#listen I just needed to get these OUT of my system

[cherrygirlfriend]

─── KISS IT BETTER ♡

♡ pairing: husband!spencer x lovely wife!reader

♡ summary: taking care of your husband while he's sick.

♡ warnings / tags: fluff, showering together wc: 1k

♡ author's note: spencer pls let me take care of you <3

LOVELY WIFE MASTERLIST ♡ 5K MASTERLIST

you'd think that if someone was to have a good immune system, it would be the man who avoided germs like a simple handshake was the equivalent of someone sneezing in his face. however, only a cruel man would be able to resist taking care of his lovely wife while she was sick.

however, only a few days after you had gotten better, spencer had woken up with a sore throat, his face as hot as coals; already worse off than you had been when you got sick, but the second day was even worse than the first day had been.

"you don't have to take care of me…" spencer mumbled, letting out a weak cough as you placed a towel-covered ice pack on your husband's forehead. "for a genius, you can be really dumb sometimes, you know." you mumbled, yet your tone showed nothing but fondness as you pushed his dark curls away from his face, "in sickness and in health, spencer."

there was a faint, weak smile on his face, "i'm gonna run by the pharmacy and pick up some stuff for you. try to get some sleep, 'kay?" spencer nodded; you didn't have to tell him twice; his eyes were already closing on the account of the chamomille tea you'd brewed for him.

when you got back home, your clothes and hair soaked from the grueling rainstorm outside, the apartment was quiet except for the loud breathing coming from the bedroom. you furrowed your brows and walked into the bedroom where you'd left him, sitting down at the edge of the bed, sweat covering spencer's skin. when you lifted the covers, his pajamas were soaked in sweat.

"spencer. spencer, wake up." you gently shook your husband, the man mumbling incoherently as his eyes slowly fluttered open. you took the towel you'd placed on his face and placed your hand on his forehead, "you're burning up, sweetheart. i think we should go to the hospital..."

"no, no..." the man coughed, his voice even weaker than before. "it'll... it'll start to get better soon. it should. it usually does." "i'm worried about you, spencer." "if... if it's not any better by morning then we can go. i just need you here with me..."

"alright." you sighed, taking the bottle of fever medicine you'd gotten for him, "i know you don't like taking medication when you can avoid it, but i hope this is okay. it's liquid, and it's meant for kids." you pointed to the little bear on the label of the glass bottle, a small, playful smile on your lips, "i named him 'honey'."

spencer's pale lips quirked up into a weak smile and his head nodded slightly. you measured some of the medication into the cap of the bottle, bringing it to spencer's lips, tilting it, your husband's adam apple bobbing as he swallowed it.

"good boy." you chuckled softly as you put the bottle aside, starting to unbutton his pajama shirt, "are you trying to take advantage of me in my weak state?" spencer said in a hoarse, his lips still quirked up in a smile. you rolled your eyes, a smile still on your lips "totally. i think you with a snotty, red nose is the sexiest you've ever looked. makes me wanna jump you."

you took the container of vicks vaporub out of the pharmacy bag, unscrewing the cap off and swiping some of it onto your fingers, before bringing your hand to spencer's chest, starting to rub it onto your husband's chest, the man letting out a soft hum.

once you'd placed a new cold rag on spencer's forehead, you turned the lights off and circled to the other side of the bed, getting into bed next to spencer, pressing yourself into his side, your fingers drawing patterns on his stomach as you closed your eyes, listening to the sound of rain pattering against the roof.

"good morning." you heard a hoarse voice say and your eyes softly fluttered open to look up at spencer with a small smile, the man looking at you fondly, some color having returned to his lips, his skin slightly less pale than the night before.

"were you watching me sleep?" you asked, narrowing your eyes. "yes. it makes me feel better."

you brought your hand to spencer's forehead, pursing your lips in thought, "looks like it worked. your fever's gone down a bit. god, i wish i would've known earlier that all you needed was a dose of your loving wife. there's only one problem."

spencer's brows furrowed in question, and you simply grinned, smelling his armpit, "you've been sweating for three days without showering. you reek like a swamp." your quip earned a hoarse laugh from your husband as he squeezed you closer to his chest.

it wasn't long until your bodies were pressed together under the chilly stream of water. your hands reached up to massage cherry-scented shampoo into spencer's hair, smiling as the shampoo turned into foam in his dark curls, scratching his scalp in a way that earned you a pleased hum from your husband.

his wet lips pressing small kisses on your shoulders as he washed your back for you, making you lean into spencer's touch. "i love you..." he hummed softly into your shoulder, your lips quirking up into a fond smile. "i love you too."

after showering and drying spencer's hair for him, the man sitting down on the bed as he looked up at you with reverence, you leaned down and pressed a soft kiss on his forehead, "do you think you can get something down? i think you should eat." "i think so." he said with a small, weak smile. "i'll be right back."

spencer wasn't sure how long you were gone, but once you returned, it was with a tray with a bowl of soup and a cup of tea, sitting down next to him on the bed and handing the tray to him. "you're too good for me…" spencer mumbled, making you roll your eyes, booping his nose. "eat your soup and we can watch fourth gen doctor who."

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[kxsagi]

Bllk boys with an s/o who somehow manages to make them fall asleep just by blasting sleepy phonk like they'd be wide awake and then sleepy phonk and they're knocked out cold and they question why every time ( kaiser, rin, shidou and anyone else you wanna add )

“𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐤 𝐟𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐥”

a/n: I THOUGHT THIS REQ WAS FUNNY

but i’m not really sure what sleepy phonk counts as, is it like the instrumental of roi by videoclub or the lost soul down by NBSPLV??? 

ft. kaiser michael, itoshi rin, shidou ryusei, itoshi sae, karasu tabito, isagi yoichi, nagi seishiro, bachira meguru

kaiser michael

you play one of those slow, mellow phonk songs with the deep bass and hazy loops, and he doesn’t think anything of it. he’s literally in the middle of dramatically trash-talking isagi when his body just… starts betraying him. 

his voice fades. eyelids droop. his upper body sways. 

“what the f– … why am i…” BONK. slumped sideways on the couch, dead asleep. 

you didn’t even notice, you were too busy wiping crumbs off your shirt. when you turn around he looks like someone hit him with a dart tranquilizer. 

wakes up four hours later like “who drugged me?” and you’re like “uh. the speaker?” 

absolutely refuses to believe it's the music. keeps blaming it on bad sleep or low blood sugar. 

tries to fight it like it’s a challenge. he’ll stare at you dead in the eye and go, “i won’t fall asleep this time.” cue you playing it again. three minutes later he’s dozing off mid-smirk. 

one time he got so mad he threatened to destroy your speaker. (he tripped over his own feet on the way and knocked himself out before he could.) 

itoshi rin

rin is fully convinced this is psychological warfare. 

he’ll be standing, talking to you normally, then you press play and suddenly he’s blinking slow as hell like he got rebooted. 

“wait. no. you’re doing it again.” 

tries to leave the room. doesn’t make it past the hallway. collapses dramatically like a fainting goat. 

once fell asleep in the middle of washing dishes. the faucet was still on. 

absolutely hates it. thinks it’s “unnatural.” starts researching “subliminal music control” and asks if you’re brainwashing him with some kind of audio hypnosis. 

he once accused you of trying to assassinate him with music. 

“turn that off. turn it off. my nervous system is shutting down.” 

refuses to let you have aux ever again in the car because last time he woke up in a parking lot two hours from home with a blanket on him and no memory of how he got there. 

shidou ryusei

cackles the first time it happened, he thought you laced his food. 

“you’re telling me you just played this… and my brain factory reset?” 

every single time he hears that beat drop, he immediately yells “NOPE NOPE NOPE. NOT THIS DRUGGED UP COWBOY MUSIC AGAIN–” then collapses mid-sentence like a tranquilized bear. 

literally wakes up mad. throws your speaker across the room while still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes like a grumpy toddler. 

tries to act like he’s too wild to be affected, then you catch him sleeping with the same sleepy phonk playlist under his pillow like it’s a bedtime lullaby. 

“listen i don’t need it, it’s just a vibe. you wouldn’t get it.” 

will absolutely start calling it your "sleepy black magic tape" and pretends he's scared of you. fake shivers and all. 

“my body associates your music taste with comas now. thanks, babe.” 

itoshi sae

you start playing it during a late-night drive, and within five minutes he’s gone. head slumped against the window. breathing soft. soul left his body. 

wakes up all confused like he just took a power nap in another dimension. 

“how long was i out? …why do i feel like i’ve been asleep for twelve years?” 

every time you play it again he tries to stay awake out of pure ego, but he gets so annoyed at how heavy his limbs feel. 

mutters a whole paragraph of insults under his breath before slipping into REM. 

eventually starts using it intentionally but won’t admit it. like he’ll go “i guess it wouldn’t kill me if you played that stupid zombie song again” right before bed. 

“i’m not addicted. i’m just being efficient.” 

pretends it’s annoying but secretly has the playlist saved on his phone under the name "🤨" 

karasu tabito

BRO STARTS DANCING TO IT AT FIRST. 

you’re like “karasu no” and he’s like “karasu YES.” 

and then two mins later he’s laying face-down on the floor like a body outline at a crime scene. 

wakes up, rolls over, and goes “yo did i die for a second orrrr…?” 

loves it though. finds it hilarious. he’ll literally set it as his own alarm so he wakes up and falls back asleep in a loop. 

“you don’t get it, babe. this music is laced. this is phonk fentanyl.” 

sometimes just asks you to play it to prove to people that it works. like he’ll invite bachira over and go, “watch this,” then collapse 60 seconds in like it’s a magic trick. 

he becomes the #1 believer that you’re a sleep witch. 

“this woman is dangerous. protect her. or let her drop a mixtape. either way we all win.” 

isagi yoichi 

isagi thought it was a coincidence the first time. “oh maybe i was just tired.” 

second time? “okay maybe i’m still tired.” 

third time? “wait a damn minute.” 

he gets so serious about it. starts journaling his sleep patterns. literally charts the timestamps of when the music plays and when he loses consciousness. 

“this is a phenomenon. i need answers.” 

he keeps trying to test it under different conditions like it’s a science project. “okay play it while i’m exercising.” falls asleep doing jumping jacks. 

one time he tried to fight it by drinking three energy drinks beforehand. the music still knocked him out. woke up with a headache and heartburn. 

“what is this sorcery?? this is stronger than melatonin AND ASMR combined.” 

eventually surrenders and asks you to play it when he has trouble sleeping. but only if you’re there. otherwise he gets paranoid and thinks he’ll wake up in an alternate timeline. 

nagi seishiro

honestly? he was already halfway to unconsciousness when it first happened. 

but the moment you played that dreamy, floaty phonk beat? instant deep slumber. like you enhanced his default settings. 

he didn’t even say anything. no reaction. he blinked slowly like a sleepy cat and just laid down right where he was standing. 

you were like “bro you good?” and he mumbled “yeh…” then snored 0.5 seconds later. 

he now refers to your playlist as the “ultimate sleep cheat code.” 

uses it on nights when even he feels too lazy to fall asleep naturally. 

“just play the thing. the lo-fi cowboy drug one.” 

weirdly enough, he becomes your personal sleep ambassador. 

you bring it up once around the blue lock team and he goes “it’s like being gently sedated by cloud ninjas. 10/10 experience. would die again.” 

if you’re gone and he can’t sleep, he’ll text: nagi: can you send the playlist nagi: the one that knocks me out nagi: i’m twitching like a windows xp shutdown screen over here 

has lowkey gotten emotionally attached to it. if someone else tries to play sleepy phonk, he gets offended. “no. only she can do that. it’s different.” 

bachira meguru

bachira thinks it’s funny as hell. 

“i’m like a dog with a whistle. only this one is a sleepy cowboy beat.” 

the first time he heard it, he got weirdly invested. like “oohh this is a vibe! what’s it called?” proceeds to pass out mid-groove like a light. 

you turn around and he’s in the fetal position under the table. 

he wakes up grinning like “that was so fun!! what happened?? do it again!!” 

he starts treating it like a carnival ride. asks you to “put him to sleep” like it’s a magic trick. 

“close the curtains, bring me a snack, and hit me with that sleep sauce 🛌🧃✨” 

you accidentally make him fall asleep in public once (you were just playing it on your phone during a train ride) and he collapses onto a stranger’s shoulder. 

you’re mortified. he wakes up three stops later, bows and goes “thank you for being my pillow today :)” 

he names the playlist. something like: “cowboy dream juice vol. 1 💀🐴✨” 

sometimes tries to rap over it and see how long he can stay awake. his record is one minute and 14 seconds. 

“this music is like a lullaby made by sleepy ghosts on synths. i love it.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[thepraline]

I send opera updates to a few mutuals, and it makes me happy when they tell me they can hear my hard work 🤍 because I won't lie...sometimes I feel like I'm just at a stand still, but listening back, I can clearly hear that vocally I sound way better.

I have to let the past go 😂 I mentioned I used to sing when I was younger, then I quit, then I went through a few health related things which I have found out in fact did slightly affect my voice...then I always get all worked up about how I don't sound as good as I did a few years ago.

But ☠️ I'm not here to ramble more about that, I'm just happy to have that little support system that let's me know I don't need to be taken out back and shot. A few of them sing themselves, so I trust the opinions

[creepycranberry]

Pinched to Death

Bucky Barnes x Librarian!Reader

Synopsis: Bucky left a couple years ago with a promise to come back, a promise he failed to keep. Now he shows back up, like an apparition in your library and attempts to rebuild a relationship with you before leaving once more. This time, however, he leaves a Bob and a phone number behind.

Warnings: hurt/no comfort, angst, fluff, suggestive comments, cursing, Gilmore girls spoilers (?), not proofread

—————————————————————————

James Buchanan Barnes was possibly the most stupid person on earth. You didn’t want to seem bitter, if it meant so little to him it probably should have meant just as little to you, but the time he decides to grace you with his presence is possibly the worst time he could have chosen.

Not only because you’re pissed at him for leaving but also because you’re pissed at him for pissing off sam and subsequently having to hear about him constantly for the last year and a half.

But now he’s In your library, wearing a black tshirt that strains around his biceps and tactical pants that are sitting low on his hips and lacking the gear that tends to be put into the various compartments.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He smiles when he spots you from the library door, you give him a curt nod and continue checking books back in, putting damaged ones in a seperate pile, “you okay?”

“I get that you’re more muscle than actual brains but you can’t be that oblivious. I refuse to believe it.” You bite and Bucky's face falls, “unless you’re here to return the overdue Brontë you owe me, you can turn right around because it’s almost story time and yelling at you is going to wear out my voice.”

From behind him you hear a low whistle, “Do you need help with something Mr. Walker?”

“I can think of a few things I’d be open to you helping me with.” He quips, leaning against the desk.

“Like your ABC’s?” You blink innocently and he steps back, Bucky bites his bottom lip to avoid laughing, knowing it won’t help him at all right now.

“Listen sweetheart, I didn’t mean to leave things like that and I will make it up to you somehow I prom-“

“What do you want, James?”

“I was just wondering if you could keep Bob company. He’s a great help, and if all else fails just give him something to read and stick him in the corner.” A brown haired man waves nervously at you from behind Bucky, “Sam and I have some stuff to talk about and Bob is kind of just along for the ride so if you could-“

“Fine.”

“Thank you swee-“

“Don’t. Leave soon or I’m changing my mind.”

“Yes ma’am.” He mumbles, ambling out the door, his crew of depressed assassins following him, leaving behind a wet eyed dachshund of a man.

“You know the Dewey decimal system?” You sigh and Bob nods hesitantly, “put these away and then find a book and set yourself up in one of the study rooms, there are sodas and waters in the office, you’re free to grab one of those.”

He takes the cart you hand him and walks away, you grab a children’s book and put on a smile while heading to the colorful rug in the corner of the library.

———————————————————————

Sam just wanted a glass of water, maybe to scroll on his phone on his own couch for a while but instead he’s now looking down at you, splayed across his living room rug.

“Where’s my coffee table?”

“In front of the door.” You smile.

“Why?” Someone knocks on the front door and you giggle, “are you drunk?”

“Just a little.”

“Who’s at my door?”

“Your old-new best friend.” Your face is the picture of drunken betrayal and disgust.

Sam sighs and goes to the door, moving the coffee table out of the way. Bucky walks in, starting towards you, “what the hell?”

“Well hi!” The bright southern lilt in your voice gets stronger when you’re drunk, “if it isn’t my Knight in shining armor!”

“You locked me out?”

“Did I?”

“Very mature, sweetheart.” Bucky grimaces.

“About as mature as ghosting someone, right?”

“What does that even mean?”

“Do you two want a moment alone?” Sam cuts in, “in my house?”

“Oh no, Sammy, we’re just fine here.”

“What are you doing here anyways?” Sam asks you, sitting on his couch. Bucky leans back against the wall by the door.

“Had a date, the guy was kind of a creep so I had him drop me off here so he doesn’t know where my house is. Told him my brother lived here.”

“So you’re mad at me for leaving but you’re already dating again?” Bucky interjects.

“You mean two- three years later?”

Bucky's quiet for a minute, “yeah, congressman, I’m dating again-or trying, at least.” You mumble.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart I just got- life got in the way.”

“Life as in politics? With the government your best friend very explicitly did not trust? That life?”

“You know what-“ Bucky starts towards you but Sam gives Bucky a look that says ‘back off’.

“Or is it the ‘New Avengers’? I thought you said you were done with the whole superhero thing? And even then, you hate John Walker so what the hell are you doing there? You are going directly against everything I thought you were standing for?”

“Things got complicated and John isn’t-“

“Isn’t what? Isn’t that bad?”

“I’m doing my best, sweetheart. Things change overtime and- as you so graciously pointed out- it’s been a lot of time. I’m- things turned out differently and I’ve definitely gone against some of the things I told you but-“

“Your worst sin is that you’ve destroyed and betrayed yourself for nothing.” You quote from your place on the floor and Sam looks up.

“Gogol?” Sam inquires.

“Dostoevsky.” You correct, your eyes fixed on the ceiling, making constellations out of the dark spots.

Sam nods and Bucky sighs in exasperation, “is now really the time to utilize your literature degree?” He spits.

“Is now really the time for you to utilize your boundless powers of assholeness?” You quip and his jaw ticks as his eyes narrow, “oh, so scary.” You mumble, looking back at the ceiling.

Sam bites his lip to try and stop himself from laughing, “so I’m guessing yalls happy reunion didn’t go so well?”

“His friend hit on me.” You sigh, pressing a wrist to your forehead.

“He’s not my friend.” Bucky insists.

“Whatever you say, James. Hear that Sam? The dickwad he left us for isn’t even his friend.” You slur, exhaling for a long time, watching the ceiling spin subtly.

“Easy, girl. We’re being nice to him now.”

“She’s not a dog.”

“I’m not a dog.”

Before sam can open his mouth to apologize you glare at Bucky through wet, alcohol glazed eyes and long eyelashes, “shut up,” Your bottom lip is jutted out in a resigned pout, you turn back to Sam, “you’re being nice to him, I don’t have to follow suit just because you said so.”

“Good point.” Sam nods, leaning his head back against his couch cushions.

At the sight of your lips jutting into a pout and your eyes resigned to drunken bitterness and betrayal, Bucky can’t help but soften slightly, “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

“You say that a lot.” You sigh, “but you never change anything.” You do one of those shaky sighs that sounds like you’ve just been crying. Buckys a sentence away from getting on his knees and moving the hair out of your face and mumbling sweet apologies and promises against your forehead,

“I’m gonna take that as my sign to head back to bed, you two have fun,” Sam excuses himself and leaves the room.

“Don’t apologize anymore.” You mumble, your eyes shining and honest.

“I won’t, I’m s-“ Bucky sighs, scratching his chin, “this might be harder than I initially thought.”

You giggle and the sound mends something lovely in him, “you’re not all that smart are you?”

“Not when it comes to you apparently.”

Bucky loved how smart you were. He loved that you could quote passages from books and name authors and basically give a dissertation on iconic literary characters and their foils. Or maybe he just liked hearing you talk.

“You left me all alone.”

Your voice is something small, petulant and utterly heartbreaking for Bucky, “I know, my dear. I’m- I know.”

He lays down beside you on the floor, his hand wrapping around your wrist, drawing circles on the thin skin with his thumb, “you haunted me, wholly.” You mumble.

Bucky smiles, you always got verbally romantic when you were sad and drunk, “I haunted you?”

“Completely. You were with me all the time, every day.” Your voice is soft but your fingers are softer as you reach up to trace the line of his eyebrows down to the tip of his nose, over and over.

“I was?”

“Mhm. I killed you so you haunted me.”

“You killed me?” His voice is low and a little rough.

“Uh-huh. You left so I killed you. I just pretend you died. Makes it easier to exist if I pretend you didn’t choose to leave me.” You murmur. Your eyes are heavy and your breathing is more even than it was when you were going to cry.

“So am I undead now?” He inquires, closing his eyes and enjoying the sensation of your hands on him again.

“Mhm. Total zombie.”

“Missing limbs and everything.” He muses, leaning into your touch, mourning it when your hand moves away from his face.

“Just the one.” You mutter, turning over to press your cheek to his shoulder. The organic one.

He wonders for a moment why he ever gave this up, why he ever gave into his impulse to do something more, to change what he could while he could. He would give it all back for you pressed against him as you fell asleep every night.

“Yeah, just the one,” he’s quiet for a moment as he realizes what you were referencing, “that’s wuthering heights right?”

He didn’t realize you were half asleep so when you startle awake again he’s insanely disappointed in himself, “hm? Oh, yeah. How’d you know that?”

“I stole it, remember?”

“Oh yeah, I need that back, James.” You insist and he laughs, “I’m serious!”

He laughs, “I don’t know, I’ve become quite attached to it.”

“If you give it back you can have my first copy from college, with all of my annotations and everything.” You wager and he smiles.

“I think I’d like that.” He grins and you readjust your cheek on his arm, wrapping your arms around it and cuddling with it. Your warmth is something he’s only been able to dream of these last few years.

This time he lets you fall asleep, making sure not to wake you again.

———————————————————————

When you wake up you’re on the couch, your head hurts and someone’s shaking your shoulder.

“Excuse me?”

You wake up to find Bob standing in front of you, “oh, hi Bob.”

“Water?” He hands you a glass and you drink from it gratefully, “Bucky left me with you again today and I thought I’d wake you up because the library is supposed to open in like an hour.”

“Oh shit.” You mutter, “I’ve gotta get home to change” you look at Bob for a minute, “and I suppose you’re coming with.”

“Just happy to be here.”

———————————————————————

“So you know Bucky pretty well, right?” Bob asks, following you with a pile of books that you could not understand how he was lifting, much less balancing.

“You could say that.” You sigh, grabbing a book from the top of the pile and putting it back on the shelf.

“Has he always been like that?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know- like- I don’t want to say leashed but-“

“Restrained? Yeah. I mean from my understanding he was kind of suave and confident in the 40’s but a ton has changed since then.” You shrug, fixing a few books on the shelf before leading him to the next one.

“He seemed pretty confident approaching you.”

“I think that was more artifice than anything. He’s good at pretending to be something he’s not.” You insist, turning to face Bob fully, maneuvering your head to see him around the books.

“Why do you think that is?” Bob asks you. You think he might be searching for a specific answer, or maybe he’s just trying to prolong the conversation to avoid awkward silence.

“I think it’s the same thing it always is with James, survival instinct.”

Bobs quiet then, considering what you’re saying, “I’m not so sure I agree with that.”

“Why n-“

“Hey, sweetheart.” You hear from across the library and look to see Bucky walking towards you, fast food in hand.

“James. Bob, go put those in the cart.”

“Can’t I just put them up myself?” Bob suggests.

“You promise not to give me issues about this free labor thing?” You sigh.

“Cross my heart.” He says in all seriousness and solemnity.

“Then go ahead, I guess.”

He happily trots away, the mile high pile of books in hand.

“I take it he’s enjoying his time here?” Bucky asks you and you nod.

“I think he’d live here if you’d let him.”

Bucky's eyes fix themselves on the braid you’ve put your hair into, his fingers hold it gently, slipping down to the tail of it, “you could set him up in one of the study rooms with a sleeping bag and a suitcase.” He smiles, “how’s the hangover?”

“It’s great, the fluorescent lights are really helping.” You respond.

“You still mad at me?” He asks gently, moving your braid from your shoulder.

“I-I don’t know. Depends on how fast you’re leaving me this time, I s’pose.” You look up at him through your eyelashes, almost afraid to meet his eyes for the fear that they Will confirm your suspicions.

“We’re leaving tonight. I’m sorry, my dear.” The look in your eyes is almost enough to make him call off all of the plans. When you look at him like that it’s enough to have him cancel missions, pr meetings and start life over here, right here. But that’s not an option for him right now, “but I’ll come back.”

“When? In another three years? I’m not gonna just sit and wait around for you to come back for the rest of my life, James.”

“I’ll come back next month.” He assures you, moving your bangs out of your eyes, “I promise.”

“You promised last time too, James.” You mumble, hand moving up to toy with one of the zipper pockets on his jacket.

“I know, sweetheart, I mean it this time though. Let me prove myself to you,” one of his hands traces your jaw, the other focuses on the center of your forehead, “I’ll be back, and my phone number is on the napkin in the bag, just in case.”

“In case what?” You ask him, savoring the warmth of his rough palm as it settles on the side of your neck.

“In case something goes wrong, or there’s a rat in your kitchen-“

“That was one time.” You grumble and he chuckles low and deep in his chest.

“Or if you uh, if you just miss me.”

“In that case I might be calling you a lot,” his tongue peaks out to wet his bottom lip, a slow smile fixing its way to his face, “so if you’re not totally sure you might want to rescind that offer or else-“

“I’m sure, sweets.” He laughs, “now eat something, I’ll get Bob out of your hair-“

“You can totally leave him here if you want, he’s more helpful than most of the volunteers-“

“I would love to, but-“ he’s quiet for a minute and his brows meet for a second, “actually we were just bringing him along so he wasn’t home alone. I mean if he wants-“

“Really?” You ask.

“Yeah, I just wanted him to feel included because we always leave him behind on missions but he could probably use a change of pace. But he’s a grown man and I’m not like his dad so… gonna have to ask him about that.”

“Okay. Now go, before I don’t let you leave.”

Bucky kissed your forehead, right where his gaze was concentrated and then mumbles against it, “I’ll go talk to him and then I’ll head out. I’ll be back, scouts honor.”

“You’re not a scout.”

“Details, details,” he mutters, smiling easily with his gaze fixated on you, even as he walks backward in the direction Bob went.

———————————————————————

Bob ends up staying with you, more than happy to sit at the check in desk and help. He likes the routine.

He wakes up on the pullout couch in your apartment, makes sure you’re awake, gets ready for work with you, goes to work with you and comes home. He likes going grocery shopping with you, and doing the dishes together after dinner.

He enjoys the domesticity of it, life is slow and quiet here in a way he’s never had the luxury of experiencing it. You liked having a friend, someone constant. He takes walks by himself sometimes, around the neighborhood or downtown.

Bobs walking the first time Bucky calls. You’d texted him once or twice, so that he had your number and to ask about bobs strange habit of finding the smallest enclosed spaces to nap, but other than that you’d not reached out, not wanting to seem needy.

When he calls you you’re lying in bed, waiting for Bob to get back so you can order takeout.

“Sweetheart?”

“Hi, Buck.”

“Hey, baby.” You can hear his smile over the phone.

“What’s up?” You ask, turning over onto your stomach.

“Just wanted to call you. Got home and Bob wasn’t here like normal. Normally he’s done his dishes and he’s on the couch with a book or- sometimes a video game. Got him a laptop last Christmas and I’m pretty sure he exclusively plays games on it.”

“Yeah he has it here, he writes papers.” You clarify.

“Papers? Like essays?”

“Mhm. He writes about his books, sometimes about his games. Studies character foils and literary devices. They’re pretty good actually, You guys should seriously consider helping him get a degree or something.”

“He dropped out of high school, he doesn’t have his diploma.” Bucky informs you.

“Then help him get his GED.” You shrug and Bucky thinks for a minute.

“That’s not a bad idea. Do you think you could talk to him about it? You know more about all of that stuff than any of us do.” Bucky requests.

“I could help him see if that’s something he’d be interested in.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.” His voice is soft and affectionate.

“No problem, Mr. Barnes.”

He’s quiet for a minute, you don’t say anything, knowing to wait for him to get his thoughts together.

“I miss you.” He admits.

“You do?” You ask, grinning wider than you’d ever admit to.

“Mhm. Came home to an empty apartment, an empty bed. Took a shower-“

“That was empty too, I’m guessing?”

You can practically feel his hand smoothing over his face at your stupid joke, “yes, the shower was empty.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

“Mhm. I don’t know if I’d want to recontinue this if you made it a habit to have random people in your shower.” You say and he chuckles.

“Ah. So we’re recontinuing this?” He asks, an unsure shake in his voice, like he’s swallowing around his words.

“Well I- I mean I just assumed because of the phone number and the sweethearts and-“

“No no I was- I was wanting that I was just-“ he clears his throat, “just trying to see what you were thinking.”

“Well I was hoping, but if you’re not-“

“No, I am. I-i definitely am. I missed you.” He rambles and you feel the blush as it comes on.

“I missed you too, James.” You admit, your breath is shaky and your tone hesitant.

“You’re the only one who calls me that.” He points out, voice reverent In the way that he savors the sound of his rarely used first name on your tongue.

“It’s what you told me to call you.” You shrug, pulling a pillow toward you to rest your chin on.

“That’s true. I just- I like it. I like the way it sounds when you say it.”

There’s a pause where his words sink in and you can’t help but smile, “you like how I say it?”

“Yeah, I do. You say it the same way you say Dante or Tolstoy or- what was the one you said the other week? With Sam?”

“Dostoevsky?” You say it slowly, letting every syllable linger in your mouth for longer than necessary.

“Yes, him. You say my name like it- like it suggests I’m something great, like those writers you’ve studied and read the words of.”

“Because you are something great, James.” Your voice is soft and affectionate and laced with a kind of pure love that almost scares him. He’s quiet for a while, not knowing what to do with that. His brain is short circuiting in the most delicious way, “you okay, hon?”

“I’m fine. I’ve just- I forgot what it’s like to have you say things like that to me.”

“Things like what?” You laugh.

“You’re always just so- so honest.” He rasps, like you’ve knocked the air out of him.

You laugh again, “would you rather I lie to you? Tell you that you are the exact opposite of everything you are?”

“No, I just have to get used to it again. I-I like it though.” He admits, his voice soft and hesitant and lovely.

“I’m glad.” You sigh.

“Did you order already?” You hear from the bottom floor of your loft.

“Bobs home, I’ll talk to you later, James.”

“Bye sweetheart.”

Bobs footsteps ascend up the stairs.

“Bye.” You end the call as Bob comes into view, “no i did not order food I was on the phone.”

Bob smiles, falling onto the end of your bed, “was it possibly a metal armed team leader?”

“How’d you know?” You ask, sitting up.

“He called me yesterday to ‘check up on me’.” Bob sighs, stretching his limbs.

“I thought he was on a mission?”

“He called me when he got back to the hotel. But he asked me about you three separate times.” Bob informs you.

“Really? What about?” You attempt to sound nonchalant but Bob isn’t stupid.

“At first he just asked me how you were doing, I said fine. Then he asked me if you got your book back, I said yes. And then he asked me what you ate for dinner. Not ‘what did you have for dinner’ as in what did we have for dinner, he said ‘what did she have for dinner’.” Bob lists, laughing at the last one.

“He’s kind of an idiot, isn’t he?” You smile, biting your thumbnail.

“Very much so. Now, can we get food, I’m starving.”

“Fine, lead the way to the takeout drawer.”

He stands and offers you a hand, helping you up. The both of you head down to order dinner, camping out on the couch until it arrives.

———————————————————————

The next time Bucky calls is the same day and time the next week, you’re sitting on the couch with Bob and watching Gilmore girls. He’s never watched it before and it’s your comfort show so now you’re forcing him to watch it, virtually at gunpoint.

“Do I need to go on a walk?” Bob teases when he sees the name pop up on your phone.

“No, I’ll be right back.”

Bob turns up the TV volume as you walk away, a knowing smile on his face.

“Hi.” You say, settling at your desk chair.

“You took a while to pick up, hiding your boyfriend in the closet?” His voice sounds easy, casual.

“Under the bed actually.”

“Mm, should’ve guessed.” He sighs, “how are you?”

“I’m good, hanging out with Bob.”

“Ah. How many times have you made him watch Casper?”

“None. Instead we are on the third season of Gilmore girls.”

Bucky groans knowingly, you are the only reason he has any idea what that is, “poor guy.”

“I think he’s enjoying it.” You insist.

“Oh great, I’ll be hearing that theme song all the time when he gets back.”

“Are you excited?” You grin.

“I can’t express just how much.” Bucky grouses, “so you’re having fun?”

“I’m having a great time with my new best friend.”

“That was quick. You talk to him about school?” Bucky asks, you hear rustling, like he’s changing.

“Yeah. He was surprisingly open to it. I’m helping him study for the GED test.” Bucky hums at the update, “how did the press conference go?”

“It went… okay.”

“You bombed huh?”

“Alexei was great.” Bucky comments.

“James…”

“Yeah. I’m not good with the cameras and questions.” He admits.

“I know, honey.” You smile. You liked that he was endlessly awkward, you found it endearing.

“How’s work been?”

“The usual. A kid at story time yesterday swallowed a button. I have no idea where he found it but he didn’t choke so that’s, that’s something.” You tell him and he laughs, like he actually finds it funny.

“Kids are interesting.” He shrugs.

“They are,” the both of you stay quiet for a minute, “I really miss you.” You admit, whispering like if anyone else hears he’ll dissipate into thin air.

“I miss you too, my dear. Just a couple more weeks, promise.” He assures you and you make a noise that’s half whine, half audible pout, “what is it?”

“Nothing, I’m just restless. Probably.”

“Restless, huh?” His tone is suggestive enough to make your cheeks burn.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” You pout.

“Do I, though?” He asks and you groan in frustration.

“You’re so annoying.”

“Yeah but you miss me.” He’s smiling a big cheesy smile, you can tell. There’s more rustling,

“What the hell are you doing?”

He’s quiet for a second, “nothing, I got distracted talking to you and put my shirt on inside out, so I had to switch the shirt around.”

Now you’re smiling stupidly, “so you started this call shirtless?”

“I just got out of the shower.” He shrugs.

“The shower that was still empty, right?” You clarify and he laughs again.

“Yes, dear.” He says in that way he does when he’s trying to appease you.

“So you started the call shirtless because you couldn’t possibly wait to be fully clothed? You just had to talk to me?” You giggle and if only he could bottle a sound.

“I was trying to be efficient.”

“Mm yeah, super efficient.” You smile, spinning in your chair.

“You’re just picturing me with my shirt off, aren’t you?” He asks.

“So what if I am.” You retort and you see him licking his lips in your mind's eye.

“You make it a habit of picturing me undressed?”

“Only to paint a picture of what’s happening over there.” You assure him and he hums like he’s not so sure.

“I’m sure.” He says like he knows your lying, “I’m sure the only time you ever think to think of me without a shirt on is when I admit I’m not wearing a shirt every single hour of every single day.”

“Precisely.”

“Hey, sweetheart?”

“Yes, sir?”

“You- don’t do that.” He groans.

“Don’t do what?” You feign innocence.

“You know what, you are an incredibly smart girl.”

“You think so?”

“Sweetheart.” He says very seriously.

“Sorry. yes, dear?” You mock him and he chooses to ignore it.

“You’re something great too.” That shuts you up quickly and efficiently, “I just, I was thinking about it all and- and I wanted you to know.”

“I uh- thanks, thank you, James.” You stammer, the both of you sit and stew in the awkward silence, “did um, did you get your book?”

“Oh, yes, yes I did. I’m planning on reading it on this next mission.”

“Won’t you be too busy fighting and… jumping out of planes or whatever?”

“You have no idea what I do on missions do you?” Bucky beams.

“Not really. I thought you did a lot of jumping out of planes, just by how Sam makes it sound.” You shrug.

“I won’t be too busy, promise.” He assures you.

“I expect a full report back the next time you call. Even though you’ve already read the book before.”

“Well what’s that thing they say about you having to read things three times before you fully digest them. Plus I want to see what 19 year old you’s thoughts were about heathcliff.”

“They weren’t good, I could tell you that much.” You promise him.

“Hey- this speech is really sad- and what’s happening with Jess?” You hear a concerned voice from the lower level call to you.

“I think Bob might be having an emotional moment over Rory’s graduation speech- and the state of her and Jess’s relationship.” You inform Bucky.

“I’m never going to be able to escape this show.”

“Goodnight, James.” You laugh.

“Goodnight, my dear.”

———————————————————————

Bob came down with the flu quicker than you’d ever witnessed a fall ever. You supposed it might have something to do with his recovery.

So you were knee deep in medicine schedules and chicken and rice soup when Bucky called you. Same day, same time.

“Hi, hon, just one second okay?” You speak into the phone.

“Sure thing, sweeth-“ you set the phone down, taking the beeping thermometer out of Bobs mouth.

101.6

You smack your lips together, “still a little high, superboy. Go try a steam shower for me real quick, okay?” Bob groans in protest, “it’ll loosen all of the phlegm in your chest, babe.”

Bob sighs heavily and stands, making his way to the bathroom.

You pick the phone back up, “hey, hello, hi. Sorry, I was checking Bobs temp.”

“How’s he faring?” Bucky asks, he’s focused on something, you can just picture him at some hotel desk, pen in hand, tongue tucked between his teeth. It’s quite the visual, especially if you consider that, like last time, he could possibly not be wearing-

Not the time.

“He has a fever of 101 and he sounds like Kermit the frog.” You sigh, pushing your hair away from your face.

“Poor guy.”

“Indeed. He sounds like a buzz saw when he’s sleeping. Which is rare because he can barely breathe through his mouth.” You lean back against the messy couch bed, closing your eyes.

“And I’m guessing that so long as he’s awake, so are you?”

“It seems cruel to leave him to be miserable alone.” You mumble.

“You’re too empathetic for your own good.”

“You’re too lovely for your own good.” You hear him laugh a little and you groan, “I’m exhausted, I’m sorry, ignore anything embarrassing I might say.”

“I don’t think I will, I like you loopy.”

“You like me loose lipped.” You pout.

“Just a little.” He’s quiet for a minute, “everyone in this book is a terrible person.”

You laugh, real and big and bubbly.

“They all suck but the drama is so captivating.” You grin.

“I like your notes though. For a 19 year old you sure seemed very sure of yourself, very… set in your ways.”

“How do you mean?” You inquire, covering your eyes, hiding them in the crook of your elbow.

“If they are made of the same things why can they never be on the same page?” He chuckles.

“It was probably four am when I wrote that, I won’t lie to you. I don’t think much of it will be eloquent or thought provoking.” You smile sleepily.

“Did you like college?”

“Kind of? Had a hard time mentally but I also loved the chance to learn as much as possible. It was challenging but rewarding, fulfilling. Which is why I think Bob will also love it. He’s so smart. A little dopey but brilliant.” You giggle.

“How’s he doing with GED prep?” Bucky asks.

“He’s doing just fine, he has some trouble with memorizing but there isn’t much he doesn’t understand.”

“So he’s doing good?”

“Mhm.” You hum, exhaling slowly through your nose.

“My love?” You feel warm at the new term of endearment, you have to remind yourself to respond.

“Yes, James?”

“Just making sure you weren’t falling asleep on me.”

“I wish I was falling asleep on you. You’re always so warm.” You exhale.

“You need sleep, sweet girl.”

Another new nickname that makes your stomach flip, “I’ll sleep when I’m dead, dearest.”

“If you don’t sleep you might just turn out to be dead.”

“Not yet, hon.”

Another beat of no conversation and then, “my love?”

“I’m awake.”

“I’m sure you are, I’ve got to let you go now.” He informs you and you make a noise of indignant protest, “I know but I’ve gotta get some sleep, I’ve gotta be awake early.”

“Stupid mission.” You grumble.

“I miss you.” He says, either because he means it or to appease you.

“I miss you more.”

“Goodnight, sweet girl.”

“Night, asshole.” He laughs and then the line drops.

“I threw up again, but I did make it to the toilet this time.” Bob reenters the room, falling back onto his bed.

“I’m endlessly proud of you, man.” You say, giving him a thumbs up that makes him laugh, which turns into a cough.

“Go ahead and get some sleep.”

“I don’t want you to be alone.” You open your eyes to look at him.

“I am damn near thirty, I can take care of myself for a few hours while you get some sleep.” He insists and you nod.

“You’re right, no need to baby you, I’m gonna go ahead and get some rest.” You get up and head to bed, “but feel free to wake me up if you need me.”

“Will do.”

———————————————————————

The month feels like it’s been stretched as thin as possible, like dough that passes the window test.

It’s just one more week and then you get him back, and then he’ll prove himself, just like he said, but if he doesn’t? You shouldn’t think about that because he will, he wants to be better you should trust that.

You’re expecting the call, it’s the same day of the week, and the same time, and you’re at the library late. you sent Bob home to study because he kept distracting himself with stuff to do here. So it was just you, and your phone, and the call that just isn’t coming.

You wait all night, you set up a new display for an ‘employees choices’ area, displaying books you and Bob had picked out earlier in the week. Then you go through all of the James Patterson section which you tend to avoid doing because you can’t stand the constant push of content that makes you have to order multiple copies and then rearrange the shelf every fucking month, but you do anyways. And then you clean the study rooms, vacuum the floor and the storytime rug, repair all of the books in the book hospital and by the end of the night you end up asleep, slumped over your desk.

You’re woken up in the morning by Bob who was alarmed that you didn’t come home and laid into you about the danger of being by yourself at night with the door unlocked and how you should have at least texted him and you apologize profusely for fifteen minute straight before he sends you home to shower and change.

You’re still checking your phone every five minutes to the point where you’re starting to piss yourself off.

When you leave for work again you decide to leave your phone at home. You tell yourself it’s because it’ll be too much of a distraction but really you’re just sick of feeling pathetic because you’re once again just a girl waiting by her phone for a call and you can’t stand feeling like this any longer.

And so you go through the entire day still thinking about your phone but trying to ignore it for the most part. When you and Bob get home you check your phone to find nothing, not a missing call or even a text.

So you spend the night on the couch bed with him, watching the fifth season of Gilmore girls over again because Bob just can’t believe Rory would sleep with Dean while he was married.

“You okay?” Bob asks, hand resting behind his head while the other is splayed across his abdomen.

You shrug, blinking at the ceiling, “he didn’t call.”

“He’s probably just busy. He likes you. Really likes you, which is saying something because Bucky does not like people.” Bob tells you, hand reaching over to pat the top of your head, a welcome distraction from the tears collecting at your water line.

“Are you sure?”

“I am. But if I’m wrong I’ll kick his ass.” He suggests to make you laugh and you do.

“I appreciate that but I’m not sure if you could.”

“You’d be surprised, I’ve done it before.” He informs you and you turn to look at him.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I’m stronger than I look.” He shrugs.

“Thanks for that, Bobby.”

“Anytime. God Dean is so stupid.” He gestures to the screen, “it’s totally unfair how he treated Lindsay.”

“I wholeheartedly agree.”

You’ve never really had a lot of friends, outside of Sam and his sister, but you imagine that this is a lot like what having a best friend probably is.

———————————————————————

It’s three days past a month and you’ve pretty much completely lost hope.

You’re stuck between white hot anger and paralyzing anxiety. Because he’s a total jackass but what if something happened? What if he’s hurt? Or worse?

But also he’s a douche.

Yelena came to pick up Bob yesterday, he’s gonna come back next month for his GED test but until then it’s just you.

You’re deep cleaning the bathroom when your phone goes off. You ignore it for an hour on principle before you check it.

James: Sunday.

Sunday? It’s Monday. He’s a day late. Or a week early.

Either way you’re tired of caring.

You don’t reply, you let the read receipt do your work for you and you keep cleaning.

———————————————————————

Your apartment and the library have never been so clean, and your body has never been so tired.

You ignore the day of the week, you go grocery shopping and you cook dinner for yourself at four and you eat dinner while watching The Land Before Time. And you fall asleep there on the couch in the middle of Big Fish.

When you wake up the TV is set to the play movie screen and the theme music is playing softly through the speakers. There’s a light knock on the door, and then another one. You check the time on your phone, 7:19.

You stretch and take your time heading towards the door, you unlock it slowly and open the door just a crack , leaning against the frame.

“Can I help you, Bucky?”

“Come on. I know I’m late, just give me a chance to explain before you and Bob crucify me.” He pleads.

“How do you know bob is going to crucify you?” You ask.

“Because he told me so, while I was in the infirmary.”

“The infirmary?” You inquire cautiously.

“I was nothing major, I just got stabbed.”

You open the door fully now, taking him in. There's a bruise on his cheek and a couple cuts on his forearms, “just got stabbed.” You grumble, “come in.”

“Seriously?”

“Well the whole you getting stabbed thing now makes it rude for me to be pissed at you.” You grouse, leading him into the living room and settling back into your spot on the couch.

“Did I interrupt your nap, sweetheart?” Bucky asks you, settling at the edge of the couch.

“No comment.” You lean back, taking him in.

He’s wearing a T-shirt and some jeans that look unfairly good as they sit on his hips. You probably look like shit in an oversized T-shirt with the neck cut off and pajama pants you’ve had since you were in college.

“You feeling okay? Did you catch what Bob got?” He asks you, hand reaching out to clutch your ankle, thumb moving back and forth over the smooth skin.

“I’m fine. It’s a miracle but I never got sick. Why?”

“Nothing, you're just sittin’ so far away.” His voice is low and steady, like he’s accepting something he can’t run away from.

“I don’t want to get too attached.” You clear your throat.

“Sweetheart-“

“I will never be able to have you how I want, I think the both of us should just accept that and move on.” You dismiss him, tucking your legs under you and playing with the hair tie on your wrist.

“But you can, I can- I can give that to you, just let me prove-“

“This is was your last chance Bucky-“

“James. My name is James, you call me James, you always have.” He insists, “i would have been here if i could- if I wasn’t having to heal up I would have-“

“Buc- James, this month has been torture. I can not spend the rest of my life waiting for you to come back to me, worrying that you won’t because of some injury or because you get caught up with something or someone else or- or god forbid, something worse.” You rant and your voice becomes thick with all of the anxiety and resentment you have been feeling for the last week and the years before that.

“I’ll be okay, dear. I know what I’m doing and I’ll come back to you, always.” He promises. He sounds panicked, and a little sad.

“James, I love you.” You whisper and his breath catches, “and I will always be yours but you won’t always be mine. When you leave I stay yours, I stay belonging to you because you are welded to my existence in a way that is irreversible but when you go and you live in the world you live in you are theirs, all of theirs. There are people who look up to you as a symbol of resilience, you are representation for so many people and you don’t even realize it because you are not of the world the way the rest of us are-“

“I don’t understand- I- I love you I belong to you-“ he looks so lost, so panicked, he’s reaching out for you and you let him because you don’t have the strength to push him away when you’re breaking his heart. He pulls you fully into his lap, he holds you there and moves your hair out of your face and searches your eyes for some acceptance of his statement but you won’t give it. Instead your eyes are filled with apologies and a sort of pleading he’s never seen before.

“This is my life James. It is this apartment, and my library, my books and these worlds I force myself into because I’ve never been very good at being a part of the one I was born into. You are saving that world, you are a figure that- that is so much to so many people. You belong where you are. Hero looks good on you, because you are one. You were born one. From being a kid saving Steve from himself to being a soldier to becoming the embodiment of resilience and survival, you have always and will always be a hero and I-“ you blink away tears, holding onto him because he’s holding onto you and you can only hurt him the one way, you were built to offer comfort to him and so that’s what your hands do as they move over muscle and scar tissue, “I have never been anything worth taking note of, I am meant for this small, quiet life and- and nothing more.”

“No- I am meant for you, I’m meant for this- I love you,” hot tears fall from his eyes like they’re abandoning ship, “I am meant to come back to you, I- I am meant to haunt you closely, personally. ‘Don’t leave me here where I have no hope of finding you’,” he paraphrases, “I need to be able to find you.”

He holds you to his chest like he can pack you into his wounds like gauze, like he can make you heal him.

A quiet sob breaks through your chest, you move off of him, resisting the hands that are holding onto you like salvation.

“You should go, James. You need to leave, please.” You cry, wiping tears from your eyes.

“Ple- please don’t make me. Don’t make me leave you, please, I’ll stay, I’ll stay here and I won’t ever go anywhere else.” He pleads, standing just to fall onto his knees before you like a painted depiction of tragedy.

“And that’s why I need you to leave. You’re not meant to stay here, My Dear.” Your voice shakes. You move his bangs away from his face, taking in all of his features like you will never see him again because you are determined not to, not for a long long time.

You lift his head to kiss his trembling lips, tasting the salt that coats them and it makes you break all the more. He kisses you back through quiet whimpers, devouring you like he can keep your lips to himself forever.

“Go, James.” You whisper against him, “I’m still yours, I’ll still be yours.”

He pulls away to look at you, just looking at you for a moment that is worth the lifetime with him you’re giving up.

“And I’ll be yours.” He assures you, “even when I am everyone else’s I will be yours, my dear.”

He gets up then, lifts himself off of his knees and stares at you as you avoid his gaze, willing yourself not to look at him because then you will take it all back.

And you stay there in your place long past the earth shattering moment the lock clicks.

It feels like the loudest sound you’ll ever hear, like a drum that won’t ever stop beating.

[rooksamoris]

this is an analysis of jamil's solo song snippet!! im going by the fan translation of the wonderful @winterspellsfrozenkit who has provided fan translations of the other snippets as well!! without further ado, here is a copy of their translation followed by the analysis.

蛇と瞬き-JAMIL: 

Jewels and magic cannot Fulfill the wishes in me Knowing no end To days filled with misery. Gasping as I just try to breathe Desires creeping out, trying to leave The more that I desire,  The more narrow this place is The light will never fade in me My anger will never cease to be If only I could expose it all Ah ah ah!  A shadow is dancing Listen to the insatiable voice Freedom’s in my hand,  Like I’m cursing and To the end I’ll FLY-yah-yah Ah ah… Not enough to get by-ah-ah The Snake and Blink

let's do a line by line analysis of the song and then i'll share my thoughts!!

"jewels and magic cannot/fulfill the wishes in me" immediately what comes to mind is marx's theory of commodity fetishism which he writes about in capital volume one.

"A commodity appears, at first sight, a very trivial thing, and easily understood. Its analysis shows that it is, in reality, a very queer thing, abounding in metaphysical subtleties and theological niceties. So far as it is a value in use, there is nothing mysterious about it, whether we consider it from the point of view that by its properties it is capable of satisfying human wants, or from the point that those properties are the product of human labour" Karl Marx, Das Kapital

basically, commodity fetishism is what happens when we value commodities outside of the labor that goes into creating them. it is most blatant with things like designer items because we are so separated from the labor and yet put some idealist value onto the product for the label. commodity fetishism begins in the supply chain when the capitalist, who owns the means of production, separates the commodity from the laborers who make it. it happens when you purchase clothes and don't acknowledge the labor and raw material extraction that went through making those clothes.

in this case, jamil is acknowledging that commodities are not what he wants, even though in his book seven dream we see that he merely replaces his hierarchical position with that of the al-asim family, whom he is loyal to through the caste system. deep down, jamil knows that it is not what will fulfill him which is why in the wish event all he asks for is one trip where he can go some place where no one knows him and the curse of his caste lineage cannot oppress him. what jamil wants is freedom, not wealth and power.

jamil himself deals with commodity fetishism, in which his labor/labor power is the commodity. his time, effort and his very life are commodities, and because of this, he is heavily alienated from his work and others. jamil's position in society allows for him to be dehumanized and that is an alienating experience. he is nothing more than what he can bring kalim.

"Presupposing private property, my work is an alienation of life, for I work in order to live, in order to obtain for myself the means of life. My work is not my life. Secondly, the specific nature of my individuality, therefore, would be affirmed in my labour, since the latter would be an affirmation of my individual life. Labour therefore would be true, active property. Presupposing private property, my individuality is alienated to such a degree that this activity is instead hateful to me, a torment, and rather the semblance of an activity. Hence, too, it is only a forced activity and one imposed on me only through an external fortuitous need, not through an inner, essential one. My labour can appear in my object only as what it is. It cannot appear as something which by its nature it is not. Hence it appears only as the expression of my loss of self and of my powerlessness that is objective, sensuously perceptible, obvious and therefore put beyond all doubt" Karl Marx, Comment on James Mill

the last line heavily applies to jamil since his work, serving the al-asim family, is a loss of himself. he lowers himself, his intelligence, his abilities, and his strength for the sake of kalim. he is powerless in this situation, as he has stated previously, since upsetting kalim's father could drag his entire family into the streets or worse. his work is not something he does because he sees value in it for the betterment of society or for personal enlightenment, but because he is forced to.

a lot of this can be attributed to the english translation being so bad and censoring so much?? here's some examples that come to mind!!

chalking things up to just "im loyal to kalim" really lowers the stakes and it blurs how bad things truly are for jamil.

"Knowing no end/To days filled with misery" i find this issue comes a lot with the fandom, but we forget that jamil born into an unfair caste system and has no real way out of it. his suffering is endless and if he marries and has children, he will just be dragging them down with him.

unlike a wage laborer, jamil is stuck working for the al-asim family because of his lower caste. we don't know if he earns money at all, but i highly doubt it. his situation is like other caste situations in which he and his family have their home tied to the al-asim's. jamil is doing "well" but at the price that his family serves kalim's. sure, he is housed and fed, but at the cost that his life be at risk to save kalim's. since caste is tied to lineage and tradition, there really is no escape for jamil from this.

also, reminder that if jamil literally dies taste-tasting something for kalim, there will be no consequences. imagine being a child and learning that another kid's life is more sacred than yours because of your unlucky birth?

"When one individual inflicts bodily injury upon another such that death results, we call the deed manslaughter; when the assailant knew in advance that the injury would be fatal, we call his deed murder. But when society places hundreds of proletarians in such a position that they inevitably meet a too early and an unnatural death, one which is quite as much a death by violence as that by the sword or bullet; when it deprives thousands of the necessaries of life, places them under conditions in which they cannot live – forces them, through the strong arm of the law, to remain in such conditions until that death ensues which is the inevitable consequence – knows that these thousands of victims must perish, and yet permits these conditions to remain, its deed is murder just as surely as the deed of the single individual; disguised, malicious murder, murder against which none can defend himself, which does not seem what it is, because no man sees the murderer, because the death of the victim seems a natural one, since the offence is more one of omission than of commission. But murder it remains." Conditions of the Working Class in England, Friedrich Engels

i share this quote with you guys because i want to remind you all, if jamil dies in service of kalim, it is murder since people knew it was possible that he would die. i remind you of this argument because further lyrics have a more revolutionary spirit to them. what jamil did was wrong, but violence only creates more violence, and violence against one's oppressor and oppressive state is a reaction, not unwarranted. poverty and caste are violent. it is my belief that if someone dies in poverty because of the state's refusal to provide these people with healthcare, housing, or food, it is murder with the blood being on the hands of the state.

in this case, the violence done to jamil is due to caste. there is a constant threat of his family being thrown to the streets if he dares to rebel. jamil has been doing an adult's work since before he could properly even reach over the stove. what jamil did was cruel, knowing that kalim trusted him, he betrayed him, but that betrayal did not come from a place of pure malice. as a child, he knew kalim was deemed more important than him and was stripped of his autonomy because of it.

"Gasping as I just try to breathe/Desires creeping out, trying to leave/The more that I desire,/The more narrow this place is" here, jamil is restarting his desires and depicting his life experience as suffocating. he desires just as anyone else does, but he has no means of reaching these desires.

marx writes a lot on the way "want" is a motivation which keeps the workers alienated and working for the possibility of earning enough to enjoy the things that bring true fulfillment in life.

"Self-renunciation, the renunciation of life and of all human needs, is its principal thesis. The less you eat, drink and buy books; the less you go to the theatre, the dance hall, the public house; the less you think, love, theorise, sing, paint, fence, etc., the more you save – the greater becomes your treasure which neither moths nor rust will devour – your capital. The less you are, the less you express your own life, the more you have, i.e., the greater is your alienated life, the greater is the store of your estranged being. Everything ||XVI| which the political economist takes from you in life and in humanity, he replaces for you in money and in wealth; and all the things which you cannot do, your money can do. It can eat and, drink, go to the dance hall and the theatre; it can travel, it can appropriate art, learning, the treasures of the past, political power – all this it can appropriate for you – it can buy all this: it is true endowment. Yet being all this, it wants to do nothing but create itself, buy itself; for everything else is after all its servant, and when I have the master I have the servant and do not need his servant. All passions and all activity must therefore be submerged in avarice. The worker may only have enough for him to want to live, and may only want to live in order to have that." Economic and Philosophical Manuscripts of 1844, Karl Marx

ultimately, these wants further push us into positions of submission to capitalism and labor. it is like the concept of working to live. you do labor, have your surplus value extracted, and maybe eventually you'll get the chance to take your family on a nice vacation. since jamil is not a wage laborer, and instead a member of a servant caste, this manifests a bit differently in his case, but marx's point of self-renunciation still applies. jamil is a creative person, like we know he is good at dancing and cooking, but the latter is in service of kalim and the former he tries to lower to not outshine kalim. he has the ladder to reach for the stars but he isn't allowed to.

he is alienated from himself in this way. i don't think anyone just performs their creative arts for the sake of praise, but praise is nice. artists post their art, writers post their writings, dancers and actors and singers perform, because art is something to be shared. art is also something which is infamously bought and gate-kept by the wealthy.

how much has jamil really been able to explore his creative passions? every waking hour is spent making sure kalim is alive and satisfied. kalim can dance and make music because he has the time and resources to, jamil has much less of that since his existence is tied to the well-being of kalim. his "passions are submerged in avarice" because it is through wealth and visibility that kalim get the time for his art, which is exactly what jamil does not have. it makes the point of his book seven dream so much more interesting, because even though he truly does not wish for wealth, but instead freedom, subconsciously, he acknowledges the power and blessing that is great wealth.

what jamil is saying here is that the more that he wants, the more that he yearns and longs for things, such as freedom, the more suffocated he becomes. capitalism creates the disparities for this want to exist, waves possibilities around, and then pulls the goal post further and further from us. jamil sees the freedom of others every day, he sees the privilege of kalim all the time, and the finish line just gets farther and farther away from him. "this place" becomes more and more narrow the bigger he dreams, so he may as well make himself and his ambitions as small as possible to fit into his caste.

"The light will never fade in me/My anger will never cease to be/If only I could expose it all" here jamil acknowledges that despite his attempts to not want, to make himself smaller for the sake of kalim, his desires will truly never cease, nor will his anger.

"if only i could expose it all" is a rebellious cry and it makes me wonder if the caste system is deemed unacceptable by others. is this, like in our world, an archaic form of oppression that people deem barbaric? or is he talking about exposing his resentment and finally taking back his autonomy by violent means?

"The history of all hitherto existing society is the history of class struggles. Freeman and slave, patrician and plebeian, lord and serf, guild-master and journeyman, in a word, oppressor and oppressed, stood in constant opposition to one another, carried on an uninterrupted, now hidden, now open fight, a fight that each time ended, either in a revolutionary reconstitution of society at large, or in the common ruin of the contending classes." The Manifesto of the Communist Party, Marx and Engels

marx is not saying that revolution is inevitable, but that it is always a possibility, and if revolution does not happen, the oppressed class will just be further oppressed. jamil is the oppressed and the al-asim family are the oppressors. as we see, he is fearful of what could happen of kalim's father got wind of him rebelling. jamil's overblot was the manifestation of all the violence done to him, releasing in a violent revolutionary act. what he did was cruel, but i would argue it is even more cruel to let a child believe that his life is lesser than that of his peer.

now im gonna get into frantz fanon and the wretched of the earth, i couldn't help myself </3

"And it is clear that in the colonial countries the peasants alone are revolutionary, for they have nothing to lose and everything to gain. The starving peasant, outside the class system, is the first among the exploited to discover that only violence pays...The exploited man sees that his liberation implies the use of all means, and that of force first and foremost... non-violence. In its simplest form this non-violence signifies to the intellectual and economic elite of the colonized country that the bourgeoisie has the same interests as they and that it is therefore urgent and indispensable to come to terms for the public good." The Wretched of the Earth, Fanon

these lines read to me like a cry for freedom. it is the young revolutionary raising his gun in the face of his oppressor, it is the peasants arming burning down the manor, the villagers destroying the basileos's estate and taking the economy and politics in their own hands. his anger will never be satisfied until he gets what he is owed, his very own life. all those years spent taking care of kalim have just been years of the constant reminder of his status.

under a caste system, your lineage is what decides your fate, and for jamil that means he will serve the al-asim's till he dies. he cannot escape this. many caste systems, such as the one in yemen, make it so that you cannot even marry out of your caste, and no matter how much wealth you accumulate, you will still be considered a member of the servant caste. while it is fun to imagine jamil marrying out of his caste and moving away somewhere, the reality is that it is most likely not plausible. his parents probably married because they were both in the same servant caste, and if he ever ended up married, it would probably be to someone in his same caste.

i've repeated it a million times, but there is no escape. he is suffocating and violence is the only way out, it seems.

"A shadow is dancing/Listen to the insatiable voice/Freedom’s in my hand, /Like I’m cursing and/To the end I’ll FLY-yah-yah/Ah ah… Not enough to get by-ah-ah" for the sake of time, i'm going to analyze this all together since i feel like i've been writing this since the release of those snippets.

now, the shadow can be many things. im most convinced it is referring to the manifestation of his resentment, the overblot phantom. @estcaligo has this post discussing blot as a physical manifestation and the cultural depictions of negative emotions as something physical. and i reblogged it with this post adding onto the islamic/sufi depiction of nafs and how it relates to overblot.

here's what i said on the topic and i will relate it back to these last few lines of the fan translation:

"the word nafs is derived from nafas which means breathing. nafs, colloquially means self/person. for example, in my dialect of arabic, we say "nafsi" to mean "myself" since the "ee" sound makes a phrase possessive. theologically, nafs is most often referring to the soul. i think the idea of nafs coming from the word nafas/breathing is important in this case. you breath in and out. you take in and then you release. in islam, nafs is cannot be bad or good or beautiful and so on, but it is more like your health, something you nurture. you feed your nafs bad things, it will have a bad reaction and release bad into the world. when it comes to the blot and overblot in twst, we can imagine the blot accumulation is their nafs being corrupted and their overblot is the release of their tainted nafs. the whole idea of the phantoms being created from the blot, and the characters having to fight them off (like jamil arguing with his phantom that he is not imprisoned like a genie). this concept exists within the quran, the idea of battling that which corrupts your nafs through jihad. and no, not jihad like the crusades, but general struggle. jihad just means struggle... ultimately, this struggle is what helps clear the nafs of corruption, and when we battle the mages who have overblotted, we are faced with the negative emotions which led them there, and they struggle against them to survive."

the blot is fed by external experiences that deepen the negative feelings of the mages, which corrupts their magic. for example, leona has a scene of blot accumulation when jack says something that reminds him of his elder brother, who he resents.

right after this, the ink spills.

like leona and the others, jamil's blot has been fed by all sorts of negative experiences which nurtured the seeds of his resentment until it grew too much to be held within the confines of his soul, and so it burst and released into the form of the phantom. this is exactly the way nafs is depicted in islam. to counteract it, you try to feed your nafs good things.

the negative voices in jamil's head, the voices of his parents and the figures of authority who keep stacking heavier things onto the boulder he's rolling up the mountain fighting against his reason. the "insatiable voice" is the urge to just say 'fuck it' and go wild. to attack those who oppress him, to hurt kalim, the symbol of his disenfranchisement, and forget about his responsibilities to his family. it's tragic. "freedom's in my hand" at the cost of so much, but he has been pushed to the point where it seems worth it to just release it all. he wants to drop the boulder and let it crush whoever was climbing the mountain behind him. "cursing" may refer to the cost of his freedom.

like he says, he cannot just drag his family into the streets for his own freedom. imagine the devastation of his family, of his sister if he decided to defect. they would face the consequences of his actions, cursed by his need for freedom, while he was off away doing whatever it is that he wanted. the cost is a curse, and it is too great.

of course, "fly" is commonly used to depict a state of transcendence and escape, so i won't stick too long on it. the next part, "not enough to get by" reminds me a lot of the story of icarus. it seems like that despite his desire for freedom, jamil subconsciously sees it as a doomed ambition. even if he does fly, his wings will melt. something will pull the ladder out from under him as he reaches to grasp the stars, something will grab him by his hair and drag him back down the hellish life he's been living.

i've been wracking my brain for a while about "the snake and blink" part of the song and here's the ideas i've got so far before i conclude:

a) the usual christian symbolism of snakes being the temptation of knowledge, corruption--you guys know the garden of eden story. john milton's paradise lost snake.

this analysis suggests that the snake is some sort of temptation, and the moment jamil blinks, it disappears.

b) other cultures don't view snakes in a negative light. i talk about it more here, but in islamic culture, snake iconography is used in hospitals and some art depicts snakes stinging away evil spirits. the islamic story of adam and eve does not feature a snake and instead the whispers of iblis/satan.

there's the middle eastern folktale of shahmaran, queen of snakes. she is a half snake half woman creature who is never portrayed as good or bad. sometimes she is an oracle and other times she is respected or tricked into being killed. kurds specifically have her symbolize good luck and many depictions of her death regard her sympathetically.

in ancient egypt, wadjet, the cobra goddess is a protective goddess who was the nurse to the infant horus, and protected isis. in many iterations, she symbolizes greenery and fertility. the aztec deity quetzalcoatl is a "feathered snake" whose domain is rain, wind, learning and agriculture. he brings life and had a role in bringing about the world. the naga is a half-human half-cobra who is often depicted as the protector of siddhartha gautama and the buddha. they are powerful and dangerous when angered, and protective.

im gonna make a full post about snake symbolism and jamil some other day, but for now, these interpretations of the snake make things seem less sinister and more hopeful.

these snakes are instead symbolizing life, protection, and the possibility of a future, but these hopes are gone away in a blink "snake and blink" as he says at the end of the snippet.

for just a quick conclusion of my overall thoughts. i think the rest of this song will further play on this idea of freedom and desire. i like it a lot. no, i LOVEEEE it omg the vocal performance??? that high note is constantly replaying in my mind like jeez the rent was due. the themes are loyal to jamil's character and i wonder how the song will end, yk?? will any of these songs have a positive/hopeful conclusion? personally, i think i prefer the ideas of all the threads not being completely tied. as much as i felt sad during the kalim and jamil interactions in book five, i felt like it was best that it ended that way. i agreed with silver's "let them fight it out" sentiment during book seven as well because i dont think anything can truly fix the issues between them.

IM DONE!! hope you guys enjoyed this long ass analysis of that like less than two minutes snippet of jamil viper's solo song!! idk if i have the energy to do the other ones as well, but malleus' and leona's brought some interesting eco-criticism stuff to mind.

[modemica]

“I keep on trying to embrace you both, why won’t you let me?”

[starmocha]

"On your knees."

Your strangled gasp barely passes your lips as you are pulled down all of a sudden by his Evol. You struggle to move, the gravity around you is much heavier than it should be. Kneeling before him, you hear the sound of a zipper being pulled down, and then seconds later, his cold voice commanding, "Now suck."

When you hesitate, he reverts the gravity around you, and you nearly tumble forward, unprepared for the sudden lightweightness again. Little fluttering gasps escape when his gloved hand just barely touch your chin, the pads of his fingers touching just enough to tilt your head upwards and your eyes focus in on his hardened cock, already dripping with precum.

For a moment, you swallow, the taste of his cum already registering in your brain before your mouth instinctively part enough to take in the tip, slowly taking in more and more of him. He tenses briefly, his own breathing unsteadied, almost as if he was unprepared for how good this felt.

"That's it," he groans as you take more of his cock in your mouth. His large hand cradles the back of your head as he praises you. "What a good little cocksleeve you are."

He smiles, amused, when you seem to preen with delight at his words. "Do you like it when I praise you?"

You moan in response around him in your mouth, his immediate shallow, slow thrusts have your eyes brimming with tears as you let him use you for his pleasure. When he yanks your head back by a fistful of your hair, you peer up into those beautiful amethyst eyes of his, ready to drown in them and submit to his will completely. When he spoke again, you could feel yourself pulsing, aching to be his in body and soul.

He could see your desires in your eyes, always knowing you better than even yourself. He smiles again, and croons, "Then be a good little fucktoy for me, and I will praise you more, my pretty little slut."

[gomzdrawfr]

these two have captivated me.

[jackshiccup]

[luck-of-the-drawings]

[<==PREV PAGES] [NEXT PAGE==>(not out yet.wait a year.or maybe more.imagine.]

saw alot of comments on prev pages; saying 'i HATE that mean teacher! im gonna FIGHT HIM!!' & i LOVE the energy!! it WOULD be nice. to have that catharsis. but the story of young tidestrider is Not one of catharsis. it is a story of being so small and so special and sucking so bad.

[epicfirestormer]

Guess who's playing Steamworld Heist 2 and isn't being normal about it

[stellewriites]

COWBOY AUUUU

I CANT HELP MYSELF BUNNY ITS ON MY BRAIN 24/7 RN

[suddencolds]

insatiable appetite [1/?]

sooo... this is one of the thirstiest things i have written—and also one of the only times i've written a character with the kink, ever T.T warnings in advance for mess, character getting sneezed on, implied contagion, possible ooc-ness, & me writing this entirely with my d instead of my head

ivan and till are from al//ien sta//ge (a very fun watch which will only take 30 mins out of your life; i really recommend it!!). that said, this fic takes place in a modern au setting, so feel free to read it without any prior context :)

special thanks to @6pmsoup for sending me a very cute alnst doodle of these two which altered my brain chemistry permanently

—

Summary: Till shows up to a dinner outing with a brewing cold. Ivan suffers. (est. relationship, kink!Ivan, ~2k words)

—

For all Till tries to hide it, Ivan can tell immediately.

There’s this: Ivan has been paying attention to Till for most of his life. A full decade before they’d gotten together officially, and some more—this is how long Ivan has had to observe his tells. Always from the sidelines, always with a detached air of indifference that, in reality, was anything but.

All the signs are there the night before. Till, turning up the thermostat a couple degrees higher than he usually keeps it. Spending a little too long in the shower and using up almost all of the hot water. Clearing his throat one too many times in the morning before Ivan leaves for work, his smile distracted, the rasp of his voice nearly indistinguishable—but only nearly.

Now, Till is here for dinner—it’s a dinner they’ve had plans for a couple weeks now, at one of the nicer restaurants downtown, in celebration of Till’s recent promotion. Ivan had booked the reservation a couple weeks in advance.

When Till arrives, stepping out of a taxi cab, he’s wearing a scarf, even though the weather is too warm for it. Ivan steps up to meet him. 

“Sorry I’m late,” Till says. “Traffic here was the worst I’ve ever seen it, swear to god.”

“Was it cold outside today?” Ivan asks, a little pointedly, tilting his head towards his scarf.

Till looks at him, his expression unreadable. Then he nods. “Colder than usual, for this time of year.”

“Strange,” Ivan says, just to be difficult. “But the weather forecast says it’s the same temperature today as yesterday.” 

“It’s probably just windier today,” Till says, readjusting his scarf around his neck. His face is a little flushed.

“Your voice sounds a little off, though.”

Till clears his throat with a scowl. “You must be imagining it,” he says. “It always sounds like this.”

No admission, then. That’s fine. Ivan will get the truth out of him at some point. He lets Till guide him into the restaurant.

It’s a nice restaurant—worth the hassle of the reservation, Ivan thinks. Each table is set with flowers arranged tastefully in long glass vases, empty wine glasses turned on their heads. The server—who leads them to their table in a small, private booth—is wearing a suit.

It’s a shame, really. Ivan has a feeling that he won’t be able to pay attention to any of that tonight.

They sit. Ivan looks down at the menu, picks out something at random in a matter of seconds. Truthfully, he can hardly think of anything less worth his attention right now. He turns his attention to Till instead—Till, who’s seated directly across from him, the scarf still around his neck, obscuring the lower half of his face. 

Till sniffles, reaching down to turn the page, and oh. The sniffle is terribly liquid—has he been sniffling like that all afternoon? Perhaps it’s a good thing that they work at different offices—Till at a law firm, Ivan as a senior manager at a consulting company—because Ivan certainly doesn’t think he’d be able to get any work done with Till sniffling like that. 

It’s not two minutes later that Till is reaching up to wipe his nose against the back of one knuckle. All in all, it’s discreet. Just a quick brush of the fingers against his nose, which is still hidden under the scarf. Though, the look of sheer ticklishness that passes over his features for a brief moment there is...

“What are you thinking of ordering?” Ivan asks.

“I can’t decide,” Till answers. He turns the page again. “It’s between the ribeye steak and the… snf! The pork belly. Is this the kind of place that skimps on the portion sizes?”

“Not from their Yelp reviews,” Ivan says. “You know, if you really can’t decide, I can flip a coin.”

“I’ll pick,” Till says. “Why? Hungry already?”

He looks up, now. His eyes are a little watery. There’s a faint flush over the bridge of his nose. Ivan thinks that if he reached out and touched him, he’d probably be running warm. The thought is almost unbearable.

“Your taxi did take forever to arrive,” Ivan says, by way of explanation. 

“Did you really wait that long?”

He looks uncertain, for a moment. Ivan says, “Not at all. But you know, I’m always impatient when it comes to you.”

Till rolls his eyes, but it’s fond. “There was a meeting that ran late. I wasn’t avoiding you.”

“Is that also a part of your new position?” “I guess so, yeah.”

“I can see why they were eager to promote you, then,” Ivan says. “How productive can late afternoon meetings be, anyways?”

Till snorts. “Not that important. It definitely could have been an email instead. I was about ready to doze off.”

He sniffles again. “Okay. I think I know what I want.” The way he says know betrays the slightest hint of congestion. 

“At long last,” Ivan says, just to be a little bit of an ass. “I’ll call over the waiter.”

He flags their waiter down, waits for Till to order first.

“A spiced apple cider,” Till adds on, at the end, with the slightest of coughs. “Hot, if you can.”

That’s new, too. Till seldom orders hot drinks at restaurants, though he’ll drink tea without complaint if it’s offered. Perhaps his throat hurts, then, from the cold that has clearly started to settle in his system. Subtle, still, but Ivan is familiar with colds like this. He knows it will probably only be a few hours before this deceptively “small” cold turns into…

Ivan orders, too, and thanks the waiter, who leaves with a curt nod. When he looks back over to Till, there’s a… strange something to Till’s expression, a slight distractedness. Irritation.

Ivan swallows hard. He should look away. 

He should, but then, Till’s breath hitches. He pulls the scarf higher over his face preemptively, as if he anticipates having something to have to cover for. The sharp intake of breath that follows is breathy, though Ivan can hear Till’s voice in it. He should really look away.

Instead, he takes the scene in, painstakingly, little by little, as Till’s shoulders jerk forwards. As Till presses a hand to the scarf, presses the fabric closer to his face, to muffle a sneeze into his fingertips:

“hhH-Ih!! hiHH-’IESCHH-eew-!”

God. It sounds utterly miserable, the harsh release of it scraping against his throat, the spray tearing into his scarf. It’s the kind of cold sneeze that is undeniably telling: this is going to be one hell of a cold. It’s not very quiet, either, even muffled into the fabric.

For more reasons than one, Ivan is glad they’re in a private corner of the restaurant, not somewhere more public.

“Bless you,” he offers, once he can trust himself to speak. It’s a good thing that Till is too distracted to look up at him right now. Ivan isn’t sure he can keep what he’s feeling off of his face.

Truthfully, he isn’t sure he’s going to be able to endure a whole night of this.

The problem here is that Till—Till, of all people; Till, who Ivan has been pathetically in love with for almost as long as he can remember—has no idea about Ivan’s… relatively niche interests. That is to say, he has no idea what effect it has on Ivan when he does that.

“Thanks,” Till says, a little stuffily. He sniffles again, lowering his hand. 

Ivan can’t help it. He knows he shouldn’t pursue this line of questioning, but he can feel his self-control dwindling by the second. “Don’t you think it would be better to take off your scarf, now that we’re inside?”

Till freezes. “Y-You know what,” he says evasively. “It’s pretty cold in here.”

Ivan tilts his head in question. “And just how do you plan on eating like that?”

“I’ll take it off when our food comes.”

“I can ask the waiter to turn the temperature up, if it’s a problem,” Ivan says. 

“It’s not a problem.”

Ivan rises from his seat. Till watches him, perplexed, as he heads to the opposite side of the table, where Till is seated.

When he gets there, he stops. Stands, unmoving, so he can study Till from above. 

“What are you—”

Ivan reaches out, settles his palm across Till’s forehead. As expected, it’s warm. Not quite feverish, which is a good sign, but warm enough to be notable. 

“Just how long were you intending to hide this?”

Till stares back at him, wide-eyed. “Hide what?”

Shouldn’t it be obvious? “The fact that you have a cold.”

“I didn’t think it was worth mentioning,” Till says, slowly.

“Hmm.” Ivan drops his hand to his side. He is a little concerned, now. “We could’ve called a rain check.”

This time Till really does roll his eyes. “For the reservation we planned weeks ahead?” he sniffles again. “That just sounds completely and utterly unnecessary. Are you the type of person to call things off just over a little cold?” 

Ivan leans over, tugs down the edge of Till’s scarf. Till bats his hand away just a moment too late, cups his other hand over his face to shield his face from view. For a moment, he looks faintly mortified.

Then his expression settles into something more disgruntled. “What are you doing?” he hisses.

So uncooperative. “Let me see,” Ivan says. Slowly, gently, he pries Till’s hands away from his face, and then—because the restaurant is dimly lit—tilts Till’s face up slightly so that it catches more of the overhead light. 

Till’s nose is redder than usual. He’s probably been rubbing it all afternoon, if the redness that percolates into his cheeks is any indication. There’s  a damp, liquid sheen on the underside of his nose.

“What’s there to see?” Till says, a little crossly.

“Your face, since you’ve been so intent on hiding it under that scarf,” Ivan says, leaning in to get a better look.

Till scowls at him, but there’s no heat to it. “You see my face every day.”

“On the contrary, I don’t see it nearly enough,” Ivan says. “And you hardly ever get sick. Is it so wrong for me to be concerned?”

Without looking, he reaches behind him with one hand to grab a couple cocktail napkins. The other hand he keeps held up to Till’s cheek. 

But then, Till’s breath hitches. “Wait,” he says. Panic flashes through his face. “Ivan, move, I—”

Oh. Well, seeing as there’s no way he’ll be able to get the napkins over in time, it looks like he’ll have to improvise. If Till wants to cover, Ivan can help with that. He moves his hand to cup it loosely over Till’s mouth. Not a second too late, it seems. Till jerks forward unceremoniously, his nose twitching, his eyes squeezing shut.

“hHheh-! HHh’EIITShHh’yYiew!” he gasps sharply. Two? “Hh-! hHiiH’DSSCSSHh-IIew!”  

The jolt of the sneezes is practically electrifying—all of that force, brought to an abrupt halt behind Ivan’s waiting palm. He feels the expulsion of air against his skin, the warmth of Till’s breath, feels the slight dampness behind his hand as the spray mists over his fingertips.

Ivan swallows, hard. Thank god it’s so dark here, otherwise Till might notice what this is doing to him. 

“Bless you,” he says, withdrawing his hand at last to wipe it on one of the cloth napkins. It comes out slightly raspier than he intends it to, though perhaps it’s a miracle that he’s still able to talk at all. “Some cold, hmm?” Belatedly, he hands Till the stack of napkins.

Till practically snatches them from him, turns aside to blow his nose wetly into the top few. The way he sniffles afterwards suggests that his nose is still very much running. 

“Do you have no self preservation? It’s as if you want to catch this,” Till says, drawing back with another sniffle.

Oh, Ivan thinks, fighting back a shiver. That would be far from the worst thing.

[doctorweebmd]

ok my OTHER reflection:

on the one hand its really frustrating to see the posts about docs and healthcare in general on here be so narrow-minded. bad experiences with certain providers have lead to a huge spread of misinformation and mistrust with the whole system. which can and HAS lead to people avoiding 'evil' doctors for perfectly treatable illnesses and dying from them (the vaccine bullshit, anyone?)

but on the other hand. it is TERRIFYING how some of these docs practice medicine. at times i think 'are you just burned out and don't give a shit or are you straight up just stupid?' and i work in critical care. where quite literally every case is life or death. even in the academic sector where there is supposedly a standard of excellence, some doctors i would not let touch my loved ones with a ten foot pole.

and that sucks. i know this is the no nuance piss on the poor webbed site but 'the medical system and people that work for it are fallible and aspects of it are morally questionable at best/unethical at worst' AND 'the field of medicine exists to help people first and foremost and mistrusting/avoiding it can be detrimental in the long run' can and DO co-exist

[theprince237]

Is this post about Regulus Black? Or is it about Remus Lupin? OR is it about me? We will never know.

[originalcontent]

Gale's breakup, but make it more devastating. Drawn in onenote for windows 10.