word in and end the discussion.

She could not help but feel frustrated like he was not hearing her. But she understood why he did not see this situation through her eyes. “I-It’s not about you n-needing it!” She cried out, Michael suddenly realizing her unexpected outburst meant more simmered beneath the surface than her just wanting to contribute. She took a deep breath, not wanting to start an argument with him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’s just…” 

He rubbed her shoulders and nodded, “Ok just breath for a second, babe. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it would bother you this much. I just.. I wanted you to have a serene, safe place to live and work while you’re there a-and I wasn’t gonna ask you to pay because money wasn’t a factor when I chose it. I just want you to be comfortable while we’re there.”

She sighed and rubbed her forehead. She knew she shouldn’t push him on the finances piece so much. But she refused to ever let a man hold her livelihood over her head again. Where she laid her head was important and even though she stayed at Michael’s most of the time, she could at least retreat to her home if she ever needed it. She did not want the only place she had to lay her head to be not in her control at all. 

“Look, I-I appreciate it. That place is beautiful a-and perfect. I love it, truly. But… t-this is the first time I’m living with a guy since Shaun a-and the a-amount of times he held t-the fact that it w-was his h-house instead of mine o-over me…” she exhaled deeply as if she could release the memories into the air with her breath. “I-If I d-don’t contribute something then it’ll be your house and not ours. I k-know you don’t need it o-or want it. But I need it. I need it to feel like I have an equal claim to it. Please.”

At that, Michael decided not to push any further. He understood her triggers were real and legitimate and if it gave her a sense of autonomy and control to pay him, he would not let his ego get in the way of that. 

“Understood. I’m sorry,” he kissed her cheek. “I didn’t think about that. This’ll be our home and I want you to feel like it. How about you deal with all the utilities and I get the rent?”

She could not help but laugh a bit at his “compromise.” “Those things aren’t comparable at all, babe,” she muttered. 

“Monetarily? Nah. But what’s the point of an apartment without lights, wifi, gas, water?” he listed. “All of those are necessities too and without them, this would be a pretty terrible apartment.” 

They squared off for a moment before she nodded, realizing he budged about as far as he was willing to on the subject. 

“Deal.” 

“Deal.” 

“We came to an agreement, yes. But don’t think for a second I like it. Anytime you wanna accept that 50/50 split, let me know.” 

Michael gave her a peck on the nose. 

“Not gonna happen. Let me treat you to this one thing, baby. But what could happen is us christening some of this furniture?” His eyebrow raised suggestively, his intentions clear in his words. 

Charlotte smiled slyly. “I like the sound of that… if we start with the counter.” 

***

“Charlotte. Baby. Stop eating your breakfast like it’s a drive by. Sit, relax, and eat. You got plenty of time. Don’t have to be there for another hour.” 

Charlotte nearly catapulted out of bed that morning, a wrecking ball of nervous energy flitting around their apartment. Michael did not know how she was moving so quickly and chaotically, since all she did was toss and turn the night before. And as soon as the Sun was up, she was out of bed and out on a run through the neighborhood. And when she returned, their bed quickly turned into a wreckage of clothes, the young woman changing her outfit no less than 10 times. 

“Did you get any sleep last night?” Michael asked as Charlotte forced herself to sit at the island and eat Michael’s apple cinnamon pancakes, her favorite, and a couple pieces of bacon. Though this was her favorite breakfast meal, she found it difficult to eat, believing her time would be better served practicing or running her lines again rather than just sitting there. 

She scratched her head as she stuffed her face quickly, her eyes zooming across her sheet music. “Couple hours. Lots of tossing and turning before I just gave up and reviewed the music again.” 

Michael laughed, “You know every song by heart, even the ones that aren’t yours. You’re gonna be great today.”

She shrugged. “I don’t feel like it.” She glanced at her watch and bit her lip before abandoning her half eaten breakfast. “Thanks for this, Bakari, but I think I should go practice the songs one more time. The run in the Act I closer is fuckin’ killing me. I can’t get it just right a-and if Chris has us practice that part today, I don’t want to look stupid.” She paused her ranting to practice the chorus and run right there as she paced by the counter. She sounded flawless in Michael’s opinion but he could tell she hated it the way her whole face scrunched up in frustration. “See? Can’t get it. But you know… maybe I should practice my ballad first though… it would make sense he’d want to start there since it’s earlier in the show. Do I have time to do both…” She was no longer talking to Michael, only rambling and muttering to herself as her questions about which song to use her precious last few minutes to practice started to become inter spliced with actual lyrics from the songs as she studied the music while she walked through their home. “Babe! Have you seen my script?? Maybe I should  run through all my lines for Act 1?” She checked her watch. “I s-should’ve used the time last night to do that. UGH.”  

Her incoherent stream of consciousness and half singing were interrupted by Michael who put himself in the path of Hurricane Charlotte and their bedroom. Her favorite room to practice in was the bathroom because the acoustics were the best in the house. Imagine his confusion and slight amusement when, the first thing she did when they arrived after throwing her bags down, she started singing her ballad in every single room to test the sound quality before deciding the bathroom was the best option. 

It had not been 24 hours yet and he already learned one critical thing about her: she was a perfectionist chaotic nutcase. He had never seen this “behind the scenes” look into her process and work ethic. When they worked on Creed, she showed up to set every day the picture of an actor, in the zone, focused, and ready to work. He had never seen what it took to get to that picture and it was a perfect frenzy that he could not hope to understand or follow if he tried. 

And still, he found that her perfectionist nature that drove all the practice and ramblings only made him fall deeper in love with her. He imagined this is what he looked like to his friends and family when he was prepping for a role, so much energy and time spent to become someone else and embody their souls and personas. So much attention to detail and time rehearsing to give each moment in front of the camera your all. This was so much like that, and yet so much harder because Charlotte could not just yell cut to redo something. Every night she got on that stage, she had one opportunity to show her talent at its fullest. He could completely understand why she pushed herself as hard as she did. 

“Honeybee… you gotta calm down. No more practicing,” he grabbed the sheet music out of her hand, Charlotte offering mild protests as he walked to her bag and slid them inside, secretly adding a little card of his own. “You still have weeks of rehearsals. Keep doing this and you’ll lose your voice,” he warned, his lips twitching from the laugh he forced himself to stifle at the look of objective horror on her face, as if she had never even considered that was a possibility. But he imagined for her, losing her voice was the worst type of illness she could have. “Exactly. Rest the vocals for a bit. Sit, finish your breakfast and we’ll drive to the theater together.” 

With his hands on her hips, he steered her back to the island for the third time that morning and watched her sit down to resume eating, this time far slower and more measured. 

“You don’t gotta take me like a child headed to kindergarten for the first day, dad,” she bemused with a soft smile. “I’ll be good.” 

“I know I don’t have to, but I want to.” 

She nodded, talk of Michael’s plans for the day filled the rest of breakfast before she grabbed her bag, filled with her script, sheet music, and mid-day snack. Michael had to stop her from triple checking her bag before he slid a perfectly made chai in her hands and ushered her out the door. 

He kept his hand on hers as their driver took them the short ride to Abernathy Theater. She had not told Michael but she had performed in this very theater in her very first Broadway production out of college. It felt like a full circle moment to be back there. 

“Ok, this is it, babe. You got this,” he kissed her on the lips. “Can’t wait to hear all about it tonight.” 

“Thanks, love. See you tonight.” She took a deep breath before gathering her things and exiting the car. 

Charlotte glanced back at the black car before she opened the theater door, the window rolled down, to find Michael giving her a thumbs up as if he knew she would need an extra push to walk through the door. She knew her nerves were somewhat foolish. She had spent the better part of her life in theaters and on the stage. And yet, she still felt like a fish outta water. So much time had passed, so much life had happened. Chris thought she still had what it took but would everyone else? She had given up this dream. And though she had never admitted this out loud, she felt so much shame for how easily she had casted it aside and resigned to leaving it to die behind her. As she walked through the theater, her first time in one in over two years, she questioned whether she even deserved this second chance at it after she had squandered the first one, regardless of her reasoning for doing so. 

But now as she walked through the theater, taking in the opulence of the insanely tall ceilings and their perfectly preserved murals, the dazzling gold arches and trims, and the sea of ruby-colored seats, she knew one fact to be true. No one and nothing would tear her away from this dream this time. She had breathed new life into it and she would not lose it again.

“Charlotte!” 

Her visual survey was interrupted by Chris who waved at her from the stage. She smiled and made quick work of making her way to the stage where he waited.

“It’s so good to see you,” he mused, pulling her into a tight hug. “The rest of the cast is trickling in. But I wanted to show you around personally and introduce you to everyone. I’ll take you backstage.”  

He looped his arm around hers and led her backstage, the two laughing and chatting like old friends as he took her around and introduced her to everyone. He was showing her her dressing room when a familiar man’s voice filled her ears. 

“The prodigal daughter of Broadway returns… You know I took bets on when you’d be back.” 

Charlotte whipped around to find Malcolm Roberts, one of her costars, leaning against the doorway, his usual sly smirk etched on his face. 

She sauntered up to him, a similar smirk falling on her face. “And? Is the Tony award winning Malcolm Roberts poorer or richer these days?” 

“Richer…” At her surprised expression, he shrugged. “I learned a long time ago to always bet on you.” 

She laughed and immediately pulled him into a tight hug, the man lifting her feet slightly off the ground. 

“It’s so good to see you. I owe you dinner so you can catch me up on everything,” he said as they hugged. “You look amazing, still as gorgeous as ever.”  

Malcolm had been in her last production before she moved. She followed his career after leaving theater and his star had only risen higher and higher, as he deserved. And now, he would be playing directly alongside her and she couldn’t have been more pleased. If there was one person she trusted undoubtedly to act alongside, besides Michael, it would be Malcolm. 

“Thank you! Should’ve known Chris would call in the heavyweight champ,” she laughed. 

He merely shrugged. “A friend calls and I answer. That's how he got you outta hibernation too?” He asked as they walked to the practice room for rehearsal, their banter drowned out by the hustle and bustle of the team as they worked to build the set and gathered props around them. 

 “Naturally. One day you’ll have to tell us how you convince everyone to do whatever you want?” Charlotte told Chris who merely smiled slyly. 

“Win me another Tony and I’ll tell all my secrets.” 

The two actors glanced at each other and rolled their eyes. “As if you need anymore!” 

“Does your house even have room for another one and that big head of yours?” Malcolm teased as Charlotte snorted. 

“Well, my partner says I can’t convert the kids’ room to a trophy room. So I guess when you two are done sweeping, I’ll have to buy a new house.” He winked at the both of them before grabbing his assistant director to chat, leaving Malcolm and Charlotte alone. 

“How was the move?” He asked as he interlaced his arm with Charlotte’s as they walked. 

“Oh totally fine. Michael took care of everything, of course. All I did was say yes or no.” 

“Ah yes, the new boyfriend, aka my wife and sister’s celebrity crush. Remind me never to invite the two of you over for dinner?” Charlotte let out a deep belly laugh. “But I’m glad to hear it. Looks like you found yourself a good one?” 

“Yea… I think I did.” 

She raised her eyebrow as he stopped walking to study her for a moment, his face drawn up in a look of pride and something else she could not place. Understanding? Knowing? She could not read it. However, before she could ask him, he merely patted her hand, which rested on his arm and said, “Well no one deserves that more than you.” 

Before she could inquire more, they arrived at their rehearsal space, each of them settling into their spots. Chris did quick work of introducing Charlotte to everyone else who she hadn’t met and embarrassing her with his praise. She was thankful when it was all over and everyone started to pull out their scripts and sheet music to run through Act I. 

As she pulled out her materials, a small card fell out of the stack and onto the table. She picked it up and examined the card, Honey Bee written out on the front in Michael’s handwriting. She half listened to Chris share notes and information from the last rehearsal as she slid the stationary out of its envelope. 

I would say good luck but I know you don’t need it. You’re gonna kill it, as you always do, and remind everyone there today and in this world, who you are. Take a deep breath and remember you, not only deserve this moment but, you were made for it.

Love, 

Your biggest fan  

If she had not been in a room filled with people, she would have bursted into tears. She slid the note back in her bag after reading it once more and taking the deep breath he instructed her to. She grabbed her phone as the cast started the table read and sent a quick but simple text. 

Thank you ♥️♥️

She knew she did not need to elaborate and that he would recognize the meaning. Not a whole minute passed before her phone buzzed with a similar simplistic response. 

Anytime. 

***

A month later

“Oof, that’s it. That’s the right spot,” Charlotte moaned as Michael massaged her aching limbs. “You got the magic touch, baby.” Her eyes lulled closed as he did the Lord’s work, kneading and massaging the tense spots on her legs and back after another long day of rehearsals. "First show is in two days and I can barely feel my legs.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it.” He placed a soft kiss to the top of her spine before continuing his work. 

Though Charlotte did not mind the quiet, the silence that settled over them both as he worked, she found it odd. Most evenings, she and Michael never stopped talking, the pair catching the other up on any and everything from the moment she walked into the door until the moment they fell asleep. However, today, Michael’s head seemed to be elsewhere. 

“You ok?” She inquired. 

“Y-Yea, yea. I’m good.” 

She laughed. “I know you well enough to know when you’re good, Bakari. What’s wrong?” She gestured for him to move so she could sit up. She slid her robe over her nude body and slid into his lap.

“I just had an interesting call with Ryan today.” 

“Oh? Got another project for you?” 

“Actually, yea.” 

She motioned for more details, unsure why he was being so coy and secretive. “Ok… you gotta give me more than that, babe. What’s the role? And why are you acting like he threatened to kill you?” 

“It’s a Marvel project.” 

Her eyes immediately grew wide. She gracefully tumbled out of his lap and onto her knees, excitement filling her previously lethargic body. While she had only just started to get into anime thanks to Michael, both of them bonded over their love for comics. Growing up with her brother, she and Jackson spent far too much time in the comic book store and she made a point to see every Marvel movie that came out. 

“It’s Black Panther, isn’t it??” She squealed, her excitement radiating off of her. 

“How’d you guess that so fast??” 

She scoffed and smiled. “Marvel’s been talking to Black directors for months for that project. A-and Civil War is coming out soon with Chadwick. Ohh,” she shook his shoulders. “You HAVE to do it, baby.” 

He laughed, getting up to go into their in-suite bathroom. “You don’t even know what the role is, love.” 

She shrugged, following behind him with an extra pep in her step. She did not understand how he wasn’t more excited about this. 

“I mean I could sit here and go through all the Black Panther comic lore if you’d like and guess. But that’ll just make you horny,” she teased, knowing Michael got a little too excited when she put on her nerdy hat and talked comics. “And my legs hurt too much for acrobatics with you today. Why aren’t you excited? You said yes, right?? He wouldn’t’ve called unless the role was yours.” 

He pushed himself up to sit on the bathroom counter. “I want to say yes, the role is fantastic a-and his vision is spectacular. I s-spent the whole day reading up on the character and everything. It would be a game changer for sure.” 

“Of course it would. But I sense a but coming?” Her hands inched up his warm bare chest and wrapped around his neck as she stood between his legs. 

“I’d have to go back to LA for a couple days to screen test with Chad and a couple of the other confirmed actors, meet with the execs… and between Kevin Feige’s schedule, Ryan’s and Chadwick’s… only one week before like June works for everyone.” 

At the annoyed and guilty look on his face, Charlotte immediately understood. “Opening weekend of the show?” She prayed she was wrong but at the small nod, she let out a disgruntled sigh. 

“Yea. A-and I don’t want to miss that, Els. It’s such a big deal and I moved here to be all in on us and support you. I asked Ryan if we could find a different date or if we could do something out here instead but I dunno yet. I didn’t want to mention it because I didn’t want to disappoint you if it’s not a sure thing.” 

“Babe. I so appreciate you and that you even thought to consider me and the show before saying yes. But you can’t put your career on hold for me. This is the MCU, babe, I would miss opening night of my own show for Kevin Feige. You have to go.”

Michael’s jaw almost unhinged at her statement. That was not what he was expecting at all. And when he searched her face for a hint of disappointment or sadness, he failed to find any. Her joy for him was natural and authentic, not the forced type people give when they are trying to hide their own emotions. 

“What??” 

“I’m joking,” she amended but she quickly shook her head. “Actually I’m not. I would totally ditch schmoozing investors and the nausea of waiting for reviews for Marvel,” she laughed. “Seriously though, I’m gonna be doing 8 shows a week for months. You’ll see me on stage so many times, you’ll get sick of my voice and the show. You don’t have to be there opening night to support me. Honestly, I’d rather have you there the first night of previews in a couple days so you can see me on stage for the first time anyway. Opening night is only a big deal in that critics can finally review the show. And there’s a party for the cast and producers and investors and all that shit. You moved across the country to support me. That’s all I need.”

She walked back into their bedroom and grabbed his phone, her slippers shuffling lightly against the floor as she went.. She held it out to him. “Call Ryan.” 

“Babe… I just don’t feel right abandoning you on such a big night.” 

She tilted her head to study him. She found that she was not just saying those words because she knew she should not stop him from pursuing an opportunity. She actually meant it. Now that she was back in the swing of things, her anxiety had eased quite a bit. It had only been a few weeks but she had not seen or heard a peep out of Shaun, her promo for the show being reduced to one mention in a Broadway.com article, thankfully. And she knew she would have to handle a few days here and there without him before they got there. It was still early so she was still beyond thankful to have him there, but she could survive a couple days without him if he was needed elsewhere.   

“You aren’t abandoning me. You’re following your dreams, you’re moving your career forward. Ryan picked you, the role is yours. Meeting with the execs and a couple screen tests are the only hurdles you gotta clear. And you shouldn't put that off. Would I love to look out into that crowd and see you opening night, sure. But would I prefer to see you snag a killer role in what is already a highly anticipated project, 100%. I know you’ll be there in spirit.”

“You sure you aren’t gonna secretly hate me?” 

“I could never hate you. Besides, shit like this is gonna happen… we’re both two busy body ass actors. We aren’t always gonna be able to be there physically but I know you’ll be cheering me on as I will for you.” 

His phone still hovered in her hand between them, Charlotte giving him an cocky grin before unlocking it and finding Ryan’s number for him. 

“You sure?” 

“I’m giving you the push you gave me. Call him and tell him he’s got his Killmonger. Hopefully he doesn’t bust your fuckin’ ear drums like Chris did mine.” 

His eyes grew wide. “How’d you do that shit?? I never even said his name.” 

She chuckled as she turned to walk back into their room, her shoulders shrugged. “It was a lucky guess… that you just confirmed,” she smirked at him. “Now…” she sexily allowed her robe to open and slide off her shoulders, the silk fabric pooling to the floor around her feet. “Don’t stay on the phone with him too long.”

He raised an eyebrow suggestively, his thumb hovering over the call button. “I thought you were too tired?” 

She shrugged. “Consider it the last bit of encouragement you need to make that call.” She winked at him before sauntering off to their bed, delighting in the way his eyes followed her perfect ass as she climbed onto their bed. 

***

“Well, I think that part could use a bit more emotion from both of us?” Charlotte remarked as she and Malcolm reviewed their notes from earlier in the day. 

The stage was filled with chaos as many in the company practiced off to one side while the staging and lighting folks tried to get everything ready for their last rehearsal before previews started the next evening. Rebecca and Jonathan, the supporting actors in the play, were tucked in a corner just like Malcolm and Charlotte reviewing their lines. 

“For sure. We shouldn’t hold back. They haven’t seen or spoken to each other in years. All that pent up aggression and anger and hurt… it really should feel like something is simmering beneath the surface and then an explosion on stage before the number.” 

Before Charlotte could agree with him and practice a bit more, Chris’s voice grabbed their attention. 

“Heads up, everyone! So don’t hate me. But a lot of the investors can’t make previews tomorrow night but they want a peek before opening night so they asked if they could sit in on rehearsal after the producers’ meeting happening upstairs. Should be wrapping up in about 15 minutes. So we will have a small but mighty,” he emphasized, “Audience today. So everyone should give this their all and we’re gonna do it in our costumes. Go get changed. Sorry for the change of plans.”

Light mumbles and grumbles could be heard through the company as everyone filed back into their dressing rooms. Charlotte and Malcolm merely shared a smirk, the actor whispering to Charlotte, “The investors and producers say jump…” 

“And we say ‘how high?” she grimaced with an eye roll before shutting the door to her dressing room. This was the only part of her job she hated, schmoozing people whose only credentials for being there was the hefty check they wrote. Charlotte’s outfit was quick work, a simple dress, cardigan, and heels so it did not take long for her to change. 

She sang a few chords to herself, warming up her voice, while she waited for the backstage cue to return to the wings of the stage. When the lights flashed, she made her way to the wings, stopping by Malcolm who had his face drawn up in a grimace. She was thankful to find another actor who also hated the politics of it all. She followed his line of sight to the parted curtains, revealing center stage where Chris stood with a group of men in suits. They quickly reminded her of all of the men she met at Shaun's office parties and events, her distaste had not changed. Most of their backs were turned to them until Chris noticed the entire company was assembled and waiting and waved them over. 

“Let the jumping begin,” Malcolm moaned lightly as they all started walking toward the group of powerful and wealthy men. 

“And these are the stars of our show, Charlotte Bennett, Malcolm Roberts, Rebecca Sloan, and Jonathan Rivers,” Chris gestured toward all of them, the group turning around to greet them. 

However, the bright smile that Charlotte put on as she pulled on her dazzling actress persona immediately fell as her eyes locked with one of the men. Her movements halted, her entire body going cold and rigid as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice water on her. 

Everything around her went silent as if someone had pressed the mute button, she could not even hear her pounding heart in her ears. But she could feel it, beating against her rib cage as it threatened to burst out of her chest. She forgot where she was, who she was, as he offered her a menacing and knowing smirk. 

Instinctively, she took a step back, increasing the distance between them as the rest of the cast continued forward to introduce themselves. Only one person noticed her change in demeanor, her low, shallow breaths that were drowned out by pleasantries and greetings. 

Malcolm touched her shoulder, Charlotte almost jumping out of her skin with shock, finally taking her eyes off of a man she never expected to see here of all places, in her safe space. 

“You good? Look like you saw a ghost,” he chuckled nervously, though his eyes were filled with concern.

Her mouth felt bone dry, the words caught in her throat but she forced them out anyway. 

“No, no. Not a g-ghost. J-just…” she shook her head. “I… um, just need a minute? Tell C-Chris I’m r-running to the b-bathroom. N-not feeling great.” 

She turned and rushed out of the theater, her legs carrying her as fast as they could without breaking into an all out run until she found herself near a concession stand in the deserted lobby.  She needed as much distance as she could between herself and him. She stopped and leaned against the counter, her hand pressed into her chest as she tried to calm herself. She wondered if she would have rather seen an actual ghost. That would have been less terrifying than what awaited her back in that theater, a different monster haunting her from her past. 

Shaun Parker. 

Tag List: @certifiedlesbianbaddie @bangtanxmegan @reelwriter19 @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @hi888888sworld @msniaimani @destinio1 @lynaye1993 @chaoticevilbakugo @blackerthings @pipsqueak-98 @miyuhpapayuh

***

A/N: So good news… we got some fluff!! Bad news… some niggas we don't like have found their way back. Thanks for reading! *drops this off and runs away*

[arctic-hands]

Well it's not that plague or that plague or that plague, but I did manage to catch that norovirus going around

[gastrobugz]

I just wanna fool around with someone while they have a stomach bug. Preferably someone who is cool with passing it to me and being gross together. I don't know how to find this. I ask on Whisper sometimes but get a lot of negative feedback. :(

We could start slow with cuddling, eating a lot of sweets together, etc. I would love to kiss/rub their gurgling belly then make out in between queasy burps. We could also take a bath.

I love the idea of it being a bug that induces excessive belches, farts, etc. I want to get it so bad, I'm letting out some sort of big burp or fart every other minute and am just a big bloated mess.

I still want whoever I am fooling around with to gag me with underwear they farted in all day while they rub my bottom growth, spank me, and call me a gross pig. I would love it even more if they demand I lick their butt.

Another fun way to pass norovirus to me would be to smother my face while they keep farting until their underwear is wet from my breath and their arousal. Eventually, I'd want to move the underwear off and pleasure whoever is willing to do this, though.

I haven't had a stomach bug in years. Even when it spreads like wildfire in my area, I seem to avoid it. lol

[doctorjackdaw]

at least 90% of my stomachache / emeto kink is the result or fighting back against years of deep phobia and i want to continue that trend… so maybe i need to go back to the start…

descriptions of my emetophobia and real life stories / events that caused it below!

the actual Scariest thing I remember reading was during college, when i lived in the dorms for a year. i’d heard about “norovirus outbreaks” being common on the campus, that there might be one or two a year, and so instead of just I Don’t Know keeping my space good and clean, I freaked the fuck out. I started researching the virus with such an intensity, really at the whims of my intrusive thoughts as I forced myself to learn more and more about something that terrified me.

i remembered reading about one of the first mass cases that started with one person being sick at a public picnic or some shit… and then other recorded stories of families getting other kinds of illnesses from past due food. i had a nightmare about the shit they serve you on an airplane that to this day over 5 years later i STILL think about it sometimes.

needless to say i can’t really watch the movie Airplane! which sucks because it’s funny!! but a group of people trying to discuss which thing on the menu made them sick just kills me.

so, like… i have to fight back against that. i’m putting my characters on an airplane or just giving them food poisoning and making them sick and it’ll be sexy this time dammit

[aleprouswitch]

So my best guess is that this stomach virus that came out of nowhere last night is norovirus. My entire body is in pain, I still can't retain liquids, and I have no appetite. I'm probably going to have to call out sick from work again tomorrow. I feel bad about having to call out so much recently, but my body keeps making me suffer.

I might potentially be playing a show on Saturday the 13th and I'm scheduled to work on a *secret project* for the 14th, and I'll be damned if I have to cancel either. I have to take care of myself - lots of electrolytes, lots of water, pain meds when necessary, herbal tea, and sleep. I have to fight this.

[pearly--rose]

Sometimes it's embarrassing to admit I'm almost 40 and still work weekends at the restaurant I've worked at since high school, but you know what? Last night I told the chef how I've barely been able to eat post-norovirus bc bland food has been too bland to even be appetizing but I've been afraid to try anything else. And then he made me a tiny pizza with very light sauce and very light cheese so I could eat something that tasted good 🥹

[goldenraeofsun]

Day 17: Muse

Castiel runs into his old college muse in the emergency room of Seattle Mercy Hospital as he waits for his PA to be seen by medical professional.

“Hey, I’m Dean,” he says to the pair of them as he approaches. “If you’ll follow me.”

Dumbly, Castiel helps Alfie along and follows Dean to one of the beds portioned off by curtains. Castiel stares at the familiar, gorgeous green eyes and the same broad shoulders, now covered in navy scrubs.

Dean gestures for Alfie to take a seat. “Now, what seems to be the problem?”

Alfie helpfully takes that moment to gag into the plastic bag they brought for that very occasion. He stopped vomiting anything substantial about fifteen minutes ago, but he still clutches the handles of the bag in a white-knuckled grip.

Castiel gives himself a little shake and turns away from Dean’s face. He has more pressing matters than re-memorizing the slope of Dean's nose or noting how his jawline sharpened after college. “Alfie had a bit too much at the holiday party.” He pats Alfie awkwardly on the back. 

Dean makes a sympathetic noise. “We’ve all been there, bud,” he says, and Castiel holds his tongue from saying he has never over-indulged to the point of a hospital visit. “When was your last drink?”

“About an hour and twenty minutes ago,” Castiel says for Alfie, glancing down at his watch.

“Alright,” Dean says, peering into Alfie’s pallid face. “Well, we’ll check if anything else is going on, as most people tend to stop puking by now.” He turns to Castiel. “Did one of the other nurses already get down your insurance information?”

Castiel nods.

“Alright,” Dean says cheerfully. “Then I’ll be right back with an IV – just saline, so you can re-hydrate like a rock star.”

After Dean leaves, Alfie turns to Castiel. “Please don’t fire me,” he moans.

Castiel pats his arm twice. “You’re not getting fired.”

He’s still reassuring Alfie of his job security when Dean comes back carrying an IV bag. 

Dean quickly hooks it up on the mount and inserts the needle, chattering with Cas and Alfie (mostly Cas, as Alfie’s responses are sluggish, and he has this glazed-over look in his eyes, like the horrors of the night are finally catching up with him) about his shift so far.

“You’re the third drunk we’ve had in here today,” Dean says in a conspiratorial voice.

Alfie grimaces. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Dean says as he straightens up. “I’d take ten alcohol poisonings over a norovirus any day.” He shudders. “So much poop, man. You have no idea.”

Dean leaves them soon after to check on his other patients.

After an hour and a half and another IV drip, Dean pronounces Alfie out of the woods. “Have a big breakfast tomorrow,” Dean says as he processes the discharge paperwork on an iPad. “No low-fat yogurt or rabbit food. ’M talking enough bacon and eggs to make PETA spray paint your door in red, you get me?”

Alfie nods along sleepily.

“And stock up on a Gatorade or two – that couldn’t hurt. The hangover’s still gonna be pretty bad, but hopefully you won’t feel like death warmed over.”

“I’ll text him to remind him,” Castiel says, eyeing Alfie with concern.

“Good,” Dean says. He switches off the iPad and turns to leave.

“Dean?”

“Hm?”

Castiel squares his shoulders. He was too afraid in college, had heard from too many people that a fine arts degree was a one-way path to destitution and (food delivery) servitude. But Castiel finished his degree with a minor in business administration, started his own graphic design studio, and now lived comfortably in his one-bedroom apartment.

He’s had a few long-term boyfriends (unlike his past college self), and knows his way around a relationship – mostly.

“Would you like to go out with me?” he asks Dean.

Dean narrows his eyes. “Really?”

“Really.”

Dean inhales a deep breath, shifting his weight back and forth. “Yeah, sure, why not. You want my number?”

It’s not an especially romantic overture, but it gets the job done.

* * *

On their first outing, Dean and Castiel go over all the classic introductory information:

“Wait, shit, that was your personal assistant?”

“Alfie has since learned his lesson about indulging too much at an open bar.”

“I thought he was your brother or something.”

“I’m not on speaking terms with most of my family.”

“Bummer. Sometimes I wish I could get Sammy to shut up, especially when he gets started on his serial killers podcast.”

Dean gives no sign he remembers Castiel from college, and Castiel chooses not to remind him.

The only awkward moment comes when Castiel’s biggest client, Marvin Metatron stops by their table in the restaurant.

“Castiel!” Marv says, interrupting them halfway through dessert. “What a small world. I was looking around as I was waiting for my check, and I was telling myself, that can’t be Castiel! But here you are.”

“Here I am,” Castiel says dryly.

“And who is this?” Marv asks, turning to Dean with interest.

“This is Dean,” Castiel says stiffly.

Marv gives Dean an appreciative once-over that makes Castiel’s skin crawl. “I should have known. You’ve always liked to surround yourself with pretty things, Castiel. It must be the artist in you.”

Dean ducks his head, and that embarrassed flush can’t be a sign of anything good.

Castiel frowns. “We were in the middle of something, Marv, so unless you had a question about the assignment…”

“Not a question, no,” Marv says, drawing up short at Castiel’s not-so-subtle request to get the hell out of their presence. “But will the comps be ready by Wednesday?”

“You requested Thursday, close of day,” Castiel says with a hard edge to his voice, “so they will be ready by the end of the day on Thursday. If you’d like to put in a rush order, please email me so I have it in writing and we can sort out the rest during business hours.”

Marv holds up his hands in a patently false gesture of no harm. “Alright, alright. Keep your hair on. Thursday it is. You two enjoy your evening.”

After Metatron leaves, Castiel turns back to Dean. “I’m so sorry about him.”

Dean just waves him off. He leans in, his mouth curling into a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “What do you say to pie for dessert?”

* * *

Things with Dean go well. They go really well, enough to shock Castiel every time he thinks about it hard enough. Castiel’s apartment is closer than Dean’s to the hospital, so he ends up sleeping there more often than not.

After a month, Castiel gives him his spare key so Dean can stay at his place in between all his shifts. 

Sometimes, Castiel will come home from work to post-it notes in Dean’s handwriting stuck to various surfaces.

I drank the rest of your milk, sorry! :( I’ll pick up more tomorrow

You need a memory foam mattress topper

I DVRed Scooby Doo and some Looney Tunes eps for you. Watch them!!

Castiel always smiles when he catches sight of them, so he usually leaves them where they are. The bottom half of his television adopts a fringe of yellow post-its, and his nightstand winds up more paper than wood.

He practically counts down the days to their six month mark, when all the internet articles say it's an appropriate time to ask Dean to move in.

Dean says yes, and they celebrate with copious rounds of sex and a late night meat lover’s pizza.

Castiel has never been happier in his life.

* * *

“That box can go in the bedroom closet,” Cas calls as he sorts through Dean’s contributions to their shared kitchen. He has no idea why Dean possesses so many pans – how many does one man need? – or niche kitchen items. A citrus juicer, really?

He fits about three quarters of the boxes labeled “kitchen” into cupboards and drawers and gets to his feet, back twinging from his hunched position for the past twenty minutes. Dean can advise him on what to do with the kitchen duplicates.

“Dean?” he calls, frowning. It’s almost dinner time, and he hasn’t heard a word in at least a half hour. Unusual, to say the least. 

He finds Dean in their bedroom. Castiel’s old sketchbooks are spread open in all their damning glory on the bed. Dean’s face and/or body adorns almost every page. 

Castiel pales at the sight. 

“Oh, hey, Cas,” Dean says in a deceptively calm voice. “I was just looking at your old work.”

Cas stands stock still in sheer horror.

“You wanna tell me what the hell is this?”

Castiel gulps. He walks on unsure legs to the bed and sinks down on it, pulling the nearest sketchbook closer. “You were a model in my figure drawing class,” Castiel rasps, his throat bone dry. “I thought you were beautiful.”

Dean scowls. “Shocker.” He taps the page of one of the books. “From what I remember, all you guys were working on easels, not paper.”

Castiel stares down at an objectively lovely study of Dean’s face. “These were done from memory.”

“I guess that’s better than stalking me across campus,” Dean snorts. 

Castiel hunches in on himself, his face burning, his stomach twisting. “Not much,” he mumbles. 

“What I can’t get my head around,” Dean asks, his forehead creasing, “is why didn’t you just tell me we’ve met before? Did you think I wouldn’t find out? I might just be a pretty face, but this is some fucking obvious proof man.”

“I – I didn’t want to remind you of how unmemorable I was,” Castiel confesses as Dean’s eyes widen in understanding, “since you’re…” He drifts off, shaking his head. He narrows his eyes. “And what do you mean you’re only ‘a pretty face’?”

Dean scowls. “You know what I’m talking about.”

“I assure you, I do not,” Castiel says, his annoyance growing. “You are very handsome, of course, but you have so many wonderful qualities that only glimpsed when I drew these.” He closes his closest sketchbook with a snap.

“Yeah, but…” Dean starts but doesn’t finish.

Castiel stares at him.

“I’m a nurse,” Dean mutters.

“A very good one,” Castiel agrees. “So what?”

Dean heaves a heavy sigh, glaring at Castiel like he’s making him suffer on purpose. “All I do is clean up shit all day and fill out paperwork.”

“You also reassure scared people who are in pain that everything will be alright.” Castiel doesn’t understand Dean sometimes. “You are honest with them, and explain what is happening so they don't lash out or cause themselves more harm. Your character strengths and personality are extremely nursing.”

Dean’s mouth twists. “Sure.”

“I remember,” Castiel says tentatively, “in class, you used to talk about your little brothers. You were their primary guardian, it sounded like. You cared for them, making sure they were clothed, fed, and entertained.” He raises his eyes to meet Dean’s wide-eyed look. “You were so charming, funny,” he says, pressing on despite his discomfort, “I just wanted to know you,” he swallows, “but I had no idea how to do that, so I… didn’t.” 

Dean glances down at the sketches in his lap. “You stopped drawing me after college?”

“The class ended, and I didn’t have time for much figure drawing afterwards.” He bites his lip. “I never forgot your face, though.”

“Clearly,” Dean snorts. He flips through the book until he reaches the end of the used pages. “You ever think about taking it up again?”

Castiel inhales a sharp breath. “I’ve given it some thought.”

Dean grins. “Want to try it naked this time?”

[shatterthefragments]

Constantly caught between not wanting to make a big deal of my birthday bc it’s just another day and also being SO FUCKING PROUD AND SOMETIMES EVEN HAPPY because I’m alive. I made it! I’m still here! Much longer than I thought I’d be!! And there are so many things to do! To try! To draw! To paint! To make! To smile at! To smile with! And I’m alive to do these things!!

and though last year barely counts because I was recovering from norovirus or food poisoning that resulted in me going to the hospital for fluids and zofran. Each year I’m still alive it. Seems a bit more wondrous than the last?!

Like? I’ve made it another year. It’s sucked it’s been amazing it’s been meh it’s. just. Life?

And it’s wondrous and a miracle.

And each year that I’ve commented on this has been like “yeah ok” from others but like? It’s special to me because I’m still alive.

And though Desperation is still wrapped around me as a too heavy cloak, I’m. Okay? I’m here and I’m okay and I’m going to fucking live if it kills me.

…I’m going to continue to try to chase down joy. I’m going to continue to try to figure things out.

And fuck. Sometimes it’s good to be alive.